twoscoopsofrecovery - Tumblr blog

twoscoopsofrecovery · 8 years ago

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re·cov·er·y  a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.  I wouldn't say I'm in recovery, but I also wouldn't say I'm fully in my ed or addiction at this point. I feel like I'm re entering recovery. But this time fully and honest, and I think that is why it is taking a little longer to surrender. When I do surrender I am doing It fully and completely. Two months back in treatment. Three months since I last wrote, so as assigned I'm writing again. An assignment I actually don't mind, I get to do what I love. A lot has happened. I've found myself kicked out of my parents house, yet again, jobless, broke, living with friends. Seems to be the norm. My mood has been extremely unstable and my behaviors are out of control. Well, sort of. I stopped purging. Since December 20th, when I finally came back to rosewood, I've only purged once. Which, is crazy because before I came in I was purging everything I ate. So major improvement there. Readmitting myself was this whole process. Due to health reasons it took longer then expected. My doctor found I had pancreatitis, which freaked me out to no end and back and motivated me to start eating a little bit before I even got back into treatment. Which, was insanely hard. My first two to three weeks back, I couldn't finish a single meal. It was humiliating to some extent, I felt completely incapable. With restricting, I haven't really been. There's this grey area in my brain where if I don't have the means to eat and if I don't have money, I don't have to eat. Which, was a bit of a problem maybe a week or two ago but I've seemed to improve with that one. So I guess my behaviors aren't out of control; I haven't purged, meal plan compliant, I don't binge, I don't use laxatives/diuretics/diet pills, I don't over exercise. Where does the problem stand then? Easy: my drinking. I'm in a constant debate with myself lately. Do I have an alcohol problem? A year ago I would've instinctively answered yes, I am an alcoholic. Today, well, I am not sure how to answer that question. I've drank a couple times now since being back. I'm supposed to be sober, everyone is supposed to be sober while in a program like this. My rational is: if I don't have a problem, I shouldn't have a problem staying sober for the duration of my stay at rosewood. But I find myself trying to sneak around the rules to drink. Is it a problem? I'm not too sure. When I drink I don't do so excessively, just enough to get decently drunk. Which, if you know me, you'd know its pretty easy for me because I basically have zero tolerance. So, again, I ask, where is the problem? The problem that I am encountering is not the actual alcohol it's self, or any drugs, or anything tangible for that matter. I do not think I am physically addicted to any substance currently as it stands. What I am addicted to, is escaping. And that's where the problem lays. I can't handle my reality, I want to get plastered, and forget about the shit show I call my life. I'm still terribly depressed and it keeps coming and going in waves and I can't really take it anymore. My life is currently rotating between, I want to kill myself and I'm writing a suicide note, to, my life is amazing and I love everyone so much and I'm so grateful for what I do have and people are inherently good. Which, is exhausting. A wave of sadness hit me the other day. Partially due to concerns, partially because of no reason. The other night I spent most of the evening with my boyfriend. I almost went into a flash back and started disassociating but was able to pull myself out of it before it had happened. He was extremely supportive and understanding, which was extremely comforting while I was in a more vulnerable place. When I got back to my friends place that I'm staying at, I was texting him, and something had come up. I've found myself scared to think about what things would be like with out him. Which, is insane because I haven't thought that about someone since my ex who I dated for almost two years. I don't find myself pushing him away, if anything I'm scared because I know I'm becoming attached, and commitment is scary, but I want it so badly. So, relationship wise, I'm extremely happy with where it's going. I'm very grateful I met someone who gets me and is there for me. It's going on the right direction, I'm in love, I'm happy, communication is there, things are good. So abnormal for me, but hey I'll take it. It's good and exciting. But, i miss my mom. My sisters, my brother. I know I have family, they're there, just not there right now. I have other family, family of choice vs. family of origin. I have people around me that help me out and are there for me. But I still miss them. So much. Before I readmitted me and my mom had probably the best mother daughter relationship I could of ever asked for. We had very real conversations about life; the good the bad, the nitty gritty details of addictions and my eating disorder. My mom confided in me and I the same. I miss my mother terribly. I miss my sisters and their beautiful sun-filled smiles. Sophia and her innocence. Audrey, who finally felt comfortable enough telling me her deep 5th grade coming of age secrets. Leo, who was just beginning to trust in me once more. I miss them. I miss them so much it hurts and I try not to think of it. So I won't talk about it anymore. I guess over all everything has improved and become more complicated. Still Canadian though, that's a major stress for me. But, I think I have figured out a way around it. I can get an F-1 visa, which is a student visa. Of course I'd have to take out loans to be able to go to school, and probably be in debt for the rest of my life, and after I'm done with school my visa is up and I cannot switch visas to something more permanent. So, it would just be delaying the process of going back to Canada. Which, at this point, I don't mind too much. Who knows where I'll be in four years. Four years ago I definitely didn't think I'd be back in treatment for a second time. Nor did I think I'd be alive at 20. At 16 I thought by time I was 18 I'd be dead. And "If I make it to twenty I'll have dentures" which didn't exactly happen. So yeah, maybe things have improved. I don't have much to complain about right now. Well, I have tons to complain about, I'm just choosing not to, because I'm not so sure how that'd serve me at this point. Wallowing in my own self pity doesn't help much anymore. I realize I need to get up, and move forward. I need to take action. It is my life and I do want it to be better then it has been. Ive recently reconnected with an old friend. I'm extremely grateful for her, as she has been there through the most depressive points in my life, and still has stuck by. She is family, and I love her dearly. Talking to her more recently I've realized how much I have changed, although I feel as though I haven't. We used to be a little group, me, her, my ex who is her step brother, her best friend, and her boyfriend who is now her husband. We used to do everything together. Before I had initially started treatment I lived with her because, well, my parents kicked me out. She had taken me in and for about two months we were this happy little family, until my suicide attempt. Which I regret so terribly and hate myself for putting them all through. When I was 18 I had an episode where I slit my wrists and hoped to die. Instead, my ex came into the bathroom where I was attempting to do so, and then a few minutes later, the rest of everyone. They rushed me to the ER and I was admitted to the psych hospital about twelve hours later, where I had never felt so alone. I spent five days in the hospital and then went to reasons inpatient for my ed because like my friend had said "be honest about your eating disorder". They had stayed with me while I was in the ER and the entire time she had been saying to be honest. And honestly if I didn't listen to her I probably never would have gone to treatment. So ash, if you're reading this, thank you. Thank you so much for everything you've ever done for me. I love you and you're a huge part of why I ever decided to change and learn to live. My parents always told me growing up that friends never last and family is forever. I'm upset, I'm hurt, I'm angry. Where the fuck are my parents now? If family is forever where are they? All I have is friends at this point. Which, again, I am so insanely grateful for. I don't know what I would be doing with out any of you. The people I choose to surround myself around are the people who actually stick around. Who knew, if you surround yourself by good people, good things happen. In my relapse this last time around, someone had asked me why I was killing myself over making my parents happy. At that time I wasn't exactly too sure what they meant and why they would say something like that. I was upset and hurt by it. But looking back just three months I completely understand that statement. Unfortunately, if I want to recover and live my life, I have to be separated from my parents. I love them so much. I love them to the moon and back. I have so much respect for them and would never do anything to hurt them. I think they are amazing people, but right now as it stands I have to love them from afar. And I'm coming to a place of acceptance with this. I think this is manageable at the point. As far as my visa goes, I've decided to get my F1. A student visa. I'll take out a loan and pay for school. I'll probably be in debt for the rest of my life but at this point, I do not care. All I'm doing is going to school for cosmetology and honestly, that's not that much money. So I need to finish high school. Which is on my list of things to do. This week I'm going to figure out how/where to go to get my transcripts. Or if I'm just going to take my GED. Also this week I'm going to meet up with a friend on Sunday and see if I can get a job anywhere. I'm excited honestly things feel like they're moving forward finally. And that's because of me. Because I finally decided to stop crying and wallowing in my self pity and actually get up and do something. The good news is, everyone else's voice is out of my head. I'm a lot more clear on what to do and how to do it.

#ed recovery #ed treatment #adulting

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twoscoopsofrecovery · 9 years ago

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Three months post treatment.

I’m struggling. I’ll be honest. It’s not what I expected. I thought upon leaving treatment I would have my shit together, you know like tangible things. An apartment, a job, going to school, good family life, my health under control, and of course this magical thing where you have your anxiety ceases to exist. I also promised myself and everyone around me I’d stop smoking cigarettes after treatment. After all I am underage. Again. June 6th was the last day I could legally by them being under 21. I’m 20. Just missed the cutoff. But that’s really the least of my worries.

Today I’m babysitting my siblings for the weekend, my parents went out of town. They got some sweet deal where it’s their friends birthday and basically all expenses paid for - private jet included - trip to Las Vegas. They’re happy as shit. They left this morning. 10am. Its Thursday. They’re gone till Sunday night. I’m happy for them I really am, but the thing that scares me isn’t how much they’ll be partying or how the kids will behave with me (they don’t listen) or if I can handle three kids (7, 10, and 13) on my own. It’s something else. Something that within the last couple of weeks has crept back up and completely taken control. My eating disorder.

Maybe not completely taken control. I’m still maintaining some sort of weight although during these last couple of weeks I’ve lost all the weight I’ve gained in treatment. I’m a couple pounds lower then what was my highest weight pre treatment, which apparently was still underweight. I’m not doing so hot. Literally I’m freezing all the damn time again. My limbs like going numb. I consistently have a pounding headache and my stomach burns on a regular basis. My feet are sore, I’m shaky all the time, irritable, irrational, angry, moody, and easily annoyed. I don’t want to be touched, I don’t want to be looked at and I feel unheard. I’m pushing people away again and I feel like literal death. Im wearing clothes I haven’t worn since I was inpatient for my eating disorder a year and a half ago. I’m starting to shed an insane amount of hair in the shower and I’ve basically given up on what personal hygiene is. Showers? Once a week if I’m lucky.

The second I heard they were going out of town for four days my head jumped to this awful place. I wasn’t excited to help them out or spend time with the kids, or even how much they’d be paying me. No. In my head my first thought was thank god. Four days of no one telling me to eat and watching my behaviors. Four days of fasting. Four days of complete control over my intake, no one sitting me down monitoring me, making sure I drink at least half that god damn milkshake or yelling at me that I need to grow up and eat. I don’t understand myself half the time. I don’t understand why I’m doing this to myself, again.

Part of me knows this is the wrong decision. Actually I fully and completely understand how dangerous and crazy it sounds to plan to not eat for four days. I get it. It’s a very very bad decision. I understand what happens to my body I understand what it will do to my metabolism and what happens when I inevitably start eating again. I understand that it could very possibly lead to a binging episode -something I haven’t done in almost two years now. I get it. I know all the health risks and exactly what happens to your brain and body when you starve yourself. I know I won’t have energy. There is no need to tell me or try and convince me not to. 15 months of treatment TRUST me I know. I’ve beaten all the facts to death and back. I know all of this. Which begs the question we’re probably all thinking, why the fuck am I doing this? Why am I here again? What is going on in my life that I am literally starving myself and backtracking all my progress just so I can avoid what I’m feeling? 8 years of an untreated eating disorder and this thing just sort of happens. Something sets you off I guess and you just fall back? I don’t know. Honestly I don’t know. I know 6 months of what felt like actual progress and recovery only in treatment, and the rest of my life disordered eating since 5 and an eating disorder starting at 11. I’m twenty. I know, that’s not an excuse I can do it I can do it I can do it so I’ve been told but honestly, it feels fucking useless.

My tattoo glares up at me most of the day. Written in an old type writer style with ink splatters on my forearm over my scars (from past suicide attempts) says the bold statement of “I am not afraid to keep on living”. When I was 19, and just discharged from 7 weeks of residential for the second time, while in a full day php (partial hospitalization program) I went and got the tattoo I wanted for over a year. My friend, one of my closer friends who was more of a maternal figure at the time, paid for the tattoo. She got it for me for my year sober. I love her, and I love her for it and think of her all the time because of it. But at this point in my life it feels like past me is almost mocking myself. Who the fuck am I kidding? I’ve literally been suicidal since 8 years old. My first attempt was at 11, downing part of a bottle of vodka and and a handful of painkillers. I sincerely thought it would do the trick. I was horribly wrong. I spent the entire night and day after throwing up and in a haze regretting my decision, and regretting I didn’t take more. I hid it from my parents and told them I was sick that morning, stayed home from school contemplating if I really wanted to end it all or not. My parents still don’t know what happened then. They probably never will. I was 11. It’s heartbreaking to think back on.

I can’t go on like this. I know I need help. I’m off my meds. It’s been three months off them, basically I ran out after I discharged and lost my script to get more. I don’t have an outpatient team. I don’t have a doctor I see regularly. I don’t go to support groups or AA anymore. I rarely see my friends from treatment. Fuck I rarely see any of my friends. I live through my parents stories of them staying out till 5 am drinking and using and partying and carrying on. I told my mom about me struggling so badly, and she told me she’d help look for a psychiatrist for me. I’ve lost my insurance card and only ID so I’m not too sure how that’s going to pan out. I don’t want to see a therapist or dietitian. They’re going to tell me what I already know, I’m underweight, I need to restore, and if I don’t get my act together my ass is going back to treatment. The problem through out all of this?

I’ve done treatment. I’ve done the whole recovery thing. Maybe I didn’t do it properly or long enough, because some how, doing this to myself is easier. I don’t see the point of getting better if it just hinders more then it helps. The problem I’ve said repeatedly through out treatment: how do I get past my eating disorder, if it’s the only thing that genuinely works. The answer I always got: it doesn’t work it’s killing you.

I realize now, that’s exactly what I want. I never asked to be born. I never asked to have what happened to me. I never wanted this life and maybe it just isn’t meant for everyone.

We can go on and on for hours about how those are just cognitive distortion and tapes I’ve been playing in my head for years now. How it’s just engraved into my brain and that’s why it’s my default. We can talk about the psychological damage done to me by thinking this and hearing it for years. Spelled out in paragraphs and written in lines on my thighs that should have been sewed up since the age of 15. We can talk about it. I can talk about it till I’m blue in the face with a therapist or in a group, in treatment or outpatient. How it can be fixed and how I can move on and move forward. How I don’t need to be thinking like this and how my brain is just chemically imbalanced from years of self starvation and drug use. How I just need the right concoction of medication and therapy and I’ll be on my way. To a better tomorrow filled with hope. I believed it. I fully lived that. I believed that I could make something of myself, find some sort of happiness and latch onto it. Nurture it and watch it grow. And it did. I was happy. I was okay. I had everything I needed.

A roof over my head, food to eat, friends surrounding me, what felt like a supportive family. But then curtain finally dropped and I realized it was all fabricated. That wasn’t my life. That wasn’t my reality. That was something created to get me into a some what stable place so I could re-enter life.

So many times while I was in IOP (intensive outpatient) I heard people talk about how I need to re-enter life. It’s the phase of treatment where you phase out of treatment, where you return living at home if your close enough, get a job, or start school. Find what interests you and move towards that. You’re supposed to be finding a real outpatient team during that time frame. People you learn to trust and depend on as you’re leaving treatment, that will become your team indefinitely. Your therapist, dietician, psychiatrist. You start to re-learn how to live, outside of your eating disorder. You have time to catch up with outside friends, you spend time with your family, who by that point understand everything you go through, have and will endure. Because theoretically they’ve been involved and by your side this whole time through out treatment. They’ve showed up to family groups, and individual family therapy sessions. You’ve worked out your problems with them and they’re willing to make changes and help you along your journey to your new life. Your recovery.

That is not my reality. That is not what happened to me. That sounds so lovely. And fucking fantastic. My situation was a bit different. It IS a lot different. I’m dependent on my parents for legal reasons. I’m not a citizen in the country I live in, I’m under my dads work visa. Legally, I can’t get a job. My next best option, go to school get my own visa, I’ll be able to work. I’m so sick of uttering this stupid scenario to people it is so infuriating, embarrassing, and frustrating. I have lived in the US for 17 years. I should be American.

This wouldn’t be such a problem if it weren’t for the fact that while I was in treatment I didn’t spend time with my family. They were partially involved within the first two months of my 15 month endeavor. After that, I saw them maybe, once a month if I was lucky. Other people were paying for my food. Buying me clothes. Cigarettes. Toiletries. Housing me.

I do not. Under any circumstances. Hold anything against my parents. They were dealing with their own struggles are hardships. They have 5 children. Yes I understand the argument “but you’re one of their five”. Yes. I understand that. But my circumstances are different. I understand it was not my friends place nor responsibility to be taking care of me. It was my friends who became pseudo-family doing it out of love, and that my parents in theory should have helped a bit more. That they should be more sensitive to their daughter who is an anorexic, alcoholic, addict, three months out of treatment and not openly drink and diet and carry on in the ways they do, commenting about how I “look so much better” the second I lose weight. But the fact of the matter is, they are there for me the most they can be. The best they know. People have told me otherwise. People tell me otherwise. People will try and show me otherwise, repeatedly. That, they have hurt me as much as I have hurt them if not more. That I need to let go of them and cut them out of my life, or that I need to distance myself more. “You can still see them just stop spending so much time with them.”

Again. I understand all of you, where you are coming from and each of your points of view. We are not a conventional family. Amazing absolutely amazing parents to my three younger siblings. Stunning really. It’s beautiful how they are with the kids. It makes me so happy that these children have these parents. They could not ask for better parents. I’m not saying they’re perfect, no family is, but they’re damn close when it comes to the kids. I mean that. With all my heart I sincerely mean that.

With me? The way I was raised? They were kids. My mom was one year older then me when she had me, 17 when she had my sister. Maybe I’m too forgiving and only see the good in people. Maybe I don’t want to see what everyone else around me sees because I want a happy family. I want my mom to be there for me now because she wasn’t really when I was younger. I want my dad to give me a hug and tell me I’m doing just fine. I want so badly my parents to accept me and tell me I’m okay, I’m going to be okay, and I’ve got this.

This. Right now. This weird place I’m in, where I’m not in recovery, and not in a full blown relapse. Where I’m not living at home but not really living with my boyfriend. Where I’m torn, between wanting to give up and keep going. Where I want to be happy but at the same time don’t give a fuck anymore. This is the closest I’ve ever been to feeling like my parents love me. As a kid growing up, part of the reason I wanted to die so badly, is because I felt like a huge burden to my family. To my parents. I knew I was an accident - no one plans a kid at 21. I was a mistake. My entire life was just a fluke, because my parents decided to mess around that night. I’m not here for a reason. They could of done so much better with out me. And I’ve done nothing to make them proud. I shouldn’t have been born. All I’ve ever done is cause problems.

And I know if you’ve been through any sort of therapy you’re probably picking out each cognitive distortion and tearing it apart in your head. Each lie I’ve been telling myself and over exaggeration. And here I am again fighting with myself. I know these things now I know so much more I have so much more awareness.

But I swear to god I know why I’m slipping back into my eating disorder. I just want my parents love and attention. I just want to feel that from them. And I have only ever felt it through my eating disorder. Wether it was making them proud by how much disciple I displayed over food, or how they yelled at me to eat because I knew they cared then. I know they care when my moms basically in tears telling me I need to eat. When they showed up to the hospital after my first hospitalized suicide attempt - a week late but still there - crying and wondering what went wrong.

I’m not saying I want to go that far. I’m not deliberately saying I’m going to do this so I can get attention. I’m saying, when I do this, is the only time I’ve ever felt truly loved by them. And what ever I’m doing now, doing everything and anything they ask when ever they ask at what ever time or place, my parents like it. And I’m feeling this love from them.

So they spoke of the grey area in treatment. Well I’m living it but I don’t think this is what they meant. Halfway wanting recovery, and halfway avoiding it at all costs. Some days are easier then others. Some hours are easier then others. Sometime I want to die. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what to do. I do recognize that I was and am incredibly lucky to receive the treatment I did, for the amount of time I did. I’m not dissing that. I’m not dismissing everything everyone has done for me and has helped me with. I’m simply saying, I know why I’m doing this. I know what’s wrong. I’m not too sure I want to fix it because I’m finally receiving what I’ve been looking for and lacking. My life hasn’t been perfect. My life also hasn’t been the worst on the surface and from the outside. Looking in I can appear to be a spoiled brat living in Santa Monica. I understand that. These are my problems. This is what I face on the daily. Where I know what’s been told to me as what’s best, by everyone else in my life, but I just want to, and finally am starting to, feel accepted by my parents. I know it won’t last. It never does. But it’s also never been this sustained. I know they’re just people. But it’s been drilled into my head from early childhood that family is forever and friends never last. Maybe this is goodbye to some of you I don’t know. Please don’t take this personally. I’m not too sure what I’m doing. At all. With anything. I have no plans and I don’t know what my future holds. Sometimes I think like this and other times I don’t give a shit.

I feel like I’m just existing. Not really living. My whole life has been an existence, not really life. I don’t know how to live. I’m neutral. I don’t know anymore about anything. I just know one thing.

I want to get everyone else’s thoughts out of my head.

#ed recovery #anorexia recovery #recovery #treatment #eating disorder recovery

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