I wish this wasn’t the case. But it is.
I woke up alive. I was glad to get adequate sleep. About 7-1/2 hours. Nice. I slept rather late. I had dreams. I don’t remember them now. I felt scattered in my thoughts this morning but eventually I got focused and into a very angry space. Then, I decided I’d better get a move on and get on with my day, take a shower, get dressed, and so on, get Puzzle out, as it was really well into the morning. I found that my anger was morphing into despair. Then I interrupted myself and came here. I decided I’d write about what I was feeling. Here I am.
I’ve been posting on Facebook lately. This is highly unusual for me. Just using it as an outlet, expressing myself, reaching out, as my birthday approaches…what the heck. Mostly my Goddard classmates are on there. Excellent folks. Many are on Pacific Time. Things happen late at night.
I awoke this morning wearing my pajamas. Well, this makes sense because I went to sleep wearing my pajamas, and I didn’t take them off in the middle of the night. I have these bright red fleece footie pajamas. I took them off when I went to pee when I got up. I wished and wished and crossed my fingers that the edema that I’ve had for days and days now had disappeared in the night. This sometimes happens. Well, fat chance. It didn’t. I have the ankles of an elephant. Still. My skin is so stretched that I have these terrible sores and I had to put lotion on last night to keep them from getting worse. If you have never had anorexia you don’t know how terrible this makes me feel inside, to have legs, or at least calves, as if I am about fifty pounds heavier than I really am. Well, forty. Sucks just as much. My body is betraying me. When all this edema stuff suddenly started at the end of last April, I really thought that my body was ruined and that my life was over. I died, really, a long, long time ago. I am not the person I was. The world has not been the same. It is a cruel, cruel place.
I must slink around at this point. I must avoid hospitalization at all costs. I am terrified. This is an unrealistic fear but it is a fear nonetheless simply because it is always a possibility due to the fact that I am a mental patient and people have their prejudices. I see my therapist on Monday. I wrote January 8 on my calendar, the day of my 54th birthday, and I wrote, “Happy Birthday.” The next page was blank for a very long time. I guess it was yesterday that I noticed its blankness. I wrote in the date, January 9th, and I wrote in that I see my T that day.
On Sunday, I will be 54, and I will still be 54 on Monday. So when I go to see my T, I will be 54.
I don’t know what I was getting at. Well, I do know. Hospital means nut ward. Nut ward means state hospital. State hospital means absolutely no eating disorders treatment whatsoever and staff who have absolutely no knowledge of eating disorders. Actually, the staff in state hospitals probably are completely uneducated and possibly don’t even have high school diplomas and most likely barely speak English. State hospital means sitting around all day every day in a wobbly chair surrounded by other patients who can barely put a sentence together. Maybe I’ll take up smoking again. It might be the only activity they offer.
My life. What’s left of it.
Avoid hospital. Be free.
Things left: Puzzle. Church. I’ve got a few friends, God bless them, but most have left me. Not that I blame them. I blame some of them, though.
I am really, really blessed to have my church. I am blessed to have what I have left.
I am blessed to have my writing. I have been writing a lot lately. It is necessary.
Now, I will take a shower. It is late.
I hope the shower is hot. I have my showers, too. I do have a lot left. A fair amount. Today. All day today. All day Sunday, January 8th, my birthday, when I will show up at church a bit before 10:30, in time for the service.
The weather is supposed to be nice here in Boston. Quite fitting, I think.