Renewal of Honesty Day at My T’s Office

I have gotten into this terrible cycle of lies with my therapist.  But as of I think Tuesday, I decided to tell her the truth about my restricting (since July) and many other things that I’ve been keeping from her.  I don’t know how she’s going to react to this, except that she may decide that I haven’t been “following protocol” and that I need to go into the hospital.  Or she might decide that I haven’t been “engaging in treatment” and she might decide not to be my therapist anymore.  But how can she argue with my being honest, rather than dishonest, as I have been?  She’s not going to tell me I’m being a bad patient by telling the truth–the opposite, in fact.

I don’t know how to tell her all this shit.  I don’t even dare admit all of it to you guys.  There is so much ED crap in me that I don’t know where to begin with my T.  I don’t know if I should write it down, and read it to her, or write notes, or give her a letter, or just tell her.

I don’t even know if I’ll follow through with this.  Maybe I’ll back out.  Maybe I won’t tell her everything.  One of the things is that I “waerloaded” before my last weigh-in; that is, I drank water so that it would look like I weighed more.  This is really a cinch to do.  I don’t know why I didn’t do it before.

Honesty day at my T’s office.  Scary.

Medicine to the rescue

Dr. P rarely does anything over the phone, but on Friday, July 30, she instructed me to go up on my Lamictal slightly, saying it might do something, though she had more faith in antipsychotics to control my moods.   Presto!  It worked.  With the exception of one day, my mood has been stable ever since.  Although I have felt a low-grade depression, I am no longer experiencing the rapid-cycling ups and downs that I was having before, that made me feel like I was being beaten around by a tornado.

As of two days ago, I am experiencing some relief from suicidal thoughts.  These thoughts are no longer foremost in my mind; in fact, they have gradually been fading since Tuesday.  I can recall the exact moment when I began to feel the thoughts leaving me.  I was doing my laundry, lifting it from the floor.  It happened right then.

I have a little more motivation, as of this morning.  I cleaned the apartment a little, and worked on proofreading This Hunger Is Secret. Of course, I’ve been working on it all along, but today I worked on it with a new enthusiasm that I haven’t felt since I started eating again in the beginning of June.  This project, which should have taken a week, has dragged out to months because of my ED.  Sad.  Maybe now, I will get it done sooner.

Yesterday I saw Dr. P again, and she raised my Lamictal further, to 500 a day.  This should further help.  I should know in a few days.  Maybe, soon, my mood will be back to normal.

Of course, I might be manic.  But let’s not spoil things just yet.  Let me have a little fun, and bask in this for a while.

Starvation days are here again

I don’t know what happened.  Something in me snapped.  I started starving myself again.  And with it came some scary stuff.

I eat very little sometimes.  Sometimes, I eat nothing at all.  I keep Gatorade handy in case I feel dizzy and think I might pass out.  I haven’t passed out, but I do get dizzy sometimes, and I drink a few gulps of Gatorade and feel okay again.

Once, I felt faint in the night.  I knew I had to get something into my system right away.   Careful not to fall, I walked into the kitchen, got some milk out of the fridge, drank about 12 ounces, and felt better in about a minute.  In the morning, I felt okay, and told no one.

Last weekend, I kept the phone right by my side, in case I had to call an ambulance.  I made note of where the pull-strings were in my apartment.  These I could use to summon help if I needed it, should I fall and be unable to get up.  I kept Gatorade handy, and carried it into the bathroom with me in case I couldn’t get up from the toilet.  I printed out my list of emergency numbers, insurance numbers, medications, etc, and put it in a knapsack, along with some reading materials and knitting, in case I ended up in an emergency room, where there would certainly be a lot of waiting around.

My friends were begging me to go to the ER.  Yet I feared the ER more than anything.  Because the ER meant the possibility of ending up inpatient again, either in a psych ward or ED hospital.   So I ACTUALLY RISKED MY HEALTH to avoid the hospital.  That’s how badly I do not want to go.  Sad.

Instead, I toughed it out on my own.  Relied on my resources.  Even called a suicide hotline twice during the weekend.  Their help was amazing.  My friends were amazing.   And if it weren’t for Puzzle, I wouldn’t be around to be writing this.  Puzzle needs her mama.

One night last week, I had a dream that I was facing two gates: the Gate of Life and the Gate of Death.  That was the dream.  There was no resolution.  I was just standing there before the two gates.  They looked exactly the same.

For some reason, my therapist saw something positive in that dream.  I see nothing positive in it.  I feel suicidal 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  I even feel suicidal in my sleep.  This is fucking crazy.  I will not act on these overwhelming thoughts because Puzzle needs her mama.  But having these desires, and resisting them, is zapping my energy.

It feels like the ED is going to kill me, so what’s the use?  I have no motivation whatsoever.

All I have to do is to eat.  Simple, right?

I get weighed on Monday, see my therapist Tuesday, my psychiatrist Wednesday, get a break Thursday, and then see my therapist Friday.  Meanwhile, today is Saturday.  I have to survive tonight, and overnight, and tomorrow, and tomorrow night.  Last week, for some weird reason, my weight was not affected by my recent starvation.  I was lucky.  This Monday, I might be lucky again.  I might not be.   Bodies are weird.  Life is pretty weird, too, and ED’s make no sense whatsoever.