Staying by myself
Having recently been dumped by two more friends, I’ve decided to stick to myself. Just stay home and be alone. Not that I wasn’t doing that already…but at this point, it seems rather stupid to trust anyone or allow anyone into my life.
The last friend dumped me for absolutely no reason. I didn’t do or say anything offensive to her. Suddenly, boom! She was gone without explanation. When I called, she did not pick up or call back. I called a second time just in case she did not get the first message, but after that, I wasn’t going to keep on calling if she wasn’t going to call back. And no, she’s not “out of town” or “crazy busy” and there hasn’t been a “death in the family” as far as I can tell by her Facebook page. She hasn’t unfriended me. That would be rather drastic, I suppose. What really gets to me is the “no explanation” part.
I don’t even want to show up for church. I rarely go.
I don’t even have much to say here right now. Except that humans royally suck. You can trust your computer more than you can trust another human. Sure, computers crash and are very frustrating and make you want to tear your hair out, but let’s face it:
A computer does not have legs. It will not walk out on you. Day after day, that bunch of metal will be waiting for you.
Don’t ever let your computer get stolen.
I can’t hug my computer, but my dog is good at cuddling.
Keep your life under lock and key, my friends, like I do, and you’ll be safe.
Yummy food on a budget: Tuna casserole like your mom never made it
I decided to share what I had for dinner cuz what I ended up with was halfway decent. Much of it was made with leftovers and I didn’t have to go out and buy any special ingredients. If you’re making this at home, feel free to leave out anything you don’t have, or make substitutions based on common sense and economics.
Warning: I’m likely to ramble.
First of all, I had half a can of tuna lying around in the fridge, leftover from another meal, so I put that in a bowl. The tuna comes from a food pantry. They’ve been giving us Bumble Bee tuna lately, which, from what I’ve observed, is a decent kind. Now the only reason I say this is that it “solid” means solid when it comes to Bumble Bee. This was tuna packed in water. They say if you’re going to give tuna out of a can to your dog, give your dog tuna packed in oil so that your dog gets the fat he or she needs. I read that in a dog nutrition book.
Okay, see how I got off topic? But indeed, a lot of us go to food pantries and, whether we want to admit it or not, we keep our dogs in mind, that is, in the forefront or further back in our minds.
My next ingredient, if I recall correctly, was some leftover canned tomatoes. These, too, came from a food pantry. They are diced tomatoes. It was a 15-oz can that I picked carefully the day I went to the food pantry because I didn’t want a lot of added ingredients. I didn’t want too much added salt and I didn’t want lots of preservatives, chemicals, or sugar. So these were pretty much diced tomatoes in tomato juice and minimum salt.
If you recall correctly, I deal with the residual effects of my eating disorder, so I have to be careful, very very careful, about added salt. I don’t often eat canned food. Using two types of canned food in one dish is rather unusual for me. So I didn’t add too much of the canned diced tomatoes. Maybe a quarter cup. Then I put the rest back in the fridge. If I had any fresh tomatoes, then surely, I would have cut those up and used them. I read in an Asian nutrition book that tomatoes are possibly just the thing I need for the chronic headaches I had…had….Yeah, they are plaguing me less and less these days.
Then I get out a yam. This I acquired at another food pantry. Yams, of course, come in so many wonderful shapes and a variety of sizes. I cut off a portion and cut this portion into small pieces. Tonight, I am honoring the GLBT community and cutting my yam pieces into triangles.
Why not do the same thing with carrots? I have a bunch of these from a food pantry as well. So I slice a portion of a very large carrot into coins, then halve the coins and pie them, so they are triangles as well.
Now, my casserole is decidedly as orange as a homeless tabby cat. Probably a bit nutritionally unbalanced. If this were a school district, and my food color represented skin color, and this were Boston in the 1960’s, eventually, they’d bring on the busing and the riots would start. We have to keep the orange Welfare scum from drinking out of the water fountains, right?
Okay, okay, tell me to shut up.
Anyway, I’ve had this parsley sitting around. Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s for both Puzzle and me. Parsley’s incredibly nutritious. It’s both a green veggie and a seasoning. It adds green color. So I got some out and cut off a fair amount and added that.
I decided to add seaweed. Now let me say a few things about seaweed. First of all, yes, it costs a pretty penny. But I think it’s one of those foods that is a good investment. I buy is at the Harvest Co-op, not an expensive health food store and not ritsy Whole Foods Market. The Harvest Co-op is local to the Boston area, but many places all over the US and the world have food co-ops. I think “Harvest” is a national name and refers to a group of co-ops, but I’m not certain of this. Our co-op has storefronts in Jamaica Plain (called, lovingly, JP) and Cambridge. Our Cambridge store just reopened to a location across the street.
Here’s how it works, in case you don’t know. Joining is kind of a bitch cuz you have to pay a membership fee. I mean, you don’t have to join, but you might want to. It’s sort of a neighborly thing to do, and then you get some money back each year, and you also get a ten percent discount once a month. Now, listen carefully:
You should definitely bite the bullet and become a member if you are on food stamps, if you are disabled, or if you are a senior. There are a few other reasons why you might qualify….ask. I say this because as a person with a disability (this I prove via my Medicare card) I get a five percent discount every single time I shop. All I have to do is present my membership card. And on the monthly discount days, I get fifteen percent off.
Now, membership costs 25 dollars a year until 200 dollars is paid. Then, you’re all paid up and nothing more needs to be paid. If you move out of town for good, you can get the entire 200, or whatever you paid into it, out of it. As a member, you are partial owner.
But what’s that you say? Disabled folks get free handouts? Yeah, tell me about it. If you are fond of this, I suggest you break a few bones yourself to get some free handouts. You might enjoy your broken bones.
Okay, back to seaweed. I’m adding seaweed because I have some in the house. It’s green. It’s good for my thyroid. I have hypothyroidism. Seaweed adds salt without adding salt. Well, so I’d like to think. I’m probably fooling myself on that one. But here’s the real secret: I’ve discovered that if I add kelp flakes or dulse flakes to a casserole, it eliminates the need for eggs. The seaweed is a binder. It helps hold the casserole together and it won’t be all cake-like or crumbly. I think the seaweed keeps it moist as well. About a fistful, not too big a fistful of kelp flakes will do nicely.
I sure wish I had some fresh garlic. But I don’t. I do have garlic powder. I bought some in London, a large bag of it, on sale. Don’t ask me why I bought garlic powder. Wow I was nuts then. So I put some of this in, lots, actually. I’ve been dumping this right out of the bag. It’s good garlic powder, rather finely ground, but I want to use it up soon.
I’m also going to add bell pepper flakes. These I bought at the co-op for Puzzle, but tonight I’m having a fistful for myself. I can’t even tell if they are red bell peppers, green bell peppers, or if they are mixed together and have been through the busing experience.
I’ve had a craving for horseradish lately. I read about it in my newly-acquired Asian nutrition book. My weird craving might be an old yearning for my Jewish heritage Passover tradition. It could, couldn’t it? I mean, doesn’t Passover mean Freedom? But horseradish is also an excellent Asian herbal cure for edema. Yeah, that problem still plagues me. It’s one of those residual things my body will have to deal with for a long time to come, I’m guessing. So to satisfy my horseradish craving, I’ve been buying dijon mustard when it’s on sale. I have a thingy of it. I put some dijon mustard into my casserole. Oh, trust me, I make sure the dijon mustard I buy is very, very high in horseradish. Maybe I should just buy the real thing, don’t you think? Come Passover, it might be a good idea. I’ll bet it’ll be on sale at some point. I’ll bet I’ll find it fresh at the co-op. Then I can truly horse around.
Another thing I added to the casserole was a bit of whole grain. Using my coffee grinder, I ground up a few spoonfuls of whole wheat hard winter wheatberries. These are extremely cheap in bulk at the coop. I also ground up a few spoonfuls of rolled oats that they gave me at a food pantry. And I ground up some organic sesame seeds that I bought in bulk at the co-op. These spoonfuls of grain altogether in the grinder until they were smooth…..and added them to the casserole. I sprinkled on some garlic-flavored olive oil. I bought some a while back at the co-op. This comes in a nice small bottle so it doesn’t go bad. I also added a dash of Worcestershire sauce. Everything was fairly well mixed together, moistened just enough, and in a small glass bowl. I put a glass plate on top of the bowl and place all this into the microwave.
You have to be careful not to overcook. I heated this one minute at a time on high until done. I think three minutes did the trick, and then I let it sit a bit, covered, not too long. My casserole was absolutely delicious. I transferred it into a different dish. Naw, this was no stereotype welfare macaroni and cheese. This was the real deal. And how much did it cost me? I’d say Puzzle’s homemade food is more expensive. But then again, I’m not going to touch that subject right now. And pretend I didn’t talk about busing. Yeah, this is Boston, but it’s not the 60’s anymore.
The shopping cart lady
I cannot believe it. It is now past midnight. I don’t even know this lady’s name. Taking a shopping cart from a supermarket is considered stealing and is against the law. It is against Housing Authority policy and fire safety laws to have supermarket shopping carts inside this building. The Housing Authority sees these shopping carts every day and do nothing. They know this lady has one. I’m not sure if she only walks the halls when the Housing Authority leaves for the day and close up shop at 4:30PM…that is, 4:30PM exactly Monday thru Friday. This is around the time that I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that those maintenance guys are also off for the day and won’t come barging in no matter what I’m wearing or doing, not even asking if it’s okay. 4:30, when they won’t glance over and see that I’ve got ice on the thermostat just so that I’m not freezing my butt off (think about it). I think it’s at 4:31 that the Shopping Cart Lady starts her nightly rounds. She goes back and forth, back and forth in the hall, using her shopping cart instead of a walker. Once, she shoved the shopping cart at Puzzle. After that, Puzzle was scared of that shopping cart, and of the lady. We got into a bit of a tizz one day, and I got fed up, this maybe in 2008, and I told her to use a walker. She said she couldn’t afford one and didn’t understand English, anyway. I told her that the elderly service that serves the building would give her one for free. She damn well knew this already and every time you tell her she’s maybe doing something a bit unkosher, she suddenly doesn’t know English.
Just keep your freaking shopping cart away from my dog, okay? And get the hell to bed. We’re on Eastern Time, remember?
I should talk. It’s late. Goodnight.
I can’t tell you how long it’s been that I’ve been holed up here at home, simply because I don’t want anyone to see my body. I take the dog out and that’s it. I wear a gigantic down coat that covers everything from head to toe. I don’t use the belt, just leave the coat as bulky and loose as possible. It has a flap that I used to think was useless until I found that I can zip it up and flip it upwards to cover half my face, actually up to my eyes, and then I put a hat on down to my eyebrows. I put on a pair of legwarmers to cover my bulging ankles (from edema). I take Puzzle out, then we come in and that’s that. Often, I keep the coat on indoors as well, cuz I’m scared some maintenance guy will show up at the door and barge in. I’ve told you how those guys are. I always feel better on weekends and off-hours. I feel freer. I can do whatever the heck I want and no one will bug me. But I don’t get weekends off from being trapped in body dysmorphia.
When I showed up for therapy not last time, but the time before, with my face covered entirely in a scarf, and wouldn’t take it off for the entire session, my T looked so sad. The corners of her mouth even turned down into a frown when I talked about how I felt about the chubbiness in my face. I called this morning and told her I can’t bear to come in looking like this. I can’t go on a bus today. I can’t go into Boston today. I told her I can’t bear the idea of her remembering me as a fat person. I want her to remember me skinny. When I was skinny, I went out all the time and didn’t worry about hiding my figure and didn’t change my clothes a zillion times because I was worried about covering up certain fat body parts. I just threw on any ole thing. The thing that concerned me most when I was skinny was what really should concern a person when they dress, in my opinion: the weather.
So I called my T. She happened to pick up the phone. I told her how I felt. Like, crappy. She is so nice. We rescheduled for tomorrow.
She said, “We have a lot to talk about.” I wonder what that is. I really don’t want any kind of pep talk concerning how good it is that I gained weight and how I’m still on the low side and have edema and how I should go have my weight checked, blah blah blah…Hmm…Maybe I shouldn’t show up if it’s going to be like that. Another one of her lectures.
There is nothing more shameful than these “weekly weight checks.” Trust me, nothing. I am an adult now so leave me alone.
I wonder if she’s talked to anyone. Like whom? I wonder. Maybe she’s plotted and schemed something to keep me in the system. Day treatment or some other waste of time. She’s definitely been talking to people. Dang.
I need to go back to bed and wake up skinny again like I was before. That will solve everything. Everyone just bug off.
News about me
I am suffering from the chronic condition of making phone calls…and time after time, the person I call does not return my call.
I waited patiently all day yesterday for Dr. P’s call. This was especially annoying since I had to speak with her about my insomnia. I couldn’t just let her leave a message. So I had to be there and answer the phone. This meant no shower, waiting on Puzzle’s walk, and I couldn’t leave the apartment for longer than a minute to get the mail. If Dr. P left a message while I was gone, I’d have to wait till the next day to get a return call. It’s called “phone tag,” and I couldn’t wait that long.
As it turned out, Dr. P didn’t call till after 6pm. Don’t doctors realize we sit by the phone all day putting our lives on hold, waiting for them to call?
I have experienced this while waiting for UPS pickups. I have to sit around all day. I can’t even go to the bathroom for fear that they’ll ring the buzzer and I won’t get to it in time, they’ll give up, and then leave, thinking I’m not home. Yes, it has happened.
But…she did return my call. Most haven’t. I told you about all the residential centers I called. It doesn’t matter now. But about 90% of them never bothered.
I have called people that run eating disorders groups. Four of them. Only one returned my call. And of course, it’s a no-go. She doesn’t take Medicaid/Medicare. No one does. Her group is ridiculously expensive, with no sliding scale. I can’t see it.
All the nutritionists I have called eventually called back. I had hoped for a sliding scale. Their sliding scales aren’t very sliding, unfortunately. One told me she could charge $60 a session instead of her usual $120, but that we’d have to meet once a week for eating disorders. My T expects me to get this money from my mother. Her argument is that my mom paid for the London trip, so why not nutrition? My argument is that it is illegal for a person on public assistance to accept money to pay for living expenses, medical care, etc, because this constitutes “support”; furthermore, it would be an ongoing expense and very quickly accumulate to a far greater amount. My T says I should lie to my mother about what the money is for. We got into a big fight over this. Well, Dr. P came through with a lead on nutritionists who would not charge me to see them.
Of course, I have mixed feelings about seeing a nutritionist. The last one I saw did not work out. I told her wicked bad lies. I will probably be very uncooperative with the next one as well.
I have already lost thirteen pounds since my last binge. I am mighty relieved about this. I can’t stand my body the way it is. Every day that I don’t lose weight, I get pissed at myself. Hopefully, it’ll take a month before I can get my first appointment. The last thing I want to do is to get on yet another fucking “meal plan.”
I know I am a bundle of contradictions. I say one thing, then I say another. I want to get better. And I don’t. But the truth is that like every other person out there is who has anorexia nervosa, I am on a desperate mission to lose weight.
The consequences of a three-day eating binge are all too familiar to me
It can vary, but everything that I am experiencing right now has happened to me in the past. Mostly, I am not okay with it. I really want this over with as quickly as possible but it looks like this may drag itself out for a longer period than usual. I think it is because of what I binged on. Well, never mind.
I haven’t eaten yet. I have no plans to eat today. I generally don’t eat the day after a binge. Clinicians have told me, “Get back on your meal plan.” Yeah, sure. They’re not the ones going through this. My stomach is still stuffed with food when I wake up in the morning and there’s no way I’m going to put anything more into it. Not always. But frequently enough so that I’ve made it a habit to go on a fast.
Fasting is an “eating disorders behavior” and it’s bad for you. Definitely. I’m not going to defend myself further. Just let me be.
My food is sitting in my intestines and I’m panicking over this. For every minute it sits there, my body is absorbing nutrients. I imagine my body is absorbing nutrients at an alarming rate. Of course, I haven’t a clue if this is the case.
It bugs the shit out of me that this is happening.
So…what’s the point of eating, if I’m getting plenty of nutrition coming into my bloodstream anyway? Again, I don’t know if this is true, but I seem to have loads of energy today.
Okay, here’s something else that happens: My back is bothering me. My lower back. Whatever’s in my intestines presses against my lower back. The pressure seems to be worsening. When I had a real bad case of bingeing, my backache was chronic and I was in pretty bad pain. Now, it’s just nagging at me and I want it over with.
Okay, what else….Rude awakening: I got on the scale. I’m glad I did. It hurt like hell to see the number. But…reality. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t get upset. I didn’t put myself down. This is familiar to me. After three days…I know what happens. I knew it but…I didn’t know it. I was relieved it wasn’t more.
I don’t know precisely how my body will behave over the next week or two. I know my body but there are so many factors involved that it is hard to say. I do, however, know how I will behave.
THIS IS THE EATING DISORDERS MIND AT WORK. IT MAY BE SICK, ILLOGICAL, AND DESTRUCTIVE…AND IT MAY INFURIATE YOU. I AM JUST OPENING UP MY HEAD FOR A MOMENT AND SHOWING YOU A BIT OF MY WORLD.
THIS IS THE WAY IT HAS BEEN FOR 31 YEARS.
I don’t know when I’ll end the fast. It’ll end, and then, well, I’ve been in a really bad “restrict mode” anyway for a while now.
I wrote this letter of gratitude a little while ago that I choose not to post because…well, I’m keeping it to myself for now. It’s in a Word document in my files. I feel this gratitude with all my heart and the fact that I chose not to post it doesn’t mean I feel it any less.
There is only one thing I want to repeat that I said in the letter.
I didn’t put it in these words at all, but I’ll say it this way for you: I discussed the silent clarity that I can never catch. It is generally beyond any possible reach for me, but sometimes, it slips through my fingers, very quickly, and on the way, I feel it touching my skin, and passing through.
An open letter to my T, my blog, and the world
I need to make this writing a priority this morning over a number of other activities because I need to get this off my chest. It does not take priority over certain things that are vastly more important. I have walked Puzzle. I need to make sure she can get groomed tomorrow. So I need to stop writing at some point and remember to call Pooch Palace to get her scheduled. Hygiene–hers and mine: essential…but today I haven’t showered yet and writing takes precedence. I’ll make time to brush my teeth again. My hair…yeah, I gotta do something with this mop before I go to therapy.
I need to say some things. I need to be straight with my T about certain things. About a week ago I realized that I don’t have much time left on this planet. I thought about things realistically and figured that my 54th birthday is in January and I’ll probably make it to that, but the chances of making it to 55 are next to nil. My body won’t hold out. I see the statistics and it’s amazing that I’m still alive. The statistics are different depending on the source, but by far the majority of patients who end up with anorexia nervosa don’t make a full recovery. A small portion do. Many do, and deal with it for the rest of their lives. A portion die. A portion suffer a great deal for the rest of their lives. A portion commit suicide by other means. And so on. The younger you get it, the worse your chances are. The longer you’ve had it, the worse your chances are. And so on. You can interpret the data a number of ways but it’s a fatal illness no matter how you look at it and no matter how you look at it, it’s clear that this illness is the most lethal mental illness.
Dear T: The truth is that I want you to just go along with this. Quit trying to stop me and quit trying to change me and quit your assumption that I am trying in any way to get better and change and grow. It is useless. I gave up on myself. Just let me die and keep me company. A week ago I decided to self-starve because I have no will to live. I am not trying to make myself die I am just trying to lose weight. If I die I don’t care.
Okay, I’m tired now and I’ll take a t0-minute nap and come back.
I’ve been permanently sleepy for a couple of days now. Back.
As you know, I get these breakthrough binges (you I’m sure are bored of hearing about this) and I have binged a few times but get right back to starving and continuing to lose weight. I don’t think I lost anything over the weekend and I haven’t been able to get anything like an accurate reading with a belly full of food.
I have had a couple of instances of drinking high amounts of zero-calorie liquid (water or zero-calorie sports drink, occasionally diet soda) very quickly and then peeing it all out. I can’t seem to stop myself when I do this. I’m not trying to hurt myself. It is automatic. Maybe I am just thirsty. I drink to the point of physical discomfort. I looked up on the Internet how much you have to drink to get a serious problem and I’m reasonably sure I’m not in the danger zone. When this happens, my pee is bubbly afterward.
I believe the last couple of times that I binged, my food wouldn’t go down my throat. It got caught there. I got some water and pushed it down with the water. I found that I was able to stuff food down faster than ever. At 53? weird. Maybe I’m just remembering wrong. I have some junk food in the apartment right now that I should probably get rid of.
For a while, when I binged, it “showed.” Oh, no, when I binge it shows anyway. Duh. Stomach and intestine overload. I have heard that your stomach or intestines can burst from this. A doctor once told me that this was the truth but I looked it up and there have been cases. Of course you don’t survive that at my age. When I say that it showed, I meant that my ankles and legs and entire body swelled up. As of sometime yesterday, this stopped happening. They’re fine. My torso is huge and full of food but the rest of me looks normal. I have to wait until I poop it all out.
Okay, back to life. But the body changes again. I am making all kinds of spelling errors and am falling asleep…again. Something’s horribly wrong that I have to sleep all the time. Another ten-minute nap and I’ll be back.
I woke up two minutes before the alarm.
I sleep…I don’t sleep…well, duh…I play with food and it messes real bad with sleep. Real bad. Serves me right.
I don’t know why I do all the stuff I do but I can’t make it stop. Losing weight…it is just ridiculous.
My DMH person seems to think everything’s hunky-dory with me. Whatever. It’s her job to make sure people shower and get to their appointments and fill their prescriptions. I don’t think they have people with anorexia in their program much. I dress with my shirt right-side out and she looks at me and figures I’m fine. ADL’s. That’s “Activities of Daily Living,” meaning, again, showering, taking meds, brushing teeth, getting to your job, cleaning the house, laundry, paying your bills, taking public transportation…I do everything but one: eat. A big one. I guess that one’s a given for most of her people. And sleep.
I don’t even sleep responsibly anymore. Night blends into day which blends into night. All a blur.
There are things going on that are very good right now and I thought I’d mention them. My relationship with Frank. My relationship with L. Puzzle. Puzzle’s walks. Puzzle’s walks have been a little crazy and driven because I think about death while I’m walking her. I enjoy myself anyway. I keep my appointments and that’s a good thing. Church is just a fabulous addition to my life. Absolutely a fantastic thing I’m doing. I’m going to print out what I wrote yesterday and bring it into today’s session.
Okay, here’s another thing I haven’t made public but I will. I ran it by my T Friday and she feels it’s a very positive step I’m doing to help myself. I’m taking a trip to London to attend a seminar my publisher is putting on for its writers. The trip will be in a month. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It will give me a sense of purpose and I don’t want a sense of purpose but it’s weird because at the same time I really want to meet my publisher and get to work with him, and I assume get to meet the other folks at the publishing house as well. I won’t be gone long. I made the plane reservations and hotel and am all signed up.
This was in fact very difficult to do. My bank decided that whatever transaction I did was suspicious activity, and shut down my credit card after I made each purchase. This started with the transaction with my publisher, because it was a UK transaction. My bank doesn’t take chances. I appreciate this.
I have been spending the month of October working on my outline for November’s National Novel Writing Month. National Novel Writing Month probably won’t happen for me because of this trip. I’ll be gone for four days but it’s going to zap much of my energy for November. It was a sacrifice I had to make. I will still create the outline. Why? I’m excited about the book. I think Nano is doing another Nano later in the year. Nano got so big that they do one in a month other than November now. So I’ll have another opportunity maybe. I haven’t talked much about this outline. I will.
I’ve run out of energy and there’s more I wanted to say. Later.
Puzzle’s potty trips for Hurricane Irene
It’s not 100% set in stone yet, but the plan right now is this:
I have the Internet repair guy coming sometime between 5 and 7 tonight. This totally screws up Puzzle’s evening potty trip, which is difficult to begin with because she can’t find a toilet in the rain for whatever doggie reason she has. I’ll take her out at 4. It’ll be raining but the wind will be mild. She’ll have to wear a sweater to protect her non-water-resistant coat from the rain. I’ll wear my rain jacket. It’s incredibly difficult, when you need four hands for dog walking tasks, to find a fifth to hold an umbrella.
Next potty trip: 8 or so, not much later as the pouring rains will start up soon. She’s not likely to have to go a second time. Tough. This is her last opportunity for a long, long time.
Sunday morning no way will it be safe for any doggie to go out. Leash or no leash (she’s always on leash). She’s going to be pissed at me…well, hopefully not at me (ha ha). She’ll whine and moan non-stop and drive me crazy until she figures it out and uses some discreet indoor spot. Dang, my dog hates an indoor potty.
I just re-checked weather dot com and it appears that something has changed and now they are predicting that the wicked bad winds are going to go on all Sunday night. So…Sunday PM, same deal, Puzzle.
I have plenty of junky towels, paper towels, and cleanup spray, but I think it’s time to buy a newspaper maybe…maybe I’ll even read it. Probably not. It’s for her, after all. If she can read, well, that’s news to me.
Hopefully, the newspaper will end up unreadable and stinky, and something else won’t end up unreadable and stinky.
Monday morning….I have a question for you idiots out there: Why is it that when you finally go #2, they call it “success”? Hopefully, Puzzle will already have earned her own PhD in Poop indoors a couple of times. Dogs, of course, aren’t supposed to hold in any kind of PhD. After all, they can’t even read. Books on tape, braille, large print…nope, won’t help her. But if her learning specialist (I think they don’t call them tutors anymore) came to the house and petted her like crazy and gave her treats, Puzzle wouldn’t care about learning. Not that she ever gave a hoot (evidenced by the fact that when you tell her “sit,” she sits for about a half of a second, then gets up again).
Those of you who know better will more accurately call Puzzle’s trip outdoors Monday morning “relief.”
I wonder if I will buy the Herald or the Globe.
See ya later.
I am not going to share with you the letter I wrote to my T Monday night
I am not going to share with you the letter I wrote to my T Monday night following our session. It is a goodbye letter. I will have to say goodbye to the best T I have ever had because I am not committed to recovery and I am refusing treatment for my eating disorder, anorexia nervosa. She is the last therapist I will ever have.
I told her there is no T in the universe just like her (I didn’t word it that way). If another T were to follow, surely, that one would be a sore disappointment. I will, however, have support. I have services from the Department of Mental Health in place, so they will be following me. I meet with my worker once a week, on Saturdays.
My psychiatrist, Dr. P, will also “fire” me. I am not meeting her criteria for treatment. She will not treat someone who refuses all help. Leaving her is a very difficult decision I have made. She is an excellent shrink who has seen me through some very hard times. I have been seeing her for–believe it or not–10 years.
I have printed out this letter. I saved the document in my computer files. I e-mailed it to myself as well. I plan to read it to my T and give it to her for her records. We meet tomorrow.
I am usually scared to read her things I wrote. I fear that she will react by rejecting me, “firing” me, or hospitalizing me. So far, she has done none of these things based on any document I have read to her. But I am committed to reading her the entire document I wrote. I am convinced that she will not do any of these things based on what I wrote in the letter.
Okay, okay, here is one paragraph I am willing to share:
“I do like having someone with me in my aloneness. I know that makes no sense or sounds like an oxymoron, but when you consider that I am in a state of starvation, I am truly alone, untouchable, numb, and my mind is curled up into itself. So I like coming in to see you. Especially lately. I can sit on your couch and maybe uncurl a little.”
The letter is one page long, single-spaced.
I spent the afternoon at the ER
It was kind of a joke…They do not know about eating disorders in emergency rooms….Nor do EMT’s know about eating disorders…. I am just a skinny mental patient to them….I wish I didn’t have “schizoaffective” written on my medic alert information…I’m going to take it off!
More about that later. I will do a full write-up tomorrow. I just spent a while online researching involuntary treatment for eating disorders. I guess you can be involuntarily committed, but not at the ED hospital where I was. Thankfully, it’s the only place that will treat me because they are the only place around that takes my insurance. Also, I looked at the other places around here, and all are voluntary. It takes 48 hours to get this court commitment, anyway.
Where would they take me? New Hampshire? I don’t know. I’m starting to obsess about it.