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1.22.2014

in which things go back to being not good

Her name is Valentina.

She can't be much older than I am. She looks like she should be seen between the pages of a magazine or on billboards or strutting down a catwalk. Definitely not sitting in this small, plain office. When she speaks, I find myself listening to her accent instead of her words. I can't quite place it. Russian maybe? Italian?

She's not a Model though. She's my new Psychiatrist.

I expect to dislike her, to distrust her, but then I don't. She listens. She radiates calm. She speaks intelligently. I realize I like her after only a few minutes. So when I speak, I tell the truth.

....

Despite the cold, it has somehow managed to snow again. The world is coated in giant, fluffy flakes like a child sprinkled pretend snow over a playhouse. The snowflakes are so light that they fly in all directions when I brush them off my car, covering me in sparkling snow. 

....

I met my lunch goal 5 out of 7 days.

My dietitian is very pleased. 

I am making an effort to be pleasant. Turning over a new leaf.

"This is the most I've ever seen you smile." She says.

She takes my weight. I wait for her to tell me what it was so we can talk about it. Like she promised.

But she doesn't. 

Instead she asks me if I'll stop weighing myself at home.

Again.

I stop smiling.

....


All of this is supposed to make me feel better, but it's not. I don't think the program is broken, I think I am. Therapists and dietitians all operate under the assumption that you want to get better. 

And I am still defining "better" wrong.

Or right?

I don't know.

I hate myself right now. I hate myself more than I have in months. I hate how I feel. I hate how I look. I hate the numbers on the scale. I hate my dietitians smile. I hate it when Molly talks about my "ED voice." I hate the diary card I'm supposed to fill out for DBT that monitors how I feel. 

I feel awful.

Last night I couldn't take it anymore. So I looked myself in the eye in the mirror and spewed out all the horrible, hateful thoughts I've been having about her, the girl in the reflection. I took my pills like I was supposed to, but they didn't stop me from slamming my arms into the door frame again. 

The pain worked better than the pills, anyways.

I don't want to do this. I don't think I can. 

3 comments:

  1. Your struggle is so honest. It's really true what they say, in order to heal you have to want it. I think it's not that you don't want to get better, it's just that you are not ready- probably because your habits are a comfort, like a comfort blanket, and it's hard to let it go. You have to find another outlet, and I know that can feel like it is impossible- but it is. I hope you find what that something else is and escape the clutches of this monster.

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  2. I have been working with my therapist for a few years.I also carry a diagnosis of BPD.Theres so much I would to say here.I remain at the edge of a healthy BMI.And I have many issues to still address in therapy.I believe that the there are things that are so painful we need help to process them.Things in our past.And I hope that Molly can work with you to get to the pain.I can't stress how strongly I believe In talk therapy.And I believe a strong support system is in place .And i think they understand what got us here.It didn't happen overnite.But your liking your is such a tremendous start.It truly is.This is quite lengthy.And I hope what I'm trying to say comes through in my word.xxxxxxxx Jan

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  3. while i cannot relate with your ED, i can relate to self-hatred and my heart aches for you. that place is so dark and lonely and sometimes we tell ourselves that feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all. but it's not true. and i hope, i hope so hard that you can find yourself in there.

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