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It was a big morning for me. First day out of the Womens' Treatment Program at the psych hospital, and I managed to go to Market Basket WITHOUT taking an Ativan!

Market Basket, man. That shit is chaotic.

Labels: city livin', how i am awesome

I'm transitioning out of treatment altogether, starting this Thursday. My plan for aftercare is kind of a mishmash of options - I've secured a therapist, but am booking other consultations in case she and I don't click. I have calls in to four other treaters, including my old shrink that first turned me on to the sweet sweet relief of Trazodone. I'm trying to get into two or three DIFFERENT DBT groups, and I'm contemplating getting a referral to a nutritionist.

Wait up here - a nutritionist? What ever for?

Well kids. Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, a long long time ago, in the age when Country Boys was just going to air, a girl named Erin ate a sandwich and suddenly got angry with how full she felt. "Aha!" she thought, "I know just what to do!" Following in the pattern of many other girls she'd known, she got rid of the sandwich the way some people get rid of poisoned food. Regurgitation. The whole thing worked like a miracle - she was no longer angry, and no longer full. Beauty.

So yeah, in addition to depression and anxiety, I'm also (drumroll) bulimic! Wow, the punches, they just keep on coming.

HOWEVER!

While in residential treatment we were safety contracted to avoid all self-harm behaviors, including the occasional purge. I tried to limit myself to smaller portions, so I wouldn't feel that overfull feeling that so often precludes a post-dinner bathroom trip. Plus, all the food was weird, and there were all these rules and stuff, and I couldn't deal. So I just started avoiding most of it altogether and spent a lot of money drinking Ensure.

It shouldn't surprise me that I've dropped ten pounds since I checked in to Proctor, but, you know, it really does. And I don't like it, except for how I kind of i do. And that's scary.

So, a nutritionist. Because why not add on one more treater, at this point?

Labels: aberrant behavior, progress?, tiniest violin

So I got home safe and sound and boy was I wrong to be worried! Everything is just so great, now that I'm back where I belong, in my normal surroundings and free to do what I please, when I please. Katsumi decorated the apartment with rose petals for my return, and even Jake seemed happy to have me back! It's great, awesome, fantastic.

Just kidding.

My first night back, Tuesday, we got takeout and then I sat on the couch and cried for 20 minutes. I couldn't decide what to do, or when to do what, and even though Katsu had cleaned the apartment and done most of the laundry (!!!) I was still overwhelmed by all the things that had to be completed, tasks I'd started that were only halfway to finished. After a bit, I calmed down and we did some exercises from my DBT workbook, which made me feel better.

Wednesday night was OK, we went to Michaels and spent the night painting (me) and working on a model pirate ship (Katsu). At some point we decided it was a great time for me to finally take charge of all the household finances.

So yesterday I spent 45 solid minutes wrestling with Quicken during my morning sessions at the outpatient facility (there's a "nuts and bolts" group where we can work on whatever we please), drove home in traffic from HELL, and stopped at the new Market Basket to get supplies for dinner. Dinner was to be pork chops and applesauce, a dinner that I hate and one that required three hours of prep time.

When I start spending a lot of time cooking things I hate from scratch, you know i'm going down a bad path.

Sure enough, katsu and I wound up having a rip-roaring fight about credit cards and debt consolidation, I refused to make the pork chops (peeling 2 pounds of apples had been all that I could take), and I took my sleep meds at 6:30pm. I did manage to pull myself together and finish making dinner, but I was passed out by 8 sharp.

So yeah. Home is kind of a mixed bag. And Jake couldn't care less that I'm here.

Labels: aberrant behavior, cookin', meds, progress?, worst week ever

So tonight is my last night inpatient. I've been living at this hospital since June 6, and I didn't realize how long that was until I just now typed that date.

I'm so scared I'm numb.

When you're inpatient (as I was until June 12), or resident (as I will be until tomorrow), there's a sense of control. There are rules, regulations, structured activities, and bedtimes. There are counselors you can talk to when and if you need it, and near-daily meetings with therapists of all make and model. I find it comforting. Here, I am safe.

When I go home, all that's out the window. It'll be just me, Katsumi, and Jake... and my newly acquired cache of psychomeds. No counselors, no hand-holding. No rules.

I know I'll be OK. I know I can do it. But still.

Labels: anecdotal, meds, progress?