The next day…morning

I slept last night, waking about once and hour and then going back to sleep.  Sometimes, I awoke in a terrific sweat.  I opened the windows and turned the heat down as far as it would go.  It was the best I could do.  I cannot sleep through the night.
I’m headed off to church in a bit. I”m not sure if the building will be open, but I’ll give it a try.

Maybe I’ll take a short nap first.  I’m just so tired, as usual.

I'm Scared Part Three

I spent some time praying tonight.  I wanted to know where the heck God was.  Where are You?

Then I found myself begging God to take my life from me.  I pleaded with God over and over.  Just take it away.  I have had enough.

I feel better now.  It’s kind of a relief to have done this.

I’m going to go to bed now, or in a little while I should say, and then in the morning, maybe go to church.  I think they said the building opens at 9.

I'm scared: Part 2

I don’t know what to say.  Last night I woke up, having gone to bed I don’t know when.  What I felt, upon waking, was that there was something in my head that was ripping me apart and torturing me and that I would not survive another minute of this torture, and yet another minute would happen, and then another minute of torture and wave after wave of beatings inside my mind.  I thought maybe I should call 9-1-1 and get myself to the hospital as soon as possible.  But then it ended.  Now, I feel like I’m always on the verge of this torture, like I could slip into it at any time.  But I don’t.

I restricted for about a week and I forget how much weight I lost, but it was a lot.  After I got depressed I started bingeing again.  My sleep is still bad after all this time.  Over the weekend, Dr. P quickly switched me from Desipramine to Imipramine after I had a night of no sleep whatsoever and wasn’t tired the next day.  I’m still not sleeping.  I think it’s been six weeks now of very little sleep.

My flight to London is Monday night.  I plan to get on that plane.  It’s not going to make things any worse.  I’ll just be on another continent in another city with another public transit system.  The seminar might really help me.  I’ll try to blog a little while I’m there.   Then, I’ll come home.

My 54th birthday is in early January.  Of course, I’ll be alone that day.  I have spent just about every birthday alone for many years, including my 40th and 50th.  I cry on most of my birthdays.  I spent my last birthday in McLean Hospital.  The staff forgot to have a party for me.  I wouldn’t have eaten the cake, anyway.  That was their excuse.

I expect to turn 54 somehow.  But I really hope I don’t live much longer than that.  I don’t know why I say this.  Not exactly.  But I feel that I’ve tolerated about as much as I can of what’s been dealt to me.  I need to sort this out.

This is just my thinking right now.

 

I'm Scared: Part One

This will just be a quickie and then I’m hopping into the shower.  I need to be doing other things but I want so much to tell you what’s going on…before more happens and then there will be even more to describe to you.  Things are progressing very rapidly and not in the direction I’d like them to be going.

My last entry, apparently, was written in the wee hours of Friday morning.  I ended up going back to bed, if I recall correctly, trying to get more sleep.  I felt desperate, like I had a knife in my hand and was about to stab someone, but there was no one to stab, and no one I hated more than myself.  I went into Harvard Square later on and got some British money and that’s about all I did that day.  I was disgustingly polite to everyone, meanwhile wishing I had died of starvation in July like I was supposed to, and that I hadn’t been brought back to life.

Maybe you can see it in me.  I can’t stop myself from gritting my teeth, clenching my fists, and saying things to put myself down.

I just realized, while writing this, how incredibly tired I am right now.  I have had a sore throat for days that won’t quit.  I think it’s an allergy.  Allergic to life, I guess.  If I had the guts to throw myself into a wall, I would, just to express my intense hatred toward myself.  Sometimes I’m wild, wild, wild, and I don’t know what will happen to me because my self-hatred is so powerful.  I could do anything.  I feel kind of violent inside.

I will take a shower now and see if that helps.  Then I’m going to walk Puzzle and listen to loud, loud music.  I will try to pray.

It’s getting late.  I need to go.  More later.

 

Depressed, again

DEPRESSED, AGAIN 11/4/2011 wee hours…I can’t sleep, again, as usual.

I just realized, yesterday, that my depression has returned.  This royally sucks.  I have been irritable since…when was it?  Maybe the irritability started Tuesday and maybe that’s when the depression started as well.  I have hated myself…I have hated myself all along ever since I gained weight, and this is a given considering I have anorexia.  This self-hatred is simply something I have to deal with.  More about this weight gain and the whole weight issue later, though.

I was irritated and annoyed about little things.  People not calling me back.  Having to wait all day for Dr. P to call me back.  Yeah, she finally called.  At like fucking 6:30pm.  I called her at 8:30am.  Don’t doctors know that you sit by the phone all day waiting for them to call you?  I’ve dealt with this problem ever since I started seeing Dr. C in 1984, and it was even worse then, because there was no such thing as call waiting.  If he called and the line was busy, he wouldn’t bother trying again.  So I had to leave the phone free all day long.  But I discussed this with my T yesterday, and have laid the issue to rest (obviously, I haven’t).  Maybe some of you can relate.

But worse…insomnia.  Sleep getting worse and worse and worrying that this will be a problem on my trip to London.  Wednesday was a complete waste of a day due to Tuesday night’s insomnia.  I was so, so tired, just useless, and all I could do was just lay down and take a nap, wake up again and feel crappy, stay up a while, feel crappy, and go to bed again.  Repeat.  I put the phone by my bed in case Dr. P called or in case anyone called, just so I wouldn’t have wicked far to go to answer it.   That was my day.  I didn’t enjoy my walk with Puzzle, which is very rare.  I felt like I was falling into a bad, bad hole.

Dr. P recommended that I raise the Desipramine to 75.  I did. I slept fine.

Then yesterday.  Again, annoyed at the world, and this time, it was even worse than Wednesday, even though I’d slept well.  I had to force myself to smile.  Why?  Because of those asshole strangers who walk up to me and say, “Smile!” when I’m not smiling.  Generally, I’m not smiling because I’m lost in thought.  This remark by strangers makes me feel a whole lot worse than I’m already feeling.  My face was real tight and it didn’t want to smile.  It was an incredible effort.  Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t snap at someone, or lose my temper.  I stayed polite and patient with the strangers around me despite the awful feelings I felt inside.

I managed to get to therapy okay.  The session went fairly well.  We talked about–what else?–my eating.  I skirted around the issue.  She knew right away.  She’s not dumb.  I’ve been restricting.  I didn’t tell her outright.  I just couldn’t.  I kind of wanted to but couldn’t get myself to say what I really felt inside.  I did say how much I hate my body.  We talked about my self-hatred a lot, and she said self-hatred is useless.  What did she say?  “Radical acceptance.”  I told her, bullshit.  I wanted to tell her more than this, though.  I’m supposed to just “accept” this weight as my fate?  No way, I wanted to say.  That is why I am restricting.

What I don’t know is if she’s put two and two together and realizes that the number on the scale is going down, down, down.  Something tells me that she doesn’t know.  I still can’t stand how fat I look.

I slept horribly last night and need to phone Dr. P and report this to her.  Waking up about every ten to fifteen minutes since around midnight.  I kept trying and trying, and finally gave up at 3am, disgusted.  I went to bed around 9:30 last night.

Somehow, something has to give.

News about me

I am suffering from the chronic condition of making phone calls…and time after time, the person I call does not return my call.

I waited patiently all day yesterday for Dr. P’s call.  This was especially annoying since I had to speak with her about my insomnia.  I couldn’t just let her leave a message.  So I had to be there and answer the phone.  This meant no shower, waiting on Puzzle’s walk, and I couldn’t leave the apartment for longer than a minute to get the mail.  If Dr. P left a message while I was gone, I’d have to wait till the next day to get a return call.  It’s called “phone tag,” and I couldn’t wait that long.

As it turned out, Dr. P didn’t call till after 6pm.  Don’t doctors realize we sit by the phone all day putting our lives on hold, waiting for them to call?

I have experienced this while waiting for UPS pickups.  I have to sit around all day.  I can’t even go to the bathroom for fear that they’ll ring the buzzer and I won’t get to it in time, they’ll give up, and then leave, thinking I’m not home.  Yes, it has happened.

But…she did return my call.  Most haven’t.  I told you about all the residential centers I called.  It doesn’t matter now.  But about 90% of them never bothered.

I have called people that run eating disorders groups.  Four of them.  Only one returned my call.  And of course, it’s a no-go.  She doesn’t take Medicaid/Medicare.  No one does.  Her group is ridiculously expensive, with no sliding scale.  I can’t see it.

All the nutritionists I have called eventually called back.  I had hoped for a sliding scale.  Their sliding scales aren’t very sliding, unfortunately. One told me she could charge $60 a session instead of her usual $120, but that we’d have to meet once a week for eating disorders.  My T expects me to get this money from my mother.  Her argument is that my mom paid for the London trip, so why not nutrition?  My argument is that it is illegal for a person on public assistance to accept money to pay for living expenses, medical care, etc, because this constitutes “support”; furthermore, it would be an ongoing expense and very quickly accumulate to a far greater amount.  My T says I should lie to my mother about what the money is for.  We got into a big fight over this.  Well, Dr. P came through with a lead on nutritionists who would not charge me to see them.

Of course, I have mixed feelings about seeing a nutritionist.  The last one I saw did not work out.  I told her wicked bad lies.  I will probably be very uncooperative with the next one as well.

I have already lost thirteen pounds since my last binge.  I am mighty relieved about this.  I can’t stand my body the way it is.  Every day that I don’t lose weight, I get pissed at myself.  Hopefully, it’ll take a month before I can get my first appointment.  The last thing I want to do is to get on yet another fucking “meal plan.”

I know I am a bundle of contradictions.  I say one thing, then I say another.  I want to get better.  And I don’t.  But the truth is that like every other person out there is who has anorexia nervosa, I am on a desperate mission to lose weight.

The Desipramine solved my insomnia, and then the insomnia returned and I am miserable with it

I started Desipramine a week ago and it immediately helped me with bad sleep.  For a month I’d been sleeping two to three hours a night and had been severely depressed.  Very quickly, the Desipramine helped me with depression as well, and stopped my eating binges rather suddenly and dramatically.

I am still not depressed and still not bingeing.  But the insomnia has returned beginning Sunday night.  It has gradually worsened since then.  I am approaching square one.

This morning, I was in a wicked pissy mood, not depressed, just angry at the world and frustrated with my situation.  And exhausted as soon as I awoke.  I walked Puzzle and didn’t feel any better.  I’ve put in a call to Dr. P, in hopes that this can be solved–soon.  My trip is in two weeks.  My appointment with her isn’t for another week.  Maybe she’ll have a cancellation and I’ll be able to see her today.  Or maybe we can discuss this over the phone.

I ended up taking a PRN Vistaril because I was so upset and agitated over this.  I couldn’t get myself to calm down by the usual means.  I walked Puzzle and even that didn’t change my lousy attitude.  This is only the second time since leaving the hospital that I’ve taken Vistaril for anxiety/agitation.

I’m going to take a nap now.  Just can’t stand the fatigue.  I’m falling asleep sitting up.  Wow, am I ever familiar with this.