"The chicks in front row can look up my pants and get a glimpse of their
Oh, God. My insomnia actually got worse last night, despite my successful efforts not to nap during the day. At detox this past week, I was going to bed around 11 each night, and sleeping soundly until around 3:30-4 am. Then my eyes would suddenly just snap open, and that was it - no more sleep for me. Last night, my first night back at Dad’s house, I went to bed at 11 and hoped for the best, but was up again an hour and forty five minutes later. I haven’t been able to get back to sleep since. It was nice to catch up on Sons of Butcher and Colbert Report, but an hour and 45 minutes is not a lot of sleep. Add, too, the fact that I am having trouble consuming even 500 calories a day right now, and you have one Krazy Kagie.
I don’t know what I want more - to get into the hospital RIGHT NOW so I can maybe arrest this desperate attempt to lose weight so that I fit in with the other anorexics, or if I want some time off before I get locked up so I can lose weight and quantify my presence there. I just don’t know what's real anymore. I guess the good thing is that all of this restless, anxious energy is keeping me going, since I am certainly not getting the energy I need from food right now.
Thinking a lot about Bf too today, which sucks. I need to go to his house tomorrow and get a bunch of stuff for the hospital, the most important amongst them being my iPod USB cable so I can keep Mr. Reznor updated and charged at all times. I hate having to worry about that every day, only using my iPod so much at a time so it doesn't die before I can get it back to Gigi's and charge it up again. But I am so scared to go our - his - house. Even if Bf isn’t home, I am still going to have to take some stuff, and he’ll know that I have been there.
I just can't think about it right now. I know it’s fucking selfish and pathetic but I only have a few days clean and sober, and obsessing about what I have done to Bf is just the kind of thing that could send me right back out again. So I need to just leave things alone for now, and concentrate on getting better.
Besides, it’s pretty clear from the complete cessation of any and all communication while I was in the klink that this is the end, that he has had enough. As, I believe, have I. I should actually be looking forward to getting to spend some time alone again, with just the dogs for company, just the way it used to be. Except, of course, that this time I will be healthy.
So anyway. When I left detox yesterday, I got Crazy Ol' Blue Eyes' mobile number. He is supposed to be leaving this morning with Cici, that trashy-looking, older blond lady who works at the hospital I'm going to. I do not see THAT little relationship going well at ALL. You don’t pick a guy up in fucking DETOX, hello? Oh my God, it just occurred to me - I wonder if that was what Blue Eyes was trying to do the whole time? Maybe he was in detox just looking for someone like Cici - an older woman who, terribly flattered that such a handsome man would raise even an eyebrow (let alone anything else) in her general direction when she is so clearly past her sell-by date, would then take him home from detox and care for him. He just had to find the right combination of low self esteem and a propensity for the role of care taker and enabler - oh, and it would help if she was already eternally sworn into the Silent Battered Wife Society, and was also possibly retarded - and Bob’s your uncle, he’s in. How sad that she would then consider herself lucky that this handsome-but-extremely-dangerous-and-unstable-just-look-at-the-paperwork ex-con is coming home to be her new man/batterer.
But ha ha! Won’t it throw a wrench into things tomorrow when they're together and I call him on his mobile? Ha ha ha! Aaaaaah, that’s not very nice. But fuck I’m bored. I’ll keep you posted.
It is 6 am now and still I cannot sleep, though granted, I am sitting up in bed typing on my iBook. Could be affecting my sleep. But I am tired of just lying here vibrating, hour after fucking hour, daydreaming about tattoos I want in an effort to keep myself from going completely spare. I don’t know what this new day is going to be like on so little sleep, but I am going to try my best to stay awake again for the entire day, so that maybe, just maybe, I will sleep tonight.
Maybe it’s because I finished my Clonidine taper yesterday? I dunno.
If I don’t get into the hospital today, I am going to go to Gigi’s again in the morning to do some more data entry, then off to Bf's house to get a bunch of stuff for the hospital before hitting an Eating Meeting on my way back home to Dad's house.
Hey! I am actually getting a bit tired - maybe. Hope springs eternal. I’m gonna try to close my eyes for a few minutes, though I did just hear Dad getting up in the room beside me.
Maybe now that the opportunity to binge has passed, I can get some sleep.
I’m sorry, M. I just couldn’t do it. I can’t stay clean on my own. I used last Saturday night, and when I started to freak out on Sunday, I left the house and went to use then, too. I picked up and went to Jimmy’s, and on Monday morning I decided to overdose. I was sick of waiting for help that just wasn’t coming and I knew that without it, this was all I had in my future. Jimmy found me on Monday afternoon and contacted my parents, who tried to take me to the psych ward. Psych transferred me to detox instead. I was released late yesterday afternoon.
I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own, M. Please believe that it is not for want of love for you and Baby - it’s just that I hate myself more. And I’m sorry that even now, I am too much of a fucking coward and tell you face to face what I have done, and am emailing you to explain myself instead.
I’m supposed to be admitted to Unit 32 by the end of the week, and as you know, I am there for a minimum of 30 days. What I was hoping to propose to you is that my dad will pay Enmax and Direct Energy until the end of my stay in the hospital, at which point I will be able to come and get my stuff out. And we will also take care of the outstanding balance with Enmax in your Dad’s name.
If you would prefer to deal directly with my dad, his cell number is (***)***-****.
I am so, so sorry, baby.
So that’s the letter that I sent M today. I haven’t spoken to him in ten days, and that was all I gave him. I even went into his house today and took a bunch of clothes and toiletries that I need for the hospital, and still, that is all that I gave him. I just can’t deal with it. I cannot bear the hurt that I have caused him, and in my fragile state of mind, it could literally be the end of me. Literally. I am at the lowest weight I have ever been as an adult, 112.8 - 4 lbs less than what Dale fired me for. I seem to be losing a little more each day, but every time I try to eat I am overcome with nausea and have to actually force the food down my gullet - the polar opposite of what I usually struggle with, which is the inability to STOP eating. And I just realized that I haven’t binged in almost twenty-four hours. When’s the last time THAT fucking happened? Um, never? And I should be concerned that I am literally a two minute drive from oblivion - drug dealer just HAS to leave down the street from my parents house - but if I am honest, I really don’t see that happening. I have had 40 bucks in my wallet since I first checked into detox. I could have gotten an Oxy if that’s what I wanted. But I haven’t.
It just isn’t what I want anymore. I don’t know why. I don’t know how I have gone from being unable to live without them, to it being a fucking laugh, the very thought of doing that to myself again. There but for the grace of God go I, and all that, I guess.
My sleep is still even worse than when I was in detox - after that hour and 45, I was once again up for the rest of the night. I then managed to catch a whole 45 minutes more this morning at 8, and that has been all the sleep I have had for the past two days, but of course, I am not tired at all. Well, my body is a little bit. But my mind isn’t.
After my nap this morning, I had a quick shower, then grabbed the dogs and headed down to Gita’s place. I decided to go through downtown and drive by M’s work, to see if he was working today - then I would know if I could sneak into the house to get some stuff for the hospital. To my immense relief and sadness, his car was parked at the store, and I felt such a pang of loss that I couldn’t breathe - how many times had I shown up at that damn store in that first year with M? Pretty much every day I was in town, I reckon. I drove away from the store towards Gigi’s house, trying to stop hyperventilating to keep the sadness from overwhelming me.
We got to Gigi’s a few minutes later, but Gigi wasn’t too interested in my work ethic today - she was full of stories from the night before of boyfriend Satan, and in full blown obsession mode - I talked to her downstairs for maybe ten minutes, but when I tried to escape by heading upstairs to the office, she followed me up the stairs and came and sat on the office floor. She then continued to obsess over every little thing, even halting me in my work so I could actually see the emails that she had just quoted to me, verbatim.
So I didn’t get as much done this morning as I had hoped, but since no one seems to be returning my calls at the ED clinic, I’m guessing that I will be going back tomorrow morning to continue. I hope Gigi got some relief from that shitty story she heard about Satan tonight (she called to tell me all about it) and has other things on her mind tomorrow. It was exhausting.
She did take a break from Satan-loging this morning long enough to comment on my new demeanor, though. She told me that my voice was like a whole octave higher now then when she had last spoken to me in the klink, and that I am just radiating something really light and joyful. Nice!
I left shortly before 1, and headed up to M's place. Even though I had scoped out his work, I still breathed a huge sigh of relief when I pulled up to the house and his car was gone. I went in, and, careful not to disturb anything that could leave evidence of my presence there, I took the clothes, toiletries, books, and iPod USB cord that I needed, loaded up the car, and got the fuck outta there.
Pretend it's not real. Pretend he's not real. Pretend I didn't just ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me. La la la la I can't hear you, brain.
Yes, I am aware that this is prolly not the healthiest way of handling this, or indeed anything. But I don't have anyone to help through it till I get in the hospital, and I need to stay alive until then. So delusion it must be.
Okay, I’m gonna finish the laundry now. It is 2:30 am, and I just decided to forgo even any attempt to sleep tonight until after Sons of Butcher and Colbert Report. I have already binged twice - the first one as soon as Dad went to bed, and then the second one I actually left the house and went to Tim Horton’s for doughnuts and 7-11 for milk and butter to make pancakes, though I was too full of doughnuts by the time I got home to bother with them. I ended up dropping my box of doughnut holes as soon as I got out of the car, and as I dropped down to the cement and reached my hand under my car to pick up every single last one of them, I suddenly heard the words a woman had said in the meeting tonight.
I don’t eat food out of the garbage anymore.
Guess I’ll have to work on that one. I even ate a few of them off the concrete as I picked them. Kinda gross, but I spent my last ten bucks on those!
Anyway, it is 10 after 3 right now, and I promised myself that if I can keep myself busy until 4, I can binge again for Sons of Butcher and Colbert, and then I am going to go to bed and try to get more than just a few hours of sleep.
So anyway, where was I? Oh right, at M's house this afternoon. I grabbed my stuff from M's house and then booked it back to Dad’s. I was so exhausted, but when I got there, I let myself have a tiny snack, then brought all the stuff in from the car and started sorting it in the basement.
It was around this time that he called.
M called my mobile the day after I got it turned back on. I was too ashamed to answer it, but I knew that it was a sign that it was time, that I needed to do something, I needed to contact him somehow and just say my piece, explain to him what I did - why I just fucking abandoned him last Sunday night to go score some fucking drugs, then try to overdose and die. At the very LEAST, he deserved an explanation.
Instead, I ran out of the house and down the street to Dalhousie Station for a quick tan, but when I got back I told my dad that he had called. He tried to convince me to call him back, but I was too cowardly and feckin yella, so we settled on my emailing him - as long as I did something. So I wrote the above missive, asked Dad to read it and tell me if it was okay, then sent it off to M's email addy around 5 pm. I’m pretty sure that he only works until 6 right now, which means that if he didn’t check his email right before he left work, he might not even get it tonight. But that would just give me an extra day without having to deal, so hey!
Dad was so awesome about it, he held me while I cried, and then he asked if I would like to go and walk the dogs together. I was actually feeling kind of weak - the trauma of the situation, plus the clembuterol I had swallowed earlier and the limited amount of food, had left me a bit shaky. But now I am so glad that I went with him and didn’t cop out.
We brought the dogs to the off-leash park, sat down a bench, and talked for over an hour. He asked me questions about my disease, my (mis)conceptions about my body image, everything - and every answer I gave him was real and honest. It was the best time we have ever spent together. His interest made me feel like he actually has some hope that I can do it this time. He’s been such a good support today.
When we returned from the walk, I ate a small amount of food - 1 rice cake, dipped in cottage cheese and tuna, and half a lean cuisine. Can you believe that? All of a sudden I can’t finish a fucking Lean Cuisine now?
Ugh. Just looked at pics of Jenna on my computer. Fuck but I hate that woman.
DAY TWO - DETOX
Sometime in the afternoon
Day Two. It's funny -and sad - how familiar this place is to me. I am even in the same bed I was in the last time I was here. Will this be my last time? I wonder as I look around. I pray to fucking Christ that it is.
Something in me has switched, in regards to everything - the eating, the cocaine, the Oxies. I have this pervasive, unwavering and desperate sense that I have to get away from them, like NOW, if I want to live. Strangely, my former thoughts of "I am no longer interested in a life not colored in by OxyContin" have completely abandoned me. All I feel is sheer terror and panic at the thought of touching them. It's strangely exhausting.
Not much new to report today, as all I have done in the past 24 hours is sleep. I've been reading a bit today, and fuck am I ever glad that I brought a Marian Keyes book in here with me - it's light and funny, and is like a constant companion cheering me on. Soon, though, I know I won't be able to focus on even that, that when the drugs start to leave my system, I will be left alone to twitch and thrash and rock compulsively on my single, plastic-wrapped bed.
Have managed to block out any and all thoughts of Bf so far, though again, all I have done is sleep the sleep of the dead. But I was surprised when I woke up today and was able to successfully keep my thoughts off of him. I should imagine it's some kind of life-saving adrenaline thing my mind or body is doing, blocking out any and all thoughts of him and what I have done so that I do not become despondent and try to kill myself again.
I got pretty pissed off yesterday, when I was still in assessment. I ended getting the bed exactly beside the dinner table - lucky me - and was woken up several times but a couple of chicks blabbing away and howling with laughter, like they were on a fucking cruise trip or something. When they didn't respond to my pleas for quiet, I actually got up and went to the nurse's station to beg for a new bed. I didn't get it, but she did separate the hyenas, so I did get to go back to sleep.
I was moved into the Women's Dorm this morning, though, and there they were again - cackle cackle cackle, tee hee hee, like we aren't in here fighting for our mother fucking lives.
Just finished dinner. I am really happy about the food this time around - the nurse put me down as a full vegetarian and lactose intolerant, so the food I have been getting is extremely bland and lacking in flavor - and calories. It still tastes incredible to me, but I don't have to worry constantly about gaining weight like the last few times I have been here. I am prolly still going to gain weight, as I am eating and keeping more food than I usually do, but at least I'm not drowning in sheer panic every time I eat, the way I do after I eat from their normal menu. They do give us a dessert with dinner every night, though. I ate mine last night, and hid it in my cupboard tonight. I also saved one of the veggie patties from my dinner, for when I get hungry later.
KK, my case worker from the Eating Disorders Unit, called the detox centre today and asked to speak to me. She told me to request a pass for Friday morning, so I could go and check in with their physician, Dr. Pretty. I called Dad to make sure he could drive me, then arranged for an appointment the next morning at 9 am. So now at least I have something to do tomorrow, a way to break up the monotony of every day being exactly the same.
I wonder what Bf is thinking right now, where he thinks I am? I wonder if he cares, and if we will get back together.
I wonder if I even want that. Because no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot envision a happy, healthy life for myself if Jenna is in it.
I'm just after my first meeting here. Was actually a really good AA meeting, managed to pay attention right to the very end. Also got to know the other inmates I am saddled with here, for the next week. The first to catch my attention was a Ricky Butcher lookalike - a chubby, skater-looking fella with pin-straight, light blond hair down to his shoulders. He caught my eye when he walked by before the meeting, and suddenly I thought "Ricky Butcher!" and snorted to myself. Now every time I see him, I take a moment to flashback through some of my favorite Ricky Butcher moments. I should just called him "Dick Nuts", really.
The next person of some moderate interest is Dee, the slender redhead in the bed next to mine. Seems quite high on herself, though I was intrigued to hear her share about her fiancee committing suicide, six years earlier. I wondered what she did to drive him to it.
The prize for most interesting sociopath, though, went to Ol' Blue Eyes, whose name I didn't catch because when he was done sharing, everyone just mumbled a different name and looked around uncertainly. Ol' Blue Eyes looks remarkably similar to Ex Bf L - blond hair shaved down to peach fuzz, thick build, handsome face and piercing blue eyes (well, obviously). I've noticed him outside a lot - pretty much every time I walk out there, I see him - sitting by himself, just like me; giving off an antisocial vibe, just like me.
Good man, I decided.
Oh for fuck's sake. One of the hyenas is yakking at me from her bed across the divide. FUCK OFF!
Argh! I gotta get outta here for a bit. I'm gonna go get some coffee.
Okay, that was a little lengthier than I meant it to be. I went out to the common area for just a coffee and a smoke, but then they brought out the evening snack - english muffins, with jam or peanut butter. Mmmmm. I toasted one and smothered it with jam, then grabbed my coffee and snuck them both back into the women's dorm, where I sat in bed and read while I wolfed them both down. Within the first few bites I knew I was going to eat the dessert hidden in my drawer, too, then throw them both up. The dessert was SO fucking good, a caramel-apple crisp with an inch-thick crust of buttery rolled oats on top. I didn't drink any water with them, and when I threw them up, they were all that I threw up - none of the dinner I had eaten before, which I am trying to see as a good thing.
Sorry, what? What do you mean, "too much information"? I don't get it.
The cute Boy Nurse with the labret piercing was just in here, checking my blood pressure. I asked him about the veggie patty the cook had put in the fridge for me earlier, if I was going to be able to get it when next I might be hungry. He looked around quickly and then leaned towards me, and in hushed tones told me that actually, I should only ask him or the other young girl working that night, if I wanted to get my food. But not the RN, cuz she wouldn't give it to me.
Argh. Fucking GREAT. I forgot that they lock up the fucking food at night. I'm gonna have to get creative, I thought as Boy Nurse smiled, then moved on to the next nutter.
Anyway, back to Blue Eyes at the AA meeting. His was the saddest story of all. Sexually abused by both his mother and his brother, he ran away to the streets of Montreal at the age of thirteen, and began working as a male prostitute. Then, I dunno how much later, a ten year stint in the klink - dunno what for, but ten years, it must have been pretty bad - and in the past 6 months has been rejected by 17 treatment houses, due to his violent past. He had finally gotten accepted at the Claresholm Nut Hatch And Straight-Jacket Emporium a few days ago, until they called again yesterday and reneged their offer. He said that he couldn't trust anyone, hated to be touched, and when he had to have sex he cried and had to shower after. My immediate thought was "Hey, perfect boyfriend material!", but I refrained from sharing the humor with the rest of the class. Not just yet.
The last person to share was the dude who chaired the meeting, a native guy named Jacques. He told us that he was also violently raped when he was 5 or 6 years old, neatly concluding our apparent topic meeting.
As we finished the meeting, I thought, so, once again, all evidence seems to support my theory that alcoholics and addicts are NOT just predispositioned to turn out this way! Rather, at some point during their formative years they have been sexually or physically abused, or "diddled by the paid help", as I like to call it. Fuck this preordained, you-were-born-an-addict bullshit.
Though I didn't bother to share that with the class, either.
End of day
Called both Mum and Dad tonight. Mum has been so good about leaving me messages of encouragement, as usual. Got a little worked up about Bf while on the phone with her. She asked what was happening with him, I said it was over and then quickly changed the subject. Feelings smoothly averted, or so I thought.
We were saying good night when she got me. "I'm sorry about Bf," she said softly, and suddenly my shiny veneer of Everything's Okay! was ripped off, and I couldn't pretend anymore. I started to howl and gulp and bawl. I thought I could keep all feelings out of my body, especially about him, but I was wrong. So very, very wrong.
I will have to be much more careful about it in the future. That almost sent me out the door and straight back to fucking Jude's.
In other matters, I find myself looking forward to my brief sojourn tomorrow morning, even if it is just to go to another hospital. I was even thinking of asking Dad to bring the dogs along for the ride, but decided I had pushed the man far enough for one lifetime. Besides, it might just make things harder for me, too, so I just left it.
It is only like 10:30 pm, but they already made me take my Seroquel, so I am getting sleepy. Here's hoping I sleep through the night.
End Day Two.