I got home from Rogers about a week and a half ago. Long story short I was in Wisconsin for nearly 2 months; spent 4 weeks at rogers memorial (the edc/residential) and then left AMA and found myself stranded in Madison living with a former "resident" who turned out to be a psychopath (no, I'm not exagerrating in the least ;)) and then ended up staying with killkessa who was ever-so-kind to take my sorry ass in out of the bitter midwest cold (damn, I missed the mild california weather!) because I couldn't stand living with the Rogers woman any longer. Was that a run-on sentence? Forgive me, I found out today that I don't know how to read or write, apparently, because I found myself at a loss for words while taking the Assessment Test at a nearby community college. Horribly depressing, but I'll get to that in a moment. So anyway, I was at residential, then staying with a very sick and selfish woman, then with kessa ('twas a blast in the most disordered of ways and i do think i have found a kindred spirit, hehe), then was forced into going back to the hospital. i wasn't allowed to come home and had all sorts of theats from my dad. I think I wrote about this but I can't remember and am too lazy to look. Anywho, my dad was going to take away my insurance (I told my mom I didn't give a fuck but she wouldn't let me come home unless I had my dad's insurance, among other things, so I was screwed) and then take my mom to court to get custody of my younger sister if I didn't go back to residential. So I called up Rogers and tried to get back in, only to find that there was now a long waiting list. So that's how I ended up at the inpatient part of Rogers, where I spent 2 weeks. And then, FINALLY, I got to fly back home.

Coming home was not nearly as nice as I was hoping. The day I was due to leave the hospital my anxiety was through the roof and had my stomach all jumpy and queasy and I ended up throwing up 3 times at the airport and then twice more in the plane. It was really strange because I'm not one of those people who feels sick when they are really nervous about something (usually I get really bad stress headaches instead) so I guess I was just extremely anxious or something. Then I finally got home and it was just... weird. Seeing my mom at the airport was weird. There were so many feelings I still had bottled up, too, that it was hard to just be happy to see her. I was still hurt that I had not been allowed to come home in the first place and hurt that no one had listened to me when I was having problems at residential, and instead just blaming it all on me, saying I was lying and being manipulative, etc etc. The ride home was very quiet and tense.

It was nice to see my pets, though, who greeted me very warmly :) My little dog Daisy peed all over herself she was so excited, lol. Taffy (our other dog) was very happy to see me too :) Cheza (my cat) spent the next 4 days on my bed and purred very loudly. Johanna wasn't home when I got back, because she was at my dad's, so I had to spend the first few days home with just my mom which was hard. The worst part was that my depression improved so much with the heavy duty drug dosage while I was inpatient, and almost immediately after coming home I found myself feeling much worse. I also b/p'ed the night I got home.

I am not doing super but I am certanly better than I was before I left. I want so badly to relapse full-blown into bulimia. I really don't deserve any "praise" for the reduction in b/p'ing -- the fact of the matter is I cannot afford it and if I am discovered to be "doing poorly" (it seems that only puking is a problem, whereas restricting is not) my mom said that was it, I had to move out (she said this back when I was still in Madison). So instead I put on a smiling face and cry myself to sleep at night because I feel so uncomfortable in my skin. I know I shouldn't feel so fat; that there is something obviously distorted in my self-perception, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with these feelings. I left inpatient at 80.5 (am still finding it hard to believe that this psychiatrist who discharged me is in charge of all the ED'ed patients, but hey, I'm not complaining) but barely, considering two days before I left the dietician was trying to get me tubed and saying I couldn't leave before I was at least 80% of my ideal body weight and then all of the sudden Dr. Bliwas (the psychiatrist in charge of everything) says I can go the day after next and that I can "maintain 80 pounds as long as you are healthy and not purging" (his words, haha).

Currently I am hovering at 78.5 - 79.5. I was losing weight on over 2000 calories (the most I remember losing on was 2500) toward the end of my IP stay but I'm not sure if my metabolism is still that speedy because I've been fucking around with it since being home -- Purging and "restricting" (compared to what my meal plan is, though not at all what I would consider restriction). I am most likely going to start a day treatment program after Thanksgiving. I don't know how good it is considering it's a general psych one, not just EDs, and it's for under 18s (they're making an exception for me)... but it will probably be better than nothing. I need something with structure because being alone all the time, day after day, is not helping me feel any better. I need structure, but not the kind that stresses me out and pushes me further into my depression (like taking a bunch of classes would, for example). Honestly, as hellish as being locked up and monitored 24 hours a day was, and as boring as 99% of the groups were, I am missing being there somewhat. In the hospital I am expected to be sick. Here I am expected to be nearly cured and am watched constantly with mistrusting eyes and doing all my schoolwork and being social and "normal" and I'm just not ready for all of that. Today I went to take a placement/assessment test and I didn't even do it. I got in there, ready the story over and when it came to the essay I blanked. I honestly could not think of one fucking thing to write. I read the damn story, I understood it (though I thought it was poorly written and really pointless and boring), but what they were asking me to write about just made no sense to me. I sat there for 10 minutes before leaving and lying to the person at the desk that I had a headache and was going to come back another day to take it. She didn't care at all, but I still have the problem of having to take this test if I want to enroll in classes. And as if I didn't already feel like stupid enough, my sister completed the test and my mom and her kept telling me I should "not take it so seriously" and not worry so much about doing really well. But they don't get it -- that wasn't the issue at all. I seriously didn't care at that point whether I scored really well. I just wanted to do well enough to qualify for the psychology class. And I don't understand why I couldn't even write one stupid sentence. I have never felt so dumb in my whole life.

One good thing has happened since I have been home, however. I got a kitten! I managed to convince my mom we should get a kitten (that wasn't hard) and less than 24 hours after I got home I had talked her into taking me down to the SPCA where I found Mr. Lucky. He is a 3 month old longhaired bundle of purr. He is such a sweetie pie! He just purrs and purrs. Cheza is pissed off and I am keeping Mr. Lucky in my room for now because the SPCA woman said we should keep them apart for 2 weeks and just let them get to know each other by smells (I move the kitten to another room and then have Cheza in my room so she smells him) and through the door. The only annoying thing about him is that I will often wake up in the night with him sitting on my face! He loves to sit on my head of neck which is cute but only for a little while... then there is the issue of trying to breathe through cat fur ;)