Undoubtedly, my T will send me to the slammer tomorrow

This is inevitable not because of rebelliousness or unwillingness on my part, but because it is impossible, according to the laws of physics, for anyone, ill or well, to meet the “requirement” as it stands at this point, given my status at the present time.  I think you catch my drift.

Okay, it occurs to me that there are folks dropping in out of cyberspace who aren’t caught up and haven’t a clue what I’m talking about.  Dr. K said I had to weigh between x and x+4 or she would take certain steps to see to it that I was put into a medically safe situation.  My next appointment with Dr. K is Friday, February 10.  I woke up this morning and weighed myself and I am ten pounds under x.

Yes, if I were taking the antipsychotic drug Zyprexa, which has the nasty side effect of rapid weight gain (this the drug company concealed, of course, in its marketing of the drug) I could quite easily gain ten pounds in a week.  However, I do not take Zyprexa.  Nor do I take Seroquel or any of those other drugs notorious for weight gain.

I could wake up with a bad case of edema and suddenly have an extra seven pounds on me.  This has, in fact, happened to me.  As a person with an eating disorder, I do, sometimes, get edema.  It would have to be a wild coincidence, though.

Of course, I could drink two 2-liter bottles of diet soda, and then not pee.  This would add eight pounds to my weight.  I can drink that much in a couple of hours.  Or I used to be able to.   Now, I would pee it out as fast as I would drink it.  Something tells me it would be real dumb.  I heard about a lady that died drinking 4 liters of water real fast.  They say drinking two point six gallons of water in two hours will definitely, definitely, definitely do you in.  I wouldn’t do any of that, anyway.  Drinking a whole bunch to add to my weight is considered “falsifying” my weight, which I have agreed not to do.  I don’t do it.

If I ended up bingeing, even one binge would put ten pounds on me instantly.  It doesn’t stay on very long of course.  The last thing I want is for this nightmare to happen to me.  And Dr. K said a “requirement” is that I not binge.  Heck, not that I have control over this one, either.

In other words, I’m fucked.

Yes, my T will ask me a few things tomorrow.  She won’t fart around.  She has eyes.   I can only change the subject and beat around the bush so many times.  She will ask me how much I weigh.  She will ask me what I had to eat in the morning and whatever my response is, she will make further inquiries and will not like what she hears.

Within minutes, she will be on the phone.  Not long afterward, I will either be at this psych emergency place or at a regular emergency room, more likely the latter, and I’m guessing that this will be the Prestigious Massachusetts Hospital emergency room.  Translation:  Massachusetts General Hospital, in case you were wondering.

A lot of medical stuff is going to happen.  Exactly what is a little hard to predict.  I am not a fortune-teller, but I do know how these things tend to pan out.

My appointment is at 1pm.  My therapist is prompt.  I am always on time for my appointments.  My therapist rarely calls in sick.  But she may.  I have called in sick a lot lately.  Something tells me, though, that I’d really better show up tomorrow.  It could get very tricky trying to get out of this one.  She is not, after all, my enemy.