The First Day SUUUUCKS..
I came here yesterday. Oh the trauma. . . I went on a short tour with my parents and then we sat down to sign a huge stack of paper work and I froze. I wanted to leave. Many things didn’t go as smoothly as I’d wanted leading up to admission and I felt rushed, confused, lost, pushed. Forced. Not ready.
After three hours of discussion I convinced myself that I could leave and come back on Monday. Mom had left the room earlier. When dad and I walked out of the center and put my luggage in the car, my mom walked away and said she would not get in the car with me. I felt manipulated. But I didn’t want to let her down. . . but not in a good way. In a “I’m afraid of what will happen to me if I don’t go in right now because everyone will be mad.” So I walked back inside and swiftly signed the last two blank lines which made me an official patient here. That was it. I was admitted. I fell apart.
They took my vitals and started my labs. I asked for some food because I hadn’t eaten since noon and it was about 6:30. I didn’t get any. I asked 3 times before I was actually fed, around 8:30pm. Talk about MESSING WITH MY HEAD. When I did get food it was the smallest portion I’d ever seen and 8 oz of water. I fell apart again. I didn’t even get extra water when I asked for it. I was terrified that I wouldn’t get enough to eat. I know that sounds backwards for someone with anorexia to say, but if I’m going to be here I thought I’d at least be fed.
I said I wanted to leave. Dad and mom wouldn’t come get me and they couldn’t medically clear me until the next afternoon. So I was stuck. The only way they’d release me is in an ambulance to the ER. And there was no way I was doing that. I have never felt so alone. I think I only made it because I thought I could leave the next morning after being medically cleared, but that didn’t happen.
This afternoon I was cleared to leave if I had someone pick me up—no one would. (note: I was still planning to come back on Monday, I just wanted extra time). My dad wouldn’t even answer his phone. He called the center saying he’s screening his calls and that he’ll call back if a nurse calls, but not if it’s me. He told the nurse who got in touch with him that he actually left town so he wouldn’t be tempted to pick me up when I called sobbing.
I want to leave and I don’t. I want out. I feel imprisoned.
I think the problem (in part) is that I’m not ready. I started raising money and I didn’t think I would raise so much so fast. I said October, but I BELIEVED it would be more like January. So here I am with news people taking interest in my story and my friends being so supportive and I’ve painted myself into this corner where if I don’t do it now, I look like a big fat lying loser. But I’m not ready.
I want recovery but I’m NOT READY to let go of Frank.
I thought we’d have more time.
I don’t feel like I have any power. My mom and family and Doctor basically said: “This is when you’re going.” And since we have enough money for me to get in the door, I’ve run out of excuses. I’ve lost control of my life. I’ve lost control.
I miss Frank.
It’s weird how hungry I am. The portions they give me are tiny because I’m “refeeding.”
For lunch I got 5 grapes, ¼ slice of pineapple, ½ of a plain hamburger. Actually now that I’ve written that out it seems like a lot. So never mind.
I feel like I’m going to be here Forever. -------