Last night I finally, finally, finally got a decent night’s sleep. Wow! I have no explanation.
Frank reminded me last night, firmly, that I’ve got to stop this risk-taking nonsense. What I’m doing is dangerous at any age and it’s doubly dangerous at my age.
I wanted to tell him that I’m not going to make it to 55 anyway.
Well, does that matter? Why am I making myself completely miserable? Isn’t it stupid to torture myself like this?
Frank is now 60 and is blessed to have come to his senses. He says I will, too. When he said this to me only a couple of days ago, I said to myself, believing every word in my head, that what he was telling me was untrue. Not that he was lying. He was mistaken, I told myself. I can’t do it. I am not strong.
I saw my T yesterday. I told her I didn’t want her to have hope. Again, she told me she had hope, and I was pissed. She sees that I have a tiny sense of purpose in my life and will to live. I don’t want to have a will to live. I want to eradicate this will. She totally gets this. She is so smart.
She also thinks that I’m much, much better off than I was last summer, when there was so little of me that wanted life. I guess she notices a much bigger part of me now that wants life. Church. My trip. These are biggies. The fact that I’m incredibly motivated to follow through with both is amazing.
All three Sundays that I’ve gone to church….Well, let me explain. My life has been in shambles. Night and day, day/night sleep/not sleep sun-up/sun-down binge/starve nothing in-between all the same and it’s an ordeal and very internal and tearing me apart and ripping my insides raw. I’m not depressed but it’s torture to go on like this. My body can’t take it and I can’t imagine what all this is doing to my organs. I don’t know how much my heart can take the food/no food thing and my kidneys with the electrolyte/water, skipping meds/anticonvulsant spiking. This comes to a head Sunday morning after torture all night long Saturday night and little or no sleep. BUT….What happens amazes me. 9:50 and I’m out the door. Showered. Dressed. I go straight to church. I do this and right before, I am asking myself if I can really leave the house, but I do it. I do it and I am blessed with the most awesome experience you can imagine.
(Oh damn I have just started to weep as I write these words.)
Well, I was considering stopping writing this entry and taking a break due to overwhelming outpouring of emotion, maybe letting it settle and doing some cleaning around here, but I think I’ll say something that just popped into my head:
Why spend my last days…however long I have…in misery? What’s the point in torturing myself? I should be–really–treating myself well. Super well. Keeping my body clean and making sure my apartment doesn’t get back into the filthy, disorganized state it’s gotten into at the moment. And not letting myself get into the filthy, disorganized state I got myself into, either.
Okay, sudden extreme fatigue. Ten-minute nap and I’ll be back.
Back. Eight minutes of heavy, heavy sleep. Dreams. I don’t remember them. We’re leaving for Puzzle’s day at Pooch Palace soon. We’ve got a coupon for free day care along with her groom.
So. For today. Clean the house. I’ve showered and all the clothes I’m wearing are clean. Be patient with my body. My stomach is doing okay. Sticking out real bad, full of the food I stuffed myself with over the past three days, and I’m not going to let that embarrass me. I’m just wearing clothes that hide it. But no edema in my ankles or legs. That chapter of my life…over? Just a little puffiness in my face. Kind of upsetting but it’ll go away in time and I’ll be patient. The quantity of stuff that accumulated in my stomach is slowly, slowly emptying into my intestines. There’s a lot still in my stomach but I’m surprised at how much has already emptied. I guess it was the decent night’s sleep I had. My intestines are another story altogether. How they can hold this much is beyond me. The temptation to take something to speed along the process is overwhelming. I won’t do it. I’ll be patient. It’ll take a long, long time for my body to fully recover from this. The money I spent on binge food….My budget, sadly, will never recover. I spent money I don’t even have.
Except for the money part, I grossed you out I’ll bet.
I’m going off to Pooch Palace. Oh, one more thing before I leave:
I’m calling Dr. P today. I’m telling her…I’m telling her that I want to clear up what went on when I went to see her last week. Last week when I walked into her office I wanted to tell her that I had no will to live. And I want to tell her that as of today I’m going to clean up the mess and move on. I’ll be honest with her. I’ll tell her what my gut feeling is, that I won’t make it to 55, which is simply no big deal…it simply isn’t…and whether it’s true or not…who knows…I might not be right, after all…I probably am and it really makes no difference…no impact on the Here And Now…I’m doing what I’m doing…I have exciting plans that my T feels will give me a sense of purpose and be a real boost for me….
It’s Tuesday. Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday. Today and then four more days and then the next day I get to go to church again.
How do you like that!
I have anorexia nervosa. I go to therapy with the best therapist on the planet. I deal with it. Well, dang.