Last night I scratched the shit out of my legs, seven times. I was just so overwhelmed by being inpatient on my birthday and realizing that I had so many more expectations for myself than what I am doing now. That’s the thing, I do have dreams.

But that’s the thing. I can’t tell my doctor because I don’t want to get into trouble. And there’s no way for me to think of it as anything else. I would get put on constant watch and have to sleep in the quiet room. I hate the fucking quiet room – one night that I slept in it, they woke me up because they couldn’t see my hands. Bastards. Why would I voluntarily subject myself to that?

So I guess it’s “Happy 25th birthday to me” – whatever. I’d love to just pass the subject by and pretend that I am not the complete fuck up that I am, but I wouldn’t be so lucky and I am sure that everyone reading this would know that I am lying.

Today has been shit. My doctor was post-call so he had to leave by 11am so I had no individual session with him today to at least brighten up my spirits some. The only good thing that happened today was that I got two bouquets of flowers today – one from Manav, the other from Lou Ann & Mark [thank you!]. I just want to feel special and that definitely helped. I want to be someone that no one will forget, I want so badly to be a part of history.

Otherwise my birthday here is really quiet. I went to my groups and participated in them like a good little patient. I want to pretend that everything is okay, but it is far from that. I am only constantly reminded of how many ways I have failed myself.

I wish I had the ability to lower the standards I have set for myself. The ability to allow myself time to falter, but it isn’t that simple. I say that over and over again and there is so much truth to it.

I threw up today, I will be injuring again tonight, I can feel it. If it weren’t for my friends here I don’t know what I would do. I would have stopped fighting so long ago. So I say thank you – for not giving up on me.

My resting heart rate was really high today: 141. They are making me drink a pitcher of water in an attempt to bring it down because they claim that heart rates elevate when you are dehydrated. My arms are warm and tingly and I am shaky. My heart feels like it is going to fall out of my chest, I just wish it would.

All day I have been working on some layouts and updating of my design site. This is what I do in my spare time. Work on my website, all the time. Making it perfect and perfecting perfection.

Tomorrow is my birthday and I hope I am not terribly alone. I hope that someone calls me and I hope that I am not forgotten. It’s my one day a year I am allowed to be selfish, damnit.

i wish i had a line. a shot of alcohol. a razorblade.
anything to dull and numb this birthday pain.

“WOW” is all I have to say for today.

Being a Saturday, it was initially a shitty day. I was attempting to read The Human Stain for the greater portion of the day, but it wasn’t happening. I had to read it with a dictionary by me because the author uses a lot of words that I didn’t even know existed. But I can’t keep up with the challenges even though the plot seems like an intense one. I am disappointed in myself because of this.

The majority of the afternoon is spent copying cd’s from another patients library of music and playing the game “Taboo” with other patients. It was nice to just sit and chill and copy music. Very relaxing for a very stressful environment.

Than, my dearest Ali-cat came to visit me. She brought me Chinese food and some peanut butter cups, perfect purging foods. Shh, don’t tell though. While she was here my old Doctor came onto unit because he was the ‘doctor on call’ and another patient is sick. When he was done with that patient he came and talked to me for a few minutes. I was a nervous wreck.

He asked me how I was doing and I didn’t lie. I hate lying. I try my best to not make a habit of it – especially while in the hospital – lying only gets me into bigger trouble. Sure, I don’t announce when I am cutting to the staff here because I will be put on constant observation if they know about it, but I don’t talk shit about my past (etc).

Okay, with that said – it was good to see him to be able to put our history to a bit more closure, but I was still wicked nervous about seeing him. I constantly feel like I am disappointing him, everyone.

I want to tell my mother that I attempted suicide and that’s why I am getting transferred, and that’s why my med levels keep being fucked with. But what would the point of that be? I mean, I want to be honest, I really do. I want to tip my toes into uncharted territory simply because what does it matter if she rejects me? I have been rejected for the past few years, and if I am going to get rejected, it might as well be for my complete self – rather than my partial self.

Inventory for today: puked 9 times, cut none.

Well well, what did I learn today? Absolutely nothing. I learned to never trust your veins (or your blood supply) to a cute doctor because you’ll only get stuck three times without success and with only an apology to walk out the room with. Lovely work there doc, I’ll recommend you to the blood banks. Of course, waking up to him wasn’t all that bad because I had to sit there silently while he focused… my imagination got the best of me. Haha, imagine this – your cute twenty-seven year old doctor in a pink shower cap and otherwise nude with the water dripping down from the shower. That’s what I was thinking about while I was sitting in front of him. Unfortunately for me he was fully clothed in navy slacks and a charcoal gray shirt with a retro-like tie on. But keep this little fantasy just between us okay? I am supposed to be revamping my patient image into a good one and this little story wouldn’t score me any points on the patient scoreboard.

Besides, I have a boyfriend who – mind you – told me that having a cute doctor might actually benefit my treatment. See, I confessed my feelings about my doctor to him in hopes that he would get even a smidge jealous – but no, he didn’t. Mr Boyfriend says that I might be able to trust him more and tell him more because he is so cute. Yea, maybe if we were in bed together but that’s it. I hate to dissapoint my boyfriend so early in the game but truth be told sex appeal does not equate trust. A lesson that I have had to learn the hard way. Now that you have read this though, don’t say I did not warn you – okay?

There are few things I hate more than showering. I hate scrubbing my nakedness and I hate seeing myself naked. I hate how no shampoo really works on my long hair and how the water here in the hospital can never get hot enough. I hate how every time I shower I remind myself of how much I have failed at my weight goals. So I admit, I put off showering until the very last moment. Another secret just between you and I. Apparently it’s the season for secret telling.

Today I had to participate in cooking group with the patient that I hate. Hate is a really strong word but it is the only one that I can find to describe her. You would fully understand what I mean if you were here, and man, I wish you were because than we could have a pity party together.

I also had a one-to-one session with my doctor today. Damn, I only hate individual sessions because I fear not being able to keep my focus on the session because my mind is wondering in other dirty places. We talked about the art of communicating and opening up to other patients, doctors and groups. I hate talking – I feel selfish and greedy. But anytime that Dr Hot Pants requests my presence, I’ll be there. No need to ask twice. Anytime, anywhere.

Now that I have completed the sexual favor tour of this entry, the verdict on various parts of my treatment is that my med levels are being increased and hopefully within the next week or two we’ll know for sure if I am going to get transferred. I have nothing here. Barely a support system to keep my spirits up. Well, geez, that was fun. You may now get back to your regularly scheduled programming.

I’m reading a new book today that resembles much of my life. It is called Why Girls are Weird, and the basic plot revolves around this girl who makes a website and gets overwhelmed by the public’s reaction to it. I always look at the statistics for my website and can never really believe that I created this online community – that I am responsible for the chaos.

I find myself taking life for granted often. That I forget that even though I am suicidal as shit right now that I wouldn’t want to die randomly getting hit by a bus or something of that uncontrollable nature. I find myself losing out on a lot of shit because I hesitate to do what I think is the right thing, and it eventually turns out that my assumption is correct. I may never go down in history, I just want someone to remember me.

The day was filled with boring nothings. I sat through the entire morning reading and waiting for something to happen, anything. I was actually looking forward to meal times because it was something to do – puking – how entertaining. I was like comedy central in the bulimic parade. Everyone point their fingers at me because I am the resident crazy one for thinking that a fucking orange is going to make her fat – and thus, having a horrendous puking session while attempting to hide my disordered ass while the toilet was flushing. If I could use bulimia as skill on a resume I would be set – I’d probably be CEO since I have fifteen years of experience and am now hands free. Whoa, now there’s something I am proud of. /sarcasm.

The highlight of my day was talking to my social worker and having group. You know how much I love talking in groups is about as much as I enjoy going to the dentist. But I talked because my fucking treatment team wants to see an ounce of some progress. Needless to say since I have been here two months and twenty-three days that I told my treatment team that I don’t have to talk for another two months and twenty-three days. I got to make sure they know my boundaries you know?

My doctor [aka Mr Hot Pants] was kind enough to inform me that I have to have blood drawn tomorrow since my Platelet levels were low in the last round. I don’t have any fucking clue what Platelet levels are or what the purpose of them are so I have some online research to do. He also told me that my lithium levels are being increased. Great, more medication as if I wasn’t a walking medicine cabinet as is. Where is the crazy label?

I got into trouble again today. You would think I would have learned by now. Oh no, I haven’t. The director and attending team doctor for the team that I am on called me into a session with my regular doctor and fully assured me that my sarcasm is not wanted on the unit. That the only way I am going to make progress is if I stop withholding shit from them, if I start talking. But when the time for groups come around, all I do is clam up and forget how to talk. My voice becomes mute and my anxiety levels go sky high. I just can’t talk, I feel that what I have to say isn’t remotely important.

The therapy we are doing here is like the work that is done in a laboratory. What counts more than any individual therapist is your capacity to grow, if you are unwilling to share your feelings, then you will never grow. What I think most of you fail to see is that the longer you remain silent, here and with your therapists, the more nails you put in your own coffin, the more dirt you heap upon your graves. Some of you have tried to kill yourselves, some more than once. You must learn in order to heal.
from Food and Loathing by Betsy Lerner

I am really scared about being transferred to another facility. I don’t know what it is going to be like there – what the patients will be like. Will I be welcomed, will I be scorned? How long will I be there for? I just crave being normal so badly. I want to smile without worry, I want to laugh without fear. I want to play in the rain, I want to bathe in the sun. and I hate how that is so much to ask for.

I napped today for about two and a half hours. I slept and I didn’t worry about a thing. It felt so damn good that I didn’t want to wake up. That’s what I want to have happen when I die and that’s what I keep aiming for – a deep coma. That is why I don’t throw myself in front of a subway train to die, that is why I constantly overdose on pills because it is far less painless, far less bloody.

I truly don’t think I would be missed either. That I have caused far too much pain in the world to even consider staying around. I ache for the day that I get released because I don’t think that I have the strength to fight for life anymore. What point is in fighting if you don’t have a cause?

I hate the daily grind of living. Every night I go to sleep I am fascinated by the entire sleeping process and I always rock myself to sleep telling myself that tomorrow won’t be as bad as the previous day. I am rarely that lucky.

My hands are sticky from the melted sugar coating of peanut butter M & M’s that I binged on all through out the day. Constantly trying to bite away the chocolate outside layer without having the peanut butter core damaged. Bite by bite my reflux getting worse and almost involuntarily puking on the spot because my stomach isn’t used to being that full, especially with that much processed sugar. But I still indulge to see how far I could go. Puking nearly a dozen times today alone. This isn’t a competition – it is my life and I don’t want to have to have a liver transplant like I have been told. I cry for what I put my body through, I want to quit so badly and I wish I had the support I need to do so. I cry because I can almost forsee dying from this. Perhaps it would be better that way.

The routine is mundane and simple today. We have a community meeting in the morning, which is useless because the staff never listens to us. It feels more like a precautionary warning on a toy box that has to be there than something that they want to do. It goes something like this: we bitch – they disregard. Rinse and repeat.

After is self-esteem class where I refuse to talk because I don’t like talking in groups. I would rather be the quiet one and be considered selfish because of that than being selfish because I talk. The two are completely different but I hate the sound of my voice, I hate the eyes focused on me. I wish I could just erase the fact that I am here, that I exist.

Than I do the email gig and email my friend Joy back and forth a bit, she’s coming a bit earlier today since our visiting hours are on holiday schedule and she’s bringing me Chinese food. I don’t know what I would do without her, she’s an amazing source of strength and support for me. After I continue to read my book Food and Loathing which I have fallen in love with because the storyline hits home for me.

I walk out of the DBT group because I am getting restless and can’t stand sitting in my own skin. I want to cut so badly. I want to die. I want to swallow laundry detergent. I can’t get these thoughts out of my head. They are running like a constant treadmill. I take a cold shower to focus myself and remind myself that Joy is coming later and that I can hold out until than. My soaking wet hair getting everything drenched.

Joy comes and I talk to her about all my stressors, she’s one of the few people I am honest with. I don’t feel like I deserve her though, I don’t feel like I deserve any support. I haven’t heard from Manav today, which worries me. He wants me to go to India and I just can’t make that commitment to him so early into our relationship. I don’t mind a vacation, something less permanent.

I still want to die. I want the voices to quiet themselves. I want piece of mind. Want want want, listen to me whine.

What a way to wake up in the morning. An appointment with my doctor – he was exceptionally cute this morning. He wore a heather gray sweater over his charcoal gray collared shirt and maroon tie with his chocolate brown pants. He looked absolutely edible. He was “post call” so he had to leave by 11 today, too bad because I wouldn’t have minded to stare at him all day long. Gah, listen to me. I am such a joke.

In session I told him about the voices and about the bad dreams, lack of sleep, and how I hate talking in groups because I feel selfish. It was amazing, he completely understood. He went on and on to say that because I feel selfish talking in groups that I am only further isolating myself from others on the floor and that, in turn, makes others think I am selfish on an entirely different level. I was completely shocked that my ramblings on about internal selfishness made a smidge of sense to anyone but myself. I remember when Dr. Tau always said that I live in “my reality” and that the real reality coexists parallel to mine, well – perhaps that isn’t entirely the case. While I continue to make no sense…

I hate the waiting game. And I am in the middle of it right now. Waiting to find out what happens after I complete my time at this facility. Will I go to Phoenix, will I go to another facility, will I go to my man’s place. It is a huge debate in my head that never ends that is making me ill with stress. I threw up from the stress yesterday because I have all these hopes for what I want for myself but all I do is disappoint myself in the process of living. And all this makes no sense at all. I am just rambling, which I tend to do very well.

Ciara, my social worker, spoke to my mother briefly today on the phone to schedule a telephone conference with her initially – and than with her and I. How scary is that?

I want so badly to write something that makes sense here. I want so badly to write the perfect words. The perfect sentences. The perfect construction and foundation of a life. But it doesn’t happen because I write like shit, because I hurt so badly that I focus on my pain too much instead of focusing on the insight within the hurt. That is one of my biggest faults, and dirty little secrets – that I am the poster child for negativity far too often.

I hate so many things right now. I hate how I treat Manav sometimes, I hate how I cannot stand some of the patients here, I hate how I feel like the only one that hates the show “The Simpsons”, I hate how terribly alone I feel. Loneliness has to be the worst emotion there is.

When your heart gets ahold of your brain, it’s all over. When you start making irrational decisions and are okay with them. I cut and I don’t tell anyone. I lie daily to get what I need. Everyone does, so do you.

I want to scream as loudly (if not louder, if there were possible) as possible right now. My life is going a zillion and one directions and I don’t know what way to look or react. So many people are pulling me in so many directions that I wish I could just hold onto something stable. This, of course, means my emotions are just as rampant as the world that spins around them.

My treatment is up in the air really because of the attempted suicide a few weeks back. Little did I know when I swallowed those pills that I would be swallowing any degree of freedom that I thought I had at the time. Nearly three weeks have passed since I have attempted to take my life and I am still ‘restricted to unit’ and won’t be getting a pass any time soon. Knowing this, I am just now starting to realize I will be in the hospital for my birthday which is something that is hard as shit to ingest.

So now I have a few options.

I slept awful last night. I swear I heard voices. Voices that told me to hurt myself, hurt other people. I wasn’t dreaming, I swear. I could feel my chest expand and compress breathes like a soothing melody. I wanted so badly for the voices to end, to silent themselves. The temptation was there to just hack my legs to shit and follow what the voices said to do. Maybe I am crazy I tell myself during the early hours of the morning. I cry silently and wonder what I have done to deserve this madness. Maybe I am just imagining things. Maybe these aren’t voices and I am just dreaming. But I am not so lucky because the voices won’t silence and they just continue to rage on.

They whisper how ugly I am, how awful I am, how unworthy and selfish I am. How I deserve to die. How my brother and rapist need to die. How my blood needs to fall from my skin to feel alive. I can’t make them shut up. And it hurts me to hear them. It hurts me to know that my mind is that tormented and I don’t know how to process this or how to feel about it.

I lie in my bed for awhile attempting to ground myself from what I am experiencing in my head. I feel the softness and texture of my flannel zebra print comforter that swallows me with its size. I read for a bit to distract my thoughts and it works by making me sleepy. I fall gently back to sleep. I wonder what my doctor will think when I tell him this on Monday. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him at all.

I didn’t fall into a good sleep after that. I was half awake and heard all the commotion throughout the halls in the early morning. I wanted to get out of my room and yell at everyone to shut the fuck up but I didn’t because I just didn’t have the energy. It’s funny to even say that because I can’t really complain if I am not willing to do shit about it and stand up for myself.

Breakfast came slowly at nine in the morning. I find myself constantly overeating here because the food is like medication. I had a horribly stale danish and some Frosted Flakes, orange juice and oatmeal. I am sure I could eat my entire days worth of calories at breakfast alone. Which isn’t good because I just end up going through a more violent purging episodes. Throwing up blood and lying that everything is okay – which is bullshit. The only person I am lying to is myself and everyone knows it but me.

After breakfast and during the remainder of the morning hours, I finish off reading the book Lucky by Alice Sebold – more than 150 pages in just over two hours, not bad if I say so myself. I have no books to read now and I’m more than a little bored.

I compensate for my boredom by polishing up some layouts I have started but haven’t completed and chatting online for a little bit. My mind is racing as fast as my heart beat and I wish the damn thing would just fall out of my chest for once and for all.

Now I just sit here and type and try to fill sentences just as much as I am trying to fill the time.