journey not recovery

Sometimes at heart I feel institutionalized, meant to live in institutions. That life is partially ingrained in me deep down. Whether the circumstances are good or bad, it is my comfort zone. The second I'm admitted anywhere have a flock of patient friends and there are staff who come in to chat and catch up. There are people who like me and seem to care. There are also adversaries and power issues that play out and I am constantly repeating and fighting. This cycle feels inescapable at times. It feels to be at my core. I feel like an emergency, a walking crisis stitched up strangling on my words. Strapped down screaming. I am always snatching failure from the jaws of victory, perpetual patient wandering the halls hidden in hospital clothes. I was told early on I would either die or live out my life in a state hospital. When I got to a state hospital it seemed fulfilled. It still seems wrong that I forced my way out of there, lying and battling and flying under the radar, ...

As a child i struggled with eating in school. Every day, starting in kindergarten, I would throw away my uneaten lunch in the cafeteria room trash. I would go the whole day without eating.I had this deep feeling that being seen eaten was shameful. I felt embarrassed at the meer fact of having a body. Early trauma left this deep sense of shame and worthlessness inside of me and I didn't have the words to explain to anyone. My Anorexia didn't begin with wanting to lose weight or with dieting. It started out as a voice whispering in my ear, "You don't deserve to eat." It seemed to appear just overnight one day, but I know now it had been building for a long time. I was silent in school as a child. My kindergarten teacher called my mother and was concerned that I never smiled. I hid my body in boys' clothes, and learned how to become invisible, a ghost girl, left alone. When I was first in treatment for my cutting I was left with the inability to being...

I remember all the times at Proctor 2 my nurses used to spend with me, trying to get me to eat something instead of waiting til my blood glucose dropped to coma levels and they had to administer glycogen. I didn't think that unless my body was blatantly in crisis that eating was even necessary. Alex would tell me the dangers; that if they ever needed to revive me they would end up crushing my body. He would urge me on with bites of an apple, with juice. Christina would make me hopeful English muffins with cereal pieces glued into a smiling face on top. Mini Gatorade bottles with "Drink Me" signs taped to it like I was Alice, forever trying to grow smaller when they wanted me taking up more space. The days my vitals would drop too low to be allowed off the hall I would gaze through the heavy locked screens, my face squashed against them. I knew I was missing out on friends and the world and whatever it was my life was supposed to be. Swallowed tubes slid down my throat, ...

One of the many challenges of having both a severe eating disorder and mental illness is that nowhere seems equipped to deal with all of me. When I'm in treatment at an eating disorder unit there is little to no support for my PTSD, depresssion, or BPD issues. I often get placed in strictly psychiatric wards to deal with my dangerous levels of self-harm and suicidalityehile my lakv of eating goes barely dealt with. When I was put in Tewksbury State Hospital it was for the above SI reasons but I was also dealing with the constant starvation and weight loss that comes from having anorexia. It was easy for me to keep it quiet and let my cutting and scars overshadow everything else. That's what using gets the most attention for imminent risk and it can be frustrating. My disorder is often complicit in allowing this to happen in order to avoid the refeeding and weight gain process that comes from eating disorder treatment. I have never received complete treatment that encomp...

I'm 34 years old and I've been struggling with what people call "mental illness" my whole life. PTSD, MDD, BPD, and anorexia are the labels they've settled on over the years. They, borderline personality disorder in particular, have been used to control me throughout my life, but labels don't define me anymore. As I've gotten to know myself, labels stopped being part of me, though I'd be lying if I said they don't still haunt me...damage has been done. the mental health system has hurt me as well as helped me. I'll continue getting into that in later posts. Mostly, this blog is to share my journey. I don't label myself as "in recovery" because to me that means something other than where I am now in my life as an adult. I still starve myself. I cut myself badly and frequently, struggle to get through the days. I just got out from another hospital stay just days ago. But I am working towards something like healing, if that exists. N...