I have so much shit to write about but it will be such a long entry that it�s daunting. Thus, my avoidance. I started typing up an entry tonight and had 2 pages in Word but then gave up when I could not longer think with my hands shaking and my vision starting to blur. Anyway, I�ll save that for the tomorrow, when I will hopefully finish it. I hadn�t even brushed the other topics pertaining more to my ED (this was all family shit) so I guess I can write about that here, being post-purge and pre-low blood sugar effects. My mom is being her usual self. After freaking out about school (insert mini-mental-breakdown, lots of crying, and embarrassing moment with my mom when she saw me in this state) and deciding going to residential would not be wise at this point, she agreed (of course, because I do not *need* this at all, it�s all just �for fun� right? *rolls eyes*). Then, today, she told me she talked to Laureate and was waiting to hear back from them about insurance etc. This was in the car on the way to my final root-canal-related appointment. This time I was getting the permanent crown (and that hurt, and I�m still in pain, and they didn�t give me any novacane this time, bastards!). Anyway, she went on and on about how it is $1400 a day and that�s outrageous. Yes, it is, but hello, that is what a psychiatric hospital costs. And Laureate is covered 90% or something like that, much better than a ton of places. She then said �But that�s just the acute care. See, they have a step-down system�� (blah blah blah, DUH I KNOW ALL THIS MOM, I�VE ONLY KNOWN IT FOR LIKE A YEAR!) and she went on to say that I wouldn�t be on �acute care� except for a �very short while probably, or maybe not even at all� (I guess she got her MD this weekend, and became a specialist in assessing the physical stability of anorexia patients, and I was not aware of it.) � �or so I assume� � and then talked about how there is then a residential program, that is one step below the acute or something. Then, speak of the devil, Laureate called back while we were in the car again on the way BACK from the dentist. I could hear the convo pretty much since it was on a cell phone and could hear the Laureate woman�s voice (nice southern twang, lol). I heard �at least 4 months� and then couldn�t make out what was then said� then my mom said �What if she doesn�t stay the full time though? I mean if she left after say, one month?� then there was a pause (Laureate woman speaking) and then shortly after she hung up because the next step is for me to call this Laureate woman and do an hour-long phone interview thing. I asked my mom �What was the 4 month thing she said?� cause I was appalled at the thought of 4 months there, and my mom said �Well she said that was their estimate on how long you�d need to stay, at least 4 months� then she said quickly, �But that would be to get you up to, you know, 115 pounds� and the way she said 115 pounds, I wanted to die. The way she emphasized it was like �Holy shit, that is so fucking fat� and no, this is not me reading into her words and twisting them around! Remember, she has an ED herself� and thought she was fat at 90 pounds. Anyway, she was like �So that would be if you stayed until you gained that much weight, but obviously you wouldn�t need to stay that long and I expect you to gain much, much less than that� and well, of course, you can guess where my thoughts wandered THEN! Obviously, I already had no intention of gaining up to 115, because right now I can�t even imagine going over 89, but still, when your own mom is in agreement that you�d be a cow at that weight, it doesn�t help body image. I can just see it now: I go to Laureate/some other place, gain some weight, let�s say I left 15 pounds early, at 100 (yeah right), feel suicidal over my utter fatness, and constantly imagine her thinking the same thing; that I am, indeed, a cow. That I gained too much. That I would be perfectly fucking fine at 90ish pounds, and there is no reason to gain more. There is always the majority of my brain that thinks �What are you complaining about? Your mom is as fucked up as you, use it to your advantage! At least you can gain less, and she won�t care at all, and will never bug you to gain more!� but that�s not it. It�s not that I want her to say �You need to be 115, at least!� It�s just the constant �What-is-she-thinking-omg-she-must-think-I�m-huge� thoughts that get to me :-( And, clearly, my mom has not come to grips that I have major psychological problems if she is still living the denial that I will be better in �a month, at most� and that maybe I don�t even need to go at all. I seriously believe the only reason she would agree to have me go is because a) she is sick of me and wants me out of her face for a good chunk of time (I�m not just pulling this out of my ass either, she�s definitely hinted to this thought), and b) she�s been told by the �professionals� so many times that she is irresponsible to not have gotten me treatment sooner (this was in the past) and that I �really need to go� etc etc. I mean, she�s learned by now, that if she were to say �No, I don�t agree, she�s fine.� She�d look really bad! Duh. So that�s the residential situation at the moment. And, of course, there is still MY ambivalence about going. Let�s see, reasons to not go:- I�m too fat. Why go when I have ALREADY GAINED WEIGHT? If I were back at 70, that would be one thing. But now? Hell no. Too big. Don�t need to.
- School. Let�s face it, I�m basically a failure at everything I do, school included. The painfully embarrassing recap? I�m 19 years old, due to fucking starting school so late and already being �behind� in that sense, because unlike most people I would have graduated HS at 18, almost 19, and then be 19 when I entered college. But then, I had to go and put myself even FARTHER behind by not finishing classes on time and not having enough credits, therefore I am technically still a senior in HS and therefore even MORE of a loser. Putting off starting joint-enrollment in a college this fall, I�m putting myself even FARTHER behind. So I�d be �graduating� and starting community college at age 19 and a half, in January. HOLY SHIT. Don�t anyone tell me you�d hear those stats and NOT think I was an idiot. A major fucking idiot who must have what, repeated 3 grades? Or a druggie who was too stoned to realize I had missed a year of school and had to make it up? Either way, it doesn�t look good. Add into this equation that I am unmotivated and have no real �plan� for life. Having an ED is no excuse. Depression is no excuse. Why? Because I know plenty of people who have both those problems and are away at college AT THIS VERY SECOND. Not just any college either, but really GOOD colleges like Emory and Wake Forest and UC Davis (By the way, Katie and Langley, this is in no way something I hold against you two, I am just in fucking awe of your brains and how you managed to accomplish all this, and really fucking jealous. But I�m happy for you both, I swear.). As a �friend� of mine once said: �Everyone else can hack it. Why can�t you?� Good question. Oh, I know, BECAUSE I SUCK and am a WASTE OF A HUMAN BEING. A useless waste of space.
- If I go I will be expected to be �cured� when I get back, and I sure as hell know I won�t be. I will then face the �I spent so much money to send you to ____� lectures. Even though I�m only allowed to go to the places covered 90% by insurance, and for like, 28 days or less, but nevermind, that is still way too much money to be spending on me, when I so clearly do not really *need* it.
- I need to be here for Johanna. I want to be here for her, too.
- Getting away from my mom and family situation would be nice, but inevitably, I must return. And returning to all the triggers and stressers, without a low weight to help me �feel better� about myself, will be a test I don�t think I can pass.
How�s that for a cheery entry? I don�t even mean to whine so much. I know this sounds very �pity me� and �tell me I am not stupid� but I really believe I am, and don�t want anyone to tell me different because I wouldn�t believe you anyway. So save your breath (er, fingers from doing the typing).
