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6:05 p.m. - 11/26/01 The violent feelings have disipated. The intensity, at least, is gone. I no longer desire to destroy something, though I would like a little physical activity, despite how exhausted I am. For the most part there is just that scratching at my palms, wrists, and fingers from the inside out, the ache in my temples, begging me to cut and burn. I want to give into it, even moreso I want to remember how I kept from giving into it, but I'm mostly just gritting my teeth and distracting myself. I signed a safety contract at every shift change while I was in the hospital; it was my way of checking in with the staff, letting them know where I was at to minimize the times I actually went through with the destructive thoughts. Before I left, I signed it one last time, dated it "forever" and got my staff witness. They asked if I wanted to take it with me, but I declined. I just wanted to have signed it, to make it clear that I would be safe when I left, even if I knew from experience, that my illegible signature inscribed on a yellow legal pad did not always carve the future in stone. It made me feel better somehow, like the time I promised Chas I wouldn't kill myself. It was my way of promising them I wouldn't forget. I heard once about a girl who filled out a pass form and dated it "forever." I understand the beauty of that now, although I love that place too much to think of being away from it always. In a way, I made a similar move. I contracted to be away from my eating disorder forever...if not from the place that I'd surrendered it to. I just ended a sentence with a preposition. I haven't been in school for a long time. I don't know what to do about anything, so I guess I need to call a truce with the universe. That's the only way anything works out. I don't know how I can stay in this house, I don't know how to educate myself for the next couple years, and I don't know how to abstain from my eating disorder in any of the possible scenarios. I'm lost, I miss red, I'm scared about NYC, and I don't know how to fix any of those things. I feel trapped, somewhat, and a great deal alone in that feeling. And when I start to talk the anxiety rises, and it feels like there's so much to say, and then I just want to cut, avoid, escape whatever it is I'm running from this time... Something will happen; I know that. It's just a matter of waiting around, following the right signs, that gets difficult. goals for tomorrow: to be open (not defensive) with the new therapist and determine if she seems capable of meeting my needs. & to do something that will put a smile on my face, even temporarily. love- � � |