Limits

Not knowing where your limits lie
Is worse than knowing where they are
For staring into an endless void
Is like walking on a cliff blind
The thoughts that come may be the same
Yet the fear lives with the unknown
How far will you take them
How far will you let them go
Your fate lies in the balance
Since even voids must have an end

Holding Back Might Be Better

I feel the need to hold back my feelings. To not tell them to my counsellor or my psychiatrist. I feel as though they expect me to be getting better, and that if I say I’m not, that I’m trying to make myself sick or depressed. I don’t know if it happens by itself or if I’m sabotaging myself, but it is what’s happening, and I feel as though I shouldn’t mention it in therapy. In fact, I feel like quitting therapy completely. Over the past two years I have felt this way before, and I know I won’t. It’s just that right now I feel like everything is so horribly twisted, that I’m confused about what is what. My feeling and mind are a mess, and I can’t express them properly.

Basically if I mention that I’ve been having suicidal ideation again, I’m asked to take a look at that and we always end up at the same place. That I’m thinking it because killing myself would be something I could control. Thinking about it, makes me feel in control.

If I mention something about food, if it isn’t immediately disregarded as my psychologist’s territory, then I feel as though my counsellor thinks that I’m purposely restricting and messing up on purpose, and that I’m not trying to get better. I won’t deny that, at the moment, my mindset is very much set on losing weight and I told him that. Yet I still feel as though I shouldn’t be talking about the struggles I’m having with food, because it’s basically been said and done. It’s been a year and a half, and for the first 8 months, my eating habits and disordered behaviour was all I talked about. I feel that know that it’s becoming more of a problem again, I shouldn’t bother saying anything because we’ve already gone through it.

I feel as though I should suffer alone, and that what’s happening is stupid and completely my fault. I’m the one that started weighing myself more than once a day, I’m the one restricting, I’m the one who is constantly falling in and out of depression and anxiety, and I’m the one who is making myself sick. I am also the only person who can make myself better, which is the hardest part because if I try to change my habits, things spiral out of control and get so much worse.

Everything scares me. I feel horrible all the time. Everything I do is wrong. I’m a bad person. I’m annoying, and I’m probably the most frustrating person to have in therapy. I should just stop. I don’t know why I keep going. It helps, but it doesn’t. I annoy them more than they can help me. I’m not worth their time, and they definitely have better things to do. Every day I feel this. Every single freaking day. It’s so overwhelming that it hurts.

I don’t know how to tell them this. I just want to break down and confess that this is how I feel. I want to apologize for being so horrible and frustrating. I don’t want to waste their time. I hate that I feel as though I’m making myself sicker. I get that everything I do is my choice, but things just happen and I don’t know how to control them.

I think it will be better to hide everything. To not tell them when things get bad, because they know that it does and it’s just so repetitive. I should pretend to be better. That’s what everyone wants, so why not just show them what they want. To pretend that their advice is helping, even if it’s not. To pretend that I can reach the goals they want me to achieve, because not being able to just shows them how weak I am. Maybe that’s what I should do.

What Am I Doing to Myself?

I have no idea what I’m doing. I just want to get smaller and smaller and everything I’m doing makes me feel crazy. I somehow started weighing myself three times a day, and eating less and less, and I’ve been obsessively counting calories. My therapy goal was to not weigh myself more than once a day, but I just can’t do it. I need to know if I’ve gained weight. I need to know to be less anxious. I can’t accept that things will be fine without me knowing. I need to see it. I need to lose, and I don’t understand why my body isn’t cooperating.

Today I was at ballet and I thought I was okay. I was super lost and confused because I haven’t been in almost two weeks and she changed and added new things. Then we got to the centre and I was so off balance it wasn’t even funny. I kept falling everywhere. I was dizzy and I felt like I was going to collapse. When we went to do a combination she looked at me and told me I looked pale, and asked if I had eaten anything. She offered me a chocolate because I looked like I was going to pass out. I declined and told her I had eaten. I thought I had eaten enough, since I felt as though I had overeaten but I guess not. I hate it when she calls me out on it though. I’m sorry, but even if I hadn’t eaten not only would I not tell you but there is no way in hell I would admit it in an open forum. Recently she’s been asking me if I had eaten or if I felt okay, and I don’t understand her sudden fascination with what I’ve eaten. I haven’t lost weight. I don’t look smaller. There is no reason to worry!

I really don’t know what to do with myself. I’m constantly fighting between the voices, and I just feel like cowering away in a corner to let them battle it out themselves. I hate what is happening. I hate what I’m doing to my body. I hate that I’ve let myself do this. Yet I can’t stop myself. I want to keep going. I want to lose weight and lose even more. I want to be small and tiny and underweight. I was there, I just never made it far enough to reach my goal and I want to so badly. I feel like I’m going to be completely selfdestructive if I don’t stop myself, but I don’t know how and I honestly don’t want to. I hate myself so much for not being able to make up my mind. I hate myself because I can’t make myself okay. I hate myself because despite knowing what is good for me I don’t do it because I know that by not doing it I will lose weight.

I truly hate myself for not wanting to get better.

You can’t get better. You’re too fat. Who do you think you’re kidding. You can’t get better because you aren’t sick. You’re just pathetic. You need to lose. You are such a fat pig it’s disgusting.

I Want to Get Better

I wish it was as easy as just saying that. I truly do want to get better. I want to apply to medical school in 4 years and I don’t want to be suffering with major depression, severe and debilitating anxiety, or an eating disorder. I will have more important things to deal with and I don’t want all this mental illness to be a problem.

I want to get better because I’m tired of this game. I’m tired of trying to restrict, of living by the scale, of bingeing on crazy amounts of unhealthy food. I’m tired of feeling horrible and I’m tried of looking in the mirror and hating what I see. I can’t stand having been so weak for so long in so many aspects of my life. I hate myself for having let this happen to myself. This was not what I envisioned to have happened in my life. I am not supposed to have been ‘that girl’.

I am ‘that girl’.I am smart. I had things going for me. I did well in school. I have the potential to do great things, even though I don’t see it all the time. I am the girl that had everything going for her until she got sick and screwed her life over by making a few stupid decisions and who was living in a toxic environment that made her even more sick. I’m the girl that my teachers will look back on and will try to figure out what went wrong.

Today I’m not the girl I was in high school. I’ve been diagnosed with a handful of mental illnesses and it makes me incredibly sad. Sad for situation, for my future, for everything that’s happening. My life is considerably better since I’ve moved out, but it isn’t anywhere near good. I’m just so tired and sad. I’m having more good days, as the antidepressants seem to be working.

It’s funny how I need to be heavily medicated to get through my days. That I need a solid structure and system of support because of the amount of mental breakdowns I have. My counselor is by far the most amazing of my treatment team. He seems to understand what I need, whether it is to be pushed or when to back off. When it’s okay to challenge me or when to just listen. When I need to be talked down from my insanities or when to shed a little hope when I feel so depressed that I don’t see any hope for the future. Then I also have a great psychiatrist, understanding psychologist, and the most amazing doctor. She is honestly my role model. I want to be as caring and understanding as she is if I get into med school.

I don’t think wanting to get better is a good word, because when it comes down to it I don’t want to. I want to continue losing weight. I want to restrict so that I can lose. I want to be small and I want to see my hipbones, ribs, collarbones and a gap between my thighs. I want to see a very small number on the scale.

The difference is that I need to get better, regardless of whether or not I want to. This has gone on for too long. 4 years wasted on an eating disorder I don’t want to have. 4 years hating myself. I’m too weak. I feel so weak. I don’t know what to do with myself, but I need help. I don’t know how to get it. I need help getting my eating regulated. I need help getting my shit together. I want to be my own person. I’ve moved out and now it’s time to work on me. I need to get better. I need to stand up for myself and not let others affect me. No more “They made me feel …” because they don’t. I make me feel, and I’m tired of feeling like shit. I want to be the strong independent person I know I am. I just don’t know how to get there.