2005-06-28, 10:32 a.m.
god, i'm so cliche. so trite. how many people have felt like this, will feel like this, and do feel like this?
but it doesn't change the fact that i don't want to go. that sitting in my psych's office this morning, i felt like my lungs were being stepped on when he was explaining that my therapist signed the release form AGAIN to put me in residential. (but last time residential fell through, so i never did it)
That he and my therapist sat down and talked about me to do this.
AND I HAD NO KNOWLEDGE OF ANY OF THIS.
I felt like I was living in a dream when he was explaining how all the medications didn't work, and he doesn't know if any will because of how actively bulimic I am (STAB STAB IN MY HEART GUILT), and how I was making progress with groups and outpatient treatment before...but then I back slidded. Is that correct, he asked me?
I don't know if I nodded. But he continued.
So he and my therapist sat down and talked, my T signed the release form again, and I'll be going into residential.
I will?
He asked me what I'm feeling. I couldn't conjure up any feelings. I said upset. He said upset how? Sad? Angry?
I said sad. lonely. disapointed.
then I'm sobbing.
He said I guess were set for medications. Like everything is so final. because I guess were quitting on medications because I'm a failure. Because drugs don't work for me because I'm fucking my system up. He tried to explain to me that bodies need protein and exercise for medications to work. And I tried to put up a fight that it seems that medications have to work for SOME bulimics. But he rhetorted with some stupid argument. And I was too tired to fight.
"Anything else?", my psych asked
I asked him, "now what?" I felt so defeated. and lost.
He said I would go into residential. I asked him what kind. He said Julio would explain it to me tomorrow and that he knows more about it. Annoyed I said "o-kay" kind of sarcastically. and put my heals then toes on the floor kind of hard, and stood up. He said "Thank you Melissa". I don't know why he thanked me. For what, being a failure of a patient? For wasting his time? For crying? For bringing down the mood of the office? I shuffled out the open door. I met the eyes of one of the people who worked behind the desk and forced a smile, because she knew me and she smiled back at me. I met the eye of my therapist's wife who works there and she uncomfortably gazed at me. I felt like she knew something.
Then I sat in my car for a really long time and thought about things. I guess I can do a few things:
A. Run away and not show up for my appt tomorrow with my therapist
B. kill myself
C. refuse treatment
D. Suck it up and get fat
*sigh* ...I wish there was an emoticon for I feel like hitting my head against the wall, crawling into a ball, and sobbing until I fall asleep.