Saturday, July 30, 2016
They say I'm high functioning.
I have enough diagnosis
To fill up one hand
But it's all hidden under
This marvelous mask
They say I'm high functioning.
I go to school, I work
I even live hours away from family
I do chores, I pay bills
But I till cry myself to sleep at night
The problem with being high functioning is that they don't notice when things go wrong. It took so long for me to find help because no lne believed I was as sick as I was. And by the time I got help, it was too late. I was slicing my body open and popping pills every night.
Friday, July 29, 2016
One of my friends came to visit me today. I'm so grateful that I have this amazing support system, and people I can trust to be there for me in my roughest times. Unfortunately, I've also been disappointed by the lack of support that I've had from some people. But that's life.
I met an amazing woman today. She really enlightened me. Her positive and willing attitude toward treatment, and her self awareness with regards to her disorder was quite impressive. It made me think a lot. Shes ten years older than me, and highly educated. That's my nain goal for when I'm thirty. To be very highly educated. But I don't want to be thirty and in hospital. I want to be educated and successful. If that means letting go of my disorders, maybe this is the time to do that.
Thursday, July 28, 2016
I overdosed twice in the past two days, which is what resulted in me getting here.
I'm hoping my stay isn't too long as I'm hoping to get on a plane and fly to Vancouver in a couple weeks. But a week long stay wouldn't do me any harm.
They keep on asking me what I need. I don't know what I need. I just know that what I'm doing right now isn't working. That spending my nights wanting to overdose or actually overdosing isn't how I should be living my life. I really hope this stay helps me. I'm fed up living like this.
I have reasons to stay alive but none of them matter if I'm dead. And that's the current though process I'm struggling with. I'll continue writting and keeping you all posted.
Thank you so much for your unconditional support.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
I've gotten shot down time and time again. I'm one of those 'hopeless' cases no one wants to help. I guess when your still suicidal after four hospitalizations and the max amount of anti depressants they can give you, doctors no longer know what to do.
In some ways, I've had an extremely lucky upbringing. Supportive parents, great friends, wonderful teammates, and big goals. But no matter how lucky you are, life always gets in the way. It started with my parents divorce, followed by rejection, loss and despair.
Between this rocky, although happy, upbringing, and losing the genetic lottery, the depression, anxiety, bulimia, and borderline personality were in full swing by the time I was 17.
I'm what they call a high-functioning mentally ill patient. But under that high-functioning mask, is a lost girl who wakes up at 5 every morning because it takes an hour to will herself out of bed. A girl who spends hours staring at herself in the mirror and hunching over a toilet bowl swearing to herself that she won't ever eat again. A girl who thinks of blades, and ropes, and bridges and pills.
I'm a therapists worst nightmare. Smart enough to know all the tricks up their sleeves, but not smart enough to listen. Smart enough to be self aware of everything I'm doing but not smart enough to stop. Every time I start thinking I could live a life without my illnesses I come crashing down, fully relapsing into the self harm, purging and other destructive behaviors. Every time I think I'll never slice my skin open or stick my fingers down my throat every again, I end up losing it all, setting my days clean count back to zero.
Every time I think I can break loose and start to walk away, something about this demon pulls me back to the start. I'm like one of those monkeys in a monkey trap. Forever stuck because I won't let go of that stupid banana.
Don't you dare say I'm not trying
I spend most nights crying, counting my pills until I fall asleep wondering if I have the tools to kill myself without leaving my bed.
But I wake every God damn morning and eat breakfast.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Since I was little I was always called a perfectionist and I always thought it was a compliment because who doesn't want to be perfect? I was warned that this wasn't a good thing and it could get the best of me, but how could it? They were just jealous. That I could be perfect and they couldn't.
When I started therapy for my eating disorder my first year of university, I was told that my perfectionism was driving the disorder. That without letting go of the perfectionism, I wouldn't be able to let go of the eating disorder. I didn't get it. How could they be connected? My perfectionism was perfecting me while the bulimia was destroying me.
My perfectionism had gotten me straight As all through high school and the first few terms of university. My perfectionism had gotten me 5 provincial championship medals.My perfectionism was responsible for my extreme organization, my ability to balance school, work, volunteering and gymnastics. How could this be a problem?
By the time I figured it out, it was too late. The perfectionism had grown into my brain attacking me on all sides. By the time I figured it out, the perfectionism had decided on the way I sit, dress, act, study, and live. That's how this monster works. It comes to you as a friend. It helps you look prettier and have a clean room and get straight As. Once you've placed your trust in it it starts to attack.
The perfectionism gets needy. It doesn't want you going out with your friends, no you need to stay home and fix that one piece of hair that just wont straighten. You can go to sleep, you need rewrite your cue cards for the 27th time. The perfectionism starts to erase the grey, anything less than perfect is failing. Getting a 99% becomes a punishment.
I'm starting to learn that when you let go of the need to be perfect you can be great. But is it too late? Because when you'd rather die than fail, you know that the perfectionism has won.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
- Share my blog on any form of social media (fb, twitter, instagram etc) and either tag me or send a screenshot to firstname.lastname@example.org
- Comment on a blog post, and finish your comment with "2016giveaway"
- A copy of my poetry book
- Flavored stevia of your choice
- A harry potter coloring book
I went to a wedding last night
It was for one of my favorite aunt's
I travelled six hours on a bus
To get there because this was
Quite important to me.
The ceremony was great and
So was the beginning of the reception
But once the first meal came
I completely froze
It took me about ten minutes
To take the first bite
I finished my plate with a lot of anxiety
And completely lost it
I went down to the restroom
And purged the first of the five courses
I started to panic
So I went outside shaking
And crying. Everyone was staring
I wanted to disappear
Thankfully my boyfriend was
Around his computer and talked me through
Everything that was going on
My mom came down and I told her
That I couldn't eat in front of everyone
And she was very supportive
I spent the rest of the evening outside
Talking with family
Until I left early
With my younger brother and sister
I feel terrible about everything
That happened. I really wanted to
Be there and have fun with my aunt
It's been years since I've seen that
Part of the family and now they must think
That I'm absolutely insane
I'm so disappointed that my
Eating disorder ruined another
Event for me. I'm so sick of this illness
But I'm too scared to leave it
Friday, July 22, 2016
Since it's flashback Friday, I thought I'd share the story about the first time I remember struggling with food.
At this point I hadn't developed my eating disorder, and the trauma that really affected my life had yet to happen. I was living in California, bouncing between my mom's and dad's place.
My parents have very different ideas when it comes to how to feed children. My mom believed that children had to be taught healthy eating. I didn't have much choice as to what I ate, and fruits or veggies had to be included in every meal. I wasn't allowed to leave the table until I finished my plate. My dad had the opposite belief. He believed that the body would regulate itself, and crave what it wants. That children will figure out how much to eat and what to eat if they're left mostly up to their own devices. I didn't get much a say in dinner, but if I didn't want to eat it that was okay. If I wanted a peanut butter sandwich instead, that was fine.
I spent most of my time growing up with my mom. Sometimes I think if I had spent more time with my dad if wouldn't have developed an eating disorder. Sometimes I think my eating disorder would have been a lot worse with all the freedom I had.
The first time I remember crying over food was when I was about 5. My mom had served me crackers, cheese and an apple for snack. I ate the crackers and cheese first, and was then too full for the apple. I wasn't allowed to leave the table until I finished, so when my mom left the room to go to the washroom I threw my apple in the trash. When my mom came back, she figured something fishy was up and checked the trash. When she saw my apple, she pulled it out, re washed it, and made me eat it. I was in tears. I just couldn't eat the apple. It took me about an hour to eat this apple. I don't know why I remember this so vividly, but it's my first recollection of food being an enemy.
I hope you're all having a good Friday. Sunday's post will be filled with pictures of me at the wedding I'm going to tomorrow, so stay posted to see my newly died hair.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Thinspiration. A clever way of combining the words thin and inspiration. Using pictures of the underweight as motivation.
I've seen girls looking at pictures of other girls hunched over showing off their protruding spine in the mirror. Girls who have their "feet together and thighs apart, the collarbones is where we start, feel the hips and count the ribs, that's what makes us skinny bitch". Girls showing off their new bikini bridge or posing as paper thin. Pictures upon pictures upon pictures being spread around twitter, tumblr and pinterest. Pictures of girls with long hair and thin arms saying that "eating isn't very Chanel" and that they "skipped dinner to wake up thinner". Girls believing that not eating makes them perfect. That their "collarbones and hipbones are as strong as their mind". Girls asking other girls how they got so thin and being told that "hunger hurts but starvation works"
Girls clinging on to these quotes and images because their illness is the only thing that defines them.
Look a bit more closely. Read the captions carefully. Look at how these girls are so malnourished and have such bad body dysmorphia that the emaciated feel fat. Look and see the scars from cuts covering their bodies from the inner self hatred. Look at the way these girls are hunched over, in the same pose as a sick animal. When animals get too thin, we pity them. When girls get too thin, we worship them.
I'm not going to lie. I've looked at these pictures. I've drooled over other girls thigh gaps, wishing that the fat on my legs could disappear. I've looked at other girls chest bones then posed in the mirror in a thousand different ways to try to see mine. I've stared at protruding collar bones while feeling mine.
I don't believe that thinspo causes eating disorders. You have to already be sick to think this is sane. Depression, anxiety, genetics, trauma, bullying and environment all trigger eating disorders. Although thinspo doesn't cause eating disorders, it gives those who are sick a reason to stay sick. Thinspo may not be the root of the problem, but it still kills us in the end.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
It's the year of leggings and oversized sweaters, showing off a thigh gap without revealing scars. The year of expensive foundation hiding the dark circles under my eyes.
The year of three coffees to wake up and two sleeping pills to fall asleep.
The year of studying on a stationary bike in order to never be still.
I'm twenty now and my life is on it's way and I don't have time to be ill. I'm sick of being sick and tired of being tired. They tell me to rest and get well, but don't you see I don't have that kind of time. The world keeps spinning and spinning and I'm on the right track but it's been a couple years and I haven't moved over an inch and I'm going to get run over.
It's been over six years will I really get better, or will I learn to compromise, find a way to live with an eating disorder. Surviving, but on the fast track to the end. They say if you're not recovering from your eating disorder you are dying, but so is everyone, I'm just in the fast lane. They say if you're not recovering from your eating disorder you are dying, but first you suffer. And maybe I have to learn to accept that I'm in the fast lane and that I'll never stop suffering.
But I can learn to live while suffering, I can make my pain less severe. I can take my supplement drinks, carry around potassium and stay hydrated. I can slow this thing down. I can study on good days and still reach my goals. I'm sick, but I'm not done. I may only have a few more years before the illness takes over but I can learn and I can live for those next few years.
It's not the ideal life, but who's life really is. It's not the way I'd like to live, but I've had to choose between my health and my goals, and when you live to achieve your goals, your goals always win.
So I'll get through. I'll lead a double life, dressing for success, and studying hard while purging in the secret bathrooms in the basement of the building, pretending I'm fine as I eat. I'll smile in the halls, and laugh at jokes, and save my tears for my pillow at night. I'll learn the skills I need to drag myself out of bed and get to class on hard days because how can I be perfect without perfect attendance?
I have an image of what I want my life to be, and I'm not going to sit around waiting.
I'm a high functioning bulimic and this is the year of faking perfection
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
There seems to be this picture of what depression looks like
And it's a woman staring out her car window with tears in her eyes
Or a man hunched over with his long bangs covering his eyes
My depression doesn't look like this, my depression is ugly
Sometimes my depression looks like not leaving the house for days
Staying the same pajamas that smell like failure and despair
My sheets soaked in sweat from nightmares and night sweats
Only leaving my bed for the kitchen and binging on everything in sight.
Sometimes my depression looks like un-brushed teeth
And uncombed hair that looks like a mop on the top of my head
Three day old mascara running down my face and
Sleeping outside because I don't have the physical energy to get home
Sometimes my depression looks like my parents crying
Because they love and care but there's nothing they can do
Dreading my birthday because I thought I'd be dead
Holidays ruined by a bursting pipe from puking up Christmas dinner
Sometimes my depression looks like blood stained towels
And infected bug bites from the consistent picking
Passing out in a pile of vomit in a public bathroom
Doctors and locked units because this time I went too far
My depression never was, and never will be beautiful
Or something you can kiss away
Stop glamorizing the girl crying
At the back of the lecture hall
Stop thinking you're going to be the one
Who's going to be the savoir
And instead make sure that you know
Exactly what you're getting into.
Monday, July 18, 2016
I'm in a horrid mood. I've purged twice at work. In terms of food I did keep down today, we're looking at some milk.
It's my birthday. I'm supposed to be happy and have a good day. Turns out that mental illness doesn't care that it's my birthday. Bulimia, borderline and depression thoughts are all going to turn up and attack me.
I wish I could just ignore my eating disorder for a day and enjoy food without purging. I wish I could lean on my boyfriend for support without fearing that he'll break up with me. I'm struggling so much.
I don't have the money to book an extra session with my therapist at the moment and I don't see her until the 30th.
When you have a mental illness, it doesn't matter if you're supposed to be having fun, or if it's supposed to be a good day. Sometimes the illness takes over and ruins everything.
I'm trying so hard to keep on pushing and keep on going. I just don't want to. I'm going to a wedding in Montreal this weekend so I won't even get to have a nice restful weekend. I mean weddings are fun, but with the wedding comes food anxiety, body image anxiety and family anxiety.
I just want to ignore everything and sleep. But that never works in the long run. So I'll over caffeinate and keep on trying.
I wake up lying next to my boyfriend. It's our one year anniversary. How we made it that long I don't know. In fact we did break up for a day a few months ago. I'm in a great mood because of this.
I get dressed and ready for work, and get on the train. I'm still in a good mood so I study econ, hoping to get ahead in my courses for the fall.
It's actually a relatively busy day at work for once, and I have to sort through piles of unorganized paperwork. I get really stressed with all this lack of organization, and am really hungry despite the big breakfast I had. I spend the afternoon at work chatting with coworkers and getting through the rest of this paperwork.
A comment about my weight throws me off a little, and I decide to go home instead of going to gymnastics practice. I start to fade and spend an hour staring at myself in the mirror, body checking and re-weighing myself. I mindlessly binge and purge, then order pizza. I binge and purge some more. I lie to my roommate and tell her that I need a long shower, but in reality I'm turning on the shower to mask the sound of me purging.
I call my dad while preparing healthy safe foods for the next day. I complain to him about my therapy and how I don't want to do it. We get into a conversation about my previous trauma, and I go to bed in tears.
I wake up feeling okay, and then last night's conversation hits me. I start hearing people calling my name.
I eat the remaining pizza from last night's binge. I change out of my work clothes and back into pjs and lie down on my bed waiting for my roommate to leave. I call in sick to work, I purge, take a couple sleeping pills and fall asleep.
I start counting up what pills I have wondering if I have enough to end it all. I start thinking about my family and friends, and know that I can't do that to them. I email my therapist, hoping she has some words of encouragement for me.
I wake up, eat a couple of my roommates energy bars, body check and head to the bathroom. I purge a bit but not much comes out. I grab my razor and draw red lines on my upper right thigh. With tears filling my eyes, I climb back into bed with a tub of peanut butter. I binge on peanut butter while watching House until I fall back asleep.
I wake up early, probably from oversleeping the day before. My therapist replied to my emails, and I let her know I'm safe.
I fall back asleep about an hour later, and don't even bother trying to wake up to my alarm. It's a lost cause and I know it. I hear my roommate leave, drag myself out of bed, and grab the rest of her energy bars to binge on. Peanut butter on energy bars tastes pretty fantastic.
I try to get myself out of bed, to study or read or do something. I fail. Back in bed I scratch and pick at my legs while watching Netflix and rolling around in bed. I just feel so upset.
I bribe myself into leaving the house with Starbucks, and go to the grocery store to replace my roommates energy bars wearing my pjs. I couldn't care less. My hair is in a mess of a ponytail, I have no makeup on, and I haven't showered or brushed my teeth in two days. I pick up some laxatives, which I haven't taken in almost a year, because I want to be as physically empty as I am emotionally.
I get home, replace my roommate's energy bars, eat a few of the extra ones I picked up and take another nap.
I wake up a couple hours before therapy. I don't want to go, but I know I'll hate myself more if I don't go. I put on some normal people clothes, and start putting my face on. I slowly start feeling a bit better. I watch some gymnastics which always puts me in a good mood.
I'm very willful at therapy. I want nothing of what my therapist is saying. I know that DBT is the treatment for my personality disorder, but to me it seems like a bunch of crap. She does make some good points about living with accordance to my values, which makes me rethink how I handled things, and I start feeling a bit more positive.
I call my dad to practice my assertiveness and tell him the spiral that ensued after our conversation. He is very understanding which I greatly appreciate. I find out that my sister's mental health has dropped dramatically, and that she is quite unwell. After convincing my dad and stepmom to take her to the hospital, I hop on a bus to get home, and try to use some of the skills I talked about in therapy.
I go for a long walk, and vent to my roommate and boyfriend. I eat some food. I brush my teeth. I watch more gymnastics. I set out my clothes for the next day and get into bed.
My sleep is very interrupted thanks to my oversleeping. I'm exhausted when my alarm goes off, but I told my supervisor I'd go into work today. I grab the breakfast that I had prepared on monday. It has coffee in it so it perks me up pretty quickly. After another cup of coffee, I'm feeling okay enough to attack the day.
I start my commute to work and talk to my mom on the way. We have an interesting conversation about gender. Her mind has opened a lot since becoming a teacher and I greatly appreciate the conversations we have. She goes to get ready for the day, and I open the math book I'm currently reading. I read and take notes on the train.
I get into work, and I'm quite anxious since I took two days off. I've taken a lot of sick days over the course of the summer. They were all necessary, but I still feel bad.
Everyone at work is welcoming, like they always are. I know that there was no reason for me to feel anxious. I do feel isolated at lunch though. Three of us go shoe shopping, and I feel like three's a crowd.
My therapist emails me some grounding exercises to help with my dissociation. I try some of them out while getting through the rest of the afternoon.
I take the bus home, and eat my dinner of raspberry oats on the way. I get home, convince myself not to binge by reminding myself how broke I am, and prepare a snack.
I go see my doctor. We have a lot to talk about. Since the last time I saw her, I was in hospital, changed meds, moved, wrote an exam and changed my fall school plans. After catching her up and having a good chat about our plans moving forwards with regards to treatment - no group, but continuing to work on DBT skills in individual treatment - I head home.
I have a really nice conversation with my roommate and eat my snack. I try to get settled in for bed but my brain is buzzing. I look up how many calories are burned doing a variety of exercises, make some pretty charts, buy plane tickets, bus tickets and apply for student loans. I make Friday's food.
I spend the night mostly awake watching Netflix and obsessing over calories and my weight.
I wake up in a good mood. My birthday celebrations start today. 8.5 hours of work and I get to relax.
I get to work and find out that the company is buying lunch. I should be happy, free food is always great right? Wrong. I'm already planning to go to out for coffee and dinner tonight. I can't eat out again. After looking through the nutrition info, I settle on a veggie patty and a garden salad. I can handle that.
I suddenly feel hopeless after lunch. How am I supposed to make it through four more hours of work? I want to cry. I consider cancelling all of tonight's plans, take a few sleeping pills and sleep away the pain. I start thinking of all the different ways I could end it all. I pull out my econ notes to distract myself.
After work, I go grab coffee with a new friend. We hit it off right away, probably because we're both gymnasts and struggle with food. We have a lovely chat.
I go have my birthday dinner with my best friend/roommate and her girlfriend. I order fettuccine alfredo. We get the waiter to sing Happy Birthday to me, and he brings me some free icecream. I get up to go purge, but my friend follows me into the bathroom. When we get home, my roommate walks her girlfriend to the bus stop, so I take the opportunity to purge. I've lost some weight, I'm happy.
I curl up into bed, and fall asleep hugging my stuffed dolphin.
I wake up in a good mood again. I'm disappointed when I step on the scale, but I push myself to keep going, and drink a cup of coffee. I start cleaning my room, do some laundry and have a very productive.
I go to starbucks for brunch because nothing in my house feels safe to eat. My roommate comes with me for support. I start to head over to my cousin's for some birthday celebrations, but my mood has dropped dramatically.
I text my cousin saying I'm going to be late, blaming it on my roommate, and go home to have a nap. I wake up exhausted, but drag myself out of bed and get on the train to my cousin's. I'm glad I go. There are three of us around the same age, and we spend the afternoon chatting away, have a wonderful dinner of chick pea patties, some rice and lots of salad. We eat the richest chocolate cake for desert. I have a big slice. It's my birthday after all.
We chat some more. I spend a lot of time explaining what borderline personality is and how it affects me. I'm quite open with friends and family. I rather they ask questions and be well educated than live in ignorance.
I fall asleep before my cousins, but way past my bedtime.
I wake up first and eat some cake. Hating myself for eating cake so early in the morning I go back to bed.
I wake up again and have some more cake and eggs. We chat some more about family drama. One of my relatives says that one of my relatives was "so dumb she couldn't even kill herself" and I get very triggered.
I anxiously wait for the next few hours to go by so that I can leave. I take a nice nap on the train back. I get off in the city adjacent to mine for a short shopping trip and gymnastics practice.
I go shopping, and buy a new water bottle as well as a couple of workout shorts. They were all on sale and I figure I deserve to treat myself with the birthday money I got the day before. I hang around the mall for a bit longer and then head over to the gym.
Practice is okay, but I haven't been in the gym for a week and a half, and my body knows it. I struggle to get through practice, but have quite a successful time on the beam. My fear has drastically reduced and I feel much more confident with my routine. I carpool to get home, and find out that my training partner and I have been invited back to another gym for a special training session which excites me.
I have a meltdown when I get home. I step on the scale and completely lose it when I see that my weight has gone up five pounds over the course of the weekend. I head over to the pharmacy to pick up my meds for the week, and use the opportunity to get some binge food with my leftover birthday money. I head back home eating my food, and crawl into bed with my bag of chips. After devouring thousands of calories, a drag myself into the bathroom. I turn the shower on and purge. Once I'm empty I quickly clean myself, and then slice my upper thigh until red is running down my leg.
I pat the blood down with a towel and lie down in bed. I want to die. My birthday is tomorrow and I don't want to be alive. I send my boyfriend a few concerning messages and he calls me. I bawl my eyes out over the phone and he remains extremely supportive. I vent to my roommate and then my sleeping meds take over and I fall asleep with tears in my eyes.
I wake up feeling terrible. I know it's my birthday, and I should be happy. Mental illness doesn't care though. I get out of bed and get ready to start another week.
Saturday, July 16, 2016
Why did I ever think that taking these again was a good idea?
What good can come from sucking out all the water from my body?
Im riding the bus in incredible pain. My stomach is in nots and its radiating down my legs. My back hurts. I'm so dehydrated. I'm running to the bathroom every five minutes.
The worst part is, I know it doesn't help me lose weight. I know all it does is mess up my colon.
I stopped taking laxatives a long time ago and the fact that I'm slipping back is scary. This is an indication of the severity of this relapse.
Part of me wants to embrace it. Part of me knows that this isn't a way to live. I don't know what to do anymore.
Friday, July 15, 2016
My birthday is on Monday, but that means that the celebrations start tonight!
I was planning on killing myself before my eighteenth birthday. I'm very excited about making it to 20.
After work, I'm grabbing Starbucks with a new friend of mine. Then, I'm going out for dinner with my roommate and her girlfriend. I'm anxious with regards to whether or not to purge.. but I'm going to do my best to enjoy the delicious food, and whatever happens, happens.
Then tomorrow, after getting blood work (oh the joys of an eating disorder), I'm hoping on a train to go visit my cousins! Hanging out, tanning and catching up with my cousins is exactly the type of low key birthday I need.
I'll stay overnight, then go to gymnastics practice on Sunday. Sunday night I'll make cupcakes to bring into work on Monday.
Unfortunately being an adult means having to work on your birthday. But I'll bring cupcakes in and hopefully everyone will be in a good mood. Then I have gymnastics practice again Monday night.
Tuesday, Kyle and I are going to go see Alice and celebrate my birthday. He's returns from a trip across the country on the 18th, so we decided that we would celebrate the following day.
I love stretching out my birthday. Five days of doing (almost) exactly what I want. I'm excited.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
I've been doing some DBT skill work lately in therapy, and I have to say, I find it extremely frustrating.
When I'm really distressed I can't do my skills. They're great in theory. And the emotion regulation skills are life savers for me. Keeping up with hygiene, exercise, meds and (relatively okay) food intake, really helps me not dip into crisis. But it's the crisis skills I struggle with.
Doing something like radical acceptance, or TIPS is great in theory, but when I'm that distressed, I can't get myself to do them. When I'm extremely upset, I can't just radically accept my situation if I can't change it. I don't want to either. I want to fight it. Similarly, when I'm very upset, I can't leave my bed, never mind taking a cold shower or doing intense exercise.
My therapist tells me that I can use my skills it's just extremely difficult. I feel like that makes it sound like I'm not trying. I am trying. Sometimes I physically can't leave my bed. What am I to do then?
The past couple days have been rough. I had a couple upsetting conversations with my dad, with regards to my trauma and my sister. I missed out on two days of work because of this. I made it to work today though, and although I'm struggling I'm determined to push through it. I see my doctor tonight and I'm going to do some choreography as that always puts me in a good mood.
Monday, July 11, 2016
When you suffer from borderline personality disorder, relationships can be very difficult to maintain.
When I got diagnosed, I swore myself off of romantic relationships. I went on dates, hooked up with people I didn't know, and didn't call them after.
When my boyfriend asked me out a year and two days ago it took everything in my to not answer with "but I'm crazy".
It took everything in me to set boundaries on our first date, exactly one year ago.
Last night we celebrated our year together.
I made us quiche, brownies and iced tropical tea lemonade. A year ago I never would have imagined cooking and eating with someone else. I never would have imagined being in a relationship for an entire year. I didn't think it was possible.
I'm not saying it's been easy. There have been many times where I've devalued him and considered breaking up with him. There were many times when I was too much for him, and he had to live with the knowledge that he couldn't do anything for me. Watching someone slowly die is incredibly difficult.
Being in a successful relationship doesn't mean I don't have borderline. It means I found someone who has figured out how to deal with it. He knows that he has to reassure me a lot, and be vocal in his feelings towards me. He knows my mood could switch in a millisecond, and I could go from loving life to suicidal. He understands this and knows it isn't his fault.
He's struggled with his own mental health problems, which I can complicate the relationship, but makes us more understanding of each other's situations.
I'm really struggling right now food wise, but I was able to use some strategies to still enjoy my night. I made myself a separate safe quiche, I used delay when I wanted to engage in behaviors, and used a lot of distraction, which wasn't too hard since I was with my love.
I hope you're all having a wonderful start to your week.
Friday, July 8, 2016
I don't use this blog to talk about politics.
I'm not involved in world politics at all. I vote, but that's about it. I pay little attention to international affairs - not because I don't want to, but because I find it very upsetting, and it has too much of an effect on my mood. Yes, I am choosing to be ignorant. But until I have more of a handle on my emotions I think that this is the right decision for me.
I do read headlines though, and try to be aware of what's going on, without going into the details. Lately what's been hitting really close to home are all the shootings in the US.
I'm Canadian, and have lived in Canada for most of my life, other than a few years I spent in California. I loved California. It's always been my goal to go back.
Now, I realize that this is a very self-centered point of view. But I feel as though everything that I'm working for is being jeopardized.
My motivation to get better and to keep on living, is so that I can go study math in graduate school in California. That's been the plan for 6 years now. That's why I'm working so hard, why I'm forcing myself to take an extra year of undergrad, why I'm not letting myself fall into a full blown relapse. Reminding myself of this plan is what convinces me to go the hospital after overdoses, or call 911 when I'm having serious chest palpitations. It's what convinces me to live. Because I have this image, of me learning math by the ocean. And to me that is beautiful. That is what I want.
But now all these shootings are happening. And the idea of moving to the states is terrifying. Between the presidential race looking bleak, the homophobia, and the pile of shootings, I don't feel safe moving to California. If I was given the option of moving tomorrow, I would turn it down. I don't think I've ever said that before.
California's always been the dream, Berkeley the top choice. And I'm currently too scared to go. It's throwing me into a bit of an existential crisis. I've always known that California was where I'd end up. Even if I don't get into grad school, the plan is still to move there. Even if I end up at a dead end job, I want it to be in California.
What am I doing if I'm no longer working towards that?
Why can't the world be a nicer place?
Thursday, July 7, 2016
I feel on top of the world. Like nothing can take me down. I know this is my hypomania, and that I'll end up coming down. But right now who cares?
Once I get off work I'm going to study econ on the train ride home, and then make myself a nice dinner of salad with lentils. I have some paperwork type things to do as well.
Then, to the gym!! I'm going to dance for a bit and then go for a swim, and finish off my evening with a rest in the sauna.
If I'm still feeling wide awake, I'll plug away at some math I've been meaning to get to. Watch gymnastics videos.
So many things to do, so little time!
My boyfriend came over last night which was wonderful as we currently don't live in the same city. My mood was so low though, so I was boring and all I did was sleep. I feel like I've wasted a trip. I want to take advantage of the time I have with it, not spend it isolating and over sleeping.
Our anniversary is Monday, so I'm hoping I'm in a better mood then and able to enjoy the evening with him. More on my plans for Monday later.
Hope you're all making it through the week okay. Tomorrow is Friday!
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
I made the best smoothie yesterday, here's the recipe! Pictures are up on my Instagram
1 cup frozen raspberries
1 scoop chocolate arbonne protein powder
1 cup almond milk
1/2 cup frozen yogurt
Blend and enjoy!
Monday, July 4, 2016
How many times I can sit
Here in front of my laptop
Writing to you all
With nothing but cup of black
Coffee sitting beside me
Sometimes I wonder
How many sleepless nights
It will take for me to accept
That the pain in my back
Worsens when I
Don't eat properly
Sometimes I wonder
How many times I can tell
Myself that the reason I'm
Not buying myself food
Is because I'm broke and not
Because of ED
Sometimes I wonder
How many times I need
To decide to recover
Before I can free myself
And fall backs
Sunday, July 3, 2016
I'm really nervous. I'm not sure what to tell everyone at the gym. They know that I struggle with my mental health. They know that's why I took time off.
I guess I'm just worried I'll have to answer questions. In the gym, I'm a gymnast. I'm not borderline or bulimic. I'm a gymnast. I get to forget about the shit going on in my life and just be a gymnast. I don't want others asking me questions that will bring the things I keep out of the gym into the gym.
I'm also really worried that I lost all of my skill. I was getting new skills before I took time off. I was maximizing my potential. I was really improving, which is not something a gymnast can often say at almost 20 years old. But I was working hard.
I haven't even conditioned much over the past two months, and I'm really worried I'm going to notice it tonight. I mean, I know I'll notice it, how could I not. But I don't want to be disappointed my first day back at gymnastics. That just seems like a bad way to start off this year.
The goal this year is nationals, and this goal really motivates me to work towards a healthier relationship with food. I need to have fuel to do gymnastics, there's no question about it.
I'm hoping that this practice really kick starts me into a good week, I've struggled a fair bit over the past couple weeks with binging and purging.