“People aren’t meant to experience highs like that.”
My therapist stares at me, her expression one of anticipation, waiting for me to contest her statement, with one of my usual “But, wait! You don’t understand,”‘s
Silence.
What can I say to that? It’s true. As I sit here, after my second binge/purge of the day, feeling the post-purge high, this little nugget of wisdom swims around in my head. I’m stressed, I’m overwhelmed, overworked, underpaid (haha), etc., etc., and this is the only thing that makes it better.
How much can I stress this? My life is a fucking wreck at the moment. People are mad at me, papers are due, interviews are rapidly approaching, and I’ve been bingeing and purging more than I’ve been sleeping lately. I’m sad, I’m scared, I’m angry, and most of the time, I fucking hate myself.
I want to be okay. What this entails, exactly, I’m not sure. Sometimes I just want to see my mom, have her hug me, tell me everything’s going to be okay. But then I talk to her on the phone and there’s nothing I’m more grateful for than the 3,000 miles that separate us. Sometimes I need to reach out, so I do my text-a-treatment friend method, which is otherwise known as “Reaching Out for Pussies.” I don’t go to an actual person, someone I see on a daily basis, because I’m embarrassed. But I think I have a right to be, up to a point. To talk to someone who has absolutely no idea what this demon inside of you feels like seems like a wasted effort. And I’m pretty sure their advice would contain the requisite “Don’t worry, it will be okay,” interspersed in there at some point.
Well, you know? It WON’T fucking be okay. Now, in addition to my Cymbalta, I’m going to be on Prozac. And you know you’re crazy when your therapist goes away for two weeks and your life falls apart. Damn you, therapist! How dare you relax and take time for yourself?! Can’t you see I need you??
But seriously, they should give you a substitute or something, something or someone that will encourage you to just put the gun down, move away from the ledge, turn of the ignition, etc. etc.
Not that I’m at that point. I don’t think. I’m just too scared, to be honest. What if it doesn’t work? And if it does, what happens after? And as miserable as I am right now, I don’t think I want to die. I wonder about people who commit suicide; did they get to the point where, if they were walking down the street and a car was coming towards them, they didn’t tense up? Or try to run? Is such a thing really possible? I thought survival was part of our instincts, that in some situations you just can’t help it. Who knows?
My hands hurt.
devigoesusa said,
April 20, 2010 @ 1:11 am
Same with me: My parents and I are seperated by an ocean and a thousand miles… and while I would like to have my mom hug and protect me… I am so grateful for this distance.
Everything will be ok? Maybe. Maybe not. No way to know. And I’m tired of people telling me that everything will be ok even though they have no idea!
bwonderful said,
February 4, 2011 @ 3:53 pm
When I needed to get better, I had to self discipline myself even though I did not want to. Start challenging my perception and do what I was supposed to do even if it KILLED me to do so. Because now, i can honestly say it was worth it. And sometimes those thoughts still creep into my head, but then I say that’s ridiculous because logically whether I see it now or not, I’m being irrational. And you know, having problems we really sometimes do have to depend solely on ourselves. Sometimes it really is me,myself,and I. And you have to learn how to be okay with that when that happens, and learn how to be able to comfort yourself. Or at least push through these feelings and accomplish new goals and move forward even when your heart is stuck in hell. You’ll get there. Its a hard and exhausting journey but you’ll get there.