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6:05 p.m. - 11/26/01
in which I use "I feel" statements...
At red right now they're having check-in. I'm not doing so well, so I thought I'd have my own little check-in here. I've kind of decided that's the new place of journaling in my life. I can't use it the way I once did, as my sole way of communicating any and all of what I was feeling, because I'm afraid doing so will keep me from talking the way I now know how. But I can use it to check in with myself, to see how I'm doing emotionally, to vent during those inevitable moments when there's no one around.

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-
chord

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