The eating disorders hospital in North Dakota refused to treat me….

They just called, saying, “We recommend that you keep doing what you are doing in your local area….”

I said, “You realize I have no therapist here.  I cannot find a therapist.  My insurance does not cover nutrition counseling.   I have no friends and my family has pretty much abandoned me.”

I should have added, “If I keep doing what I am doing here in the local area, it will kill me,” but I didn’t.

What I really wanted to say, but didn’t, was, “I’ll make sure you are sent an invitation to my funeral.”

What she said was, “We don’t really know what we can do for you.”

Well, fine.  I ended the conversation rather quickly.

I don’t really want a hospital, anyway.

Here’s the dilemma.  I don’t want to go to a weight-gaining factory like Walden Behavioral Care’s Alcott Unit.  I was talking to someone about this today.  Alcott’s interest is in stuffing the patients with anything they can, junk food snacks included, to fatten them up according to insurance companies’ demands.  If patients aren’t gaining fast enough, never mind the reasons, they stick a tube in the patient.  It’s all about numbers.  That’s why, when the doctor comes to see you, they’ve looked at one thing in your chart: the weight that you were that morning, and nothing else, not your feelings, nothing.  Because they have to answer to insurance.  Do I want a hospital like this one?  NO!

I was talking today with someone about hospitalization. She said just to keep me alive, because I am so suicidal.  She meant in a psych unit.  I told her the places around here are so bad that they will make me worse.  They do not provide “treatment.”  They only lock you up. The staff are bossy and uncaring and disrespectful.  It is especially bad since I am on care/caid so I am treated like a “Welfare case,” looked down upon even though I have more college education than just about any of the staff (doctors included).  So I said I would rather stay home and I am better off not being separated from Puzzle.  That’s the bottom line.

Another bottom line is that one reason I feel suicidal, probably the main one, is that I have gained so much weight.  Now if I can lose this weight, I won’t feel suicidal anymore.  If I can stop binge eating, I will feel damned good.

It really sucks that a lot of times, I tell people stuff and they don’t take me seriously or they don’t believe me.  Like when I told my shrink that I gained 28-1/2 pounds in four days.  She shrugged it off.  Well, the person I spoke with today (never mind who it was) said my shrink should have taken it seriously and should have believed me and ordered some medical tests at least.  I also told my CBFS worker and she said it was not possible to gain this much weight, however, she knows nothing about eating disorders.  I don’t know why they gave me this worker who does not know about ED.  It’s hard talking to her.  I felt like she thought I was exaggerating or lying.  This pisses me off.

My legs are no longer blue and discolored from skin stretching, but I had to walk a bit today and it was uncomfortable for my feet, because they are like little balloons.  Sometimes, my skin has a snapping feeling to it, and I know it is cracking due to extreme stretching from the weight gain.

Now do you believe me?

All I can think about is losing the weight I gained.  It is on my mind constantly.  If I can do this, I won’t kill myself, and I will feel so much better.  I need to lose an awful lot of weight.  These ED hospitals, if I go to them, they will make me stay at this weight.  I consider right now that I am living in a nightmare because of the weight I gained.

I was so glad the weather was cool today.  I had to be around people today and I mentioned that I was glad about the weather.  They were so clueless.  I was glad about this weather because then I could cover myself with my down coat and no one could see how fat I have become.  It’s not the same coat that I wore last year.  I hate that one so much, too many bad memories.  It’s a different one.

The only pants I wear now are pajama bottoms.  These are a plain brown pair I kinda stole from a hospital.  They are long and very wide on me so they cover my very large ankles so you can’t see the severe edema.  You can’t see that I have fat legs, and my coat covers most of my legs anyway.  It is a down coat and even if the wind blows, you don’t see how fat my thighs are due to the thickness of the coat.  My raincoat is good this way, too, because it does not show my fat thighs, but I wish it were not bright yellow, such a conspicuous obnoxious color.

I’m surprised I’m alive, actually.  I find it all rather amusing.

An excerpt from my journal from my stay at Alcott, Walden Behavioral Care, July 23, 2012

“I just talked to Dr. Woo a bit ago.  I felt that he had no interest in me.  I felt that he knew nothing about me and didn’t want to know anything, either.  He seemed to care [more] about my weight than anything else.  It’s not my weight that’s going to kill me right now.  It’s how I feel.  He asked me if I had any psychiatric issues and I tried to refer to my list.  Already I felt like I was being pushed out the door.  After I said a few sentences he wanted to end the conversation, then as I read my list he wanted to end the conversation partway through several times.  I had to talk real fast cuz he was pushing me out the door.  He was switching from page to page in my chart and I sensed that he was doing “paperwork” with it while I was speaking and he didn’t even hear me.  I left feeling like I’d been through an assembly line.  What are these psychiatrists for?  Deb also only cared about my weight and nothing else.  This person is supposed to be part of my team.”

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