I know I’m so privileged to be able to go to school and be getting my BS but somedays it just fucking hurts to get out in the morning (whenever morning may be although it’s usually 8am all week). Just thinking about going out makes me want to throw up my hands and say ‘haha who needs a degree?’, even though I know I do so much. Because of physical disability I don’t really know of many non-labor intensive jobs that don’t include standing at a cash register all day (which my back can’t physically handle for more than a few days (I’d do it/ have done it, and grimaced my way through the day but after a couple days working I’d have a day off and wouldn’t be able to move, and this was only part time).
I need Psychology to work out for me because I really don’t know what else I can do.
For a while it was either ‘yup out the door and on my way to breakfast at 7:56’ or ‘staring at the door knowing I can’t possibly open it and get to class’, but now I can’t really miss any more classes without having to do a proper disability services meeting to figure out a working arrangement with teachers, or simply withdrawing from my Industrial and Organizational Psychology class.
I’m doing well with the test(s) and discussions in class and the professor likes me, but I don’t usually make it to class both times per week and so I miss out on homework assignments.
I hate feeling like because I’m not ‘good enough’ to just get over my anxiety I should suffer. I know I’m losing out, and I can see and feel everyday how much my anxiety costs me, but I just don’t feel like I can push past it by myself.
After a few near-crisis weeks we’ve(me and my therapist) just moved my sessions to once every two weeks. I’m honestly not sure if thats because she hates skype or because pretty much my whole life revolves around school, or because (gasp) she actually thinks I can handle it. I have the DBT skill to tolerate my anxiety, but fucking A I don’t know if I can balance tolerating my anxiety and getting things actually done.
Ugh, why do I have to make things so much more complicated than they should be?
I know nobody’s got time for me. I know I’m fucking useless and a waste of matter. I know all of this, so why the fuck does everyone love making sure I get the picture? It’s going to be a bitch to move I get that, but when I try to help, don’t fucking brush me off like I didn’t just offer to do anything I could to help with money. I’m not even going to be here but I’m the one who’s going to man up and help. A fucking thank you would be nice? Or maybe not yelling at me when I ask about anyfuckingthing? And if you are going to yell at me for ever talking about this big huge thing that is making me insanely anxious, then don’t be a jerk when instead of just calmly speaking occasionally about the fucking elephant in the room I’m just an anxious irritated mess 24/7 and have to say idk why I’m such a bitch right now. God forbid I admit how much I’m freaking the fuck out.
And for fucksake if another person tell me not to worry about this fucking move and the money issues here again I’m going kick their teeth out and make myself and A (the one person I’ll really miss from up here, unless my sister stays which I know is highly likely to happen but I don’t even want to imagine) matching teeth friendship bracelets. Kids love shit like that.
My mother and grandmother are looking into selling our house and moving down to North Carolina. It’s really abrupt and I’m not supposed to tell anyone about it ( its only the three of us and some family we have down there that only my grandmother really talks to know) and I think I might be terrified. I grew up in this house and while I might not love this area in terms of accessibility I know it. I know there’s a bus system I can use even if I loathe it. They’re talking about moving to bum-fuck-nowhere in NC with all kinds of back roads and shit.
We talked about seeing if I could drive (medically speaking) but fuck with my neck being so unstable I wanna know that if something goes wrong and I’m in an accident they’re is a hospital nearby. We’ve got at least 4 within 20 minutes to a half an hour away and a billion more just a little farther in Philadelphia (which with my necks instability and the great neurosurgery centers, including more than a couple doctors who specialize in my syndrome is probably where I’d end up) I feel comfortably prepared here. If I could get into a grad program at UNC chapel hill in-state tuition would be helpful but I don’t think I’d stand a chance at getting in.
Fuck this rambling shit. I just need to forget this is happening and pretend all is well.
Cooking scares me to death sometimes.
First I’m afraid I’ll binge once I’ve made something, then I’ll worry I’ll fuck it up and ruin whatever I’m trying, it gets more intricate and irritating from there.
Mostly it’s the uncertainty of it though.
I’ll have the choice to binge or purge and the idea of having that choice and choosing wrong makes it easy to say “fuck it”.
Tonight though I cooked dinner for me and my mom. I went out and bought supplies to make vodka rigatoni and a few other things at Trader Joes (which was progress that I’ll write about another time).
I ended up making blue cheese bacon burgers and broccoli. Mom was great and told me she appreciated me cooking and offered some constructive criticism about working with her gluten free bread.
I ended up eating another burger and some water ice later but I didn’t particularly worry about my hunger level because I’d unintentionally restricted most of the day. I still struggle with understanding that restricting is just as unhealthy for me as binging or purging is, but I am getting better at understanding that the three are connected.
I think cooking, especially the desire to cook itself, is important and a huge step in my recovery and tonight I proved that I could do it without lapsing.
It seems that more and more that things like obsessively counting and comparing calories, body size/shape, and obsessively scouring through pictures of tiny-tiny models are becoming ‘normal’ for adolescent and pre-teen girls. I remember doing those things in secret alone in the trenches of my eating disorder, not while hanging out with friends, but body obsessing is turning/has turned into a social thing for kids now.
This and other similar changes are why I want to help adolescents with eating disorders and unhealthy relationships with food and their bodies.