Friday, August 27, 2010

Days: 3

“A man of his word is good at crosswords!” ~Sol Butcher

I stayed up all last night, finally taking my Seroquel and crashing at around 6 am. It wasn’t a bad night, even though I did binge and purge 3 times. But I also got some laundry done for the hospital, did some (but not all, sorry) writing for the day, watched my boys Sons of Butcher at 4 and then after on YouTube, and watched most of Colbert, though at that point Sons of Butcher on YouTube were winning my attention away from poor Stephen. I know it’s so dumb, but I just fucking love them so much.

My plan to completely exhaust myself worked though - I slept in until almost one o’clock today! And after I got up and ate something, I went upstairs and fell asleep AGAIN! Fan-fucking-TAStic! It feels SO GOOD to finally sleep again! Of course, when I went back to bed for a second helping, Dad had to come in and gently insist that I get myself up for the day (it was 2:45 pm, after all), as he knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep again tonight if I didn’t smarten up.

I did get up, but I was struggling - I don’t know if I just wanted more of that delicious sleep, or if I felt like shit because after all that bingeing last night I didn’t bother to eat and keep anything before I crashed, but I just had absolutely no energy. When I got up the first time, I immediately went into Dad’s room to weigh myself - I have promised him I will only weigh myself once a day, and that’s the time I’ve chosen to do it - and I am down almost another 2 pounds since yesterday’s lowest weigh in - I am 111.2 lbs today. Which, if I was getting into the clinic tomorrow would be fucking great, but I’m not, and I know that for sure - I FINALLY got a call from KK this morning at 8:45 am.

I heard my phone ringing in my sleep, but by the time I emerged from the fog, I had missed it. Frantically I tried to ring her right back, but no love - I just got that fuckwit Airhead. I get more done talking to the fucking wall than to that woman. I hung up disconsolately, but before I could decide what to do, Dad came into my room, waving his cell phone.

“KK?” I bolted upright again.

“Yup,” he smiled.

Eagerly, I grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi Kage, it’s KK,” she said, and my heart leapt. Is this is? I wondered excitedly. Am I going in? Today? Right now?

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. No.

Sigh. Skinny, emaciated, barely-there sigh. (Get it? Huh?)

Turns out they are currently operating over capacity, treating eight sick people with only six available beds (bwahahaha! I just had an image of them tripling up the number of people they could help at one time by cramming in three anorexics per bed, with a fourth in the sock drawer) but she thinks I am going to get in on Monday. No guarantee, but she hopes Monday.

“And even if it isn’t Monday,” she said soothingly, and I sighed and rolled my eyes, “you are the next person to get into this unit."

Whoopdy FUCK, thought I. I’ve been “the next person in” for weeks now.

But I knew she was trying her best with incredibly limited resources, so I thanked her as graciously as I could, hung up, and promptly fell back to sleep.

In a brief aside......Mmmmmmm, sleep. I missed you so much. Please, please don’t ever leave me again.
Where was I? Oh right, I went back to sleep after I hung up with KK. And, well, that is about all that I have accomplished so far today. I briefly considered calling Gigi and going over to do some more data entry this afternoon before going to a meeting, but I have decided it is just too late. I have zero interest in fighting rush hour traffic in a car that is perpetually on the brink of total disintegration, just so I can NOT get any fucking work done while Gigi reviews with me verbatim every word she and Satan have ever exchanged, like, ever.

Seriously, though, my poor car, Trent the Tracker - every trip with him is like a game of Russian Roulette. Will I make it to my destination? Will he roll gently to a quiet death? Or will I be taking down everyone within a three mile radius when he blows?

The thought occurs that perhaps he should no longer be named Trent the Tracker. After all, it’s not much of a tribute to Trent Reznor, is it, the condition of that car. More like I’m telling him I think he’s fat, old and about to explode. And what is with the constant WHINING, man?

Okay. I think I’m going to get off my ass and take the dogs out for a walk. I’m pretty sure I saw Billy clinching his little doggy butt cheeks together in a desperate attempt not to poop in the house.

Back in a bit.


6:30 am

I didn’t quite sleep through the night. I got up twice to pee, and on the second time I stayed up to eat the two pieces of bread with jam that I had stashed in my drawer. Which then led to my eating the crackers and jam that I had stashed in my laundry basket. Which then led to my asking the staff for my veggie patty from the fridge in the kitchen, which one of the night girls got for me.

I asked her if I could have some bread too, and she told me to sneak into assessment and grab some from there, which I did - a brand new, untouched, whole loaf of fresh brown bread, plus several million packs of jam. I brought them back into the common area, which was completely deserted, as it was only 4:30 in the morning. I sat down at one of the plastic tables and proceeded to eat the veggie patty and half the loaf of bread before I finally convinced myself to stop - I didn’t want to stretch out my stomach too much; every time I do it just takes that much more food to make me feel full.

I wrapped up the remaining bread and put it on the counter, bused my dishes, then went back to the women’s dorm to purge.

When the deed was done, I decided that there was just no way I was going to let them lock me up without access to food at night. So I went back out to the common room and grabbed the half-loaf of bread on the counter, then snuck back into the dorm and hid it in my drawer. I am just going to nip down the hall to assessment and steal a few more packs of jam, but no peanut butter - once I start eating PBJs, I cannot stop, and I really want to keep some food down today.

Sometime in the afternoon

God. I’m so glad I finally showered this morning. It was incredibly short and perfunctory, but at least I got it done. It feels so good to be clean again.

This morning was my appointment with the Eating Disorders clinic. I got up for the second time this morning at around 7:30, ate Rice Krispies with 2% milk - 3 small bowls - and had two cups of coffee. After my morning smoke, though, I wasn’t feeling too hot, so I went and crawled back into my bed to wait for Dad.

After fifteen minutes or so I started to feel better, so I thought I’d go for one more coffee and smoke before Dad showed up. I stumbled out of the dorm and was about to walk into the common room when I heard a nurse yell at me from down the hall.

“Kg! Your ride is here.”

Perfect timing, I thought, and legged it down the hall towards Dad.

He was really quiet on the drive to the hospital, so I decided to open up and try to tell him how I was doing, what I was feeling. I told him that I was scared of the other girls that I would be in the hospital with, cuz they are all anorexics and I didn’t want to be the fattest person there.

Ugh. Poor Dad. Maybe a bit much to start off with? He kinda just gaped at me for a moment, before he closed his mouth and nervously cleared his throat.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that?” he said uncertainly, like he wasn’t sure exactly what to say to someone like me.

I decided that was enough sharing for one car ride.

We arrived at the hospital with half an hour to spare, so after paying for parking we decided to head down to the cafeteria and grab a coffee. Then we found some nice comfortable seats, and drank our coffees while we waited in awkward silence for the clock to run itself out.

It finally did (thank-you, Je-bus), and we got up and made out way down several long hospital corridors towards the Eating Disorders unit.

As we approached the office, I tugged on Dad’s sleeve and leaned towards him. “This is Airhead, the receptionist that drives me crazy.” He nodded, and we went in.
Airhead greeted us formally today (presence of father?), and asked us politely to please, be seated.

We had just sat down when a short-haired, fast-talking British woman marched out of one of the offices, and made a direct beeline for me.

“Can you pee?” asked the Frosty Brit, without preamble.

“What? No," I said, impressed with her complete lack of bedside manner. "But I’m working on it.” I smiled winningly and held up my coffee cup and water bottle.

She rolled her eyes, then asked me to follow her into one of the exam rooms, where she handed me one of their papery, light blue hospital gowns. Then she turned sharply on her heel and marched right back out again.

“Get undressed, and put this on,” she said over her shoulder. “Open the door when you are ready.”

Hospitable hospital, I snorted to myself, but did as I was told.

Weeeeell, sort of. As soon as I was naked, I jumped on their scale and weighed myself. Twice. And then I ran to use the calculator that was sitting on the desk, so I could convert kgs into lbs and figure out my weight. I did that twice, too.

I did these things twice because the numbers were so wrong. 117 lbs? I thought. That’s not right. I’m 127 lbs.


I wrapped the hospital gown tighter around my freezing body and waited for the scale's power to turn itself off, then quickly opened the door for Dr. Pretty to come in.

Whoo HOO! She was pissed! When we had finished all the blood pressure checks and tummy feel-ups and standing-backwards-while-they-weigh-me's (so I can't see the number. Tee hee!), she and the Frosty Brit told me to get dressed so they could come back and speak with me.

"Did you have any questions for us?" Dr. Pretty asked, gathering up her clipboard and papers.

"Yeah," I said. "It's times two-point-two to convert kilograms into pounds, right?"

She looked up sharply, and the hand that had been reaching for the doorknob hovered uncertainly in the air for a moment, before she threw a quick look over her shoulder at the Frosty Brit. FB looked back with a face like a cat's ass.

"Um. Yes," said Dr. Pretty reluctantly (like I can't find out myself?), then the two of them shot out of the office, prolly to "discuss it".

Dr. Pretty was none too pleased when she returned with the Frosty Brit for our Sit Down.

"Kage, you have lost ten pounds since I saw you last month," she started, and I tried my best to look surprised. "That is really not good."

I beg to differ, thought I.

She waited for a response, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

"Do you know why you've lost weight again?" she prompted, and I just shrugged my shoulders helplessly and shook my head.

She sat there and considered me for a moment, then sighed and got up to go and get Dad and see if she could get any more sense out of him. Or maybe she went to get him so she could tattle on me. Or maybe to make him feel responsible. It's all the same, really.

The appointment finally came to an end, and we were allowed to leave the exam room, both Dad and I with our tails between our legs.

Sometime in the afternoon

I’m just after an afternoon nap. Lunch stressed me out today - cream of veggie soup and egg salad sandwiches, small bowl of mixed bean salad - so halfway through, having finished the beans, cream soup and half the sandwich, I left the common room and went to the dorms to purge, then came back and finished the other half of the sandwich and a small cup of fruit salad.

And now, I am fucking starving.

So what, one might ask, have I learned from this experience?


Strangest thing. Ol’ Blue Eyes, the former street prostitute from Montreal who hates to be touched and cries after sex, certainly doesn’t seem to have any issues about touching ME. When I had finally showered this morning, I changed the top under my black hoody to a kinda low cut white camisole. Even though I kept the hoody zipped up, when I went out into the common room, Ol Blue Eyes couldn’t keep his ol’ blue eyes on anything but my boobs. Since then, I seem to be bumping into him every time I go to make a coffee - or, to a lesser and more reluctant extent, tea.

I was just standing at the counter making tea when Ol' Blue Eyes came up behind me, remarked on the lack of coffee, and then lay his head on my shoulder! Unsure what to do - I thought he hated touching? - I rested my head against his for a second, too.

Christ, I was so just waiting for a counselor to come by and bust us like this, accuse us of illicit humping in the broom closet or something and toss the pair of us out on the street.

When he lifted his head from my shoulder, I picked up my tea and made to leave, but he stopped me and - get this - asked me to show him how to make TEA.

I ask you! If he wasn’t such a dangerous criminal, I would have doubled over, howling with laughter. But considering the circumstances...

Anyway, this is all rather bizarre, as I also saw him cuddled up earlier today with cute freckly Shar. They were sitting together at breakfast, just the two of them, huddled into each other and giggling. I took one look at them and thought, “UH oh!”

Whatever, it’s no business of mine. Well, until he starts resting his head on my shoulder and asking me how to make fecking tea.


Just finished “Group” for the afternoon. The nurse just came into the room, popped in a DVD and turned out the lights, and then just fucked right off again.

Good “Group”.
As I sat as far away as possible from from everyone else while still being in the same room, I longed for my time in Super Overpriced Treatment Centre, when D, G, S and I would goof off and make random animal noises during the movies. God, those were the days.

Though, now that I think about, I never did figure out who kept meowing from the back of the room.

Nothing else new to report. Cook came out offering bananas after “Group”, and I lunged at her like she was handing out the antidote. I think I might have scared her a bit.

I hope she doesn’t make anything too fattening for dinner tonight. Or do I?

After Dinner

Tucked up nicely in my bed. Dinner once again stressed me the fuck out. Even though I didn’t have to eat the fried fish and greasy ribs that everyone else ate, I still got served the same greasy, oil-drenched potatoes, cream veggie soup and oily bean salad as the other mentalers, plus I got an egg salad sandwich.

WAY too much fat for me. So I employed the same technique I had used at lunch, which was to eat all the greasy, fatty things first, and save the healthiest stuff for after I purged. I ate the roast potatoes (they were fucking delicious, actually), the cream soup and half the egg salad sandwich. (I snuck the other half out to my new roommate, who has been too comatose to get up for meals). Halfway through the meal I got rid of it. Easy as pie!

Mmmmmm. Pie.

I came back and ate the salad and a few remaining bites of the cream soup, plus I ate the dessert; apples and raisins in a watery caramel sauce. Not a lot of food, but still, I would soon be worrying that even that was too much.

It just neeeeeeeeeeeeever fucking ends.

Just before dinner, I made the decision that I was going to share my secret food stash with my new roommate, Jelly, who had just replaced Dee that morning. She didn’t move for so long that I actually went outside to get a stick to poke her with, though I ended up getting distracted on my way back in, and lost my chance cuz she woke up. Anyway, she’s really sweet, but just too exhausted to get up and walk to the common room to get her dinner, so I showed her where my hidden food stash was. She laughed and thanked me, and when I came back into the dorms a few minutes later, she was eating a piece of bread with jam. For some reason, this made me feel proud.


Oh God. I am just after the longest NA meeting in the history of the fucking WORLD. Four people chaired it, and every single one of them shared their boring stories. The first two weren’t too painful, as they kept their speeches relatively short. But the third one just would not shut UP. And then! Then the chairman has to keep making references to others as his "brothers and sisters", as in, “My sister Tammy here says it well when she says..”, or “My brother Neil here had a similar experience”. I wanted to leap up and stab him in both eyes with my chap stick. It was fucking INTERMINABLE.

Other than thoughts of suicide merely to escape the speaker meeting, though, I’m doing okay. Hunger has been kept at bay with cups of tea and cigarettes, and am feeling confident that I can handle the evening snack without going totally ape shit. Though, never say never. Don’t know what they are serving yet.

Fleeting pangs for Bf have started. I must have been fucking delusional to think that I might escape them. I comfort myself with these two thoughts: a) it might not be over yet, we could get back together when I get out of the hospital (though methinks Stephen Colbert has a better shot at becoming President), and b) at least I can get a cat again. And maybe emigrate to Australia.

Tried to consider what else I could do for work, other than dance, but nothing for it. So hard to go back to thankless, menial labour after making so much easy money. And why bother now, anyway? If Bf is gone, there’s not much reason to stay stopped, is there? Have to support myself through Day Program somehow, yes? Even though will be bankrupt and living in parents basement yet again. But still need money.

Not doing so good at the moment. Desperately want to binge. Suppose I could do a small one - really, who cares who notices? - but I have to consider that I am stranded in here with these people for three more days. Don’t want to everyone watching the sick anorexic girl.

Owwwww. Just ate two pieces of toast with jam for a snack, now my tummy hurts from being too full. I had to watch one of the Hyenas, Shelly/Sherry/whatever come waltzing into the dorm room, stuffing a muffin absolutely smothered in butter into her mouth, like it was no big deal. Wish so badly I could do the same. But would only suffer horribly after if I tried to leave it in my body, and would have to purge. I wish I could just eat a goddamn muffin and not think about it, like her.

Was so bored a few minutes ago, I went to eat the last slice of toast, but ended up giving it to a lost-looking lady in a white toweling robe instead. Am hungry after purging, though, so I will be going back out to the common area, closer to bedtime, to chow down down on yes, more toast and jam. I have also squirreled away two muffins and still have some bread for when I wake up and wanna binge later tonight. Actually, there was one muffin left the last time I walked through the common area, I’m gonna go grab it.
Phew! I sure do have a butt load of food in that drawer. Hope Jelly’s a sound sleeper.

Called Dad to say goodnight, and for some reason decided to tell him about my little toast debaucle - that I now had THREE slices of toast in my body, but wanted more; about the food I had stashed away in my drawer.

He actually took it very well. “Why don’t you leave the fourth slice of toast for when you wake up later and want to binge?” he suggested.
Rahahahaha! Can you credit that? My dad knows the lingo! What a fucking scream.

In other news, have become a bit worried about Ol’ Blue Eyes. Told him that I have an eating disorder, and now he seems to be watching me constantly. Well actually, he’s been doing that since he first clocked my tits this morning, but now he is following me around and making comments about my food choices. I don’t like it.

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