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 (www.myproana.com–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. ❤

Back to the Hospital

I got released from the hospital today guys. So excited to finally be home, but I went through hell the past week. It all started last Wednesday…

The 30th, my caseworker was going to bring me my medicine. (I’m not allowed to have my medicine because I tend to overdose.) All of a sudden I felt hostile, suspicious. I felt like they were plotting against me and if he came over here something bad was going to happen. I guess you could say I was paranoid. So in order to keep them away, I told him if he came here I would cut myself. The social worker called me and I refused to answer. Keep in mind I’ve been in bed all day, depressed. A knock at the door told me they decided to come anyway. So I went and locked myself in the bathroom and began to cut my wrist. I cut over a vein and thought I needed stitches, so I called them and told them I needed to be taken to the urgent care clinic. Urgent care sent us straight to the hospital without even looking at it. I didn’t think anything of it. Same old, same old; laceration to the wrist that needs stitches. In the ER, the doctor took a good look at my wrist and decided that it didn’t need stitches and she was just going to glue the skin back together (there is a such thing as skin glue). I don’t think we were looking at the same wound, but whatever.

She steps out for a minute and when she comes back she tells me that she is going to 10-13 me (meaning I have to go a mental hospital on suicide watch) even though I wasn’t suicidal. I don’t know why I cut, but it certainly isn’t to kill. That’s not the way she saw it, though. “You cut yourself, and I can’t just let you go” she said. I understand the liability, but you’re a medical doctor and you have no clue what the hell you’re talking about. Leave it to the mental health professionals. Anyways, after they conducted all their tests I was shipped off to the hospital, where I spent a week, including New Year’s. Boy was I pissed. I threw a fit in the emergency room, telling the nurses (and I quote) “I’m not putting on your bullshit gown.”

I got out today, but I’m still not better. I kinda fudged my way through treatment to get out, but I’m still depressed and suicidal. It feels like the medicine I take isn’t helping me, because I wouldn’t be depressed if it was. And I take six pills a day and a shot once a month. I can’t help but sit around and think about ways to kill myself. Do I hang myself? Do I cut longways? Do I find pills to overdose on? It’s all I can think about, but I stay silent. Everyone I work with has come to the conclusion that one day I’ll be successful, and even though it’s sad, it’s true.

I feel selfish. I have my family and friends to think about. I have my cats to think about. What will become of them once I’m gone? But all of it is not important enough for me to think otherwise about suicide. I wish I had something important enough to care about that I didn’t think about what I’m going to do to off myself every single second of every single day. But I don’t. At this point I don’t know what to do with myself.

Stay skinny. ❤

Depression Monologues–Part One

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 19-years-old, back in 2012. Since then, I’ve had several “ups” and “downs” and my fair share of suicide attempts.

I’m in another “down” and I’m severely depressed. I can remember the last time I felt like this–the last time I tried to commit suicide, a few months ago. I’ve self-harmed three times in two weeks (the last episode being last night), and I can feel myself going downhill, fast. I know if someone doesn’t do something I may end up dead for real this time.

I had to go to therapy again today. Amy says she can see a noticeable difference in my from last week, and so can I. I told her that I tend to “fake it till I make it”, meaning pretend nothing’s wrong when in fact there are several things wrong with me. I hate to admit it–to be vulnerable in front of other people. Well, people it’s not necessary to be vulnerable in front of. My therapist is a different story. I can be candid with her, but with other people I don’t want them to know I’m falling apart.

Even though I’m back together with my ex, things don’t feel the same. We used to be so great together, but now it’s just…well, awkward. I don’t know what to do. And it’s not making my depression any easier.

Enough of that. Stay skinny lovelies. ❤