Dante's Inferno

"This way I went, descending from the first
into the second round, that holds less space 
but much more pain--stinging the soul to wailing"

"now here, then there, and up and down, it drives them
with never any hope to comfort them--
hope not of rest but even of suffering less"

"There is no greater pain
than to remember, in our present grief,
past happiness..."

It's just interesting how I can relate Dante walking around the bowels of Hell to my eating disorder. When I'm trying really hard to convince myself I'm not living in Hell right now, that it's completely ok and normal to live like this, but I can relate what I'm going through to Dante's description of Hell.

especially the last two.
'hope not of rest but even of suffering less'
the souls are in purgatory. they're being judged to whether they'll get to go to Heaven, Hell, or stay there. Purgatory is apparently the worst, which is weird to me. I relate it to mediocrity. You didn't do anything good enough to get into Heaven...but you don't suck enough to go to Hell. So no one will remember you for anything. You're left wondering what you could have done, what you could have been.
I'm not going to pretend like when I let myself feel, when I don't numb out, that I'm not hurting. And I'm not really looking to be completely better. I don't need that. I just want it to ease up a little bit. I'm not reaching for the stars here. ...and I'm not worried about it killing me. I'm worried about living like this forever.

and then, 'there is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness...' which is the most true of them all. To live not being able to do just that....to go through every day completely mechanically, and sitting down at the end of the day not really knowing what the fuck i did...it just being a blur...and then thinking of when i WAS happy. whenever the hell that was...maybe in like, elementary school. fuck. it makes me think of the time machine concept. if i could just go back to the time i was ok, the time i was just a liiiiiiitle bit happy...and savor that. and shake myself and tell myself to never let it get to me, to keep being that spunky, self confident, frizzy haired little kid attitude.

i'm doubtful if that made any sense at all. but anyway.
back to dante.

you walk around screaming "screw the world" because that's easier than feeling something

i have officially numbed out.
i don't always get why that's a bad thing.
i know you need to feel,
but god DAMN do feelings screw shit up sometimes.

i don't really care what happens. i don't care if i have to go home.
i don't care if i stay here. i don't care if i do anything about this.

make it stop.

i'm currently trying to think of a way to make all of this stop and go back a week to no one knowing about this that will make my life change.

the good news for my health is that i can't make it stop. i can't 'get out of it'. my mom knows. that's enough to ensure i'll be going somewhere for therapy. fuck my life.

i had another appointment this morning, and i cried. like an idiot. no, i didn't cry yesterday when she told me i should leave school. i didn't cry when she told me i had an appointment tomorrow for the hospital evaluation. i cried when she told me she wouldn't reschedule it to accommodate my work schedule. i told her i can't do 2:30 because i work at 3 and she goes...really? what's more important here?

and i get that. i really DO get that. but. at the same time....i literally started working there 3 weeks ago. and where the conversation ended up, she is already telling me to quit and i haven't even been evaluated yet.

this job was the first thing i've been excited about in a while. granted, most of the excitement came from the hefty discount they give us...but also because that was the plan. i planned to come to lake forest and get a job at j.crew. and for the first time in forever something actually worked out according to a plan i made for MYSELF. (besides anything that has to do with ed shit) and i did that. myself. i'm not a very mature 18 year old, i can tell you that much. my mom still calls and sets up my hair appointments. and as dumb as a part time retail job sounds...it meant a lot that i had that and now i'm losing it. and i really enjoyed it. and also, i don't know how to tell them that although i've worked a grand total of 7 times i have to stop now. because i'm not capable of taking care of myself. and i have to call and tell them i can't work tomorrow because of a 'medical emergency'

but seriously. how hard would it have been to make my appointment earlier in the day? or another day? it's been 3 months, so waiting 2 days isn't going to be as detrimental as everyone is making it out to be.

and if we're looking for irony in the situation, the whole reason i backed out of the iop program here in the first place was because i GOT that job. and people told me that it'd overload me. i've tried that before. it did overload me. and now i'm quitting IT for therapy. awesome.

i hate that i cried in front of her of all people. i never cried in front of lori. and i never cried at ace. and i was comfortable in those places. definitely not comfortable in her office. it's probably one of the most uncomfortable places i've been.

i know i'm being stupid. because the way it's looking i might be leaving school soon...so obviously i won't be able to work in lake forest....but while i'm here...i'd like to. and. yeah. i know that's stupid. and i know i'm being dramatic. because my measly hardly-even-part-time job at a clothing store will hardly mean anything in the grand scheme of things. and i know that i need to have this evaluation. and i know that crying in a therapist's office isn't that big of a deal... i don't know. i just wanted to be stronger.

anyway. i was supposed to call and confirm the appointment/give them insurance info but i started studying my ass off instead so i wouldn't have to think about any of this. and by the time i remembered i had to be responsible, my phone was dead. so i left a message. but at least i'll ace a test for a class i'm probably not going to get any credit for anyway. yay, priorities.

i want it to stop. i want it to stop ruining everything.

it's happening.

Decisions are being made and I don't really know my feelings on it.
The first thing Cindy said to me was...well, I think you know what you need to do.
I DO KNOW WHAT I NEED TO DO. SHE'S RIGHT.
Because if I could have done it here, I would have.
And the worst part is, I lied to her. I lied about the frequency I've been purging lately, and when she blatantly asked how much I'd been eating...I completely made up bullshit to make it sound like more....and she still said..."well, I think you should do a couple of weeks of inpatient and then go home where you don't have to worry about school."
What if she really knew? Would I already be packing?
I was supposed to call my mom and tell her that I'm back in hell completely. I didn't just have a minor setback that I'm going to fix in a month or two.
Well, I called her. But I ended up not saying anything and pretending like I just wanted to catch up.
I have to tell her though.
Cindy wants to conference call with me there tomorrow morning.
I'm going back to her tomorrow morning.
I can't skip it this time. She knows too much. I'm afraid she won't just sit and wait for me to make the right decision this time.
We're setting up an evaluation at an eating disorders center in a local hospital.
Because I was a little bitch and refused to just go home.
But if I'm truthful on all the little tests...and if I don't do stuff to normalize the blood tests and my weight...that's where I'm headed.

I was talking to a friend. And she said I needed this to mature. And she's right. Fucking with the people that are just trying to help me is extremely immature. If I lie, and make it seem like less than it is, I can't really get the help I need. It won't be enough.

Spring semester came up a lot today though. And so did next year. And the rest of this semester.
I'm trying to look big picture, and know I'd be missing out on more if I don't get the help I need and...die or something...than if I miss a semester or two...

Making this decision is extremely hard. Admitting that I failed at this is awful. Admitting that I was wrong about my strength to overcome this is unbearable. And there's the constant struggle in the back of my mind saying....what if it still doesn't work?

And on top of all of this...I have a shit ton of homework that is extremely, extremely hard to do if I think I might be leaving.

i've overused the word scared.

i.am.freaking.out.
i can't focus.
appointment in 2 hours and 43 minutes.
breathe.
slkdfjlkasdjf;ajksldf

i'm so scared.
i'm scared she's going to tell me i have to go home now.
i'm scared she's going to tell me i don't have to go home.
i'm scared i'm going to have to do groups.
but i'm scared she'll say i'm ok, and i don't really need therapy.
i'm scared i'm overreacting. i'm scared i'm insane.

i'm scared to go.
i have a lot i want to say.
but i usually clam up and just stare. and hope she can just read my mind or something.
i don't want to write it down and give it to her. i hate doing that.
i don't want to go.
i just want to flip a switch and be ok.
i don't want to do this anymore.

i'm scared that i'm this scared about going. why am i such a baby?
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2 hours. 40 minutes.

i can't breathe.

home is where the heart is.

I've been all over the place and back and I can't decide what the right answer is or what I even want it to be. Before being forced to see the reality by around 5 or 6 different people made me realize that there at least needs to be a change. I've been in denial for...ever...that I actually needed therapy at all. I'd have random little epiphanies that changed my mind for a couple hours, maybe days if I was lucky...but they never amounted to anything. So I swore off recovery and lied because I thought college would be the ultimate healer. It hurts more than anything to know that I was wrong about that. Because I was so sure that a change of scenery and a change of people would bring on the best new life for me.

I guess a part of me knew that it wasn't going to . But I am trying to not be terrible hard on myself for coming here and realize that I needed to experience and see it to believe that packing up and leaving was going to make it worse overall. But it's also probably what I needed to kick me in the ass. Yeah, I'm in an awful place recovery-wise and emotionally right now, but damn. I have made good friends. I haven't felt loved by people like I do for a long ass time. Georgia got stale. It's fresh here, and I love the atmosphere...my campus is probably the most gorgeous thing ever. Maybe I'm a little bias, but it's really fucking pretty. Anywho. I don't really know what it means to be happy. But I've seen a lot of people that are. And I might be understanding it better. And I've taken a step back from my drama at home, and all my teenage angst in hating my friend for telling my parents, and hating my parents for wanting to help...and being terrified that anyone would find out that I have a problem...and I've matured a lot. I told my mom that I was struggling. I never would have done that before. I told Lucy about everything in a sober conversation when she asked what was wrong instead of blowing off the question. I still have a lot of shit that I need to deal with but I think I might be able to. Maybe.

That's the part where I'm all over the place. I go back and forth like it's my job. I couldn't imagine leaving here just days ago. And somehow, at some point, the switch flipped and it became hell. It's getting back into neutral territory where I couldn't care either way...but damn. Saturday and Sunday were awful and I was going to try and go home this week, or to my aunt's in Missouri just to get away. But it's about 300 dollars. So I decided against that...

All day yesterday I was in the state where I was going to tell Cindy that I needed to leave ASAP. I wanted nothing but to just get the hell out of here and go back home and go inpatient, or ACE or whatever. I didn't care, I just wanted Georgia and the familiarity of it. I don't know if it's right for me to stop college this close to the end of the semester. There's a little less than 2 months and I can go to an ACE-like program around here...I'm sure that's what will be suggested, or possibly enforced so there aren't liability issues if I keel over and die or something. I can finish the semester though and continue therapy over break and THEN see where I am. I can see if I'm stable enough to go back to school, or if I need to take classes somewhere local and do therapy at home. Or no classes at all. I'll have enough credits at the end of the semester to be a sophomore, so I would be able to graduate on time and all of that...which is important to me...

But there's this other strong side of me that feels like I should be punished for doing this and go home....because, after all...that was the deal. Struggling? Residential. Goodbye, Lake Forest.

I just hope the insurance thing doesn't fuck up being here for me after the face. If we have to pay out of pocket, I'm exiled to UGA or somewhere like that. And I would rather struggle here than go to UGA. That's not true. I'd rather just not go to school.

I need a place to go. I need a safe place to belong. I'm scared of going home at all though, even though part of me wants to pack up and leave like...now.

I wish my mind wasn't such a cluster fuck.

mindless wanderings. fuck fuck fuck.

I'm starting to wimp out. bahhh. Cindy, the counseling center lady, e-mailed back. My appointment is Wednesday at 2.

I just have an aversion to therapy. I've tried this. I know I probably didn't try hard enough...but I sometimes feel like I'm not going to get better at all, and it's just how I am...or maybe I'm not even as sick as I think. Maybe I'm overreacting. I know that part probably isn't true, but it's something I've always struggled with...especially since I actually started therapy. The first appointment I had with Lori, there was a clearly anorexic girl in the waiting room. So pale. So frail. It killed me to look at her because of the insane amount of pain I saw in her eyes. I'm not saying I wish I was close to dying of starvation, or that I wish I was THAT thin...but. I don't look sick. It's hard that eating disorder umbrellas people that are at dangerously low weights, normal weights, and dangerously high weights. It can be anyone...and that makes it hard for me. Because I look normal. It's just hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I have a similar illness to someone that is that sick looking. And I know comparing gets me no where. I did that to myself at ACE a lot. I didn't feel like I was supposed to be there because some of the girls were struggling more. People that are terrified to finish their meals...and I generally had a pretty easy time...I'd just purge it after. I don't know. It's stupid. But I hate being treated for something I'm not even sure I have. I understand I have the bulimia/ednos label...whatever the fuck I am these days. But I still don't accept the fact that it's true sometimes. Saying "I have an eating disorder" is hard. Because the general, uneducated public thinks that means someone underweight. Which I'm not.

Weight shouldn't play such a big role in my life. I hate that it does. I bought a scale though, so that was a bad idea, for obvious reasons. I shouldn't be allowed to monitor my own weight or know it at all. The number controls me too much.

I'm not making any sense right now. I'm just really scared. I feel like I'm walking into my very first therapy appointment again. Sitting in the waiting room terrified of what was going to happen....

I can't fuck it up again. Not this time. I went back on my own this time. I wasn't forced. There's no way I can mess it up this time and have a good reason behind it, or have it be ok.

I don't know if I'm ready to be healthy still. And that's what scares me. Because I'm scared I'm not ready. and I'm annoyed that I'm not ready. And I'm going anyway. And maybe that's good. But. Fuck. KLAJSFLKJASLFKJLASKFJLKSJFLKJSALFJSLKDJFLKJASAOIFJKLSADJFLKJSGLJKLSDFJKLSJFKLSJFKLJSLKJFGOIJVKM

fucking fuck. I need to scream.