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Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Coming clean what I did. With my therapist today. Second appointment.
I told her. Everything.
She didn't charge me any extra to let me stay there an hour after our appointment ended. She heard about the abuse. About the ED. About the imaginary friends when I was little. The obsessive movements I have, the anger issues, the disregard for safety, the constant fear. I told her my religion. I told her my take on mental disorders. I told her about Ana, and how she talks inside of my head. I told her about my fear of waffles, and my unending hateful relationship with nutritional information. I told her what i hear when I eat. I told her how hard it is for me to start eating.
How impossible it is to stop.

I go back on Thursday.

The sessions are only $10 a piece, without insurance, because of my income.
It's in a bad part of town. But this is the place I drove to after my nervous breakdown, and I'm lucky I did. The waiting list is generally 3 months before you can even get put on the list. Apparently, I was such a dire case, that my therapist is personally pulling extra hours to make sure I get the treatment necessary.
She told me was honestly going to commit me on Friday, but she was nervous about how it would affect me, and knew the process right now would be too long, and it would make me worse than I was. She admitted she was afraid I wouldn't come back, or that I would have really hurt myself over the weekend, and that she had doubts the whole time about whether she had made the right decisions to not hospitalize me right there. I thanked her. Promised I'd be back.

I told her about thinspo. What ProAna is. Told her that without my girls, I wouldn't have made it this far--that it sounds terrible, but people outside don't tend to understand that it's an unending flow of support, nonjudgmental, welcoming--the balance to the cruel self loathing and the evil voice that flits through us, telling us how terrible we are. I told her how people will always give you the information you want, and the exchange is so open and free, that it lets you actually make informed decisions and go about your self destruction in the least destructive way possible. And that it's okay to say "I want to get better", because they encourage and support even that. That I'd never met a person actually wanting other people to become like this. That it is just...the only place I feel completely accepted.

She typically deals with drug addictions.
I'm her second case of an eating disorder in her whole career, and she's been doing this for a while. She made it seem like her other was an ex addict, or else an addict. I told her I don't mind. She's my first eating disorder therapist, so we can be newbies at this together.
It's just nice to have someone I can tell everything to.
She doesn't give terrible feedback. She's honest. She smiles a lot. She's warm.
She seems like she's really concerned.
I'm not going to look too deep into the motives.
I just know I left today feeling...not manically happy, like i get, where my impulses are shattered. But not the despondent feeling I've had for the past month. I left feeling lighter. Relieved. I left feeling like I had hope again.
No, I may not be ready to get better and get over my eating disorder. Maybe that will come in time.
Maybe I'll learn how to handle it better.
But I'm ready to stop hearing these terrible things in my head. I'm ready to stop dying.

Speaking of death.
I saw it today.
There was an accident. I saw them as they were pulling the man from his Sears van, his work shirt ripped open, his chest heaving up and down with that liquid movement that comes only when the ribs have been cracked and broken from vigorous CPR, rising and falling with each breath forced in his mouth by the manual ventilation bag. I saw it right after it happened, with only EMS and Fire there, and two cops. They were dragging the bodies out from a wreck that didn't appear too terrible at first glance, but the man was clearly not there. There was nothing in his body.

I hope he made it.

But when I went by on my way home, it was clear he hadn't. Or else, someone else had died there. But perhaps, hopefully, I'm wrong, and this was just that strange of an accident...but they had the whole intersection blocked off by police, with crime scene and traffic investigation units there. They had the white sheets out. The evidence van. Nearly two and a half hours later. And still, they were picking up.
It should have bothered me. And it did. I felt bad for him.
Death is lonely. Quick. Sudden. Terrifying. You could be holding the hand of your one true love, and still be completely and utterly by yourself. They can't follow you into that gaping vacuum of space--that endless, infinite beyond--and it would be lonely. How frightening to face it by yourself, and maybe that's what all of life is there to prepare us for--that moment when we face the greatest obstacle of them all and step out of our selves, and into the unknown world that awaits.
But death is over in an instant. All it takes is that last spark of the brain, and while the process is quick, the ending is often times relegated to mere seconds of fading electrical activity and then nothing. The deceased don't have to stare at their bodies after, nor deal with the sudden loss that comes when you realize you can never speak to a person again. You can never hear their voice say "I love you" or their arms hug you, or never have that conversation you thought you'd always have time to. The dead do not hold regrets over never forgiving, or forgetting to give a hug on the way out. They don't have to face the photographs and the clearing of personal affairs, and the horrible process of burying the body, and living, wondering what would have been different if things had just changed the tiniest bit.

It's the living that face that task.
I feel not bad for the dead, but those they leave on this world. Those who have to come to grips with all that's gone and all that will never be.
Those are the ones who suffer the most.

This shockingly morbid.
My goodness.
Sorry you guys.
I had some interesting things to write, but I forgot them all now.
Good luck, stay strong. I had a binge last night, but I'm starving it off today. Only got up to 123.8, which is VERY GOOD for a binge night. So hopefully, I can knock it back down to 123 or something. Only need to be 122 to meet my goal for this month.

Have fun, dollies.
Starve on.
Or don't.
Recover. Eat on!
If that's your choice and your goal.
Either way, I love you all, and support you no matter your goals. Just like you all have supported me.

♥ ♥ ♥ PrettyWreck ♥ ♥ ♥


  1. i'm proud of you for telling your therapist. i know it has to be hard... i know i couldn't do it... maybe i could. i don't know. but i know it takes a lot out of you to be able to do that... and i'm sure you're going to be much happier in the long run. do whatcha gotta do, guhh. =]


  2. I'm glad you are taking the cues and seeking help - it's wonderful and I'm even happier that your therapist sounds like a caring person, willing to go the extra mile for you.

    I'm with you, I don't cry for the dead, I cry for the people who needed them, the ones who will miss them everyday - it's the living that I feel for, they've got the harder road ahead.

  3. I had to read this post twice. It was really well written. I am so proud of you that you manage to tell your therapist everything, it must have been hard to let all the barriers down at first. Seems like you've come to a really good therapist, that is great!

    As for the accident, it is strange the feeling you get when you see people who are on the verge of death in real life. It is like you can feel if the people just died or if they are still hanging in there ...

  4. Your therapist sounds lovely. I wish I had someone like that... :/


  5. I really wish I could lay down all the fucked up shit in my head to someone who would be completely objective, but I'm just so fucking scared! I too have had abuse in my childhood, terrible abuse that I'm sure lead to my fucked up relationship with food/my weight. My husband knows a small fraction, but he can never know everything...

    I'm so glad you found that person. I bet the feeling of freedom is so refreshing. I envy you so.

  6. You are so brave. I once had a therapist who I loved and being honest was the best thing I ever did for myself. I hope you get everything you need from this, because you deserve it.

  7. God, I love your posts. They just put everything into words so well. Congrats on the therapist and I hope it works out for you. Also, thank you for that ending - it is so reassuring to know that you won't be judged for wanting to recover.

  8. Last week I came to the conclusion that life is really all about dying. It is watching those you love be torn from you, and having to endure living without them.

    I would try to recover, continue trying to get help, but Ink was the only reason I had to do so. I guess now it's time to muddle along and see what happens next.

    Dear god your new therapist sounds like so many kinds of amazing. She really is an angel. I wish the both of you all the best possible luck and love and hugs. Lots and lots of hugs!


  9. Your therapist sounds good :) I hope you get what you need from her! Good luck!!

  10. that takes guts


  11. <3 i really honestly love your posts. so interesting, you write so well.

    i'm glad you went so well with the therapist.

  12. I cried reading this, your writing was so beautiful. I read the first half of your post think how I should comment and say how great u found someone that you tell everything to that you feel comfortable with, but then the second part... so powerful, so touching, so true

  13. You confessed... everything. Even thinspo and pro-ana. That was a little unexpected. But it's a step in the right direction and if you're willing to admit that, it seems like you're almost ready to want to recover.
    Best of Luck.

  14. Ugh, I fully agree. Lol, it isn't racist to tell someone their hair goop smells like an unwashed asscrack and needs washing/shaving off. You boss is a douche!

    I'm definitely going to get another cat at some point. I will go to the SPCA and take home some poor homeless moggy and smother it with love. My bother's cat had kittens a few weeks ago. There is a little black one that still has no home, but if I took it home I wouldn't see that kitten, I'd see Ink every time I looked at it.

    Your comment was lovely, thank you very much <3 It made me think. How are you going hun? I hope your week is going well. If you still want to talk, flick an email to I love having mates to harass via email! :p

    Take care, ok? xoxoooo!!!