4:35 p.m. - 09/26/02
-/-coming apart at the seams...--
I can't explain how I feel about myself right now. I know I've said it a million times before, but I can't seem to iterate it now. I completely forgot that I could go up on my meds, if I chose to, when I took them this morning. I think I might tomorrow; I haven't decided. I just can't keep feeling like this. Hating myself for everything I do. Considering survivalist tactics and regretting the humanity that causes me to do so. I need a break from myself, but breaks are slow in coming and they don't last long.
I need to be honest here, which I haven't in a really long time. In the hospital, having an eating disorder is the norm, the majority of those around you are in recovery, and so it's easy to say things. In some ways, I focused *too much* on my eating disorder when I was in the hospital, and when I had just been released. I so rarely felt like I couldn't say the ed thoughts that were in my head. And I was like that here for awhile, too; when I first started this particular diaryland diary, I hadn't told anyone about it, so I let the words flow freely. I talked about what I was eating, how I felt about it, when I was restricting, when I was scared I might start. I talked about wanting to throw it away (maybe?) and wanting to really win against it. I was secure in all of that. Once.
I don't feel like anyone took this perspective away from me, but I started talking less and less, and eventually censoring myself led me to believe the words *could not* be said. Action affects attitude; so says my psychology book.
And this may seem really innacurate to readers, to observers. I know I talk about recovery a lot; I talk about therapy and feelings and struggle. But I don't talk about the ambivalence; I don't talk *from* the ambivalence. I don't come here and write things like "I'm the fattest, most disgusting creature in the world" or "I can't believe I ate that; I want to slam my head into a wall till I'm unconscious." I'm glad of that in a way; in a way, I think it's the right decision. I don't want to give those thoughts power, and I don't want to publicly seem supportive of ideas that are my illness. I don't want moments of sickness, of confusion, to be mistaken for what is true- because it's just as easy to read a journal and have the wrong things affirmed, as it is to find affirmation of the right ones. But. Still. I do want to affirm my right to be ambivalent, to feel no matter what I feel, to still be sick, even though it's been a year since I purged (it's been what- a week?- since I restricted. less.) I need to know that just because I have friends in more difficult places does not mean I'm perfect and have to continue being so. I want to know that even if I hadn't done anything eating-disordered for ten years, I could still be really sick. I could still really need things and have my irrational moments. I want that to be ok.
I want a time when I can say, "my progress is more than behavioral. Even if I were to purge right now, it would not erase my one-year status, because 'one year' is more than that." I want to know I can purge and still be working forward, and then I want to not purge. I don't know what I'm saying. Maybe I wish I'd screwed up more in the past year, though then, I'd probably just be counting the months and feel the same way. I want to know what you can only know when mistakes are not the mark of hellions: I want to know that I'm still deserving even in a moment when I want to throw it all away.
I want to be a role model. Or rather, I don't want to be a poor role model. I don't want to be on the list of diaries read by pro-ed girls. I just want permission to say what I feel without being linked to what I'm so strongly against. I have a visceral response to the pro-illness subculture. It knocks all breath out of me; it leaves me on the floor. I have so much pain around how many people are sick, how sick I've been, how my friends aren't physically safe, how I've lost a friend and to see people support this, even though everyone says to me, "Mary, they're really sick, too; it's part of their illness"- it's just too painful. To be associated with that would stab at my heart. I look at it like genocide, like concentration camps. I wilt. I can't believe it's real.
But I haven't been raised knowing about pro-illness and how painful it is. I haven't read about movements in my history books every year until my defenses are strong, until it's harder to remember *this was real, this still happens* than it is to detach. I have no ability to detach from what's going on with the p-i culture. I have no ability to detach from the people who *want recovery* and are still sick. I can't explain. I used to watch the news and nearly die. Every story- hurricane, shooting, politic- slashed through me, left me disarmed. Now, I do ok. I survived the anniversary of 9/11. I struggle with stories about teenagers dying, about anyone dying really, and I struggle with violent acts. But I have more defenses. I finally realized why Columbine drained me of any remaining ability to cope. I finally know how accurately my own life was depicted in the news stories I was being affected by. So maybe there's a magnified version of who I am in this subculture. Or maybe I'm just so so so so so so vulnerable to this. I know that much is true.
There really isn't much point to this. I'm depressed; I'm sure my seratonin's screwy. I try a little chocolate, nature's stimulant, and hate myself for eating it. I think less of myself than I do the dead bug in the bathroom. And I'm scared that if I say this, I'll be mistaken as a proponent of something that violently unhinges me. I'm scared that if I say how against this I am, I'll be seen as jealous or uncaring. I'm scared that the tears which spring up when I mistakenly stumble across pro-illness material will leave me unable to debate their perspective, will not be seen as response enough.
I want to move to the future, as written in my head on optimistic days.
chord
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