Wind Ensemble Concert

I'm really tired because I had my wind ensemble concert tonight.  I think it went okay, but my family says it went well.  I don't know if they are being nice or not, but I feel proud.  And the music selection we had was very good and fun to play.  They recorded the concert, so I might be able to share some of the music with you.

Overall I am happy with my participation in the wind ensemble this semester.  I really hope that I can participate in uni's wind ensemble when I return.

Closeness

Today when I sat down for my German Film class I put my coat and scarf on the seat next to me.  Then I began to think why I did that.  The obvious answer is that I didn't want someone to sit next to me for a few reasons.  Firstly, for reasons that I prefer not to go into depth about, I am very uncomfortable with physical contact or closeness.  I cringe when people try to hug me or otherwise touch me.  And I get very uneasy when someone intrudes on my personal space and it's hard for me to ask people to back off (because I think I'll come off looking crazy, mean, or rude) so I go on the offensive and try and put physical barriers between myself and others-- hence the coat.

But on a more metaphorical level I am really uncomfortable with emotional closeness as well.  D likes to say that I not only have a wall around me, I have a moat filled with crazed alligators.  There are very few people that I have let "cross the drawbridge," and my experience is that each time I get burned.  Remember CB?  She was my best friend whom I thought I could trust and then one day she pulls out the rug from under me, insults me, and tells me that she doesn't want to be my friend anymore.  Then there was my boyfriend from my freshman year of college.  When we broke up he said that he still wanted to be friends, which was a lie, but I am most crushed that he never even cared to ask how I was doing when I clearly was not eating well.  ES hasn't returned my calls in months.  JA flakes out on me every time we try to meet up.

But perhaps the biggest scar of all has been left by Shrinkiepoo, my previous psychiatrist.  I trusted him with my treatment and he became manipulative, controlling, and forced me to do things that I didn't want to do.  I never said this before, but it honestly felt like I was being raped again.

So I think I have reasons for maintaining my wall and moat, but I still want to have connections with people.  The problem is that people can see the wall and are turned off by it, so no one tries to get close.  So I essentially sabotage myself.

Eating Off-Kilter

My eating has been off-kilter ever since my sister A's birthday party last Saturday night.  With her birthday party and Thanksgiving it has been hard to adhere to my eating routine that I'm comfortable with, and when I feel uncomfortable my first course of action is to restrict.  It's just how I deal with anxiety around food-- in my head it's better to undereat than overeat.  And tonight there was another event.

This evening my parents and I drove into the city to meet my A and M for a dinner in celebration of A's 27th birthday.  I was feeling anxious about it, so yesterday I looked up their menu so I could devise a game plan.  Then I tried to find out what the portion sizes were like so I could plan out exactly how much of what I was given I would eat, but I couldn't find that information in any of the reviews I read.  So because of this and because the food was not in my routine I ended up restricting during the day.  I ate breakfast (although a little less cereal than usual), and for lunch I told my parents that I was going out to lunch with a friend but I really went to the bookstore to sit and read.  When it came time for dinner I was still anxious-- I still didn't know how much to eat (without my meal plan I have no clue what an appropriate amount of food looks like).  So I stayed on the "safe" side and ate a little less than what I thought I should.

Right now my anxiety is still high because I am afraid to see my weight tomorrow.  But I have a confession to make: with all of the events of the past week I have actually lost a little weight.  And the scary part is that I like it.  I want to lose weight.  But I also don't want to lose everything I've worked to accomplish.  I want to go to uni in January and be able to stay for the entire semester.  I'm making compromises with my eating disorder-- I'll just lose X pounds and then I'll be happy and eat according to my meal plan.  But I've been burned too many times, and I know that that won't work.

[An unrelated yet interesting sociological note: when the waiter delivered the check he put it in front of my dad.  Why not my mom?  Why not in the center of the table?  I thought it was interesting that the waiter assumed that my dad would be paying for dinner.]

M Is A Narcissist

Yesterday after I wrote my post I went to the CVS Minute Clinic to get checked out by the nurse/whatever health professional was there.  I got a strep test and it came back positive, so now I'm on antibiotics that make my tummy hurt when I take them.  Although my voice is still hoarse and my throat not 100% healed, I am feeling a lot better than I was yesterday so I'm hopeful that tomorrow I will feel even better.

This week I had a really tough time with M's presence in the house.  She is very narcissistic and very self-absorbed.  I also happen to think that she has body dysmorphic disorder because all she does is look at her gorgeous face and find flaws and wrinkles that do not exist.  (She's 30 years old.)  She came on Wednesday morning, and after putting on makeup and straightening her already straight hair I drove her to the DMV because she lost her license and she needed a new one.  I had to wait with her for two hours, and literally the entire time she was doing and redoing her hair and makeup and fishing for compliments from me.  Even though I wasn't feeling well, M then insisted that we go to Starbucks because she needed a coffee.

Yesterday her narcissism was out of control.  She spent the entire day on my computer looking at winter coats that she was considering buying, asking my opinion and then criticizing what I said.  But the worst was when A said she wanted to go home that night because she had work for school to do in the morning.  M threw a tantrum because she wanted to leave the next morning (today) and she wanted A to accompany her so she could help carry her bags. I found this ridiculous.  A had a legitimate reason why she wanted to go home last night, and M only wanted to leave this morning because she was too lazy to pack up her things and get on a train last night.  When I pointed this out to her, she replied "Why doesn't A just come tomorrow morning?"  A, being the pushover that she is, relented and they went home this morning.  I was disgusted.

But A and I had a really good time together.  I gave her her birthday present-- this hat-- and she loved it!  She wore it all day yesterday, even when she went out shopping.  I'm really happy about that.  Also, last night we decided that we would learn some of Michael Jackson's dances, so we did.  Even though I wasn't feeling great, it put me in a good mood-- it was silly and fun.  And now I'm pretty sure we're the best dancers ever.

I love A all of the time, but I can only take M in small doses.  Three and a half days with her was way too much.

Happy Belated Thanksgiving

I'm sorry for not posting the past two days.  My sisters have been staying over and I haven't had a chance to be alone until now, when I'm stuck at home sick and my sisters are out shopping.  I'm going to the doctor's later on to see if I have strep, so all I know right now is that my throat hurts, I can't talk, I get dizzy when I stand up, and I have a fever.  Good times, Great Lakes.

On Wednesday night I had an appointment with Dr. N, my new psychiatrist.  I really like her.  It was a tough session, but I felt like it was really therapeutic.  She's a psychoanalyst, which I thought I wouldn't like, but she's really smart, and, contrary to what I used to believe, psychoanalysis doesn't seem like complete BS.  Anyway, we talked about my body image issues and my belief that I am a hideous troll.  (This conversation was sparked when Dr. N noticed that I was wearing a lot more makeup than I had in our other three sessions.  I told her about my experimentation with wearing less makeup and how it failed.  Yes, I am back to wearing eyeliner.)

We also talked a lot about my relationships with friends and my ex-boyfriend from my freshman year at uni.  We talked about how I can accept love-hate relationships, but I can't accept pure love relationships.  And how I let S use me for sex because I have low self-esteem.  I started to cry when she asked me why I do that and I said "If I don't give him what he wants, then I won't have any friends."  She said that it was sad that a "beautiful and smart" (her words) girl like me allows others to take advantage.  It was very hard to talk about these things, but I'm glad I did.  The crying was a bit cathartic.

So yesterday was Thanksgiving, and we had a lot of relatives over for dinner.  I followed my plan of having a smaller breakfast and lunch so I could have a more substantial dinner and dessert.  I promised my dietitian I would have a bite of sweet potato pie because I LOVE sweet potato pie but it's a fear food for me, so I did.  I also had some roasted vegetables with ketchup (I eat almost everything with ketchup), and for dessert I ate the pumpkin swirl brownies that I had baked earlier in the week.  I was only planning to have half a brownie, but they were so good that I ate the whole thing.  Then, of course, my anxiety skyrocketed and for the first time since March I was tempted to use laxatives.  But I didn't have any in the house so I didn't use them, but my anxiety was alleviated this morning when I stepped on the scale and found that I hadn't gained weight.

What's anxiety provoking for me now is the fact that there are tons of leftovers in our fridge.  I don't want them there because I'm afraid I will use them to chew and spit.  Also, I want to get back to my food routine.

Anyway, readers, I know this has been a long post but I want to say one more thing.  I am thankful for all of you.  You don't know how much of an amazing feeling it is to know that there are people in the world who want to listen to my less-than-sane ramblings.  I tell you things that I can't even tell my treatment team because I know you won't judge me.  And that, dear readers, is priceless.  Thank you.

Disruption And Anxiety

My life is relatively uneventful these days, with the possible exception of last Saturday night.  Pretty much all I do is go to therapy and other appointments, go to class, do work, and go to wind ensemble.  I would describe my life as comfortable-- I am depressed but it has certainly been a lot worse, and I'm floating and going with the flow.

My eating is uneventful too.  I pretty much eat the same things every day.  Once again, it's comfortable for me-- I know that eating what I eat will maintain my weight which is what I'm trying to do right now.

Obviously this banality serves a purpose: it keeps my anxiety in check.  So when there's a disruption or change my anxiety skyrockets and it's not calmed until I weigh myself the next day.  (Isn't it interesting how the scale serves as a barometer for my life?)

A's birthday party was certainly a disruption.  Before the party I skipped dinner because I was anticipating drinking.  So that's one disruption.  Then the party lasted until 4am and I slept through breakfast.  Another.  Then for lunch I decided that instead of eating according to my meal plan I would eat half a bag of sour gummy worms (I carefully calculated the caloric content of each individual worm and then counted as I ate them so I would stay under a certain number of calories.  Not disordered at all, right?).  Another.  By the time dinner rolled around I was really hungry.  I was craving Thai food, and therefore went way out of my comfort zone and ordered a dish from a restaurant that I had never been to before, and ate the whole thing.  Another.  By Sunday night my anxiety was astronomically high, but when I weighed myself on Monday all was well again.

This Thursday, Thanksgiving, is going to be another disruption.  It's a big meal in front of people with whom I am not very comfortable (nor do I like them).  My plan is to eat a smaller breakfast and lunch in order to be able to eat a more substantial meal at dinner and maybe even have dessert.  This is extremely scary for me, and I'm already anxious.  And I have a feeling it won't be quelled until Friday morning when I can step on my scale again.

Alive To See It

 
Back in September, Ellen DeGeneres delivered an important message which you can hear in this video.  I'm not a member of the LGBT community-- although I do consider myself an ally-- but this message spoke to me.  Her last few sentences are as follows:

Things will get easier.  Peoples' minds will change.  And you should be alive to see it.

I often wonder whether things will get better for me.  I lean more towards the hopeless end of the spectrum.  For as long as I can remember I have been depressed with no periods of relief; it's constant pain.  And the thoughts taunt me: "I want to hide."  "I want to sleep."  "I want to escape."  "I want to hurt myself."  "I want to die."  "I want to kill myself."  It's relentless.  And although things are a LOT better than they were in March they are still not good.

There are people who go through life and never experience the urge or desire to kill themselves.  This is completely unfathomable to me; these thoughts have essentially defined the last fourteen years of my life.  Which leads me to ask myself why I have been given a brain riddled with mistakes.  I know I'm not "normal," and I don't understand why.

So if Ellen is right and things do get easier and my mind will change, the question becomes do I really want to stick around until it happens?  She thinks it's worth it, but I'm not sure.  I don't know what happiness feels like, but I can't imagine that it is so good that it would make up for all of these years of, excuse my language, absolute shit.  Is it?

Saturday Night Saga

As I tweeted yesterday, last night was my sister A's 27th birthday party.  I had been feeling anxious about it all week because I knew it was going to be held at a bar and alcohol is a fear food for me.  I knew that drinking was optional, but I felt like if I didn't drink I would call attention to myself and take away form A's spotlight and I didn't want to do that.  Also, my social phobia was kicking in high gear-- I was terrified of meeting all of her friends.  I was afraid she had told them all about my craziness and that they would treat me weirdly.  Or even if they didn't treat me weirdly, I was mind reading and feared that they would be thinking "Oh, that's the crazy one."  Or that I would stick out because I'm the youngest.

Before the party I went to my sister M's apartment.  I was planning on sleeping over and I wanted to drop my stuff off.  As soon as I saw her my anxiety increased-- she was wearing a dress and I was wearing jeans, and so I felt under-dressed.  Then A came over and she was wearing a dress too.  But at that point I had no dress I could change into (my sisters live in a different city than I do), so I just had to suck it up.

We finally went to the bar at 9:30pm and I met some of A's friends.  Everyone was really nice, but I always feel really self-conscious when I meet new people (and in general, for that matter) so it was tough.  M asked me what I wanted to drink and I said I didn't know, and she said "Do you want to drink?  Are you allowed to drink?"  I told her that alcohol would probably mix with my meds and that I shouldn't drink.  So she ordered me a Diet Coke.  No one made any comments, and because I had a drink in my hand I didn't draw any attention away from A.  I was glad.

The bar was really loud and crowded, so at about 1am we took the party to M's apartment.  M and I got there before everyone else so we could get all of the refreshments ready and do a quick cleanup (both of my sisters are incredibly messy, whereas I am compulsively neat).  I started to feel really nauseous.  I think it was because I hadn't eaten dinner (because I thought I was going to drink alcohol and I wanted to "save" my calories for that-- eating disordered thinking, I know) and the Coke was caffeinated and, as you know, I am very sensitive to caffeine.  Marin said that I could lie down on her bed while everyone was partying, but she doesn't have a door between her bedroom and her living room, and, once again, I didn't want to call attention to myself and take attention away from A, so I just sucked it up.

The party ended up going until 4am.  A's friends were really nice to me and I had a really good time, although sometimes it was hard to answer the questions "What year are you in at school?" and "Where do you live?"  But no one pried, so it wasn't terrible.

After the last person left, A, M and I cleaned up and A decided to sleep over too, so it was all three sisters staying together.  It was nice.  When I woke up in the morning and had to catch a train back to my home state, A thanked me for coming to her party.  I felt really good about that.  Sometimes having depression and an eating disorder can cause one to become a little preoccupied with oneself, and I think that for this night I was pretty selfless.  And I was really thankful that M basically stuck with me all night and didn't abandon me.

So today I'm pretty tired.  But I think it was worth it.

Uncensored

I had my presentation for my Ecological Anthropology class this morning and it went really well!  I delivered my speech as I had practiced, and when I was done the professor came up to me to tell me that he thought that I should give the same presentation at an academic conference!  That would be really nerve-racking, but also really good for my resume.  He said we would talk about it at a later time, and I hope something comes of it.  I did a lot of work for this paper/presentation and it would be really nice to have it recognized.

In the afternoon I had a session with D and it went okay.  We talked about uni and my fear that they won't allow me to return in January.  D is writing letters to the dean and to the counseling center on behalf of my return.  I asked him not to include anything that would cast any doubt on my readiness to return because I believe uni is expecting perfection.  Like my mom.  I can't seem to be working towards recovery, I have to seem recovered.

D then said "I hope you know you don't have to be perfect for me.  Do you know that?"  To which I replied "Somewhat."  He asked me to explain further, and after some hesitation I told him that over the summer when I first started seeing him he said that if I was having suicidal thoughts he wouldn't approve my return to uni, so I've been censoring myself with him for almost six months.  He seemed genuinely surprised-- he had forgotten that he had said that to me.  He then apologized and said that he should never had said that because it isn't true, and asked me if I have been having suicidal thoughts and I said yes, sometimes.  It felt good to say it to him.  It's hard having to be perfect for everyone.  Acting all of the time is exhausting.  At least now I have one place "in real life" where I can truly be uncensored.  (You guys are fabulous.)

No Sleep, No Food

Well, last night (or should I say this morning?) sucked.  I had too much caffeine yesterday, but miraculously, after taking my night meds that are prescribed in part to help me sleep (unmedicated I am an insomniac), I was able to fall asleep at 11pm.  All is well and good, right?  No, I wasn't that lucky.  I woke up at 2am and never went back to sleep, giving me a grand total of three hours of sleep.  I was lucky that Forrest Gump was on TV so I had something to watch.  But it was a miserable night of tossing and turning to try and get into a position in which I could potentially fall asleep.  So as a result I am very tired.

This afternoon I had an appointment with my dietitian.  It went fine for the most part, but I told her about how I restricted yesterday and today because of my weight yesterday and she kind of treated me condescendingly.  She said, "So that's it?  You're just going to continue to weigh yourself because it's letting you hold onto your eating disorder?  I guess there's nothing I can say then."  She then changed the topic of discussion.  I feel like she doesn't get it.  I don't want my eating disorder at all.  But I also don't want to get fat and I don't trust my body to keep me at a healthy weight.  And because my brain has been wired to be anorexic, the fear of getting fat sometimes trumps my desire to get rid of my eating disorder.  This is not how I want things to be.  But I feel like I can't help it sometimes.  It's like a schizophrenic person trying to ignore what the voices tell her to do-- it's incredibly difficult!  And I'm not sure she understands that I have a voice in my head too.  (Just for the record, I do not hallucinate, nor am I psychotic.  It's the eating disordered voice.)  It's very frustrating.

On a different note, my anxiety has been high today because I am worried about the ten minute presentation I have to give to my Ecological Anthropology class tomorrow.  I've been practicing it, but I never feel confident or sure of myself.  When I get nervous I have a tendency to stumble over my words and it's incredibly embarrassing.  I've written out on notecards most of what I plan to say which makes me feel a little better, but I just am not a natural public speaker.  So I will be spending the rest of the day practicing.

Too Much Caffeine

I have an eating update.  Ever since I got one of my scales back from D three weeks ago after having given them to him for three weeks I've been weighing myself every day.  However, I've been delaying weighing myself for fifteen minutes every morning as per D's instructions.  My weight has remained impossibly constant-- the same number every day.  You see, my weight doesn't tend to fluctuate.  If the number on the scale is lower I've lost weight, and if the number on the scale is higher I've gained weight.  If things are stable it stays at the exact same number (and by exact, I mean down to the decimal point).

So when I stepped on the scale this morning and saw a number higher than usual I knew that I had gained weight, so I decided to restrict today to get it back down to a number I am more comfortable with.  I didn't eat breakfast or lunch, only dinner.  But in lieu of eating during the day I hopped myself up on caffeine which was probably not a good idea.  I rarely consume caffeine-- maybe a few times a month-- so when I do I am very sensitive to it.  Plus the fact that I had no food in my system exaggerated its effects.  I was shaking, my heart was pounding, and my anxiety level skyrocketed.  As I tweeted, I felt like I was either going to throw up or die.  I tried to drink a lot of water to dilute the caffeine in my system (I don't even know if it works like that, but I was desperate) and I'm actually feeling tired right now so I have hope that I may fall asleep tonight.  I hope.

In the good news department, I got to talk to my friend that I met in the hospital in March/April, DD, on gchat today.  I love talking to her.  She gets it.  She gets me.  And she's hilarious and smart.  We didn't talk about anything really profound, but speaking to her lifted my mood a little.  Although I hate the fact that I have no friends where I'm currently living, I am really lucky to have a friend like DD and a computer with which I can keep in touch with her.

Another Hat

I crocheted another hat with the same pattern I used the last time.  I'm going to give one of them to A for her birthday.  I can't decide which one...

It's kind of hard to tell from the pictures, but it's hunter green with charcoal gray edging and ties.

Trash

Last Saturday in group for some reason I began to talk about my sisters.  Specifically, I talked about how when I am one on one with my middle sister A (who is turning 27 at the end of the month) we are best friends and get along splendidly.  But when all three of us-- A, M (my 30 year old sister), and myself-- are together, it becomes two against one; my sisters are buddy-buddy and I am the outcast and treated poorly.  D asked whether this made me feel angry, and after some thought, I said "no."

Then today in therapy D asked me whether the fact that S comes to me only in between his girlfriends and is essentially using me makes me angry.  I said "no."  He also asked whether I was angry at JA for not following through on our plans to meet up.  I said "no."

For me, anger is a funny emotion.  I feel it a lot, but never really at other people.  The only people I ever get angry with are my parents, my treatment team, and myself.  Similarly, the only people I feel comfortable expressing my anger to are my parents, my treatment team, and myself.

I tend to get angry at myself very often.  I get angry at myself for having an eating disorder and relapsing so many times.  I get angry at myself for my failed suicide attempts (because I failed, not because I tried).  I get angry at myself for ruining relationships and isolating myself.  I get angry at my body because I see everything wrong with it.

But I let other people get away with so much.  A should not be two-faced, S shouldn't treat me like he does and JA should have responded to me.  I was treated poorly, yet I don't feel angry.  Just sad.  And it confirms my thought that I am worthless.  It hurts me deeply, but I don't feel angry.

They say depression is anger turned inwards, and that might be the case.  Or at least part of the case.  Maybe I get angry at myself instead of getting angry at other people because I feel that I am so disposable that if I rock the boat people will leave me.  Because that's what happens to me: people leave all of the time.  Even when I don't do anything wrong they leave me.  I'm a person in someone's eyes when they need me.  When they have their needs satisfied elsewhere I am trash.

I Know It Doesn't Make Sense

I didn't get to post last night because S and I were out really late.  He finally called me at about 10pm and then picked me up and we went for a drive.  We didn't do what I thought we were going to do-- well, at least part of it.  He was a gentleman, but we did smoke.  I never do drugs unless I'm with him.  I guess that's because I don't really have many friends to get drugs from.  Not that I'm dependent on them at all or use them regularly by any means, but marijuana does ease the depression for a moment so that I'm not totally consumed with thoughts about my death.  But anyway, we went back to his house and I got to play with his turtle, Louie.  (If you don't remember or didn't know, I love turtles.)  I got back home at about 1am and had to take a shower and go to sleep so I could be functional for class this morning so I didn't write.  Surprisingly, even though I had to wake up at 7:15am, I wasn't that tired.

Speaking of thoughts of death, I've been having a lot of them recently.  Specifically, I picture myself hanging myself in my dorm whenever I go back to uni.  Or overdosing.  The one thing that keeps me from doing anything right now is that I know if I fail (which I've done four times) there's no way uni would take me back next semester and I CANNOT live at home for another semester.  I know this isn't exactly logical-- if I expect to be dead, why should I care about uni?  But for some reason it makes sense in my head.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to be dead but it's a lot harder than it seems (bodies are resilient, or at least mine is).  And what would be worse is if I survive but somehow damage my brain.  I'm not a dumb girl and that's pretty much the only thing about myself I can be proud of, so if I lose that, well, then, there's really nothing to live for.

That entire paragraph was a mountain of contradictions, I know.  But I never said I was rational.

Anyway, while I'm still living, I have a presentation for my paper about zoos that I have to give to my Ecological Anthropology class.  I'm nervous-- I HATE public speaking.  I am extremely shy and I'm terrified of judgment.  But I'm pretty sure I know the material, so at least I have that to help me.  And I made a PowerPoint slide show to help me stay on track.  And notecards.  I'll most likely be over-prepared, but that's how my anxiety manifests itself: I go way overboard with everything.  So I guess this will be the source of my torment for the week.

I Take What I Can Get

Today I was hoping to write about how I went out with my friend from high school, JA, and had a great time.  Unfortunately that didn't happen.

JA and I were best friends in high school and when I graduated (she's one year younger than me) we kept in touch on and off, but we haven't seen each other since.  Every time we're in contact and we talk about wanting to get together, when push comes to shove, it never actually happens.  Recently we've been in more contact than we have been in a long time, and she's been leaving messages telling me that she misses me and loves me.  On Wednesday she told me that she was coming home for the weekend and that she'd like to see me.  I said yes, and yesterday I left her a message asking when she's free and she hasn't responded.  Tomorrow she's going back to her school, so basically our plans failed.  Again.

Part of me is upset about this-- I haven't gone out with a friend in a few weeks and I was looking forward to seeing her after about four years.  But then another part of me is kind of relieved.  My social phobia started kicking in and I began to feel really anxious about seeing her.  I was/am afraid that she would judge me for being so crazy and messing up the last seven years of my life.  I was also afraid that we wouldn't be able to maintain a conversation and it would be awkward.  In a way, I've grown comfortable with our talk-but-never-see relationship.  That being said, I do miss her.

S is also in town this weekend and we're scheduled to do something tomorrow night.  My guess is drugs and sex because that is what we always do.  In fact, we were talking about something very relevant in group today.  One of the group members was talking about how he prostitutes himself for cocaine, and another was talking about how she had sex with her drug dealer because he was supplying her with cocaine for free and she felt obligated.  I can relate more to the latter.  It's not that S is my drug dealer or anything, but he just always seems to want to get me high and I don't know any other way to thank him.  Our relationship is certainly somewhat dysfunctional, but I don't really have tons of relationships to choose from so I take what I can get.

I Miss My Baby

Remember my dog who died in June?  Well, I've been having intrusive thoughts about his death.  I wasn't there when he was put to sleep, but my mom told me every detail of what happened at the vet's office and now it haunts me.  Every time I walk my other dog around the block I think of my poor baby and picture his death.  I know I've said this before, but I can't help but feel like we betrayed him.  He counted on us to keep him safe and healthy but we couldn't do that so we killed him.  I know intellectually that it was the right thing to do because seeing him suffer was just awful, but I can't get over the fact that he was killed.  This might be horrible to say, but I didn't experience this when my grandma, grandpa, and popi died.  Of course I loved all of them, but for some reason my dog's death is sticking with me in a different way.  Maybe it's because I was a lot closer to him than I was my grandparents.  Maybe it's the fact that he was killed and my grandparents were not.  I don't know.  But all I know is that I miss my dog so much.  Every day.

Now that I'm sufficiently bawling, I'd like to talk about class.  Specifically, my classwork.  I have pretty much finished my paper and presentation about zoos so now I essentially have nothing to do.  Of course, I have weekly readings for my Ecological Anthropology class and sometimes an essay for my German Film class, but honestly that work takes very little time for me to do.  And as I've said before, I use schoolwork as my coping mechanism so now I'm going to have to find something to do to keep the depression at a relatively manageable level.  I don't know what I will occupy my time with now that I don't have tons of research and writing to do.  Maybe crochet?  But honestly, it's not that fulfilling for me.

Speaking of crocheting, my sister A's 27th birthday on the 28th and I need to figure out a gift to give her.  I was thinking of giving her the hat I showed you yesterday, or a similar hat in the same pattern but with different colors (I've already started working on this).  But I'm not sure that's enough.  A is one of my closest friends, but I don't know what she wants or needs.  I mean, 27 year-olds don't really play with toys besides maybe video games, but she doesn't have a console so that's out of the question.  What would you guys like to get for your birthday?  What would you get for a sister or a close friend?

My Hat

Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, my hat!

I Guess I'll Have To Go Shopping

Remember two weeks ago when I said I was going to crochet a version of this hat?  Well, I finished it.  It didn't turn out how I wanted it to-- I didn't add the ear flaps like I wanted to because I was babysitting and it was late at night and I just got frustrated.  But since I have TONS of extra yarn that I've amassed from previous projects I decided I would make some more hats because it's a relatively easy and quick project and they look pretty good.  So I started on my second hat and today I finished it, ear flaps and all!  Well, I didn't quite finish it.  I want to add straps/tassels hanging down from the earf laps and I haven't done that yet, but it only involves making two braids and tying four knots so I'm pretty sure I'll put on the final touches tomorrow.  I'll try to take a picture of it to post here.  (If you'd like to see some of my other work, click here.)

Anyway, today wasn't a terrible day, but I was a little stressed.  I was just notified of the dress code for my wind ensemble concert at the end of the month and I need to buy a shirt and shoes.  Shoes are not a problem, but shirt shopping, especially button-down shirt shopping (which is what's required), is tough for me.  They never feel like they fit me properly-- they're always tight around the bust and really loose around the waist-- and I therefore feel like I look shlumpy and it messes with my body image.  I know I have about three weeks until the concert, but it will probably take me that long to find something that I'm comfortable in.

Clothes shopping is a body image nightmare for me no matter what, for that matter.  I have a fixed idea that I have to be a certain size (or under) so if something doesn't fit at that size I won't ask for a size up.  And it's always scary putting on clothes and looking in the mirror because I'm afraid that I will look fat and then freak out the rest of the day and have lots of eating disordered thoughts.  So most of the time I avoid shopping.

I remember when I was in high school my friend KS and I would go to the mall almost every other weekend (because there is absolutely nothing else to do in our town).  We would try on clothes and ask each others' opinions.  Right now I can't even imagine doing that.  Showing someone else my body in clothes that may not hide it?  Terrifying!  Shopping has become an incredibly personal endeavor.  But I guess I'll have to suck it up this month and try and find that shirt.

The Opposite Of This

I didn't post a "normal" post yesterday (although I recommend you listen to the song-- it's beautiful) because I couldn't think of anything to say.  My life is the same thing every day and it's getting very boring.  But I think I have something of substance for today.

I had my weekly session with D today and cried.  As per usual.  We were talking about uni and how I'm terrified they won't let me back for the Spring semester.  For those of you who have recently begun reading my blog (welcome and thanks!), I was forced to take a medical leave from school in March and in August I applied to return from leave.  Every member of my treatment team approved my return and sent letters to the school supporting me.  At first uni said that I was approved to come back, but then one week before classes were scheduled to start I got a call that said they revoked my permission to return for the Fall semester.   The rug was pulled out from under me.  It felt like a slap in the face.  So now even though my treatment team is writing more letters in favor of my return and even though I feel like going back to uni is the next step in my recovery I now know there's no guarantee and that the administration can just take it away in a snap.  And it's completely out of my control at this point which is what's scariest of all.

But D said something that made me cry even more: he said that if the uni administration is unsure of my readiness to return he would go there and sit and talk with them face to face.  My uni is in another state and it's not so easy to get to.  In that moment I really felt cared about.  And grateful that I have such a dedicated therapist.  He's done so much already.

Anyway, as D and I were talking about uni I began to reflect on my life and got really depressed.  This is not how I wanted my life to turn out.  In fact, I wanted the opposite of this.  I look back on the last 22 years and all I see are mistakes and foiled plans.  And I'm not feeling very hopeful about the future.  How can I be when the past is so bad?

All Lies And Jests

The Boxer, Simon and Garfunkel

I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocket full of mumbles such are promises
All lies and jests
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest

When I left my home and my family
I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station running scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know
 

Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job
But I get no offers

Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone
Going home
Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me
Bleeding me, going home

In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains

Hard To Obtain

It used to be the case that evenings were when I was most depressed but I feel that might be changing.  The past few days I have felt really depressed in the morning and less so in the afternoons and evenings.  For example, this morning, as I tweeted, I just felt awful and suicidal.  I actually began to look up train schedules so I could throw myself in front of one.  Soon after I was bawling.

But the day improved to a tolerable level.  I spent the afternoon finishing my 10-page paper on zoos for my Ecological Anthropology class.  I still need to edit it some more but it's pretty much all done.  Now the next step is to plan a 10 minute presentation about my paper to be shared with the class.  I am NOT looking forward to standing up in front of my class and speaking.  But alas, I have no choice.

This weekend I really wanted to take time for myself-- I wanted to go to Target and to the mall to find some pants that I can wear for my wind ensemble concert but I felt like all of my time was taken up with schoolwork.  And this was how my depression spiraled out of control at uni-- I spent all of my time either in classes or doing schoolwork and I felt like I could never take a break or a breath.  D and I are looking into clubs and organizations at uni that I can join so that I have to get away from my work from time to time, but it still doesn't feel like time for myself.  I need time to decompress or else I get extremely suicidal and lately I haven't really had the time to do that.  So my mood has plummeted.

Sometimes I see other students happy and taking time for themselves and I think how do they do it?  What is it that they have that I don't?  (Actually, maybe the more appropriate question would be what do I have that they don't, to which the answer would be severe depression.)  All I want is balance.  But it's so hard to obtain.

Feeling Dead

Group today was interesting.  There are nine of us total in the group and there's one boy.  He is probably the shyest person I know.  Every session we start by going around the circle rating our weeks on a scale of 1-10, and his rating is the only thing I've ever heard him say.  But today he told us that he uses cocaine.  And not only does he use cocaine, but in order to get the drugs he has sex with his supplier.  Wow.  So now we have three people in the group with substance abuse issues, and that's what we talked about today.  I didn't really say anything during the session because nothing that we were discussing pertained to me.

Call me self-centered, but I sometimes get frustrated when I don't get to talk because I feel like I'm sitting there for an hour and a half at someone else's therapy session.  And recently D has gotten in the habit of spending an extended amount of time on one person so it really does feel like someone else's therapy session.  Of course I give support and feedback to the other people but I feel I have a lot to say so it's annoying when I don't get to say it.

Reflecting back on the past couple of weeks I noticed I have been crying a lot, but only in therapy.  In fact, I find myself looking forward to my sessions with D because I know I'll cry.  It's not that I enjoy crying (although sometimes it's cathartic) but I realized that when I'm not crying in therapy I feel dead.  It's a hard feeling to describe.  It's not that I don't feel anything-- I'm not numb because I feel depressed all of the time-- it's just that everything seems empty and meaningless and black.  So for three hours every two weeks I feel something.  If only that something was good.

The "Anorexic Dream"

I know I left you guys in suspense last night about a conversation I had with a friend, so here it is!

When I was in the hospital this past March and April, I got really close to a girl named DD.  She and I were admitted on the same day and we instantly connected.  She lives several states away from me, but sometimes we talk on gchat.  Our conversations are always interesting.

DD and I were both denied return to uni this semester, and both of us are hoping to go back in January so we are both trying very hard to recover from our eating disorders.  We both acknowledge how much our eating disorders have ruined our lives, and even though we've tried over and over again to try and make life work with an eating disorder we always fail.  She said there's something called the "Anorexic Dream" in which people can starve themselves their whole lives without dying of a heart attack or other complications, can be happy, and can manage school, a career and relationships.  I want to live this dream so much (although I wouldn't mind dying).  But, as I said, whenever I try I find out that I can't have any of those things.  It's like I've been slapped in the face so many times but I still want to go back for more.  Isn't it interesting?  But I guess that's why they call it an eating disorder-- if we behaved rationally we wouldn't be sick in the first place.

It's also important to remember that eating disorders serve a purpose; it has given me a lot of things.  But I have to keep telling myself that it takes away a lot more than it gives.

UPDATE: Oh, and happy birthday, Art Garfunkel!

Lunch With My Dietitian

Sorry for not posting last night.  This week has kind of been rough in terms of my depression-- I'm feeling the lower than I have felt in a while.  And I've also been extremely tired.  So on Wednesday when I came home from class at about 6:30pm I ate dinner and was asleep by 7:30pm.  I slept until 9am which isn't that late, but even after 13.5 hours of sleep I was exhausted.  But somehow I managed to get myself up and to the library.

In the afternoon I had an appointment with my dietitian-- we went out to eat lunch together.  Sitting in the pizza parlor I started to get sad looking at all of the happy kids eating their pizza.  I want so badly to be a kid again.  Granted, I've been depressed (et al) since I was eight but life was so much simpler and basically consequence-free.  So when I see children it reminds me of what I don't have.

Anyway, while we were eating our pizza I told me dietitian that I had gotten my scale back from D.  She was disappointed and asked me when I was going to give it back but I told her that I wasn't ready to get rid of it.  I told her that the scale is comforting-- it reassures me that I'm not gaining weight.  Then we got into a disagreement about what constitutes weight gain versus a weight fluctuation and whether a certain amount of weight is visible on the body.  We also discussed some other things, but because they involve numbers I am choosing not to write about it here.  But by the end of the lunch I was so frustrated-- I felt like she didn't hear a word I said.  She tries to contradict what I say using logic but I believe her logic is sometimes flawed.  I got pretty angry and upset but we were at a pizza parlor so I couldn't really create the ruckus that I probably would have made if we had been in her office.

Well, that's all for today.  Stay tuned tomorrow (I think) for insights derived from a conversation with a friend.  Be well.

Sticks And Stones

Today was a rough day, but I basically did nothing.  Well, maybe because it was a rough day I did nothing.  But anyway, like yesterday, I woke up this morning feeling terribly depressed and sad.  I couldn't deal with the day, so I went back to sleep until about noontime when I finally got up and got dressed.  I probably wouldn't have even gotten dressed if it wasn't for my appointment with D.

My session with D was hard-- I ended up crying most of the time.  We were talking about an experience I had when I was fourteen:  I was on a summer backpacking/camping/language immersion trip in France (it was amazing) and it was one of the first few days.  Two girls, A and B (actually, those are their real first initials so it worked out nicely) had gotten close immediately because they shared a tent and were both from California.  Even though the entire group was ten teenagers, these two girls were the "popular" ones.  So one day I tried to make friends with them.  But A and B weren't looking to be my friend, so they called me "clingy, annoying, and obnoxious."  I felt like a dog that had just been kicked-- I cowered away with my tail between my legs, ran to the bathroom and cut myself on the toilet paper dispenser.  It was the first time I self-harmed.

I feel really dumb about allowing those girls' words to affect me so much.  Sticks and stones, right?  But for some reason that memory has stuck with me and always gets me upset.  D said that he thinks that because these girls said those mean things to me I am too cautious when making friends-- I'm afraid of being perceived as "clingy, annoying, and obnoxious."

After my session, I was emotionally exhausted.  My head hurt from crying so much.  I was supposed to go to wind ensemble tonight but I couldn't bring myself to move from my spot on the couch.  I'm hoping to go to sleep early tonight because this day needs to be over.  In fact, this week needs to be over.  Actually, just wake me up when it's January.

Coping At The Library

I woke up really feeling my depression this morning.  It was a struggle to get out of bed and get dressed, and when I got dressed I was only able to put on a hooded sweatshirt and jeans.  Not that there's anything wrong with hooded sweatshirts-- in fact I love them-- but it's probably the outfit with the least amount of effort attached.  When I came home from class I just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness.  So I put on one of my favorite Simon & Garfunkel songs and started to cry.  And that's how I spent my morning.

In the afternoon I was able to pull myself together and go to the library where I had an admittedly obvious revelation: I'm using my schoolwork as a substitute for life.  I'm spending the vast majority of my time there, but it didn't used to be that way; over the summer and in the beginning of the semester I took time for some "fun" things for myself like going window shopping or visiting my sisters in the city.  But I have tons of free time and literally nothing else to do besides study-- I have no friends and no obligations besides class, wind ensemble and my various appointments throughout the week-- so I do it all of the time.

This reminds me of my time at uni.  When I was there I only left my house to go to class; the rest of my time I spent in my apartment studying and reading.  Of course, the problem then wasn't that I had too much free time but instead that I was terrified of failure.

But I think the point is that schoolwork is my go-to coping skill when life isn't going how I'd like it to go.  My dream is that when I return to uni I can call on my friends to help me cope instead of my textbooks.  That, of course, depends on my ability to make friends and break habits.  And maybe this is because I've been feeling quite depressed today, but I honestly don't think it will happen.