i'm going to be better at this

Hi, I'm Kay and sometimes I write things.

You guys said such sweet things on my last post. Thank you. You are all so lovely, and I'm so glad I know you.

Life.

I'm going to try to summarize.

I saw my psychiatrist today, and she told me she's leaving. It shouldn't have taken me by surprise. I am still attending the small walk-in clinic at the hospital. The clinic that is full of students completing their residency. They come and go like waves, and I have planted myself stubbornly in the sand, pretending not to notice.

I don't know why I am so reluctant to move on. The Recovery Center provides psychiatric services now. I could go there.

I could.

I feel so disjointed lately. I haven't seen Molly in two weeks because of random schedule conflicts. I am no longer seeing her for my individual DBT therapy. I was given a choice, but I knew there was really only one right answer. Now I meet with one of the leaders of my group. He is awkward and brusque, but earnest in a way that genuine people are.

Last week I learned that several people in my group will be graduating soon. I'm already dreading it. I love the people in my group, and the upheaval of graduation and potential new members makes me queasy.

 The scale has not been my friend lately. And I am caught in the trap I've created. The one where I can't really talk about how I really feel because if I do the dietitian argument will flare back up. Or worse, people will start mentioning "more intensive options." I hate the numbers I keep seeing. I hate how I feel. I hate how I look. But I hate those conversations more.

A few months ago my boss told me that I had to start working extra hours to make up for my lost time. My time lost to therapy.

Everyone is forgiving of a mental illness until it becomes an inconvenience.

I'm not as angry now. I was. I was furious. Work was already an almost insurmountable task, and then she piled more on. I wouldn't say I'm happy about it now. I suppose I've just been trying not to think about it very much. I've been trying not to think about much unless I have to. I let myself go numb because otherwise, I just plunge into anxiety. Which lately has led to drinking too much wine and inevitably crying all over the Mr.

But there are good things too. And because I am tired of thinking so much, I'll just show you some more pictures instead.

Good thing #1: My front yard no longer looks like this.

Good Thing #2: The Arizona sunshine I was able to experience when my yard DID look like that.

Good Thing #3: New glasses!

Good Thing #4: Springtime! And finally being able to show off my new tattoo!

Good Thing #5: This sweet guy.

Good Thing #6: And this sweet guy.

Good Thing #7: And this (sometimes) sweet little girl.

And of course, the Mr. My best friend. My husband. My always.

♥

I promise I will try to catch up on your posts soon!

thoughts

My knee aches.

The snow is gone, and in its place green grass welcomes me every morning. The snow has stopped, and now it rains. It rains and my knee aches, but I will not complain. I want to breathe in the green, the bare ground, the birds chirping. I go to the window every few minutes to make sure it's still there, that it wasn't all a dream.

....

I've stopped seeing my dietitian. 

I achieved the doctor's approval, so everyone else had to fall in line. So I continue on pretending that I don't see their thinly veiled disapproval. 

I continue pretending that I am fine.

...

Change does not come easy. Every time my father leaves a voicemail he is sure to state his name, the date, and the time. My phone tells me these things before he does, but he still follows his own antiquated patterns. 

I wonder if it's just human nature to stand stubbornly in the way of time.

...

"hey." Bill texts me. "the sun shines. listen."

...

I am happy. I am sad. I am angry. I laugh. I want to cry, but I don't. 

I go through the motions. Work. Therapy. DBT. Work. Sleep.

I am tired of pretending to care, but time carries on.

...

One pink line.

Negative.

"What are you afraid of?" My new DBT therapist asks me.

I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of seeing two pink lines. I am afraid of the things I am capable of.

I don't know why that one pink line makes me so sad.

...

I wish I could give you a glowing report about how my life is perfect now. I wish I could tell you that I don't bristle every time someone says "your eating disorder." I wish I could tell you that I want my life to be different.

But I'm just me.