Meh just a self-loathing day


I’m on edge today. I almost didn’t go to class because I skipped this class yesterday and I felt awkward. I know the longer I skip a class, the more awkward the return will be. Thankfully, I did go. However, I felt like cutting not long into class because the professor emphasized the importance of turning in polished work that is the product of multiple drafts. I never do more than one draft (hence, my C+ last semester). I feel guilty for procrastinating to such an awful degree.

I feel pathetic because I had a dream where I looked at myself in a mirror and said over and over, “You’re fat.” Wow, you know something is deep-seated when you dream about it! I used to have dreams about treatment. Also, while fasting I had dreams about eating and I always woke up terrified that I’d binged at night!

I might be going out to dinner with the doctor. However, he hasn’t replied about when or where. I’m sure that is making me more anxious. I rarely wear make-up, but I’m wearing it today and I forgot lipstick. HAHAHA, I know in the scheme of things, even the scheme of things within my ordinary life, that is a very small problem. I don’t know, I just feel fat. Granted, I’m on my period, but that also makes me feel fat! Thanks to ED, I rarely have periods more than 2 or 3 times a year. So, periods make me feel fat both because they cause bloat and because it proves I’m “bad” aka not malnourished enough for my body to decide attempting to carry a child is fruitless. Ironically, it is Nation Eating Disorder Awareness Week. I don’t like awareness campaigns. First of all, I don’t want anyone around me who doesn’t know about ED to get suspicious. Second, I think they rarely help. Most articles about EDs inadvertently give tips or expose people to new behaviors.

annoyed buffy

Yeah, sorry there is no real point to this post. I’m just especially self-hating today. And *laughs bitterly* I’m supposed to go eat dinner with someone I like! OH and I forgot to change my earrings. So, I’m wearing mismatching studs.

I want someone to hurt me. Another form of self-injury? Yes. However, I think there is more to it. The idea just occurred to me: if someone is non-consensually hurting me, I am a better person than they are…So, maybe consensual S&M causes a similar feeling? I know I feel proud of the amount of physical pain I can endure. Similarly, I feel superior to other “weak” people when I starve because I can starve myself and they are greedy pigs. (I am well aware this is disordered!) Cutting doesn’t hold any superiority complex. I think, for me, masochism is a self-esteem booster, just like ED. I don’t like all the parallels I’m seeing. Perhaps I’m making them up. Perhaps as everyone keeps saying I should just let my fears go and let myself enjoy what I like… The problem is I’m scared. When I’m sick, I like my eating disorder. So, liking BDSM is not proof that it is not sick for me. At the same time, when I switch from one symptom (ED, SI, BDSM) to another, the other 2 fade away. Maybe BDSM is the lesser of 3 evils? ED kills you and makes you unable to function. SI causes scars and potentially death. Giving someone else control of pain is probably less damaging than my self-inflicted wounds. In fact, I’m positive the harm I do to myself in anger, sadness, or anxiety is worse than what any non-psychopathic sadist would sanely do. I say sanely because the things I’ve done to myself could and have ended in hospital stays. The law here is that people cannot consent to “serious physical injury”, which  means physical injury that creates a substantial risk of death or that causes serious disfigurement or protracted loss or impairment of the function of any part of the body. A number of things I’ve done to myself are in that category. Therefore, a safe and sane sadist would most likely do less damage than I do to myself.

Plus, EDs make relationships almost impossible, with BDSM I can have a trusting, loving relationship. SI is addictive. I suppose BDSM maybe addictive in the same way, but I I’m not in control, that won’t matter.

but, but, but…If it is a maladaptive coping mechanism or another expression of self-hate, can that ever be healthy?

*SCREAMS INTERNALLY* I know I keep asking the same question over and over again. That is because it all boils down to the same problem. Can I ever answer it???

Blah Blah Woof Woof


Ah, repetition… I’ve texted back and forth with the same guy the past few days. He wants to get together again and I do to. I really like him. It scares the hell out of me. I’m not stupid, I know it isn’t love. It could be lust, but I don’t think so. It is different from the feeling when I just want someone’s body. That sounds callous, doesn’t it? C’est la vie. What else is there to judge a stranger by?

Callous and strange

I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I want him. AND I DON’T LIKE IT. I don’t like it because good feelings don’t last and the better the feeling, the harder the fall. I’m emotionally vulnerable and I barely know him! What happens if I spend more time with him? The feeling might wither and I’ll be safe or it will get stronger and I’ll be weaker.

To Die or Not to Die


**TRIGGER WARNING SUICIDAL IDEATION**

That is the question. I would have killed myself last night, except if I attempt suicide again, I need to be 100% sure I won’t wake up in the hospital again and that is tough to ensure with the methods available to me on an impulse.

I talked to my mom about whether or not to quit law school. Before the conversation I was fine, during and after the conversation I was suicidal. I was not suicidal because of law school. This has never been about law school. In the end, it is about me. The urges began when Mom admitted something to me… She is frustrated and she has been frustrated for years because she is sick and tired of the crises I manufacture for myself and my enumerated character flaws. She said she was sick of me all four years of undergrad and she almost didn’t want me to go to graduate school because I’m too emotionally weak. She is tired of mental illness and seeing me shoot myself in the foot. The facts don’t bother me. I know I am weak. I know I forge the shackles that hobble me with my own mind. I know the only thing holding me back is me. I know I have plenty of character flaws. I know I sabotage my own success. Her words hurt because she is the main reason I abjure suicide. I stay because I know what my suicide would do to her. There are other reasons like the rest of my family and friends and a lingering fear of hell. However, I believe everyone else would get over it with time. I am afraid of hell for suicide or for any of the innumerable ways I fall short as a human being, but sometimes I think I deserve hell. Furthermore, a large chunk of me thinks there is no hell or God wouldn’t damn me specifically for suicide. My mom is the only person I am certain would not recover from my suicide. Everyone else would move on.

So, when she said she was frustrated and sick of me and my problems…My first thought was that I could easily remove the source of her anger. The past two times I did not write suicide notes. This time I would. In essence, I’m doing it for them, for everyone. There maybe sadness and anger, but there won’t be any more fear, worry, frustration, disappointment, sadness, or anger. That will be the end of my story. She won’t have to worry about whether I’m eating or sleeping or going to class. She can do whatever she wants because she won’t have to worry about me being alone when I’m struggling. If I finish what I started 11 years ago, everyone else will have a better life with me gone. All I do is cause hurt and chaos. Ah hell, GOD started it 23 years ago. Everyone knows I shouldn’t have survived. I contribute nothing positive, or at least not nearly enough positive things to outweigh all the negatives.

My existence only causes heartache. Could I change that? Theoretically, but as my mom said last night, what makes me think I will change? I can say I’ll do better all I want, but so far, I just keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again. Therefore, I have no logical reason to believe I will be a better person in the future. I always say I’ll do better, I’ll be better, and I’ll try harder. But I am never enough and I never will be. There is no point in prolonging their suffering.

Ironically, I don’t want to die.

Buffy_I don't want to die that is something right

Yet, I am an unwelcome burden on the people I love and I cannot abide by that. I say unwelcome because while I would feel guilty if I had ALS and my family members cared for me as my health declined, I would not be suicidal if they wanted me around, while I could still draw breath.       Buffy_Dawn rejection so obvious you don't want me around

But no one does, not really. Sure people would say flowery words, claiming they miss me, but actions speak louder than words. As I said, I admit there would be initial grief and I regret that, but everyone (except perhaps Mom) has their own, separate, vibrant, full life. Taking me out of the equation will not hinder them in the long run. They don’t need me now; so, postmortem platitudes are just that…Empty words. They’ll go back to school, work, family, loved ones, and heal. As I live, all I do is compound the pain. If I die, it would hurt them for a while, but that would be the end of their burden.

I would need to somehow assuage guilt. That is the toughest part. I am capable of killing myself (provided I am uninterrupted) for sure. The worst possible outcome would be interruption and brain damage. I can make sure I am uninterrupted though. Teenage me didn’t think about the interruption part. I expected I’d fall asleep and no one would notice until it was too late. Apparently, I stayed conscious and obviously drugged. No more mistakes. I am certain grief will heal and they’ll experience less pain overall. I have no dependents to worry about. The afterlife will be whatever it is… The only remaining problem is I know suicide makes people feel guilty and guilt can be tougher to overcome than grief. It can tear people apart and I don’t want that.

I know everything in my life, including my death, should I chose it, is my fault and if they could see it rationally they would understand they couldn’t make a difference. However, I of all people, know emotions are not rational. The only way to solve the problem is writing very thorough notes or deciding the risk of guilt is less than the continued pain caused by my presence.

Speaking of my presence, I said I didn’t want to die, but I can’t just disappear to remove my influence because then they will always wonder what happened to me. I imagine that gnawing hole would be worse than my annoyance. A dead body puts that question to rest.

This is all awful because I don’t actually want to die. As much as my loved ones try to understand, they blame me for my shortcomings.

Buffy_dou think I chose to be like this

Last night I paraphrased the above GIF saying, “Do you think I chose to be like this? Do you think I do this on purpose? Do you think I want to make the same mistakes over and over again? Do you think I want to be miserable?!?” She sort of understood what I was saying, but correctly dismissed it. They rightfully blame me. After all, I do make excuses. As my Mom said last night, my failures aren’t from some magical mental illness I can’t control; I let myself be weak and I dodge blame saying I can’t help it. That isn’t true. I can help it, but I won’t. There is something wrong with me because I don’t have the willpower to do things for myself. I’m motivated by pleasing others. I will go through hell for other people, but getting out of bed in the morning for my own gratification feels impossible. I am capable of it, but unless someone else has the expectation that I get out of bed and they’ll know if I don’t get out of bed, and I care about them, I will stay in bed all day.

Buffy_it's hard it's painful and it's everyday

I tried to tell her that while technically I made choices, which led to outcomes I disliked, and technically I have the ability to make different choices, things are not so black and white. Buffy_not that simple

Why would anyone chose this? They would not!! At the same time… she is right. The simple truth is: I am too weak. I could / would / should do a lot…but I’m too weak emotionally.

Buffy_no control just pain

It feels like internal chaos. In reality, I hold the reigns; I can do better. I am simply not strong enough.

Buffy_sleepwalk through life

She said there is no point in doing the bare minimum again and barely passing. It is a waste of time, effort, anguish, and money. That is so true. Nonetheless, part of me holds out hope that I can finish the semester and give new classes a chance. She is correct. I’m foolish. As always, I’m telling myself what I want to hear, but doing nothing to create change.
Buffy_too much for me want it to be over

*breathes deeply* I cried while typing this, big surprise… *sigh* For now I’m trying to persevere. Buffy_moment by moment

But then I think… I’m just kidding myself. I am nothing. I am no one. I am a moment in eternity. I am a red dwarf in a sky full of blazing suns. I could better myself, but I don’t have the energy, the willpower. At least if I died in the next 24 hours, my mom would get 70% of this semester’s tuition back.

I can’t withdraw because that admits defeat and stagnation. Also, as I already said, as boring as I find the material, this all comes down to me and nothing about my circumstances. Plus, quitting dooms me to a lifetime of worrying other people. So, I stay and pass or I kill myself. Doing it sooner rather than later means my family gets some money. So, am I reducing the value of my life to about $9,500? I guess so. That seems callous, but I believe it is worth less than that.

*laughs bitterly* Now I am frustrated! I still don’t want to die. There are places I want to see and things I want to experience, but they come at the cost of other people’s happiness. I feel sad; my heart is heavy.

I won’t kill myself, unless on impulse because some small part of me knows even though I can’t fathom it at the moment, my suicide would hurt the people I care about more than I can imagine.

Here is to spending the next 2 hours reading for a class I think I may have already failed because I missed too much class. I may have miscalculated the number of allowed absences because I forgot to take the credit hour change into account. Although my classes are all the same as last semester, their respective number of hours changed this semester and the maximum allowed absences is a function of how many hours a class is worth.

I guess in the interim, I’ll make do with imagining violence happening to me. (…which is why I fear masochism is an outlet of self-loathing…but then it is the only way I am aroused…but then this is clearly related…Ugh, FAIL…)

Dean_Supernatural_stabbing you in my mind

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Psychosomatic Mental Illness?!


Don’t get the stake and pitchforks yet! I’m not saying everyone imagines mental illness. I’ve seen plenty of brain scans, which show otherwise. Plus, I realize psychosomatic refers to physical symptoms arising from emotional or mental issues, not physical causes. Therefore my use of the word is technically incorrect. Nonetheless…

Despite my swing from positive to negative in minutes yesterday, apparently I was more serious than I realized. Last night I told my mom a little about my ED relapse, including that I think I should go back on a meal plan. To her credit, for once, she did not automatically suggest a higher level of care. At the moment, it is unnecessary, but usually when she learns I’m using ED behaviors she says, “Do you want to end up hospitalized?”

However, ever since I told her, I feel like crawling out of my skin! I feel 1,000x more uncomfortable in my body! Realistically, nothing changed; no matter how much “accountability” she provides, we both know she can’t stop my behaviors. Yet for some reason, that one act of defiance (of ED) is terrifying me. Logically, I know my body didn’t grow overnight, but I feel monstrous! I feel more fat and repulsive than usual. It is as if defying ED and reaching out focused my attention all the more on my body/ how I experience being inside my body.

Plus, food instantly became scarier. I struggled to eat breakfast, whereas last weekend I was fine. I’m almost always okay on weekends because even though I eat more than I want to, I know I “have to” in order to keep up appearances. However, this morning I didn’t want to eat. In fact, now I feel like crying. …Hahaha, I talk so much about crying, but I rarely break down in tears in real life >.< …

The last time I cried over eating food was as a senior in high school.  I think it was September and the school year started in August. For a few weeks I went to school in the morning and returned to treatment for lunch, PM snack, and dinner. This was my first full day back at school. I sat alone in the locker room, staring at my lunch. With a heavy sigh, I opened an applesauce cup and dipped my spoon in it. Then I started crying. It is difficult to describe the fear an eating disorder creates. We know we need food to survive. We know most people, given the opportunity, eat every day, more than once a day! But when we look at food we see all our shortcomings manifested. Taking a bite equals admitting or giving into our weakness. It means magically expanding fat cells and everyone you love turning against you because food will make you so hideous that no one can stand to be around you. Food is the enemy; it horrifies you. I literally had nightmares about eating. Eating causes a huge spike of anxiety, fear, and self-loathing. This disease is one thing you’re good at; one thing you can do right. After all, despite your teachers and parents insisting you’re smart and capable, you know the truth. You know you’re inadequate and you’re terrified if you eat, they will finally see the monster you see in the mirror. Illogical? Yes. Insane? Yes. Irrational? Of course. But the feelings and thoughts are as real to you as your grief at your grandmother’s funeral.

Right now, I’m a tight knot of dread and misgivings. I feel nauseous and bloated. I want out of my body.

And why? Just because I committed the cardinal sin, I admitted my human weakness and asked for help. There are a million eating disorder blogs on the internet; it may seem like we’re fine with expressing emotion and needs, but there is a huge difference between anonymously ranting online and using your words to ask someone in your life for help.

Now off to try to kill the other law students with studying…

willow_fake smile

…I lied, one more thing:

Remember how I said when we eat, we imagine we’ll immediately gain weight? I meant it. In my first week of inpatient treatment, I felt my clothes get tighter on my body. I saw my body getting larger in the mirror. If someone wanted to bet me that I wasn’t gaining weight, I would laugh in their face and agree to a million dollar bet. I was at “fat camp”, on a weight gain meal plan and I could see and feel the differences! However, I would be a million dollars in debt because a few days later they put me back on bathroom monitoring. Apparently, I lost weight in my first 2 weeks and they thought I purged in the bathroom. So, while I was sick, not only did my mind whisper lies in my ears and my emotions skyrocket, but also my perception of reality was skewed. My clothes felt tighter on my body and I saw myself gain weight because I believed that was what was happening.

Perhaps the fact that it is happening again is a testament to this being a real relapse? I don’t know because I call these  blips relapses, but it always gets better before I get too sick and even as my least disordered, the thoughts are still in my head. They never left. Therefore, have I ever been in recovery?

Oh, for the record, I was not purging. I was hypermetabolic, a state of increased metabolic rate, usually in response to a significant bodily injury. Sometimes when malnourished people, in starvation mode, begin re-feeding (FYI, a normal or even overweight person can be malnourished! Health is not simply calories consumed, it also quality.) their metabolism re-boots when it gets adequate calories again and it revs up before settling to a normal level. It is a terrible irony for re-feeding anorexics or underweight bulimics because the treatment team gives you a high weight gain meal plan to begin with and then your body makes it doubly hard to gain weight with hypermetabolism. I was lucky, my metabolism calmed down in a month. I knew some girls forced to eat 5,000 – 6,000 calories PER DAY for months and they still struggled to gain weight. It might sound wonderful, eat all you want and don’t gain weight! But it is hell when you’re used to only eating small amounts or throwing up larger amount of food. I remember times when I honestly thought my stomach would burst because it hurt so badly (Yes, anyone’s stomach can burst from too much consumption). Your body acclimated to less food and even got used to regurgitating after large intake. It is uncomfortable to eat and keep down a normal sized meal, much less a menu that would satisfy a 300 lbs football player! In that regard, even normal weight or overweight bulimics struggling in treatment because even though they don’t have to gain weight, they may not be used to keeping normal-sized meals down; therefore, it is physically painful.

First Meet…


Guess who ditched? Guess who also forgot to set up a safe call? Just because I’ve been insanely lucky thus far with my blatant disregard for my own safety doesn’t mean it’ll last. *sigh* I didn’t plan on ditching, but I got scared…I keep myself emotionally safe with distance and detachment.

Tara_surprised

Maybe it is more my fault than I thought that my brother and I aren’t close.

How we Measure Progress


I belong to a pro-ana Facebook group. Give or take a few girls leaving for recovery, the same 50 girls have belonged to the group for over 2 years. One of my best friends there asked how I was doing because I hadn’t posted in a while. I told them about school, coming out, and my weight. The overwhelming response?

“WOW, you’re doing so well!”

Not surprising from a bunch of eating disordered girls. But it got me thinking about priorities. Is this, our weight, really the most important measure of our worth or success? I would like to say no.Fringe_its all just nubmers

It makes me sad that we put so much emphasis on our appearance. Let’s see… I almost killed myself more than once last semester, I cried – a lot, I was almost involuntarily hospitalized, I barely passed my classes, I rarely attended class or read material, and I lost my scholarship…but WOW, you lost a lot of weight in an unhealthy amount of time!!

Why does it always have to be about looks

Maybe it is because we hate everything about ourselves and our weight is at least something we can change, whereas other things are relatively immutable like intelligence.

When your cousin offers to go to a munch


with you…

buffy willow hug

This just keeps getting more and more interesting. At this rate, the kinksters will outnumber the vanilla people in this family.