Main » November 2005

November 30, 2005

A Million Little Pieces

I'm reading this amazing book right now called "A Million Little Piece". There's this quote I ran across: "...and for a brief second I feel strong. Not strong enough to face myself, but strong enough to keep going."

God, i know that one all too well.....strong enough to just keep going, in whatever way i can, though never strong enough to look myself in the eye.

My days are spent in a sort of cloud, moment, minutes passing into one another. Passing through me. Withdrawl sucks. It's been exactly one week since i've taken my last dose of Effexor-- even though i've got seven little peach-colored capsules sitting in the bathroom. But I won't give in. Won't allow myself the 'luxury' of normalcy. Why? i can't say for sure. Perhaps it's punishment of some kind. Some way of proving to myself i deserve it for allowing myself to lose control of the one thing i've so diligently controlled all these years. i thought i had the upper hand in this morbidly sick and twisted game. But i was wrong.

My heart dances out its erratic beat like a kid taking her first steps. Fast. Slow. Unsteady. Many, many times a day now i find myself frozen in place, hand to neck feeling for a pulse as though i can silently will it back to a normal rhythm. i am unsuccessful and resort to taking deep, long breaths in attempt to make go away.

My head, more specifically my brain, feel as though it is disconnected from my body. Just floating around in its cranial cage. Synapses broken, disconnected. Neurons dying before they reach their destination. i feel dizzy most of the day, most of the night.

Starvation's negative effects at their finest and i feel powerless to make it stop. i know what i need to do. But knowing and actually doing might as well be in different galaxies.

Everytime i stand i feel the blood pressure drop to nearly non-existant levels. Feel the presure in my head rise up like mini explosions in my brain. i grab hold of whatever is near until the feeling passes and my eyes can focus again. Until the room stops spinning and the pressure in my head goes away.

i don't sleep much anymore. Rather, i lie in bed, fully conscious but paralyzed. Unable to move, to open my eyes, to do anything but lie there as the nightmares take over. And the anxiety attacks enter in. i feel my breathing increase, feel my heartbeat quicken. Terror grabs hold of me and yet, i don't know what i'm so afraid of. i don't know what i'm running from. All i know is that I'm scared and powerless to escape. And unable to 'wake-up' from my not-asleep-but-not-awake state of being.

This goes on all fucking night long. When i lay down to sleep, it begins again. Even taking a nap in the middle of the day results in the same internal madness. In short, i'm afraid to sleep these days. Afraid the nightmares will arrive but no one else will come to save me from it.

Even the melatonin i took this evening, hoping to induce sleep chemically, did nothing. I'm wide awake. Pete is asleep, half the world is asleep. Even the dogs are lost in their own little dreamlands. But i'm not.

The vicodin and bottle of Vodka in the fridge are becoming rather tempting.

Thanksgiving wasn't bad. Less stressful than with my own family. I did a 48-hour fast in preparation because I knew I'd have to eat SOMEthing, and I knew I wouldn't be able to purge. It crossed my mind, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it at Pete's mom's house. I had veggies and diet soda. And I've spent the last week feeling guilty for it. Avoiding food, purging what little I DO consume. A few pretzles here, some yogurt there. Pete and I went to the grocery store tonight. Walked through the isles, overwhelmed simply by the site of everything. If one were to go to a store and see a basket of groceries sitting in some random isle, I was probably just there. It's definitely easier when Pete goes with me... but definitely not easy in itself.

Picked up the smallest squash I could find, half knowing it would most likely be thrown out in a few weeks, from slowly rotting in the back of the fridge. Felt so guilty about that one little vegetable, that I almost put it back before we'd reached the check-out counter. Pete kept asking if there was anything i wanted. I kept saying No. Nothing. I LIKE bare cupboards. Empty shelves. Quite simply, I don't like seeing food in my kitchen. If I had it my way, I'd turn the kitchen into my art studio. Just think of all the shelving I'd have! All the counter space. Nothing allowed in there but coffee.

I feel so guilty for spending money on food when I know it's either going to go bad before I eat it, or end up in the city sewer-line shortly thereafter. I would rather spend the money on art supplies or running gear. Something that's actually of importance. Something i'd actually USE. It just seems like such a waste.

Anyhow, Pete and i paid, got home and Pete put away the groceries while i attempted to do some homework. That too, is becoming a pointless endeavor as i simply can not concentrate long enough to get through it. Even the smallest of assignments is overwhelming lately. Thank god there's only a few weeks left of this semester. Amazing how much can change in a few years. i used to have no problem with school work and studying and getting straight A's. Now it's a struggle to even get a B. And that's if I'm lucky.

Sometimes i feel like just giving up on all of this. just say fuck it, thrown down my cards and walk away. From myself, from the world, from life.

Game over.

Posted by Wendy at 2:49 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

November 25, 2005

Pics from the weekend

Pete and me at Choo's, November 2005

Me on the left, Nic on the right.

for more pics, go to www.photobucket.com (username:enigma0526)

Posted by Wendy at 6:14 PM | Comments (1)

Battle Wounds

So-- he saw the cuts, the numerous scars covering my arms like some sort of preschool art project gone awry. They have never looked this bad before. Ever. Hard to find a pure, unscarred space. i was half-awake, half-asleep this morning. He was next to me, nudging me, telling me it was time to get up. Finally fell asleep last night about 3 a.m., so morning came too early. Fighting the fact that i'd soon have to get up and face the day, i rolled over, pleading for "just a few more minutes" of sleep.

And then i felt him partially sit up in bed next to me, reach over ever so slowly, carefully and begin to raise the long sleeves of my sweatshirt. Being that i was supposedly still asleep, i couldn't move. Hoped he would stop. He didn't. Heard a small gasp, and a soft "My God, Wendy." Fuck. Now what?

hate it when he sees, when he notices. Hate that i hurt him so much with something I do to myself. He doesn't deserve that. Just as always before, whether with him or with Judy-- i fought back the tears when he covered the scars with his own hand. And something rises up inside me... fills me with terror, with dread, with anxiety. And I find myself walking down these cold and lonely hallways of my thoughts. Cold, alone. So far from His world. So far from reality. Awake at this point, i tried to pull my arm back, tried to hide beneath the abundance of blankets and pull the sleeves back down. And He held on. Wouldn't let go. Said, 'it's too late now, I've already seen it." Takes a deep breath. Says, 'you know, anyone can 302 someone else if they feel there's a need for it." I felt myself tense up, like a tightly wound coil ready to spring. "Not that I would do it," he continues. "But I could."
302? Fuck that. I am NOT going to be held in some psych ward against my will. I will not get to that point, nor allow myself to be controlled in that manner. NO ONE but me will decide that.

i don't even like looking at my own arm lately. The scars used to be comforting... in a strange sort of way. As of right now-- it scares me. i keep it covered. Don't look at it much. Maybe it's simply because i don't like see/admit the extent to which i've fallen in recent weeks.

6 weeks from today i'll be boarding a plane for Canada. And one would think i should be looking forward to it, and looking forward to the chance to finally create some sort of semblance of life beyond the walls of anorexia. Each day I awake, however, I find myself more anxious, more terrified of what the future holds.
And more determined as the days pass to reach 97 pounds again. Just to prove to myself that I can do it. To control the descent this time around. Simply because. I . Can. And they can't stop me. They can't take this away. 6 weeks left to finalize 16 years of hell. And I WANT to reach that point. I WANT to fade into nothingness. To hide myself beneath the scars and bones. If I don't get there, I know I will always wonder if I could have. I will always hold that thought in my head, and the idea that I could always go back again....

I want to stand on the edge and face death, looking it square in the eye and have the ability to turn around and deny it. To then climb my way back out of this hell I've created. Becauses then it will be my choice. I want to be at that point, that place where it is life versus death and i-- for whatever reason, by whatever means-- choose life instead.

But I am not there yet. I have not reached that place, that figurative 'fork in the road' yet. Not quite. But I'm headed there.

Posted by Wendy at 8:09 AM | Comments (1)

November 22, 2005

Self-Created Prison

Self-Created Prison

How many more?
The paper-thin skin stretched
over bone marked with vertical
horizontal slashes. Bright red screams from
this unspoken mind.
Do you dare to look for the answers?
Are you afraid of what you'd find
if you saw beneath the surface of my silence?
Raise the sleeves, see the bars that imprison
me beneath the scars etched here
in moments of painful desperation.
I was only looking for a way out.
Looking for escape yet
I've become a prisoner of myself
These marks permanent reminders
of the roads I have stumbled through
the mountains I attempted to cross but
never quite made it over.
And most will never see.
Here I stand, fading fast beneath
the shadows of imperceptability.

11/21/05

Posted by Wendy at 4:32 PM | Comments (0)

Soundtrack for another bad day

Lately-- i can't find the words to explain things as eloquently as certain songs have done. Made a CD the other day that could be the soundtrack for my life, were it a movie.

More lyrics from Indigo Girl's song "Closer to Fine"
i remember first hearing this song in high school, on a group workcamp up in the Appalachian Mountains of Kentucky with my (former) youth group. Came home and bought every album by I.G. only because i couldn't remember the name of the song, and i HAD to find it. Colleen and i had this song on repeat the whole week. Drove the rest of our group crazy. :)

"I'm trying to tell you something 'bout my life. Maybe give me insight between black and white. And the best thing you've ever done for me is to help me take my life less seriously-- it's only life after all.

Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable and lightness has a call that's hard to hear. I wrap my fear around me like a blanket, I sail my ship of safety till I sank it, I'm crawling towards your shores."

...how true. That "darkness has a hunger that's insatiable". i think this is part of what keeps me here, what keeps me walking this line. Even in my moments of absolute clarity, my good days, there is always that Darkness calling me back. And it's inviting and as much as i hate It, I also love it. Sick. Twisted. And it doesn't make much sense. But it's what i know. It's safety. i know most people won't understand that, and I don't know how else to explain it.

Kelly Clarkson, Because of You
"Because of you, I never strayed too far from the sidewalk, because of you, I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt. Because of you, I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me. Because of you I am afraid."

Fear. It keeps me locked inside my own little world, destroying the courage, the strength it takes to escape. It feels like i've been fighting back tears nearly every day for the last several weeks. Everything seems to get to me. Every song, every thought. Even just watching the neighbor kids playing outside in the leaves, finds me choked up inside. And I try harder and harder to keep the tears from falling. To stop the thoughts, the unidentifiable feelings inside that bring me to this point. Even as i sit here writing, the screen in front of me is blurry. Out of focus from the tears threatening to fall. Where the fuck is the exit? It's getting harder and harder to find, harder and harder to believe an exit exists in the first place. And i'm dying a little more each day.

Dying in the Sun, by The Cranberries.
"Do you remember, the things we used to say. I feel so nervous when I think of yesterday. How could I let things get to me so bad? How did I let things get to me? Like dying in the sun, like dying in the sun, like dying.

Will you hold onto me, I am feeling frail. Will you hold on to me, we will never fail. I wanted to be so perfect, you see. I wanted to be so perfect."

Landslide, Fleetwood Mac
"Well I've been afraid of changing, cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, children grow older, I'm getting older too."

yeah, i'm getting older and nothing ever seems to change. Half the time i feel so much older than other people my age, as though i've lived two or three lifetimes in this one. Other times, i feel like nothing more than an immature, scared little kid wishing someone would just notice her already. Wishing someone would stop the descent before she falls any further. And then i look at other people my own age and feel so far behind...

And she reaches out a hand into the air. Feels emptiness where another's hand should have been. They watched her fall. Let her fall. Closed their eyes and walked away. i don't know how much more i can take. i don't know how much further i can go. Giving up or going on? The answers lie hidden. Buried beneath years of wasted time, which one is right, which is wrong?

Good Enough Sarah McLachlan
Sorta the two-part mindset in this one.
"Hey your glass is empty, it's a hell of a long way home. Why don't let me take you, it's no good to go alone. I never would have opened up, but you seemed so real to me. And after all the bullshit I've heard, it's refreshing not to see that I don't have to pretend, she doesn't expect it from me. So don't tell me I haven't been good to you, don't tell me I have never been there for you, just tell me why nothing is good enough.

Hey little girl would you like some candy, your momma said it's ok. The door is open come on outside, No I can't come out today. It's not the wind that cracked your shoulder and threw you to the ground. Who's there that makes you so afraid, you're shaking to the bone? I don't understand, you deserve so much more than this."

Storm (Blyss) by Lifehouse
"How long have I been in this storm? So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form. Water is getting harder to tread. With these waves crashing over my head. If I could just see you, everything would be all right. If I could see you, this darkness would turn to light. And I would walk on water. And you will catch me if I fall. And I would get lost into your eyes, and everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.

I know you didn't bring me out here to drown. So why am I ten feet under and upside down? Barely surviving has become my purpose, cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface. If I could just see you, everything will be all right. If I could see you, this darkness would turn to light."

yep... barely surviving. i'm just trying to keep my head above water, and lately-- failing miserably. I hate crying. For giving in. These fucking tears won't stop. Won't go away. And I get angry at myself for letting them fall. For letting myself feel them so intensely. Where is it coming from in the first place? Lately... they just arrive. No warning, nothing. The smallest thing can send me spiraling downwards, yet i can't explain why or what or how. i simply just fall. And each time i do, it gets harder to climb back
up again, harder still to find my way back out.

She's Falling Apart by Lisa Loeb
"They pull up their chairs to the table. She stares at the food on her plate. At the toast and the butter, her father and mother-- she pushes away. And they rise in the morning. And they sleep in the dark. And even though nobody's looking, she's falling apart.

She gets home from school too early, and closes the door to her room. There's nothing inside her, she's weak and she's tired of feeling like this. And they rise in the morning. And they sleep in the dark. And even though nobody's looking, she's falling apart.

They call her for dinner, she makes up a reason. She looks at her arms and rolls down her sleeves. And her mother is starting to see through her lies and last night her father had tears in his eyes.
And they rise in the morning. And they sleep in the dark. And even though nobody's looking, she's falling apart."

...everyday they woke again, went about their days. Oblivious. They saw me, but didn't really SEE me. Walked on by and i kept it all inside, kept it to myself. i wonder sometimes how much of this is because when i needed someone most, no one was there. We were a 'family', but only in external appearances. Inside, we had our own lives, our own worlds of safety and shelter. Worlds we created in order to survive. i learned to depend on no one but myself. To face the world with a smile and pretend nothing was wrong, pretend that nothing else mattered.

But when i sit here in moments like this it all comes rushing back. Hits so much harder the second time around. Hurts a hell of a lot worse.

What a Good Boy by Barenaked Ladies
"We've got these chains hanging around our necks, people wanna strangle us with them before we take our first breath. Afraid of change, afraid of staying the same when temptation calls, we just look away.

I wake up scared I wake up strange I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change. I wake up scared. I wake up strange and everything around me stays the same."

Broken by Scott Stapp
"Why are we overcome with fear? What if I told you that fear isn't real? Why are we overcome with death? What if I told you my friends--your doubt, you could live without. There is a question I want to understand. Why can't everyone tell the truth and learn to love again. Do you know what it feels like to be broken and used, scared and confused? One more question, I know time is dear. Is what the world speaks of love, really real?

Do you know what it feels like to be broken and used, scared and confused. Yes, I know what it feels like to be broken and used, scared and confused, yes I know.
I'm broken.

Thank You, Alanis Morissette
The moment I let go of it was the moment I got more than I could handle. The moment I jumped off of it is the moment I touched down.
How 'bout no longer being masochistic. How 'bout remembering your difinity. How 'bout unabashadly bawling your eyes out. How 'bout not equating death with stopping. Thank you India. Thank you providince. Thank you disillusionment. Thank you nothingness. Thank you clarity, thank you, thank you silence.

James Blunt, Goodbye My Lover
(In a twisted sort of way, I see this as the eating disorder speaking vs.. well... me.)

(me)"Did I disappoint you, or let you down. Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown. Cause I saw the end before we'd begun. (ED) I saw you were blind and I knew I had won. So I took what's mine, my eternal right. Took your soul into the night. It may be over, but it won't stop there. I am here for you if you'd only care. (me)You touched my heart, you touched my soul, you changed my life and all my goals. Love is blinder than I knew it, my heart was blinded by it. (ED)I've kissed your lips, I've held your hand, shared your dreams and shared your plans, I know you well. I know you. (me)I've been addicted to you. Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend. You have been the one, you have been the one for me.

(me)I am a dreamer and when I wake, you can break my spirit, it's my dreams you take. (ED)And as you move on, remember me, remember all we used to be. I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile, I've watched you sleeping for awhile, I'd be the father of your child, I'd spend a lifetime with you. I know your fears, and you know mine, we had our doubts but now we're fine, and I love you I swear that's true, I can not live without you. (me)Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend, you have been the one, you have been the one for me.

(me)I'm so hollow, baby. I'm so hollow. I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow."

...why, at a time when i have so much to live for do i feel so much like throwing it all away. Giving it all up. I cut again this morning before my appointment with Judy. Why? i don't know. And I'm sitting here with the thoughts in my head again, tears streaming down my face and i don't know where to go, what to do. i should call Judy. But I was just there less than 4 hours ago... as if that really matters. excuses. fuck. go away go away. i can't make sense of this, of myself, of what all of this means and why i still hang onto it. i don't know, i don't know.. i DON'T KNOW.. and this anxiety, this fear overwhelms me.....

i still am trying to figure out how i can sit here and write and I think so clearly, and yet Judy says differently. I know exactly what I'm writing and what I'm trying to say, and I know exactly the words I'm using. Yeah, maybe the negative stuff is partly due to eating disordered thoughts and what-not, but my writing is my way of trying to sort it all out, make sense of it, and my writing is ME. Whether or not I'm in a bad place at a given moment, my writing reflects ME in these moments. So how can it NOT be me. Judy and i have gone over this several times now. And while i can see from her point of view, and why she thinks the way she does, I'm not so sure she sees it from MY point of view. If I'm doing the writing, how can it NOT be me? I get frustrated trying to figure it out, trying to explain it. i dunno. maybe i'm just trying to convince myself of some unrealistic rationalization in order for it all to be ok. The one thing i always had was my writing. Being unsure if my thoughts, my words are really even mine is quite unsettling. My words are (were) my anchor. The one place of safety i've always had. The one thing to keep me grounded and to make sense of the chaos in my head. What's left if i don't even have that anymore?

When the anchor is removed, one begins to drift away...
Perhaps i shouldn't write anymore? Perhaps I'm only trying to make sense of things that I should simply just leave alone. Don't ask questions, don't seek answers. Don't fight a mind that is so much stronger. Accept the reality for what it is and leave it at that. I should have learned this long ago...

Posted by Wendy at 11:17 AM | Comments (2)

November 21, 2005

Me, Myself and 'i'

I've decided that i'm no longer worthy of capitalization of the letter 'I', in reference to myself. Why? Who knows. But it's what I've decided. Save the importance of punctuation and correct grammar for one who deserves such recognition. The 'other' me. The internal side of me. The one who actually means something.

Crazy weekend. It's been a long time since i've actually ventured into the land of the living and spent time amongst people. i realized this weekend how much i've missed being a part of it all. And how much i've missed actually participating in the everyday normal stuff that other people do.

Due to my horrendously bad day on Thursday, i decided that a little... er.... liquid antidepressant was in store. So, on Friday night Katie, Nicole, Pete and i headed out to Mixxers and spent the evening drinking and dancing. Woohoo--- 2 or 2 1/2 hours (total) of calorie-burning dancing with Nicole. And i drank a couple glasses of lite beer. Damn. Way to go Wendy. Fuck it all up. Nicole and i, nearly at the same time and without discussing it beforehand, made a bee-line for the bathroom. Puked lite beer cause i couldn't deal with the thoughts in my head. Couldn't deal with the guilt.

Worked all day Saturday and then went out again Saturday night. More drinking. Puked that beer too. i'm beginning to wonder if there's ever an end to this anyhow. Seriously. Who pukes lite beer after not having eaten anything but coffee since the day before? (only cause i'm counting the few calories i 'kept in' on Friday night from the beer i sipped on after puking the rest of it). If we're talking actual, solid food, i think it was sometime on Wednesday or maybe Thursday. I don't remember. 1/2 cup of plain mixed veggies. That part i DO remember. UGH.

Saturday Kelli, Nic, Pete and i went out again... first to Choo's and then over to Tailgaters. Karaoke. It was fun. Still regretting the beer but not regretting the state of mind. The thoughts in my head were actually semi-quiet most of the evening. i say "most" only because i heard a number of songs that pretty accurately described either me, or Nic and i together.

"I was walking in Memphis. I was walking with my feet 10 feet off of Beale. Walking in Memphis. Do I really feel the way I feel?"
Question of my life. What the hell do I really feel anyhow. And is what I'm feeling REALLY what I'm feeling?

The entire song, "Closer to Fine" by Indigo Girls.
"I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains. I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains. There's more than one answer to these questions, pointing me in a crooked line. And the less I seek my source for some deliverance, the closer I am to fine.

And just recently i stumbled across a group called "Barlow Girls". i'm guessing they're a christian band, cause of some of their lyrics. But a friend from my Xanga.com site (www.xanga.com/AnaRunner) has this amazing song on the frontpage of her Xanga called "Mirror" by that group.

"Mirror, Mirror on the wall; Have I got it?/ 'Cause Mirror you've always told me who I am/I’m finding it’s not easy to be perfect."

Amazing.

i was up late last night. far too late. it was about 4:45 a.m. when i finally went in to bed. i wasn't tire. couldn't sleep. why bother trying? almost called Judy a little after 3 a.m. as the thoughts in my head, seemingly from out of nowhere, intensified. Grew so much louder, so much stronger. and i wanted to cut. But i couldn't convince myself to wake her up in the middle of the night simply because i couldn't handle my own thoughts, my own mind. So instead, i curled up in a ball, fetal position, in the middle of the couch. Laid there watching random music videos on VH1 trying (unsuccessfully) to hold back the tears. i didn't cut last night, but desperately considered the idea.

Although i didn't cut on Thursday before i'd called Judy and went into the office, i ended up cutting later that night. My left arm is not looking too great at the moment. Thank god for cold weather and long sleeves. Pete hasn't yet noticed. Hasn't yet asked about it. And it's not that i'm hiding it from him, but i'm not going to be the first one to bring it up. i can't.

He and i had another 'discussion' last night after i got home from work. i don't even remember how it first started, but he made a comment that i'm "vanishing" right in front of him. Asked me what's left if i let every part of me disappear. i told him, "me", and left it at that. He doesn't get it though. Doesn't get that part. Use it all up. Strip it all away. Whatever is real is what remains in the end. Besides, the body is nothing more than that. Separate from the mind. I can be as small as I want to be, and they'll never control my mind. My thoughts. They can't take that part of me from ME. I'm nearing 72 hours no Effexor. i'm not sure anymore if the dizziness is from lack of food or lack of Effexor. Either way, I'll deal with it.

Won't mention names, but scored some Ritalin and another ADD med over the weekend. We'll see how it works for my lack of ability to focus these days. I've paid little attention to my homework and studying lately. i suck. But when your mind runs on overtime, it's so damn hard to focus, to study, to concentrate. i read the same page over and over again. i force myself to sit there until I quite literally feel like i'm going insane. Besides, it's supposedly a killer appetite suppressant and keeps you going for hours.

i need to get to class.....

Posted by Wendy at 7:37 AM | Comments (0)

November 20, 2005

New Paintings

"Internal Disquiet"
Nov. 2005
C. W. Lowery

"Divided"
November 2005
c. W. Lowery

Posted by Wendy at 9:43 AM | Comments (3)

November 18, 2005

Unintentional Poetic Rambling...

So many thoughts inside this ravaged mind falling like the snow outside, swirling in chaotic confusion. Trapped within this prison I've created, no place to run. Sixteen years later--still here, still fighting a life, a mind, eternal internal feelings that just won't disappear.

And the scars are only a temporary fix. They heal. What's left inside never heals. Never stops. Never quiets.

It never. Goes. Away.

I want to scream and cry. Throw something against the wall. I want to tear apart the body, the skin. Show what I feel inside cause they've simply never seen. Make me disappear. Make me invincible. Make me pure like the winter's first snow, falling in silence just as I do now. It's grip is getting tighter. Stronger. I can't fight it any longer, and I don't know how much more I can take.

I wonder when this changed. Wonder when this all got so crazy. So out of control. Wonder when and why. Wonder how I'll ever learn to let it all go, to give it all up, without giving up myself in the process.

And Judy says my words aren't REALLY mine. "Your words lately are so clearly that of the eating disorder." And I want to cry. Feel it all rushing to the surface, drowing me inside. Cause I've never felt more sure. Never felt more intensely alive. Starvation has that effect. I've never felt more able to clearly state these thoughts, feelings, all that's going on. I can handle a lot of things-- but what really shook my balance and threatened my grip was when the one thing I thought I still had left, apparently disappeared. I'm not even ME anymore. It seems my moments of absolute clarity are only figments of a captive mind. So much so, that I never saw it coming. Never saw the descent. Never saw me fall. But here I am, lying on the floor broken and bleeding.

External wounds are never big enough, deep enough to show all that's left inside.

But even after all these years, I'm still here. Still breathing. Still living. Still fighting. Some little ray of hope exists. Some tiny, miniscule part of my soul the anorexia never had a hold of. I can't make promises. I can't predict the future. But I'll do my best to keep from crossing that line.

Balancing on the edge, wondering how much further I could possibly fall.

Posted by Wendy at 9:15 AM | Comments (3)

November 17, 2005

Winter

Snow is here. And it's cold. Too damn cold for my liking and it's only November. There's still several months of this left. I'm cold when it's the middle of July and 80-something degrees outside. It's not just the physical cold though.... it seems that the chill has gone through all my layers, through the bones, right to the very center of me. The days, according to the lunar cycle, are shorter, but they seem so incredibly long to me. Amazing how 24 hours can feel like a lifetime. And I just keep waiting for it to be over.

Bad day today, and I'm not sure I could even begin to explain why. I simply don't know what started it all, or what sent me over the edge. I just don't know. I went to class this morning then came home about 11 as my Horticulture lecture at 1 p.m. was cancelled for the day. So, I had a free afternoon until 6 p.m. Sometime between 11 and about 3, I lost it. I wouldn't call it a total breakdown, but it was closer than I've been in a LONG time.

I was sitting on the floor going through old mail and collecting newspapers to take out for recycling. And it was this gradual darkening. Like some sort of... SOMEthing just sort closed around me. And I could feel the tears choking me, threatning to fall should I let them. Thoughts swirling around my head so fast I couldn't make a distinction between where one left off and the other began. Part of it is the constant thought of going to Canada in January; part of it was feeling a bit overwhelmed with school right now. And the rest of it was just all this.... stuff.... I don't know how to explain it.

So I'm sitting there, my back against the door and start hitting my head against the wall (trying to make everything inside stop) until I was in tears. I can handle the physical pain so much easier. Thought about cutting... a lot. Paced the house, fighting myself over whether or not I pick up the blade. After awhile, I called Judy-- but got voice mail. And.. I dunno... just this overwhelming feeling of... alone-ness. Of having nowhere to go, nowhere to turn, and it's like I was trapped somewhere between reality and my own mind.

Grabbed my blades. The phone-- on the slightest hope that Judy would call, even though in my message I hadn't left a name or number. Opened the medicine cabinet and saw the vicodin, the Advil, my mini-pharmacy. Thought about the fact that I had vodka in the fridge and the thought of just leaving... slowly fading into unconsciousness, out of all of this... was so damn tempting, it terrified me. I've never been that enticed. Never that close, never that SURE. Sat on the bathroom floor, blade in one hand, phone in the other, tears streaming down my face and I couldn't make them stop. Couldn't make the tears stop, the thoughts, the unnameable feelings..... Sounds crazy, but it was like something else had taken over and I wasn't in control of ME anymore.

And in the middle of my hyterical mess.... Judy called. I'm a bit surprised that she knew it was even me... but either way, she called. I ended up going to her office for a few hours. Somewhere 'safe'. I didn't end up cutting today--- though I brought the blades with me to Judy's, "just in case". Did a little writing... mostly just sat on the couch, curled up in the blanket trying to stop the tears, the thoughts... everything.

I didn't go to class..... I left Judy's a little before 6, drove to campus, then drove in a big circle and headed back to the office. I couldn't do it. Couldn't sit in class for three hours. Couldn't be around other people. Didn't want them to see me like that. Stopped to pick up some coffee and headed back. Sat in the parking lot for a bit, and then went home. I couldn't go in.

Pete was home when I got home, so.... I put on as "normal" a smile as I could muster and walked in the door. I know if I'm having a bad day, it's ok with Pete. He doesn't care. But.... I also know that he'll then worry about me, and I feel when people worry about me. Even when I know people only do it cause they care....

I guess the only good part of all of this is that I didn't cut.
Maybe even more importantly--- that I'm still here. Not in some hospital having my stomach pumped... or worse....

Posted by Wendy at 8:37 PM | Comments (1)

November 13, 2005

Insomnic Ramblings

The nights are long and seemingly unending. I don't sleep much these days and haven't for some time now. I lay there awake, my mind running in endless circles. He's next to me, lost in some alter dream world that I'm not a part of. And I lay there awake, wishing I could sleep. But the thoughts keep me awake. It's 2:13 in the morning and I'm wide awake.

Can't sleep, once again. Then again-- I haven't really even tried. There's no point, cause eventually I get up out of bed again. Watch pointless late-night infomercials selling everything from jewelry to vacuumes. The ones on weight-loss are always fascinating though. I study the "before" and "after" pics, trying to determine if the two pictures are really the same people. Hair color, face shape, eye shape, smile. Wonder if I could be one of their spokespeople, modeling my "before" and "after" pics. But, as usual, I determine that my "after" photo probably would not look much different from the "before". Figure that I'll always be fat, no matter how much weight I lose. I wonder how many other people are up late, falling into the trap, trying to picture themselves 50 pounds lighter-- though the fine print on the bottom of the screen says "results not typical". Wonder how many people ignore that, thinking they too, will be one of the success stories, realizing that very few people are. It's all about motivation, determination and how willing one is to work towards such a goal.

Maybe the reason I've been able to maintain within a 10 -15 pound range is because I've never had a specific, set number. No magic goal weight. Getting back to 97 has always sounded like a good idea, but not one that I've ever specifically set my mind on. What better time to do it than right now? Like they say-- don't put off till tomorrow what you can do today. So maybe I should just set a specific goal weight... 97 pounds. And I know Judy will probably ask what that sort of goal will do for me. I can just hear it... "and where (or what) will that get you?" I guess at this point, my only answer to that is "satisfaction in knowing I was able to do it again. By my own will. Last time I got there-- I know I was totally controlled by the eating disorder. I didn't even realizing I was heading there until I was there. It's not something I consciously did, or decided on or worked for. It just sorta happened.

But, whether I'm 5'8 and as high as 130 or as low as 97, I still feel fat. It's like the lower the number on the scale goes, the higher the number reads in my head. Reality says one thing. My thoughts say another. What is real? Is anything? Is anyone? Are we all just pawns in some morbid game of life. Game over. Sorry-- you lose? Pete looks at me and says I've lost weight. Nic has said it. Heather actually said it today (which, is odd, as she would have an extremely difficult time telling me that, cause of the whole competition thing). Pete says my clothes don't fit anymore. Says he notices everything. Notices that I don't eat. Notices that when I do eat-- I purge. Notices when I cut. Nothing gets by him. And I wonder why-- if it's so obvious to other people-- I don't see that I've lost any weight at all. The scale says one thing, but I only believe it for a split second. I wonder if it's calibrated right, wonder if I'm just dehydrated or... or some other reason. I wonder if everyone else is just lying in order to "scare" me. It won't work though. I fell for that the first time around, but not this time. This time-- I get to choose. But either way, whatever the number-- it's not low enough yet. And then I begin to wonder just how low I can get before Westwind.

I called Westwind on Thursday afternoon. I actually didn't hang up this time-- even when it was ringing. I sort of hoped I'd get voice mail again, like I did Wednesday, but no such luck. Someone answered. I have the intake interview on Tuesday morning at 10 a.m. and then from there I'll know my 'entrance date' into the program. I asked about a waiting list, assuming that it would be at least 6 or 8 weeks, but again-- no such luck. Turns out that a number of girls are leaving soon, and they'll have openings. I don't want to go 'soon'. I was planning on going mid-to-late January and had gotten used to that idea. I was somewhat o.k. with it-- or at least as .ok. with it as I'm ever going to be. But the possibility of going earlier than that threw me off balance and so I spent the remainder of the evening pacing the house trying not to cut. I called Judy but she was in session so I just left a message. I tried painting, but it wasn't enough. Too much going on inside. I called again a couple of hours later, and then Judy called back.

In a way, just hearing a familiar voice-- besides the one in my head-- was enough to get me through it. I know I'm not going immediately-- but at the time, it was too much to deal with. Too much to process and I couldn't handle it. Shortly before I got off the phone with Judy, Pete got home from work. Although I didn't end up cutting Thursday night, the thoughts are still here. Still in my head. Still tempting me. I've got a blade in just about every room of the house. In my school bag, my purse, my car. Obviously, taking them away will not do much, as I'll just use my own fingernails. Sometimes-- I actually prefer that route though, as the scars are bigger. They don't bleed as much as using the blade, but they're bigger... And it's nothing but me hurting myself. No blade or other object in between my own hands and my own skin. Just me.

In a strange sort of way though, the big cut on my arm from Wednesday is oddly comforting. I'll think about cutting again, pull up my sleeve and see it, and it's at least enough to keep me from doing it again. Not because of the fact I'd have another mark on my arm, but simply because it's there. I don't know how else to explain it. It calms me down and eases the anxiety... the intense feelings that I can't name.

I am hoping this new job will keep me busy enough that I won't have as much time to sit and think. At Disney, I could step out of my own little world for awhile. My focus was entirely on the kids and on my job and I simply didn't have the time to think about other stuff. I'll be working pretty much full-time as the 'residential coordinator' for one of the residential homes. As of right now, I'll just have two clients on my caseload, though there are four who live in the house. The two guys that live downstairs have their own staff 24/7. The job is rather extensive-- a little more than I expected going into it, but I already love it. Not only am I in charge of 'running' the house, but medications, assessments, finances, medical appointments and therapy/psychiatry appointments, as well as all the paperwork/documentation for each client. This also includes being on each clients' IPP team with their dr's and psychs. and other staff, and planning their behavioral programs. Since I'm the one who will be doing their assessments of behavior and skills and progress, I'm pretty much the one who will play the biggest part in each one's progress plan, other than the client's themselves. Now I'm beginning to wonder if going to Westwind right now is a good idea. How can I work with them for 2 months and play such a huge part in their care plan, and then leave myself for two months.... Then again, maybe I'm only coming up with excuses just as I did with Denver. I couldn't go then because of the kids and my job and... any of a number of other justifications.

I've already spent most of the week in training classes-- IPP team and Medications training. Due to that, I am now considered a "medication aide" by the state. Not that it means much, but just one more thing to add to the resume later on, I guess. I've still got Mandt training (the behavioral program), updating my CPR/First Aid and AED certification, as well as Abuse and Neglect and a couple of others.

The class on Friday was rather interesting. It was the IPP training, which was rather interesting. It's very much like the IEP's in the educational setting, so I was already somewhat familiar with some aspects of it. Even more interesting though was the discussion we had on medication, and when it was or wasn't appropriate to use medications as a means of changing or altering mood or behavior, due to the restriction of personal rights, eg. restricting one's freedom of free thinking. Maybe it was my own personal experience that kept me highly interested in this fascet of the program. I dunno. But the one thing that really stuck with me was when John was talking about the way medications affect the brain. Apparently all medications, whether antidepressants or antipsychotics all affect the frontal lobe of the brain, the creativity center-- first. So, thoughts and ideas are limited, due to meds. They may affect the brain at different levels, but all of them have an effect. After hearing this-- I finally came up with a term to describe how I've been trying to explain my reasons for going off the Effexor. It's nothing more than a "chemical bandaid". A bandaid only covers up the wounds. It keeps them from being visible. More specifically, at least for me, it keeps the feelings from being visible. Not just to other people, but to myself as well.

On the Effexor-- though it does elevate my general state of mind-- I'm somewhat... numb. I don't feel things as much, I don't feel as though I'm able to really say what I'm thinking... cause the words aren't there. I don't feel as creative. Case in point-- the last 6 months or so-- since going up to the 225mg of Effexor, I haven't written nearly as much poetry as I used to, nor have I been as creative artistically. Since reducing the Effexor, I've felt more (even if I can't explain how I feel), and I've definitely been more creative. I think I've had a total of 8 or 9 new paintings in the last 4 or 6 weeks, and I've been writing more. Not just journaling, but poetry as well. The words are coming back again. The ideas. The thoughts. I'm starting to make sense to me again, and I do that through my writing and my art. Strange though, how the times I sit down and write, I feel more like ME, because I know exactly what I'm writing, what I'm saying... what I'm trying to say in the first place. even though Judy often says the eating disorder is very apparent in my writing. But I don't see it that way.

I don't feel like anyone else but me is writing those words, those thoughts. What I write is exactly what I'm thinking or feeling at any given moment. If I say that I've decided that I'm going to consume nothing but one or two protein drinks a day until I go to Westwind, then that is what I--Wendy-- have decided. As they say, "a good anorexic never dies". Maybe that sounds irrational to some, but it's really quite simple. The ones who don't die are the one's who learn to manage their E.D.'s. They learn to manipulate and control it. They learn to control their own bodies, via the mind. The one's who "lose" (for lack of a better word) are the one's whose E.D.'s control them. Or the ones who let parents or friends or whoever control them. I don't know how else to explain it.

I'm thinking I'll just go off the Effexor completely. I was able to make it almost a full 48 hours of NOT taking it before I gave in tonight. The last dose I had was Thursday morning. Dr. Keller just had back surgery and will be out until January. So-- no chance of getting another couple of months of sample packs. Dee-Dee and Ashley are not able to write prescrips., and I'm not going to go in and see some other doctor. Dr. Keller is really the only Dr. I've had that I've actually liked and trusted and felt I could be totally upfront with. So-- forget that. And I'm not gonna waste almost $200 on myself just to 'elevate' my mood. I'll deal with it. Getting off the effexor sucks though. Even at the lowest dose possible, I still have the withdrawl effects. Not nearly as extreme as on the higher doses, but they're still there. I just have to keep pushing past it. I figure if I just add about 12 hours each time I'll be completely off it before December. 48 hours last time, this next time I'll wait 60 hours, then 72... etc. I know that Judy's not going to agree with me on this one. I already know that. We've discussed it before, and I agreed to stay on the 75mg for awhile. And I did... For a couple of weeks. They say running increases the level of seratonin (or whatever the 'good' chemical is) in the brain, so... I'll just go to the gym more if I need to.....

Judy asked on Wednesday why I spent the whole weekend last week down in Lincoln with my sister instead of up here in Omaha with Pete. She asked, "wouldn't you rather spend as much time as possible with Pete before you go [to Westwind]?" Yeah, I would. And I told her that. But what I didn't (or couldn't) say was that at times, I'd rather be in Lincoln or with other people, not just me and Pete. And I know it's avoidance. I know that. It has nothing to do with Pete or who he is or anything-- but simply for the fact of the whole.... er.... physical part of the relationship. If I'm not here, I don't have to deal with it. Everything about it sends me into panic mode. Anxiety at its finest. I can't explain it, nor can I deal with it. The majority of the time-- I don't want any part of it... anything to do with it. I pull away, make excuses... anything to avoid that situation. I can't even be specific with myself, let alone explain it to anyone else. Anxiety just by writing it; just by seeing this on the screen in front of me. All Judy has to do is mention anything remotely suggesting the subject and I immediately shut down, retreat back inside to my "safe" world of self-injury and escapism. I hate that I do it, cause I know it plays a big part in mine and Pete's relationship. He doesn't like the fact that I'm often gone on a Friday or Saturday night in Lincoln, or Heather's up here for the day. He doesn't like that I stay up so late at night and go to bed hours after he's asleep, or that I'm "unresponsive" to his.... er.... advances...... damn. not going there right now. I can't. get outta my head.... outta my head... I feel like beating my head against a wall... like holding my head in my hands and screaming.... like.... doing anything but thinking about this.....

Posted by Wendy at 6:16 PM | Comments (3)

Nov. 10, 2005

I haven't felt much like writing lately. Once again -- I'm quite positive that it is avoidance. If I don't sit down and write, then I'm not focusing on my thoughts and all the stuff goin on inside and it makes it much easier to deal with. At lelast for the moment. And that's where it gets hard. Cause eventually it all builds up until I'm at the breaking point.

I've been going over and over in my head the idea of going inpatient, or into treatment, or whatever one wishes to call it. I've always said that I don't see myself as "sick", so therefore I don't necessarily NEED treatment. I keep thinking that I can do this on my own and that I don't need to depend on anyone else and I shouldn't drag anyone else down with me. But my problem is that I'm the one who stands in the way. I push people away. I keep them at ann arm's length away so as no to let anyone get to know the real me. Maybe it's simply because I don't know which part of me is actually... well, ME. It's hard to separate myself from the anorexia and to see my thoughts as being different. I just always assumed that if it was in my head, it was mine. There's a fine line there, however, and I tend to cross over it time and again, most of the time never realizing it.

I had my appointment at Judy's yesterday and -- once again-- I cried. I try so hard not to, and eventually it all gets too overwhelming. It becomes too much to handle. I can't always say what I'm thinking or feeling at that moment and I end up crying. She'll tell me these stories or whatever that somehow or another relates to me. And I immediately put myself in that position, and all the thoughts, the feelings become so damn INTENSE. And I can't deal with that. So I try to stop the emotional stuff via physical pain-- but even that doesn't always work. I sit here now with a 2-inch long, 1/4 inch wide cut down my forearm from my own fingernails in yesterday's session. And what did it get me? Nothing but another eventual scar. One more mark. One more reminder.

I know I have to call and set up stuff with Westwind. But everytime I get close, I hang up as fear takes over and I soehow or another onvince myself that I'm fine, that I dont need to go away to some treatment center somewhere -- let alone Canada-- and that I just need to suck it up and get on with my life cause everyone has their bad days. Right? It's this sort of thinking that keeps me trapped here. I can't even make the simplest of decisions without counteracting that withh another thought or another rationalization. It's me against my own mind and I never win.

I was already somewhat anxious during session, scared about having to call Westwind. I just seems... I dunno.... so final, I guess. I know there is still other stuff to take care of before I'd actually set a specific date and get on that plane and al, but actually making that phone call is the start of everything. It means there is an end in sight and it's onlyl a few months away. Yeah-- for most people that would sound like a good thing. A positive thing. Something to look forward to. But when you've lived with an eating disorder for more than half your life; when your world revolves around food and how NOT to eat it; when your time spent at the gymm is more important than the majority of things in your life-- it's all you know. It becomes YOUR 'normal'. Yeah-- it may be completely and totally UN-normal from the rest of the world, but it's all you know. And here within lies the fear.

What is left if I give this up? Who am I without it? How will I deal with life and everything else without the anorexia to do that for me? And that's only the beginning of endless thoughts, endless questions circling around inside my head. Where does it end?

As much as I'm tired of living this way, of being this way... of everything-- something still keeps me hanging on to it. And I don't know how to explain what that is. I just feel it. It's frustrating and aggravating.... and a whole bunch of other things I can't name... or explain.... or...

I need to go run for awhile. Clear my head, my thoughts...
Just make this all stop...

Posted by Wendy at 5:52 PM | Comments (0)