My therapist wants to send me to Remuda Ranch in Arizona. I told her only if she pays for it. We've agreed that it wouldn't be worth it to send me back to the treatment center I was in (I'm still refusing to go anyway) but it's all my insurance will cover. I'm in full-blown relapse. I think I deserve it. I'm pathetic.
Added later:
I was just reading something claiming that eating disorders are a lifestyle choice. I've heard this quite a bit actually. Let me make this perfectly clear- eating disorders are not a choice or a lifestyle (unless you're one of those pro-ana idiots). I would never choose to live this way willingly and I would never wish it upon anyone. An eating disorder is an evil disease, even if you don't die from it it robs you of your life. I'm not pretty, happy, outgoing, I have very few friends and I recently lost my boyfriend; all because of my eating disorder.
I think about food and weight all day long. Today I had to go to the mall and I walked by a sweets shop and made myself go in just to torture myself and because in my head the voice was telling me "You can't have these. Look but don't you dare touch." I walked around this very small store staring at all my favorites and the guy behind the counter just watched me in disbelief. Right this very minute all I want is a giant pizza with mushrooms, spinach and gobs of goat cheese and I want a cheese dog with mustard and relish. I have a drawer in my room filled with sweets, but I don't eat them, I just stare at them while the voice in my head hurls insults at me. I am convinced that every bite I take will turn into fat instantaneously and I'm addicted to Diet Coke. Neither of my roommates have seen me take a single bite of food and I've lived here for almost two months. I hate the holidays because they consist of all the foods I love and I eat because I feel the pressure of my family watching me, but then when I get home I cry for hours and my eating disorder screams at me for days afterwards.
I am sad, withdrawn, quiet, secretive, and when I do smile it's almost always a lie. I don't think I'm thin, I look at myself in the mirror and I don't see what everyone else does. I'm constantly doing body checks because I panic if I can't feel my bones (especially my hands, wrists and collarbones). I'm miserable and I hate myself, I've been this way for so long I don't know how else to be. But I DID NOT choose this, it's the result of many factors.
Right now I'm refusing to go to the treatment center because I like how I feel, small, compact, the dizzy spells, racing heart, physical and mental pain, constant nausea, all of it. I don't want to be supervised 24 hours a day, told I can't have a hood or pockets in the dining room, have to fill out a mood monitor and check in with staff after every meal, and I certainly don't want bathroom observation. The sickest part is that at this point I know how sick I am, but I can't stop. The eating disorder is the only things that makes me feel "good".
I know I might die, most days I want it.
How can you accuse someone of choosing to live a constant nightmare?
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