Finding the Strength to Live

As of today, my life as I know it is crumbling beneath me.

I found out via a phone call from my aunt that my father’s step-dad died in a car crash. Fortunately he didn’t take any other lives with him, as he was–of course–driving drunk. I wish I could say it wasn’t expected, but he had been a raging, abusive alcoholic for years, and drove drunk frequently. I remember one night, when I was 12 and I was visiting my grandparents at their home in Sparta, GA, my grandfather was driving the three of us kids and his wife home, and was pulled over and arrested for driving drunk . So, needless to say, he drove himself to his own demise. (Excuse the pun.) My grandmother and her daughter are beside themselves with grief. I cried most of the first day that I found out he had passed, even though we didn’t have a good relationship. After everything that happened to me in California, he provided me with food, shelter, and clothing, and he didn’t have to do any of that. So it’s almost like he was a third parent. I will not miss his alcoholic ways, but I will miss him.

Now, to add on to that, I have legal issues. I don’t recall if I mentioned that I have been both to jail and to prison, but I have been to jail and to prison. I was off my medication and held a knife to my roommate’s throat, who, instead of calling 9-1-1–where I would have been taken to a mental health facility and properly cared for–called the authorities (which I understand because I would have been scared shitless too), who proceeded to arrest me and take me to jail, where I rotted for a whole 14 months. After fighting the DA’s offer tooth and nail, I finally accepted a 10-serve-2 sentence–meaning I had to spend two years behind bars, and I have eight years of probation. That makes a total of ten years. So far, I have served four of that eight.

My probation conditions are very simple–stay away from the victim, comply with any and all recommended mental health services, and be in the house at curfew. My probation initiated in Dublin, GA, so when I got out of the hospital in Savannah, my probation had to transfer to a new city. I left Officer Spann, and was introduced to Officer Tucker–a probation officer trained in the mental health area, but who has no compassion or sympathy of any kind. All of a sudden, probation is a big deal. Tucker comes to see me often, even randomly popping up at the day treatment program to make sure I am in attendance.

The problem is that I missed some days early in the beginning of treatment because I was afraid and depressed (Officer Tucker maintains that depression is not an excuse to miss treatment–and she is supposed to be understanding. Last time I checked Major Depressive Disorder is a disability and can be debilitating), and I just missed a day about two weeks ago because I was sick. Unfortunately, probation got wind of this and my originating county put out a warrant for my arrest for “non-compliance.” Technically, I should be in jail right now, but when my PO came to see me a few days ago she told me that she kind of spoke up for me–telling my county that I attended treatment the next day, and I was doing well in treatment. So I was not arrested (or, rather, I haven’t been yet).

Because of my “non-compliance” my case was returned to its originating county. Back to Dublin, GA. Technically, meaning I am supposed to uproot myself and go back to Laurens county. I am supposed to leave my boyfriend and everything that we have going, leave the Reed House (which I will tell you all about in another entry on another day), leave my home, leave the ACT Team (the people who took me in and found me housing on an outpatient basis when I was released from the hospital), leave my therapist, leave my psychiatrist, leave my friends. Did they once have any interest in my well-being? I have no home, no money, no food. No friends or family in Dublin, GA. What are they expecting me to do–live under a bridge? Eat roadkill? Shower with sewer water? There are NO homeless shelters in Dublin. I would literally be living on the street.

I’m freaking out because I can’t go back to Dublin. I texted my ex PO an “irrational message” and she called me, angrily saying that “she was just doing her job, and that my case had been returned.” Then, frantic for answers, I texted my current PO, begging her to case my case back–that I would go to treatment at the Reed House even if I had Stage 4 brain cancer and I was in excruciating pain. She proceeded to call me, also angrily, and said that I needed to “stop texting me this foolishness before you make me mad.” That she had “saved me from being arrested, and didn’t want to hear any more of that foolishness.” When I argued that my case had been returned, she replied, “I don’t want to talk about that. I will call you when I need you.” Click.

My therapist called me this morning because I called her in hysteria about the fact that I may have to return to Dublin. I told her, as I have told three other people, and now you guys–if I go back to Dublin, I will kill myself, and this time I will be successful.

No joke.

I’m Home

Hey guys, I know I’ve been gone for a while, but, in all honesty, I was in the looney bin for two years. I needed the help, but I’m continuing to backslide since the day I got out.

I’m back to binging and purging, back to restricting/starving, back to cutting. But I’ve made more progress now than I ever have in my whole life! I’m 110 lbs! My lowest weight EVER! I’m aiming for 90, but everyone says that’s too much. Whatevs.

Just wanted to let you guys know that I’m okay after a suicide attempt that very nearly killed me. I took all of my Seroquel, Klonopin and Prazosin and went to bed. I woke up in a hospital bed with a tube down my throat and a pick line in my arm going to my heart because I gave myself pneumonia. I stayed in the hospital five days and was transferred to a crisis stabilization unit in Waycross, GA. From there, I was transferred to another CSU in Dublin, GA.

From there I was transferred to Georgia Regional Hospital in Savannah, GA, because I refused to eat. I lived there for two years. Only to fall short and relapse AGAIN.

Short entry and no pics as of the moment, but I’m still alive guys.

Stay skinny, my lovlies! ❤

Feeding Tubes and Probation Officers

Today sucked ass. My therapist found out I hadn’t eaten in a week, and he called me this morning and demanded that I eat something. But I wouldn’t. So he came to my house and told me to get in the car, he was going to take me to get a feeding tube. We ended up going back to his office and met my probation officer there, where we discussed whether they were going to send me to jail on probation violation, or send me to the hospital where they would strap me down and force a feeding tube down my throat. I still refused to eat, and told them that if I went to jail I would still refuse meals, so my therapist started the admission process for the hospital. He asked my probation officer what they they were going to do with my cats, and when she said they would have to call animal control, I lost it. Animal control would put them down instead of give them a good home.

So he gave me  one final chance: either eat something, or be locked away and forced to eat. So I told them if they brought me something I would eat. And I did. I was brought a veggie sub and I was forced to eat the whole thing while he sat there and watched, and then made me sit there with him so I wouldn’t purge!

Ugh, I was so miserable. I ended up coming home and cutting ( even though he told me not to. But as far as I’m concerned he can suck my big hairy dick). So now my shoulder is still bleeding and I still have sandwich in my stomach and I’m still miserable. Bullshit.

Hopefully I’ll have a better day tomorrow, but definitely a liquid fast ( as much as I can, at least) and laxatives to get this God damn subway out of me. (Sorry for ranting guys.)

Stay skinny, ladies! ❤

And So It Begins…

I have purged a total of ten times today. Mostly after drinking coffee (black) and diet soda. Why? I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me. 

After I came back from a month long hospital stay back in October, I “lost” the ability to purge. I would try and try and try but nothing would come up. I began to get frustrated and I eventually gave up. But before I gave up I learned if I couldn’t purge, I didn’t need to binge. So, I stopped binging. I stopped eating normally and just restricted. I think me “losing” the ability to purge was the best thing to happen to me.

I’ve been doing an apple mono for the past week (and I’ve been doing very well, mind you), losing on average a half pound a day. I just recently started a liquid fast. Last night my blood sugar was low (I could tell because I nearly passed out in my kitchen) so I ate a handful of raisins. I went out to smoke and I drank a diet Coke and I felt increasingly guilty. I felt the urge to purge, and went inside, and did just that. All the raisins–every single one–in the toilet. I was so happy. So now I’ve “regained” the ability to purge, and I’ve run away with it. Whatever I’ve put in my mouth has come right back up.

I can already feel the effects of purging on my body, and I don’t miss them one bit. I remember the days when I would binge and purge several times a day, and by the time night came I was an exhausted wreck. I don’t miss those days, and I don’t want them to come back. I’ve been able to restrict too well for them to come back around.

Has anyone heard of HIIT? It stands for High Intensity Interval  Training, and it’s exactly what comprises the 7 Minute Workout. It’s a very intense workout that works every muscle in your body within a seven minute period. (I’ll include a photo below.) I’ve been doing it for the past few days, and although I can’t tell a major difference yet, I can tell you it lives up to it’s name. This workout is not for the faint of heart. Each exercise is done for a period of 30 seconds, with a ten second rest interval in between. I challenge you to do the 7 Minute Workout everyday for a month!!

Anyways, it’s time to wrap things up ladies. It feels oddly good to get all that out there. I’ll post progress pics once I get back down into the teens. I’ve let my body go so much in the past year…. My highest weight last year, actually, was 138; my lowest, 113. Big difference. A major reason for the weight gain was that stupid Depakote I was taking, but that’s behind me now.

Have a good night, and STAY SKINNY! ❤



Death–the eternal sleep.

The heart ceases to beat.

No winners or losers,

no failures or successes,

never uncertain,

never a mystery.

Only one, concrete fact:

I am dead.

No longer among

the cruel suffering and

indignities of the human race.

No need to think, to cry;

to sleep, or dream or rise

in a fright.

No need to care, to love;

to hate, berate or hold

a grudge against.

Only Heaven or Hell,

Light or Dark,

Paradise or Eternal Torture.

Only death.

Only death.

Depression Monologues–Part Three

I feel like one of the most miserable people in the entire world. (I’m just being melodramatic, of course. I know there are people out there that have it way worse than I do.)

I hate my life so much it’s uncanny. I feel like I’m being sucked into a black hole faster than I can try to pull myself out of it. Further and further I fall into ED behavior–and while losing a pound overnight is amazing–the weakness and dizziness that comes from eating no more than 300 calories a day plus exercise makes things difficult. At home alone I’m hobbling along, trying my best not to pass out, and when I go out…don’t even get me started. My therapist made me ride my bike for a half hour yesterday to get me out of the house, and I thought I was going to die.

I’ve been on a very strict diet the past five days. I get three apples a day, with unlimited zero calorie drinks. Zero calorie drinks being tea, coffee, water, diet soda, etc. I’ve done so well on this diet it’s ridiculous. It may be because I’ve kept an accountability log on myproana (–pro eating disorder website). Every day for the past five days I’ve eaten three apples, with varying amounts of coffee, tea and water ( flavored with Crystal Light; I can’t stand plain water). I’ve already lost five pounds. I know most of it is water weight, but the thought that if I keep going at this rate I’ll be into the teens within two weeks is exciting!

I was sitting outside earlier, smoking a cigarette and drinking a diet Coke and I had the brilliant (not really) idea to cut. I was just so miserable. And when I get that way I know what always ends up happening. My therapist will kill me if I cut on my wrists because he specifically told me not to cut. Plus, he came to my house and took all my razors–or so he thinks. So I knew I had to cut somewhere he can’t see. Even though I hate cutting my leg (wrist feels so much better), I carved “fat fuck” into it, and underlined it. I hate myself just that much more.

I just don’t understand why I’m so depressed.

Sorry this entry is so short, ladies. Stay skinny. ❤

Depression Monologues–Part Two

Here I am, once again, still depressed. No matter how hard I try, I can’t lift the darkness that has taken my soul hostage. So I’ve decided to document it, maybe in order to find out how I can make myself better.

I’ve been binging like a crazy person. Just eating and eating and eating, for no reason. Yesterday I went to my neighbor’s house and, even though I was supposed to be fasting, she invited me to eat with them. I don’t eat meat, so I had to come back home and grab a veggie burger for them to throw on the grill. I ended up eating a veggie burger, a salad with waaaay too much dressing, and two servings of baked beans. Disgusting.

Today my therapist took me to get a waffle. That’s kind of our thing–eating waffles together. Apparently it’s a therapeutic tool for him. We talk about all kinds of stuff, but normally the stories he tells me serve a purpose; they teach me something, and sometimes he holds a mirror in front of me so I can see my behaviors for what they really are. I ordered two waffles (now keep in mind these waffles are about 500 calories), and a cup of coffee (with a bunch of sugar). Waaaay too much to eat. We started talking about me and once again I told him that I do not matter. That in the scheme of things, my life is unimportant and meaningless. He knows I’m suicidal. He’s accepted the fact that if I don’t get treatment, and quick, one of these attempts will be successful. As of right now, I still want to die. I think it’s going to take a long time before that feeling goes away.

My therapist got all emotional and started crying and he said that if I don’t think I’m worth something, that I need to take strength from him–that he thinks my life means something. I had to look into his face and tell him that I don’t mean anything, and when I did, he broke down. He doesn’t want to have to bury me. And that’s what he’s afraid is going to happen. If I won’t fight for my life, he will. He’s even threatened to lock me away in a maximum security mental hospital where they eat with paper spoons and forks, and there’s no way I can hurt myself.

I’ve never seen him cry before, and I never want to see it again. He also came of with a ridiculous idea. He “decided to start cutting.” I know, right? What, the fuck. He says it’s so that he can understand what’s going on in my mind when I do it. Not that he wants to feel my pain, but he wants to figure out a therapeutic approach to help me stop. I was so angry at him I punched him in the arm. First of all, you can’t “decide” to start cutting. It wasn’t a decision for me when I was 16, I just did–and there was nothing else to it. Just like having an eating disorder–I don’t “choose” to be sick. Second of all, I would never want anyone to have to go through what I go through on a daily basis. I don’t want someone to go through my pain. Ever. But he’s already started, and there’s no talking him out of it. God, help us.

It feels better to get all that out of my system. I know you guys won’t judge me, and you may even give me some positive feedback, or some helpful advice.

I love you guys; stay skinny. ❤