January 23, 2018 § Leave a comment
I have never recovered we’ll say from my eating disordere’d past…but I don’t think anyone necessarily is. I don’t want to speak for anyone. It tends to stay with you though doesn’t it? You can be as recovered as possible for yourself but there are those thoughts that come up. It’s powerful to right it, right?
I question my power. To be honest, I feel bad about what I ate and how full I felt yesterday than the actual purging afterward. It all would have been okay with me if I hadn’t been caught. Horrible isn’t it? I wasn’t too secretive. I don’t do it often…I am no longer in any way clinically bulimic but the impulse sometimes comes over me.
I tried to explain it yesterday even though I’m not sure that was really the reasons it happened. Who knows what goes on in your brain? Am I making excuses? Am I explaining away just a biological impulse that’s ingrained in myself?
I think a combination of factors are at fault.
I was upset…I try quite hard not to be. I’m not a jealous person, I generally tend towards anger and “if you’re going to do that to me, get the fuck out of my life, you piece of shit etc.” and I’ve even realized that’s not necessarily healthy. People do things. People hurt and try to heal in self-destructive ways, GOD do I know. But I think I’ve come to a better place where I’d be more willing to listen, to try to understand the person’s motives, before I made a decision. The abusive relationships I’ve been in, verbal or physical, I honestly don’t mark a difference in the two. To be honest, I think I’ve taken the verbal abuse with me much more than the physical. I’ve learned a lot through everything but I still hurt. I still want to be a bony slip of a person. I have….I can write a lot of horrible things about myself. It’s very hard to stop, but it’s good that I’m at least trying right? I’m not the same as I once was. Some day I’ll write about more horrific comparisons but today….I’m weaker than I should be.
Yesterday I puked and I haven’t really done that, ESPECIALLY somewhat obviously in the presence of anyone, specifically a significant other. It seemed at the time, the norm. But I do think there was more? I felt distended and disgusting and fat and ugly as we, as women, as women eating disorder survivors, practitioners, general population, are wont to do, but I rarely engage anymore in actually putting my fingers in my throat…and we all know the rest.
I live with my boyfriend. It’s different when I’m elsewhere. When I was at home, when I was at restaurants with family or friends and puked in the restrooms and various situations of the sort, even if they maybe had an idea they wouldn’t necessarily say anything. I always brought a kit of baking soda water as this weird pH balancing mouthwash, sometimes regular mouthwash, a travel toothbrush and toothpaste, hand lotion…but regardless, sometimes I think they just knew. My boyfriend, because we are so close, we have the intimacy (SHOCKING because I never fucking honest to GOD never thought I could say I could have such intimacy with ANYONE), to have showers and baths together, to share a bathroom in general…so I don’t know why…maybe I wanted him to find me crouched over the toilet bowl, red eyed and crying tears and bile.
I thought about it afterward. It felt like a betrayal to both him and myself to start. Which is true. But other things. He had told me about someone who had expressed their interest in him, very seriously, despite knowing our relationship. That day. I brush it off. Pff no big deal. I’m very confident in his love for me, he also tells me everything, I never ask but he always does. But the disrespect is hurtful….and I think it brings up the fact that…she thinks there’s a real chance? Why? And obviously beyond that, it really fucking hurts…it brings a lot of shit to the surface. I try to be strong but of course I have so many problems, insecurities. I’m supposed to be more than I am, I should be. It’s a hard stone to step on…I think that’s what brought up the relapse…I want to know it is. But how will I ever know?
I want to one day be free of all this bullshit, if someone wants to be with him, fuck him, whatever, I always know he’ll tell me, but I want to be free of thinking and criticizing myself, my faults and imperfections, how he deserves better from me. Blah blah. Waaah.
January 21, 2018 § Leave a comment
I wonder if they hate us. The others. I can hear them through the vents. I’m crazy though now, obviously it’s all my imagination. HA HA HA.
Upstairs neighbours had a baby in December ish, maybe November. The kind of attention I attach…ughh. I hear voices and noises mainly through those vents, one happens to be almost directly above my desk which is not exactly helpful. I still think and go through dialogues, listening to the stabs of sound I hear, trying to make sense, imagining. I curl into my ball of sweaters and blankets on the couch, they must be talking about me, the noise I’m making, I burnt tofu they must’ve smelled. Disgusting. I’m disgusting. I’m so self-absorbed. I think of how mental illness affects that. I thought I was getting better. The changes that seemed to be occurring seem to be gone. I might need to up my dosage.
It’s begun again. And I want to erase. You never can. How do you let go and start over when you’re a broken sack of lardy flesh, the evidence of etched into your skin in various places.
Please come back to me, I want to feel again, I want to be a someone again. And I thought I was getting past this. What happened? Help?
December 29, 2017 § Leave a comment
I melt into the room, my body malleable clay, I am put there. I did not choose this. My flesh peels off, my bones coated in remnants of tissue, ligaments, musculature, fat. I am immobile. I watch in a mirror, my body disintegrating, a group watches, chomping at the bit. I imagine them drooling. I can’t focus, all I can see is my body, the pieces of a human that fall away. We are disgusting. Lumps of flesh, organs, all a big sack of guts inside some semblance of normalcy that we’ve decided is a human form, skin, limbs…
They see the last pieces falling away, begin to close in. The heart is beating. I watch its rhythm. Faster…faster…tears begin, why wouldn’t they? What has happened? Why do I have to watch this? They press into my heart, first curiously, pressing, feeling for its retaliatory pump back, then press further, further. It doesn’t burst…it sighs and collapses.
December 13, 2017 § Leave a comment
The hat has a pom-pom…is it a pom if it’s just one? Ha ha ha. It’s protective…in case I fall. The floor is solid, tile and that laminate wood look flooring. It’ll hurt my skull. How many times now?
I feel underneath the knit material, my hair is straw and my scalp is smooth and I imagine it iridescent…if there was a feeling for iridescent. The skin where no hair grows, the skull scars. There are many. I imagine they zig zag and cross, like roads on a map…no, globe. The globe of my skull. They comfort me, the feeling of them there. I rub them and humm. Suddenly I’m back. No, that should not be comforting. Evidence of my past collapses, what if it happens again, my skull cracking open on the floor, again and again, rocking back and forth, and I will wake like I have before, not knowing what I am, not realizing I’m on the floor. Why am I on the floor? Laying, unmoving, my brain a blank canvas, wiped clean. Until it begins to come back, slowly and then suddenly.
Dripping on my shoulder, red. I feel my hair, the tips of my fingers show me. I feel into the wetness of the canyons of my head. Lick the blood from my finger. I’m a sick, sick woman.
But now, the present. Is it present? Am I present?
I try to lie down, another protective measure. There are no zaps in my brain. But my heart is pounding out to me. I press into my chest. I want to hold in my heart, keep it inside of me. If I just hold myself together, “get tiny” he says.
December 10, 2017 § Leave a comment
Shiny, brand spanking new right? There’s a glitch in the system, kill it, repairs, if you can. Sometimes salvageable. Sometimes…
Maybe I am…maybe I can be fixed. Can you fix a human? I have a picture I’ve had saved for years, sadly I don’t know the source.
I’m damaged, a throwaway. But I have a bit of hope now…mood stabilizers for about two weeks now and I feel…different. In a good way….I think. I was worried mainly about the side effects but so far, nothing crazy. More, I feel…well, more balanced…that’s what is supposed to happen.
I wrote an exam on time. SHOCKING. The days leading up to it I wasn’t sleeping much per night, normal for anyone prone to procrastination but one afternoon, I fell into the urge to take a break and of course, not accepting that my body will do what it wants (ever delusional still), I laid down on the couch and chromecasted youtube music videos….Unfortunately with youtube, the sound of each video can change and I passed RIGHT the fuck out shortly after and was awoken to banging on my door by my landlord, asking me to keep it down, there’s a baby upstairs (OOOOH yes, much worse, I know, my neighbours directly above me are my landlord’s brother and girlfriend who just gave birth) etc. etc. I was so out of it, half delirious from whatever depths of sleep I’d fallen into, then shocked into consciousness….After that, I was paranoid and felt awful, I still think and worry about it.
Yesterday I heard talking amid multiple people upstairs through the vent. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but my mind automatically thought ‘oh my god, they’re all together, my landlord, his brother and girlfriend, talking about kicking us out, they can’t deal with someone who is so disrespectful, if she fucks up like that once, how often will she? we have a baby now, normally it wouldn’t be as much of a problem, but we might have to have them out….” etc. etc. My mind went on and on….and normally….it would’ve continued, and it did somewhat, but something clicked. I thought of my diagnosis. I thought about the exam I’d just finished, the last module focusing on psychiatric disorders including bipolar. I’ve read a lot of memoirs, articles, taken classes about mood, personality, anxiety, etc. etc. etc. disorders and again, I never thought of myself as…..anyway. This class I just finished, one of the writers of the textbook describes his own personal struggle with bipolar disorder in the chapter it features and he discusses his delusions, his paranoia…of his classmates and teachers in his lectures at university singling him out, hating him, thinking how stupid and useless and undeserving he was to be there, etc etc. This may be normal for anyone, but it goes into more detail. Just as my thoughts tend to. I thought of this and suddenly, the click. I have those delusions.
It’s not normal to think and obsess over what I do. Not that everything that comes into my brain doesn’t seem completely real and threatening and true to me, but the fact that I’m recognizing it as delusional might be a good sign? Andrew thinks so. I think I do too. I think the drugs are working. Which is good/bad….because it’s good they are, if I keep getting better, and I think I am, but bad in a strange way because it really means….my diagnosis is probably true….and it’s sad that I hadn’t been treated as such earlier. It could’ve saved me and my family and many close to me a lot of pain, distrust, wounds both physical and emotional that may never heal, blah blah. How fucking corny.
Really though, I started to think back…I always thought it was just anxiety and it was….but I think there was more there…I understand why the psychiatrist made his diagnosis with regard to these kinds of thoughts I had (there’s a myriad of other symptoms I know I have but that’s another matter). I told him about my panic attack period throughout the past summer and other times beyond that, where I wasn’t necessarily in a panic mode, but just walking outside and I’d see a bag on a hill or a suitcase on the side walk and initially want to look inside then suddenly think there would be a body part inside. And these scenarios would come up in my head and wouldn’t go away. It’s all I could think about. They seemed supremely real. I never thought of it….as bipolar type delusional thinking…but it is….
I remember in university, I had been drinking and had passed out on a friend’s bed, it was one of the bigger shared rooms among two and I can’t remember but apparently one of the girls I would later live a short year with came back and woke me up and I was asking about all of the people in the room, why are they staring, what do they want? And yes, I was intoxicated, but still a bit eery, and foretelling perhaps. She was taken aback a bit, told me later, worrying that I might have some problem with paranoia, with imagining things.
And here we are today. Crazy batshit maghan. An on going joke but now it’s defined. It’s in its little box. Am I in a little box? I don’t think anyone bipolar can ever be boxed…no matter how hardcore their meds are, how tranqu’ed out of their minds. I walk down Bloor street and it feels like whenever I do I run into someone from my past. Someone from the shit early university days was one such and I of course, can’t help babbling and sharing too much, including this recent diagnosis. And I said “if anyone was going to go batshit, I was one of the likeliest contenders.” And I think that’s fairly true. No one I’ve told this to has been very surprised. They wouldn’t have guessed necessarily, but they’re not surprised and/or they completely saw it, it all clicked once I told them.
Only one dickhead said that was the diagnosis for junkies and alcoholics, just an excuse for them, but fuck it. Why do we drink and pill ourselves up in the first place? I wouldn’t if I didn’t feel like I was useless or bullshit or whathaveyou without something else to make me better….equal…to calm my brain down….so many reasons. Excuses? I don’t know.
I’m still going. Click, click, click.
November 2, 2017 § Leave a comment
I made myself sound real important right there;).
P.S. I’m terrible at this shit and I hope the link and junk works. Sorry. Just click the ‘updates’ below for the video.
November 2, 2017 § Leave a comment
I’m posting a video…ugh…it’s too hard to edit enough or write some kind of fucking script so too bad. I watch them after I film them and I just hate my frequent use of filler words. I wish I didn’t do that. I never want to be the person who just speaks to speak. Why can’t I be patient? Why do I have to keep speaking, no matter what. Maybe this new diagnosis is true.
I’m scared, I was shocked at the time, but I think it makes sense perhaps…I just never thought that was me.
Yesterday, besides moving to a new apartment, I had booked an appointment months ago at CAMH for an extensive psychiatric evaluation. We went over my family history, both medical and psychiatric, what I experienced/felt and history of my childhood. We talked about my years since, all the medications and what happened and how I felt on all of them, how I dealt with various group and individual psychotherapies, my interests and potential “goals” (that’s hard to talk about or take seriously for myself, he noticed). This consultation lasted a while….a couple hours I want to say although I didn’t monitor it because I was somewhat shocked and kept thinking about it afterward, plus I had to go back to my apartment. I felt bad because I felt I needed to keep this appointment and I wasn’t there to help as much with the moving process. But I felt we got into a lot. I googled this doctor after the fact (of course) and he’s very well respected and prolific. He has written several textbooks that have been used and updated on psychotropic drug, on psychiatric subjects in general, many highly regarded papers etc. So I think he should be right?
But he diagnosed me with Bipolar II. Which scares me. Is that me? I’m nervous. And I always had this idea that any kind of bipolar was so much more serious….that I just had no impulse control, just…I really don’t know. I’ll post the video. All my posts lately aren’t the greatest. I don’t feel like editing. I feel strange and I’m busy trying to busy my mind on unpacking…anything else. So this kind of sucks as a post. I apologize.
Anyone with any comments about having/knowing someone/studying bipolar II, it would be greatly appreciated. I can read a lot about it but personal stories are so much more helpful. I still haven’t fully accepted this diagnosis.