Today was a decent day. I went to the gym and worked out for an hour. I both worked out and walked a lot, burning a total of 636 calories for the day. I only took in 65 calories—liquid calories, at that. I stopped at Barnes and Noble and bought a magazine about photography because I love taking photos of nature and I want to learn more about photography. Then I went to Divas Who Win—a Freedom Center for women recovering from prostitution, addiction, and sex trafficking. As a survivor of sex trafficking, I find going to Divas very liberating. I missed my noon dose of Neurontin, so I took an emergency Ativan to keep calm. When I got home at 3:15 I took my Neurontin, then I took my four o’clock dose of Neurontin, so I was sedated. I went grocery shopping with my neighbor at Walmart, but when I came home everything changed.
I had already planned to binge and purge. My roommate told me she would be out having dinner with a friend, and when I came home from the grocery store she was gone. While I put my groceries away I made two Chow Mein noodles—my favorite, and easy to purge. As I shoveled the food down my throat I gulped down diet Mountain Dew to make the noodles easier to come up. The second I finished I ran to the toilet and regurgitated everything I had just eaten. I cleaned up my mess, went outside and vaped and actually thought about doing it all over again. But I didn’t.
Later on in the evening as I was coming back from taking my medicine at the main office I saw my neighbor and I decided to go up and talk to him. He gave me a hug and we made formal introductions, and he showed me his house. He asked me out on a date. He’s very old. I’m 27, I’d say he has to be in his 50s. It was a borderline creepy. I told him “I have a very busy schedule,” instead of saying “no.” Why? I’m a people pleaser. I will sacrifice my needs for yours. He doesn’t have a chance, but he doesn’t know that.
He kept telling me how pretty I am and how he always gets nervous around pretty girls. He said he’s been to prison and he’s been married five times, each time he cheated (why would I want to be with you again?), and he kept finding excuses to touch me. He kept asking me if I was okay, and of course I wasn’t (I was super creeped out and super uncomfortable) but I didn’t want him to know that. To get away from him I told him my medication had kicked in and it was time for me to get ready for bed. Then he had the audacity to ask me what I take! That’s private. I skirted around the question, but he told me that he takes an antidepressant that makes him sleepy. Congratulations.
I came home and all I could think about was how yucky I felt. My brain kept thinking “CUT, CUT, CUT.” I stood up to get my razor and I sat down, I stood up, and I sat down. I made up my mind to hurt myself and I changed it and then—BAM! I decided to do it. I stood and grabbed a washcloth from the linen closet and a razor from my room in its hiding place under my desk lamp. I went into the bathroom and closed the door, turned the tub water on, leaned over the bathtub and began slicing my left wrist. The slashes were violent, intentional. The more I cut the more I believed I deserved the punishment—both for bingeing and purging and for leading my neighbor on. The blood flowed and the slashes grew bigger and deeper until finally I stopped. It looked like I needed stitches. I rinsed the blood off my wrist, placed the washcloth over the lacerations and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. I cleaned the tub of blood and residue. When the bleeding was under control I put a BandAid over the cuts.
I don’t know how to feel. I know I probably need stitches but I’m too afraid to go to the hospital because I don’t want them to throw me in the loony bin. I’m 99% sure I need stitches. Like, the cut is so deep I can actually see a vein pumping blood. If I cut one more time I’m likely to kill myself. I see my therapist tomorrow, and I’m going to have to tell her about this. At the very least she’s going to see the bandage. This might be a setback. They might send me up the road if they find out. Which means I won’t be able to blog, or work out, and my freedom will be relinquished. My wrist hasn’t stopped bleeding. I’m worried. But I can’t go to the hospital. I’ll go to the ER tomorrow. If you go the day of the incident they’re more likely to send you off; if you go the day after they’re more likely to let you go. I’m scared.
Stay skinny, my friends. ❤
A Little Thinner 