I have really had a positive day so far considering it’s the day before I’m to show up at the hospital. I didn’t make a list of everything I needed to do, but so far, I’ve done a fair amount, and I’ve gotten the daytime stuff done. My brain is working better than it was earlier, surprisingly.
Puzzle had a nice walk this morning. It was warm out. She was especially energetic and ill-mannered, which was fine with me. I listened to Phil Carrack on our walk. Or is it Paul Carrack? I forget. I guess it’s the last time I’ll be listening to headphones for a while. They don’t allow them at the hospital.
Last night I e-mailed the crisis team and told them they should educate their people about eating disorders. I wasn’t sure the e-mail got through. It did! I got a call this morning from one of the higher-ups. We spoke for a while and I was satisfied with our conversation. We decided that we should work out some sort of plan for me. Maybe work it out at the hospital with the social worker. I thought this was a good idea. I told this person that the current company that runs the crisis team is much, much better than the previous company. So it was a productive conversation.
Pooch Palace called this morning, returning my call from last night, and I made arrangements for Puzzle. She is now safely at Pooch Palace. We arrived on time for her appointment, bringing her food and bowl. Puzzle was very well-behaved in the cab. The cab driver was impressed with her, and said he liked her name. He said he’d never forget that Puzzle lives in my building, because he likes her name so much. He asked if she was going to get groomed while she was visiting Pooch Palace, and I said yes, she is certainly due for a groom! The timing seems to be just right.
I ran a few errands as well. Given that this hospital doesn’t allow spiral notebooks, I had to replace a small notebook I use with one that wasn’t spiral. This was easy enough. I purchased some erasers and sample size shampoo and toothpaste. Suddenly, I felt the need to leave the place. I needed a regular-sized toothpaste as well, but got flustered trying to find the right kind. So many different types…different brands…I paid for my stuff I already had and bolted out of there without the toothpaste. I can get it some other time.
A dear friend called. I suddenly realized that this friend was overly enmneshed in my medical affairs. I decided that this obsession was her problem and that she needs to work it out on her own. I need to focus on my own needs right now.
I decided to “fire” my DMH person and the entire program I’m in. That is, I do not want to see her again. She does not do her job and never has. I am tired of wasting my Saturday mornings. I will discuss this with the people at the hospital.
I did a little reading on aftercare, that is, what I would be doing after I get out of the hospital, that is, what they would expect me to do. I have very few options that would be covered by my insurance. Correction: one option. A “partial” in a nearby location accessible by local bus, kind of a pain in the ass commute, though. I wasn’t fond of the program. I went for one day. If you don’t show up, they call your emergency contact, or the police, I am not kidding you! This is fucked.
I do not like such programs, as a general rule. You sit around all day in groups with people you can’t relate to talking about your problems and feeling sorry for yourself. I have always found that this makes me feel worse, especially if the people surrounding me feel more sorry for themselves than I do of myself, and whine even more loudly than I do. It gets especially boring, as it did the day I was at that program, when one person goes on and on about something, and you have no clue what they’re talking about, and everyone else is saying, “Oh, I feel for you, how simply awful that must be!” and then there’s this metaphorical group hug, meaning that touching, of course, in any form, is not allowed, so there’s this pretend group hug, and everyone gives support to each other.
In the words of an ex-friend, whom I deeply admired, SUPPORT IS OVERRATED. Or at least that kind is.
Anyway, I would rather talk to a complete stranger at a bus stop than sit in a group for forty-five minutes any day. At least, after I talk to the stranger, the bus comes, I get on the bus, sit for only twenty minutes, and get someplace.
On the other hand, the hospital may want me to shell out bucks for “residential” treatment. In other words, they would expect my family to pay for this treatment but my mom won’t and she’s sick besides, and my brothers are putting their kids through college and don’t have a dime to spare. You have to be like in the One Percent to pay for those residential programs, that plus pay for Puzzle’s boarding.
What is this “residential” treatment? It means living in a house with other people and having meals together, I guess you prepare the meals and shop for these meals and go on “group outings.” It sounds like a nightmare to me, especially considering that a lot of these “residents” would be a fraction of my age, just giggly, gossiping girls. Ugh. I suppose the TV would be blasting night and day, or the stereo, some teen rock group or something. Painting their toes, make-up and jewelry, screaming all the time….No thanks.
Really, there have got to be better answers than what they have offered me so far.
I do not want to go in there and get fattened up and feel like shit. I remember the first couple of times I was there when that happened. I went in and they made me eat, eat, eat. It was like ridiculous. All I did was fart 24/7 and feel miserable physically and emotionally. All I could think of was how badly I wanted to lose the weight as soon as I got out of there. This was anti-recovery. And I’m not kidding about the farting. So you can imagine how miserable I was. After I lost the weight, I was worse off than before.
The other time I was there, in September, it wasn’t like that. The focus was different. I refused to follow their meal plan and fart all day. They took an addictions approach because I was on the psych side and a lot of the patients, who were closer to my age, were alcoholics. The staff were gentle with me and let me take my time. I actually wanted to get better, for maybe the first time. I actually stood a chance. I went through an incredible transformation. When something like this happens to you, you don’t forget it.