I started today. Finally, I’m taking my weight loss seriously. It’s time. I look disgusting. No use in sugar coating it. I further the stereotype of mentally ill people. I eat my feelings. For those few minutes, I feel great. Then the oh shit not again feelings come.
Attractive or sexy isn’t what I’m going for. That’s quite funny and unrealistic. I just want to be healthy, and hell, fit into my clothes again. Gone are the days of picking up guys at a bar or wherever. Ha, gone are the days of picking up guys. I think I’m asexual. I’ve accepted that I’m fucked up in about five too many ways to ever get in a relationship again.
This time I want to lose weight true healthy way. No barely eating or over exercising. Just eating healthy food. Yes, I plan on keeping a journal of what I eat but not counting the calories. I’ll only weigh in once a week.
I’ve got this. Bring on tomorrow. I’ve got today. 😉
I binged tonight, severely. For the first time it was so bad I had to purge. Twice. The depression hasn’t lifted and anger has set in. None of the negative feelings went away the entire time I binged. The feelings just seemed to escalate.
I came home and immediately took my night meds. One extra mg of klonipin and one mg of Ativan. I’m still awake. I just want to choke myself and let it be over.
It all hurts too bad now.
Binging. What I know to do to combat my emotions. I’ve been anxious to fall asleep lately. Like the actual process of my body switching from awake to asleep. What’s going to happen? I have no clue. Tonight I ate the anxiousness with cake. Now my stomach hurts. Congratulations me, you fucked up again.
Why do you do it? For attention? A half-assed suicide attempt? NO. I do it to feel. To escape. To calm down. I cut on my stomach, a place that’s visible to no one. My feelings are so intense. I don’t know how to stop them. Feelings of pure self-hatred, loneliness, longing to be accepted, misery, and of course wanting to die. My breathing quickens, my body shakes, and my hands tremble. There has to be some way to get out of these moments of hell. I do what I know. I cut or eat. My stomach shows the evidence. Stretch marks mixed with scars. Many times I cut over the stretch marks to make my cutting harder to see.
And I’m only human
And I bleed when I fall down
I’m only human
And I crash and I break down
I feel so free, so content, so positive right now. Thank you God for this success round of ECT. I don’t want to die. At all. No suicidal ideations even.
I spent the day sick and not able to leave the house. Last night I binged and ate half gallon of ice cream. Yeah, it was a really bad coping skill. Through all that I was still super positive today. I can’t wait for tomorrow when my stomach likes me again. I’m finally going on that walk. I’m ready to leave the house. The agoraphobia will not get the best of me!
I can barely type. My mind is filled with suicidal thoughts, plans, and dreams. I know I need help. I need intervention. I need somewhere to go. An acute stay hospitalization is not sufficient. A week after I get out the thoughts always start emerging. Please God, help me. Please
It’s 1:27 am. I can’t sleep. Seems to be a recurring thing these days. My mood has been up, down, in circles, you name it. Eating is becoming harder too. It starts with a small thought, maybe a blip on the radar. Next comes the images. Food, food, food screams in my brain. I know so many people say to just start doing something else. Go for a walk, call a friend. Well, it’s 1:30 in the morning. Both of those aren’t really a viable answer. My hands start to shake and my stomach starts to churn. I NEED food now. It’s my fix. I’ll walk back and forth five times and not find anything appealing to eat. What am I going to eat? I have to go out. No one can know how much or what I’m eating. I eat until I can’t eat anymore. Yeah, sometimes I make myself sick from it all. I don’t know what’s worse, the shame from binging or the regret and hatred I have for failing. I’ve been doing so well. I lost 6.6 pounds last week! Just like everything else in life, I just can’t do it. Measuring up isn’t my strong point in life. I wish, I wish, I wish. In another life I would be asleep now and not worrying about food, not obsessing over it. Failure.