Closer

See that right there? That's the thingummy where anorexia...um, grows, or something else didn't grow, or it exploded at birth, or whatever.  What I'm trying to say is, all of this is NOT MY FAULT. Haha! (Statement does not include drugs, alcohol, stripping, or suicide attempts). 

"How I love to give in."


~ Metric


1:50 pm


Only a few more hours to go, before I am (un)ceremoniously booted from hop-sital. So far my day has been grand, I woke up in a good mood and had a little chat with this supposed "God" before I even let my feet touch the floor.

"Hey whassup, whatever it is that made Trent Reznor, M, tattoos, and banana marshmallow candies. I need some help. Can I keep my head out of my own ass and not get fucked up today?"

Yup, replied my own voice.

"Good enough. And can I go without chundering, just for today?"

Yessa, I replied.

"Sweet! Now, 'God'," I smiled up randomly at the sky, and tried to look salesman-y and convincing. "I could really use a sign that I am ready to leave hop-sital today. So, you know...I'm sure you're busy, what with football games needing to be won and earthquakes and all, but if you have a moment, please tell me, should I stay in hop-sital, or should I go? Thank-you, and I wish you another 24 hours sober. I mean me.  Amen."

I hopped out of bed, ready to kick some ass. Or, alternatively, graciously accept that I was going fucking NOWHERE.

I followed my typical morning routine, calmly eating my breakfast with the other anorexics, then sitting and savoring my tea afterwards. Then, just like every morning, I marched purposefully back down the hall and into the dorm room, where I collapsed into my bed and went back to sleep.

When I woke up again, I have to admit that the rest of the morning was painted with just the slightest hint of impatience - I was raring to go! Come ON, come ON, it's Snack Time, now it's Group Time, let's go! I tried to keep it to myself, as I didn't want to rub it in the faces of the other anorexics, but at each meal I would smile to myself and think, "This is my last such-and-such..."

Finally, it was lunch time. We were all seated in the Group Room, and conversations were floating around with the music from the radio above me, but I was lost in my own thoughts. Suddenly, I noticed the room had gone quiet, and I looked up to find the entire table of anorexics staring straight at me.

"Sorry, what?" I said. I suspected I had been asked some sort of question.

Everyone cracked up. "You were miles away," LynnLynn laughed. "What were you thinking about?"

"I'm not even sure," I admitted. "What did you ask me?"

"I asked if you were ready to go today," she said. "Like, are you sure that today is the day?"

"Yes, I am,"I said, and I felt an adrenaline surge through my body. I really am ready, I thought with a little shock.

The moment the words were out of my mouth, the fucking moment, a new song started on the radio. No announcer, no garbling preamble; the music just started pulsing out it's familiar perfection.

It was fucking Nine Inch Nails.

I choked on my vegetarian chili. Fuck me!

It was my sign.

And yes, I AM AWARE THAT I SOUND LIKE A GODDAMN HIPPY RIGHT NOW.

But I had asked for a sign, a very specific sign - was I ready to leave the hop-sital today? And right when LynnLynn asked me, and I said yes, Nine Inch Nails comes on the mother licking radio.

Coincidence? Methinks NOT.

Plus, I will also just point out for the doubters (fucking player haters) out there, that I knew I was ready before the music started anyway. So there.

But FUCK did that ever help. Whoo hoo! It could only have been more specifically aimed for me if it had been Blind Assassins/ Deadmen that came on the radio.

Cuz I like Tool, I like Nirvana, I like System of a Down. But this?

This was clearly meant for ME.

Oooooh, time for my last Snack. Fuckin eh.

Tall Women Carrying Heavy Things

"There's an old saying about those who forget history. I don't remember it, but it's good." 

~  Stephen Colbert

6:00 pm

Feeling a little blah, here on my last night in hop-sital. We are in our beds, waiting for Sweet Aussie Sue, who is going to take us outside for a walk, after we do our Check Out.

Was having a really good day, discussed my plans for the interim period between eating disorder programs with Kali, the dietician I don't want to kill, and she seemed to think I had a good handle on things. 

Then I called M, and he once again asked me if I thought I was ready to leave the hop-sital yet or not. Why does he keep fucking asking me that? 

Is there something I can't see? It's starting to freak me out. I feel like I have all these fail-safes in place, but what if I am missing something? What can't I see? 

My parents are home on Thursday, which is why I asked to be ejected from hop-sital that day. But as it turns out, they are leaving for the mountains on Friday morning for the whole weekend, driving back and forth between two mountain cities, neither of which have meetings I can attend. So I tried to come up with an alternative plan, one that didn't make me want to shoot myself in the face quite so much.

I thought I could ask my parents to stay in town for the Friday night, then Saturday during the day I could go to a bunch of groups and meetings, and then spend Saturday evening with M and crash overnight on his couch. Sunday morning I would start with my groups and meetings again, until my parents came home in the afternoon.

I proposed my idea to M, but it was met with an awkward silence. Then, "I'm sorry, Kagie. I just don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh," I said, immediately pissed.

Uh oh, here we go, I thought suddenly. I knew where this was going, didn't I? I told myself to remove my head from my own arse, and try to see things from his perspective, and to empathize - I have done so many things wrong to this guy, and hurt him so much! Get out of your own ass, Kg!

But I'm sober now, fuck you! I thought back.

Yeah, but you are the girl who cried suicide, you fuck retard. You gotta earn back your stripes.

So I am currently watching myself closely, and watching for signs of trouble. Sure enough, my thinking has tried to go there - my feelings are hurt, he said I couldn't stay there so he must not love me anymore, I want to hurt him back, etc, etc. All the ugly shit that I sifted through over the weekend, only I didn't realize I was doing it then. Then, I was the victim, and I had tunnel vision - all I could see was my own hurt.

Ugh. Gross.

So now, while my feelings are still a bit raw, let's do this thing. Let's hop into M's shoes and have a looksie, shall we, Kagie? Why would M think it not a good idea for you to stay at his house this weekend? 

I don't have time to make the list alphabetical:

- You might drink

- You might use

- You might barf

- You might run away

- You might attempt suicide

- You might try to go take off your clothes for money

- You and he are just friends, you can't just announce you're spending the fucking night

- Maybe he has other plans

- He's not your goddamn baby-sitter, or your mum

- He prolly doesn't want to be responsible for someone as bonkers as you

- Look at how you have acted in his house before

- You're a right pain in the arse

Gee, I feel tons better. 

Ha ha! Just kidding. For some reason, I actually do. I wouldn't want to baby-sit my sorry ass either, I'm fucking NUTS.

Rahahahahahahahahaha! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. 

I do feel sorry for my parents, though. 

They don't have a choice. They're stuck with me.

I Hate Goddamn Hippies! Oh, And Lepers, Too.

Riding a sleigh of homeless
They all smell like cat piss
Pretend I don't hate Christmas
If it gets me laid
(pant pant pant)



Greasing up my body
To penetrate this chimney
Oh what fun it is to ride
A single mum tonight.


~ End Of Ricky's Butcher's Christmas Lyrics

9:40 pm

I only have twenty minutes to write, before I am meeting with this lady named Celia, who works here at Blah Blah Hop-sital. She was the porter that showed up to escort me to my first hop-sital AA meeting, almost four weeks ago.

She will be THIRTY YEARS sober next month. Sounds like a disgusting way to live, I know, but she seems really happy. Incredible.

I was sitting out in the hall last night, talking on my phone with M, reviewing the stuff I had been forced to look at about myself earlier in the evening. At the end of it all, M told me that he just couldn't keep going on this way - that he had been holding me up and supporting me for too long, without reciprocation, without progress from me, and he was exhausted and scarred. He told me that he would still be my friend and staunch supporter while I sought treatment, but that was all he could offer me right now. He couldn't keep jumping into the water and bashing his head against the bottom of the pool anymore. He needed to test the waters a bit more this time.

Amazingly, it was okay. It hurt, and I cried, a LOT, but it was okay. I didn't get defensive or angry or, most importantly, revert to the role of victim and try to hurt him for retribution. I tried to put myself in his shoes, and found that I felt the same as he did - I would need a break from me and the disappointment  every time I gave up, too.

He did accidentally let it slip that he is madly in love with me, though. Oh no wait, part of him is. He couldn't keep going like this, but he said part of him is still madly in love with me. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

So there I was, bawling my eyes out in the hallway after we'd hung up, and whom should I look up to see but Celia, the porter who took me to my first AA meeting. She was sitting on the other side of the alligators (elevators), on one of the super uncomfortable, crappy red chairs.

Coincidence? I wondered, and before I could change my mind, I stood up and walked over to her.

"Excuse me, Celia?" I said hesitantly. Her choppy short brown hair set off the diamonds in her hoop earrings quite nicely. Well done, I thought admiringly, momentarily distracted. Why can't I look that well put together?

She looked up. "Hi," she smiled up at me. I knew she remembered me - I had cornered her in the corridor behind a gurney last week to show her my 30 Day chip.

"May I speak with you?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, and gestured to the empty seats beside her.

I sat down, opened my mouth, and blurted it all out - the gross perpetual-victim thing I had just realized about myself; the fact that I was fighting with a desire to keep dancing because I am fucking bonkers broke; that I am struggling to turn my will over to some "God".

"I beg 'Him' every night, please let me do Your will, not my own," I told her earnestly. "But I feel this knot in my stomach and I know that something's not right."

"That would be because you haven't surrendered yet," she said.

"What?" I cried. "Yes, I have! I'm a goddamn hop-sital, am I not? I'm clean and sober, and I'm not barfing. How is that not surrendering?"

"You tell me," she said with a smile. "What's the knot in your stomach, Kage? What is it that you won't surrender?"

I opened my mouth to say something snotty, like 'there is no God', but instead blurted out, "Dancing."

Ah. Fuck!

"And why do you need to surrender the dancing?" she asked.

"Because...because..." I didn't want to say it out loud.

"Because...," she prompted.

"Because it is highly unlikely that I will be able to sustain any kind of sobriety for very long if I continue to dance," I admitted with a sigh.

"Ah," she said. "And whose will do you suppose that is?"

"Mine," I mumbled sulkily.

"Mmmmmm," she agreed.

"Yeah, okay, well," I sat up suddenly, determined to prove her wrong. "What about the rest of it? The rest of life in general? How the hell am I supposed to know what's right and what's wrong, what's this suppose-ed God's will and what's mine? Is there a Divine List available for download somewhere?"

"No," she smiled, "it's much simpler than that."

"Hit me," I said.

"Anything you have to justify doing, is not God's will. It's yours."

Oooooooooh, I sat back,  and rolled that one around on my tongue for a bit. Bazing.

It tasted right. Exactly right. More right than any other advice has ever tasted, because I knew it was true.

Anything I had to justify doing, I prolly shouldn't be doing.

NO SHIT.

"Do God's work Kage," she said earnestly, and I wrinkled my nose with distaste.

Oh no, she's a goddamn hippy, I thought with despair. I am not touching any fucking lepers. I don't care who God knows.


"Help out with coffee at meetings, help get the word out to others who are suffering, chair a meeting," she suggested, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Phew! That wasn't so bad. "It's all God's work, it all helps other people, instead of just helping ourselves."

"Ok, I can do that kinda shit," I said excitedly. "I actually just asked the other anorexics this afternoon if I could come back a couple times a week for a visit, and bring my three dogs. It helps the girls who don't get to see their own pets, and it helps keep me accountable to my peers, for whether I'm arseing around or not in my eating disorder recovery."

"That's fantastic," Celia smiled.

Oooooh, gotta go! tbc...


11:30 pm


Sitting up in bed, after chatting with Celia for half an hour, then on the phone with M for another 20 minutes.

The chat with Celia went well. She had given me an assignment last night before we parted ways - I was to write a response to the following:

- Why I won't surrender
- What will it take for me to surrender

I was waiting with my iMac open and ready when she stepped off the alligator (elevator).

Tee hee! I'm such a keener.

For once.

"Hey, Kage," she smiled, and I knew she was relieved to see that I had actually shown up.

"Hey, Celia," I smiled back.

She settled into a chair beside me, and we went through what I had written the night before. Then we just sat and chatted for a while. She asked me lots of questions about dancing, what were the pros, what were the cons, how did it make me feel, etc. Then she asked me about writing, what I wanted to do with it, etc.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked me, after we had covered both topics quite thoroughly.

"Yeah, huh," I replied.

"Do you know that your face lights up when you talk about writing?"

"Ha ha! Gay," I laughed. "Oh, wait, are you for cereal?"

She looked at me quizzically.

"For serious," I explained hastily.

"Oh," she rolled her eyes. "Right. But when you talk about dancing, your face shuts down completely."

"Huh," I said. "How bout that."

"Just thought I'd let you know," she said with a knowing grin, like she could see that I was already getting defensive.

We moved on to what I was going to do when I was ejected from hop-sital on Thursday evening.

"I'm gonna go back to meetings, both NA and AA, and I'm gonna keep going to my Eating Meetings, plus I'm going to go back to counseling," I started, listing things off on my fingers as I went. "I wanna keep writing every day, and try to make time to clean up some of my older stuff - "

"About that," Celia interjected, and I looked up. "Clearly, Kage, writing is your passion."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Yes, I thought. But that doesn't mean I'm any good at it.


"What can you do to pursue it as a career, instead of dancing?" she asked.

"Erm...I dunno," I mumbled, looking up at the ceiling.

"Really," she smirked.

"Well...I've been trying a few things lately, really slowly though," I admitted. "I've sent a few things out."

I haven't.

"What are you scared of?" she asked me.

"Rejection," I said immediately.

"And what about rejection?" she said. "What can rejection do to you?"

I thought for a moment. "I'm scared that it will rob me of my passion."

She sat up straighter in her chair, and leaned towards me. "No one can take your passion from you, Kage. No one."

Ew. She was getting all serious. Snort.

I changed the subject.

We ended the conversation with plans to meet tomorrow night, if she gets called into work, or Thursday night when I come back to hop-sital for the AA meeting, as a civilian.

Before we parted ways, I asked her if she would be my temporary sponsor.

"Yes," she said. "But I gotta tell you, Kage, I'm all about the solution, not the problem, and I'm all business. With me, you gotta do one step a week."

"A step a week?" I squeaked. "Are you mad, woman?"

"I know it might be a bit tough while you are in treatment, but that's what we're gonna aim for," she said firmly.

Holy shit, thought I. But I wanted her onboard. I wanted Celia on my support team.

"Okay, then," I agreed. "A step a week."

We stood up and she hugged me. "Just know that you are a beloved child of God," she said as she squeezed me.

I rolled my eyes. Goddamn hippy, I thought.

But I hugged her back.

When I got back to the hop-sital dorm room, I saw that I had missed a call from M, so I grabbed my mobile and went to sit out in the hall.

We had a really good conversation. He was a little worried, and asked me for a second time if I was mad at him for the things that he had said to me yesterday, when he had shown up at the hop-sital to confront me about my blog-bitching.

"No," I replied honestly. "I'm really not, M. I need to hear that stuff if I am going to get better, but I am still too cowardly to instigate it myself. But if I wanna fix my shitty behaviors, I guess I have to be made aware of them first."

"Yeah, I guess that's true," he agreed.

"And I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you, and I'm not saying that it was good thing, per se, but I needed it to happen. So, no, I am not mad at you. At all."

"Okay. That's good," he said.

We talked about our days, and it was nice and relaxed and easy, despite the havoc I had wreaked over the weekend. And though I have to remind myself not to get carried away, that right now he is just my friend and one of my strongest supporters, it felt so good to connect with him again, even on the simplest of levels.

And now, es ist 12:30, und ich bin sleepy, so piss off and leave me alone.

Guten nacht!

Oh God. I Hate Self Truths.

Dressing up like Santy
To get back in them panties
Maybe I'll get a handy 
For giving her kids these toys


~ Christmas Lyrics by Ricky Butcher


9:45 pm

Ugh. Vacillating between a serious case of self contempt, shame, and strangely, immense relief.

Figure THAT one out.

There's so much to tell.

I guess we'll start at the beginning of the day, even though the most pressing thing on my mind is M.

Ah fuck that, let's start with M, and what I did to him.

So, we all saw what I wrote yesterday. Then I stopped answering my phone, because I am childish fucking coward, and would prefer to stew in my own resentments than actually deal with anything. Little did I know how close M came to walking away from me completely, like any normal person would have done.

When he couldn't rouse me on the phone, he showed up at hop-sital.

He did not look pleased.

I knew the moment our eyes met that I had fucked up. Soooooooo badly.

We went to sit on the comfy chairs outside the Group room. I was fidgety and barely speaking, and couldn't look him in the eye.

"Do you not want me to be here?" he finally asked.

"No!" I said. "No, it's not that. I'm just really anxious."

"Why are you anxious?" he said.

"Because you're here to chew me out," I said.

"I'm not here to chew you out,"he said. "But I am here to address it."

I blew the air out of my mouth, which came out more like a frustrated sigh, and he looked at me quizzically again.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked, exasperated.

"No, that wasn't a sigh of frustration, or disinterest," I said earnestly.

"What was it, then?"

I hesitated. "Fear," I admitted. I fucking hated confrontations. Obviously, or we wouldn't be here right now.

So I shut my mouth and let him talk. And for once, instead of thinking up clever rebuttals and stinging comebacks or pointing out where I had been the most victimized, I tried to shut the fuck up, and really listen to what he said to me.

And oh, God. Ouch. The shame of it. Ewwwwwwww.

His premise was simple. He pointed out that he had forgiven me for a lot, a lot, of really fucked up things - was he not allowed to make one minor infraction, too?

I realized suddenly just how rarely he asks me to see things from his point of view - and that he shouldn't have to ask me to do that. I thought I was an empathetic person, and maybe I am capable of empathy, but when I am hurt or angry, it just flies out the fucking window. When he presented his perspective, I saw just how ugly my behavior was, and just how unwarranted it was. And oh God, it was just gross. I am so ashamed of myself.

The only person I can accurately compare it to is...is...

Oh God, no. I can't do it.

Is...is...

Ugh. Baby Momma.

FUCK!

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!!

The woman I hate most in the world! I'm just like her! Maybe not to the scale and fucking depravity of that deluded sociopath, but still. I do the same shit that she does, which is to immediately revert to the role of victim, always the victim, look how hurt I am. So hurt that it completely excuses how I am about to lash out from out of nowhere, and hurt you back. But it's justified, because I'm the victim. 

Ugh. UGH.

The other element, which I have already acknowledged in myself but haven't actually been arsed to do anything about yet, is my own cowardice and inertia in situations like these. Things wouldn't have escalated to the point that they did, had I but picked up my mobile, and dialed M's number. But of course, I couldn't do that, because I was the victim, and it was better to sit here and fucking stew for another twelve hours.

I avoid confrontations like the plague. I find that I am often frightened and overwhelmed by the intensity of my feelings, especially my rage, and in an effort to elude them, I choose to just run away from situations where they might come up. I'm not strong or courageous enough to declare my feelings in a confrontation, because they are obviously wrong - that's what a confrontation is, is telling the other person that they are wrong. Maybe that's why I hate confrontations so much - I hate being told that I am wrong, that I did something drastically wrong. I don't want to hear it, so I just run away. And if I remain inert and just do nothing, then there will be no confrontations, ergo, no feelings.

But that's not entirely true, is it, because my feelings are already hurt when I start running. I guess I just think that that pain is all I can take -  it's manageable, but any more might not be, so I better not risk it.

But that is the path to self destruction. The past EIGHT FUCKING YEARS can confirm that.

I need to stop running from situations like this. The counselors and doctors here think that that may be my route problem, my paralyzing fear of confrontation. But sitting and stewing in our resentments instead of taking action is what sends addicts and alcoholics back out again. Duh.

So, I learned that I like to play the victim card, that I use it as an excuse to lash out at others, and that I am afraid of confrontation.

Now I know this stuff, I need to figure out what to do about it.

Here's what else happened today.

Dr. Ram-It-In and Head Nurse were here first thing this morning. Well, I say first thing, because to me, it was top o' the fucking morning - the ungodly hour of 11 am. Gross.

I shared in Group my exact thoughts from the night before - that I wanted to leave hop-sital, that this was getting to be fucking ridiculous, that I thought I belonged in Day Program, etc. Mumbles put up some opposition, but that's to be expected - she opposes everything. I presented and defended a cogent case to my peers, before I was hauled away by the ear to my Sit Down With The Big Dogs.

"So, Kage," Head Nurse said, when Interchangeable Nurse's Assistant  #239763e9 released her Vulcan Death Grip on my ear and shoved me into the Family Room. I angrily turned back to the NA, but Head Nurse kept talking. "You left a note on the door that you wanted to speak with us?"

"Yes, I did," I said, rubbing my ear and baring my teeth at the back of the retreating NA.

"Come and sit down,"  Head Nurse motioned to the chairs in front of her.

I shuffled over to a chair directly across from them and sat down, took a deep breath, and began my soliloquy.

"I think I'm ready to move on from the hop-sital," I said. "I came in here to stop purging, and to stop abusing drugs and alcohol, and I've accomplished those things. Now I need to work on my compulsion to overeat, which is what makes me barf in the first place. But I don't feel like I can do that here. I can't address my compulsion to overeat when you're chasing me to gain weight, while also limiting how much food I can eat."

Doc and Head Nurse glanced at each other, then looked back at me.

"I'd like to be considered for Day Program immediately," I finished. "I feel my continued presence here in hop-sital would be redundant."

"Okay," Dr. Ram-It-In said.

I paused. "What?"

"Okay," he said again.

I cocked my head. "Okay, what?" I asked.

"Okay, we get what you're saying," Head Nurse interjected. "You're right, you have accomplished what you came into hospital to do. You've stopped purging, and you've stop abusing drugs and alcohol. And we recognize that you are ready to move on to the next challenge, which for you is Mindful Eating. But we also recognize that maybe the exact perimeters of the Restorations refeeding program aren't the right fit for what you are trying to achieve. And that's okay, Kage. Some parts of the program fit, and some don't."

"Yeah, huh," I said suspiciously. Where was she going with this?

"So I think we can support you if you decide to leave the hospital," Dr. Ram-It-In finished.

I turned the stink-eye on him. "Yeah, but against medical advice, right?"

"No," he shrugged. "I see no reason why you shouldn't be discharged, having fully completed the program."

 No fucking way! I thought to myself. 

"No fucking way!" I exclaimed out loud, then turned and coughed delicately into my hand. "Harrum, harrum! Excuse me."

"You do understand that you won't be able to go directly to Day Program, though," Dr. Ram-It-In said. "You'll have to go on the waiting list, and wait for a spot to become available."

"Okay," I shrugged. "How long is the wait, approximately?"

"Two, maybe three weeks," Head Nurse said.

Eek. That's a little longer than I expected.

Stupid other anorexics.

"Okay," I breathed. "Okay, I can handle that."

"Just so you know, Kage," Dr. Ram-It-In looked serious for a moment, so I nodded and tried to look serious, too. "You can come back if you want."

"What, into hop-sital?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, thank God," I whimpered.

"So, what day do you want to leave?" Head Nurse asked.

"Oh. Um...," I said. Now! Now! Now! "Thursday? My parents are out of town until then."

"Okay, that sounds like a good plan. Thursday it is," said Dr. Ram-It-In.

And that was it. They opened the door and set me loose again, with only three more days as an inpatient here at Blah Blah Hop-sital.

"Holy shit," I gulped aloud, to the empty sleeping quarters. "What the fuck did I just do?"

I returned to the Group room, and spent the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, like, did I really just do that?  But I was yanked from my daydreaming when someone else's drama dared to become MORE interesting than MINE.

I was in the sleeping quarters, sitting up on my hop-sital bed, tapping away on my lap top. Suddenly I knew I couldn't hold my bladder any longer, and would have to stop writing and get up. God damn it, I thought bitterly, though I wasn't sure if I was annoyed because I was lazy and didn't want to walk all the way to the Nurse's Station, or if I didn't want to admit that I had held my pee for too long, and now I might actually explode.

I did a little dance at the counter while I waited to be acknowledged. "Bathroom key?" I said desperately, when an NA finally looked up and in my general direction.

Suddenly I heard someone scream from one of hop-sital rooms to my left. "Fuck you! I'm not going anywhere!"

I looked up in surprise, and saw that there were two security guards standing at the entrance to Auschwitz-the-Lifer and Miss Kitty's hop-sital room. Something interesting was going on.

"I've got the bathroom key, Kage," a key was suddenly dangled in my face, as Interchangeable Nurse's Assistant #87263r0782 tried to bring my attention back to her. I brushed the key aside and walked almost comatosely towards the security guards instead.

I think it's showtime.

Both guards were young and uniformed, though only one could be said to fit the role. Cute, muscular and with full sleeves of tattoos on both arms, he stood unsmiling on one side of the doorway. Hello, I thought with a grin. The other guy was a hot mess - he must have been mis-posted from parking authority or something. Pudgy, bespectacled and bewildered, he looked like he hadn't a clue what to do with the 80 pound scruffian alley cat who was about to claw his fucking eyes out.

"Fuck you!" Kitty screamed again, as she tried to yank a shirt back from one of the nurses that was packing her bags. "I won't go! I won't fucking go!"

Off to Disneyland, Kitty Meow Meow? I wondered.

"Kaaaaaaage," the Nurse's Assistant sang from behind me, and jangled her key. "Baaaaaathroom."

"Shhhhhh," I hissed, waving her off. "I wanna see Kitty rip off the hot one's uniform. Get us some popcorn, you can watch too."

"Let's go, Kagie," she said.

"Nooooooo...," I whimpered. "Interesting...scratching...big muscles...parking authority..." I gestured helplessly to Kitty's room, with the security guards, the nurses, the endless stream of obscenities. "Please?"

"Sorry, hun," she said, and pulled me away by my elbow.

God, I rolled my eyes bitterly, and let her lead me away. I never get to do anything fun.


I would have made such a good witness, too, when Pissy Kitty went to trial. Like when Ricky Butcher goes to court in a wife beater,  pig tails and a black leather dog collar with metal spikes, and the whoever (bailiff?) says, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

And Ricky bats his eyelashes and says in this perfect British-Orphan accent, "Yes! I don't know how to lie."

Anyway. Even though I didn't get to see the show, I heard about it later - the next best thing.

I don't know exactly why, but Pissy Kitty was escorted off the unit today, and taken downstairs to the second floor.

Psych Unit.

Where things are immeasurably harder, what with the access to coffee and cigarettes and all.

But if I'm honest, I'm glad she's gone. She was bringing the whole Group down. She was so pissed off all the time, and kept interrupting Groups to bitch about this or that over and over and over again, so that we stopped actually accomplishing anything, and instead just listened to Kitty crowing.

She is clearly not ready for Refeeding. Just like Boy Ana, I think maybe her problems run a little more into the psychopathic range. As in, maybe she belongs in a psych unit for a bit, until she actually wants to be up here, with us.

Not that we aren't crazy up here, too. But at least we are only a threat to ourselves.

Sod Off And Die

5:40 pm


I am currently not in the greatest of moods.

That stupid little shit, Kitty, just keeps fucking off downstairs to go out for a smoke. When I tried to do the same, I was politely  invited to go fuck myself; as in, if I wanted to smoke that badly, I could leave the hop-sital program and go home.

So why the FUCK are there no consequences for that back-alley scruffian, Kitty? WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK? Why does she keep getting away with it? Just cuz she's certified? Am I the only one who reckons that being certified is all the MORE REASON why she shouldn't be going downstairs, interacting with the innocent and oblivious public, and flirting with the temptation of running towards freedom? I mean, at least I'm legally SANE! (not a guarantee).

And something else is bothering me. I'm just gonna be honest here, M has really hurt my feelings. On Friday night, I told him about losing my fecking Sunday pass this week, and what a difficult weekend this was going to be. What with being trapped in hop-sital the whole time, and my parents being out of town, so no dogs, and no visitors (except Joshie, thank Christ, or I would have shot myself in the face by now), I was really thinking of blowing this joint - especially after all the shit with the anorexic-or-bulimic-treatment horse shit for the second week in a row.

I asked M if he could come in and visit me sometime this weekend.

"No, I can't," he said late Friday night, when he had called to say goodnight. "I have Baby this weekend."

"Oh," I said, disappointed.

"Yeah, sorry, I'll just be too busy."

Yeah, I get it, I thought irritably.

It wasn't his fault, I was just disappointed. Really, I was more frustrated with the program than with him; it was just salt being poured in my wound, I guess. I shuffled back to bed and watched Sons of Butcher alone until the wee hours of the morning, trying to exhaust myself, so I could nap all day the next day.

On Saturday, I got lots of supportive texts and calls for my Weekend Of Fucking Misery and Confinement - Mum, Dad, Joshie, Wang, Taaliyah, Ugu, Ex-Bf (who wrote to apologize for never showing to pick up my dog Billy; he was too ashamed to face my dad), Toronto Paulie, even Lynch, with whom I haven't spoken in months. Everyone remembered to show their support for the overwhelmingly crappy weekend I was forced to endure.

Everyone, that is, except M.

I didn't hear from him until 2:30 pm on Sunday, while I was in Afternoon Snack. When I only had to run out eight more hours to finish my Weekend Of Fucking Misery And Confinement.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, bros and hoes, hurts my mother licking feelings.

I know he's busy. He's got a full time job and an almost-three-year-old kid. But so what? So does Joshie, plus she has a husband, plus she's six months pregnant. She still found thirty fucking seconds to fire off a fucking text.

I don't know if he is still punishing me for what I did six weeks ago, or if maybe things just really aren't going to work out between us. I really thought after Thursday night, after he kissed me, that we were back on track again.

Clearly, we are not.

But let's talk about something else, shall we? I'm tired of fucking brooding over it.

I only have four more hours to run out now, which is bloody fantastic. I am looking forward to getting back to our normal schedule tomorrow. Having the counselors here and our regular three Groups a day really helps the days go by faster, plus I have an AA meeting tomorrow evening. So I am all set up for tamarraw, and Joshie is coming back to drool over Trent Reznor videos and giggle and snort over Big Bang Theory on Tuesday night, like we did this afternoon.

I am starting to get a little restless right now. I am sick of sitting in a fucking hop-sital bed for...let's see, how many hours have I been forced to stay in bed this weekend? Let me do the math...okay, for the whole forty-eight hours, starting at 8 am on Saturday morning, I was allowed to be out of my hop-sital bed for a total of eight hours. You can add an extra ten hours to the total time IN BED if you count Friday night's sleep.

There just isn't enough topless videos of Trent Reznor on YouTube to make that acceptable.

I have things to do, lots of them - I just don't always want to do them. Sometimes I just get tired of sitting in the same fucking spot and position for three goddamn hours, even if it is on a motorized hop-sital bed (bed goes up?). To be honest, sometimes, like NOW, I just want to fucking destroy something. Like every time I check my phone to see that no, M has not called, I just want to throw it against the fucking wall and watch it smash to smithereens. Plates and glasses are not safe in my presence right now, nor impressionable children.  And if I could just get my hands on that cunt Baby Momma...

God, I gotta find something to do. I told Day Program I would do her makeup tonight, but the way I feel right now, I'd prolly gouge her eyes out. So I think maybe that's out.


9:45 pm


Time: Evening.
Mood: Shatty.
Tummy: Painfully full from angrily stuffing my face.
State of Mind: Turbulent, pathological, restless.
Thoughts of Trent Reznor: Ah, I could do with more.
What Do I Want: To Leave Hop-sital.

Yup, that's what I'm thinking right now. I think I've had enough.

I'm frustrated with this shit with Miss Kitty and her goddamn trips outside. I'm frustrated they're telling me I can't leave the hop-sital until I gain weight, but they won't let me eat any Extras. I'm frustrated that when I do eat any additional food they tell me that it is disordered eating, and yet I still have ten pounds to gain. I am frustrated because I feel like I could go home right now, and not purge - it has been four weeks now, and I have only done it once. I could go on the waiting list for Day Program, which prolly (one would assume) means I would just spend the exact amount of time waiting to start at home, that I would have spent waiting here in hop-sital. But at least in the Foundations Day Program, the weekly weight gain requirements aren't as overwhelming as in Restorations - you only have to gain half a kilo a week there, as opposed to the kilo and a half that you have to gain per week here. I could wait it out at home, eating foods I am more comfortable eating and not having to eat so quickly and cram so much in at once that I am painfully bloated, just so I'll make it to the next meal, because I am not allowed to space it out a little more evenly.

Tomorrow, I am going to ask to see my weight from this morning. Not be told it - I want to see it. And if they haven't reevaluated my minimum weight as per my request last Friday, I am going to request a Sit Down, and tell them all this stuff I have just vomited all over my blog. I haven't left treatment yet, and I will give the medical team (and Mum and Dad and Joshie) a chance to present a cogent argument, but then I am making a fucking decision. This is getting to be ri-goddamn-diculous. And while I can acknowledge that some of my desire to leave is pure restlessness, and perhaps a touch of desire to SMOKE, I also truly believe that I can better address my problem of OVEREATING WHEN I AM NOT BEING TOLD I HAVE TO GAIN A KILO AND A HALF A WEEK.

Backstage in Sydney

I WOULD DO ANYTHING THIS MAN TOLD ME TO DO.

A. NY. THING.

Though I might pee a little first, from the sheer ecstasy of servitude.

And maybe the fear.

Anyway, if you wanna take as much pleasure from this video as I do, now would be a good time to take off your pants.

Enjoy.


.

Goddamn Smokers!

"Oh, yes? Well, I'm polermarized tree sap, and you're an inorganic adhesive, so whatever verbal projectile you launch in my direction is reflected off of me, returned in it's original trajectory, and adheres to you."

(translation: I'm rubber, you're glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you)

~ Sheldon, Big Bang Theory

4:30 pm

Ugh. Trying to get through the loooooooooong day in hop-sital on a Saturday, with no more Groups, no more Sunday pass, and not much else going on.

I also found out yesterday that Kitty (who, by the way, has regressed to her original back-alley, pissy self) has been smoking since the day she fucking got in here.

I am NOT PLEASED.

Mumbles told me last night.

"They just took Kitty out for a smoke," she smirked as she wandered into the dorm room last night, shaking her head.

I looked up from petting Moo Moo on my hop-sital bed. "What?" I hissed.

"Kage," Mum warned.

"Yeah!" Mumbles said gleefully. "Didn't you know? LynnLynn takes her out for a fag all the time."

"What the fuck?!" I exclaimed, and jumped up off the bed, letting my dog tumble onto the mattress.

"Kage!" Mum exclaimed.

"What?" I turned to her. "Mum, that's horse shit! Why have I had to suffer for the past three weeks when she gets taken out for a smoke whenever she wants? How is that fair?"

"Well, it's not fair," Mum admitted, "but yelling and swearing at them won't help you plead your case."

"Duh," I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't gonna do it to their faces."

There was no fucking way I was missing out on this! But what could I do? I had no money, and my smokes were in my truck, at Mum and Dad's place. By the time Mum left for the night, I couldn't come up with any better ideas, so I had to call her and beg her to come back to hop-sital and bring me a pack of fags. She did so very reluctantly, sneaking up the alligators (elevators) after visiting hours to give them to me in the hallway.

She put on an exceptional show, letting me know just how less than thrilled she was to have been assigned the role of accomplice.

"Sure, get me in trouble with the nurses," she kept muttering.

"Sorry, Mum, I didn't know they were in your knitting circle," I smiled back cheerily. Fags! Fags! Fags! Fags! was all I could think. Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay!

I slept with the pack of cigarettes tucked tightly under my chin last night. When I approached Sweet Aussie Sue this morning, and bitched about Kitty and her numerous trips outside, she said she understood why I would be upset, and that yes, she would take me out for a smoke today, too! Whoo hoo!

So of course, I figured that hey, now every time Miss Kitty-With-The-Face-Like-A-Cat's-Arse-Once-Again goes out for a smoke, I can go, too. Who knew how many smokes a day that might be! Hoo-RAY!

Oh, Hoo-NOOOO!

I asked Sweet Aussie Sue to take me out for a fag after Morning Snack. As we were waiting for the alligator (elevator), she told me that she had explained to Kitty that the situation was unfair, what with her getting to go out for fags when the rest of us couldn't, and that it would be stopping immediately.

"Wait, what?" I said. All my smoking dreams went up in...well, smoke. "Why did you do that?"

"Because it wasn't fair on you," Sweet Aussie Sue said, and cocked her head, as if to say, Duh.

"Yeah, but I can just go with her," I said desperately. "That's very fair on me."

"I can't support that, Kage," she smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I just think it's wrong. Sorry, darling. Are you right?"

"Ah, I'm grand," I waved her off. "I understand."

"The lift is here," she said, as the light pinged. "Shall we?"

"But you just said..." I trailed off.

"This weekend doesn't count," she said with a shrug. "We've got to make up for all the ones Kitty got over the past week that you didn't. Well," she amended hastily. "Sort of."

"Yeah, okay," I said cheerfully, and followed her into the alligator. "I'm in."

We exited on the main floor of the hop-sital and walked outside, into the warmth and sunshine of the fall season. I chose a bench just outside the Triage doors, that were as far away from the other smokers as I could get us for Sue's sake, then I sat down and (thoroughly) enjoyed my cigarette. When there was absolutely nothing left of it, I scratched it out, then set the butt on the bench beside me, so I could throw it in the bin when we were done.

A moment later, I looked up at the entrance to the hop-sital, and almost gasped. (I say almost, because gasping is kinda gay, so I try not to actually do it. Ever. And neither should YOU). But who should I fucking see come wandering out the Emergency Room doors all by herself, but Miss Face-Like-A-Cat's-Ass, Kitty.

I quickly grabbed the cigarette butt off the bench beside me and slipped it between the cracks of the bench, letting it drop into the leaves below.

Then I thought, Wait a minute. Why am I hiding my cigarette butt? What the fuck is SHE doing out here alone?!

Things sure are different here in an Eating Disorder treatment centre than they ever were at drug treatment! If someone in drug treatment were to just waltz by a counselor like that, blatantly disregarding the fact that they are strictly forbidden to be outside of the hop-sital by themselves, they would be tackled to the ground by at least three members of staff. But Sweet Aussie Sue just noted her presence, then turned back to me and continued to chat...

Yay! Dinner! Now I don't have to eat my own foot.

Later


10:30 pm


Oh God. Grant me the FUCKING SERENITY.

Before she left for the day, for the weekend, really, Sweet Aussie Sue made sure my consolation prize was all set up - the nurses were left with implicit instructions to take me outside for fag breaks, for this weekend only.

Which were completely overruled the moment she left. So basically, I got taken outside for a whole two fags today.

I don't know what happened. I asked the nurse, Brittney, and she just said, "Dr. Ram-It-In has it in your computer file that you are not supposed to smoke."

Durrrr.


"Yes, but Sue set it up for me, just for the next couple of days, to help me stay put while I am struggling," I tried to explain, but she started talking to an NA instead of listening.

Fuck this, I decided, I'll just sneak out then, like everyone else.


Code Yellow THIS, mother fuckers.

Car Panties

"You have a broad hips and a certain corn-fed vigor. Is you womb available for rent?"

~ Sheldon, Big Bang Theory

(get it? her hips are so broad, they're two feet away from her torso! haha!)

4:45 pm

I only have a few minutes until dinner, so I'll just blather on for a few paragraphs.

Today was weigh-in, here on Unit 32. Not only did I not make the weight gain, but just as I suspected, I lost weight again, eating only what the dietitian told me to eat.

As a consequence, I also lost my Sunday pass.

They didn't give me a day's warning this time, though, since last time I used that 24 hours to gain the four pounds I needed to get the pass. This time, they told me after the fact. As in, hey, in the past week you have lost two pounds! Ergo, you go...nowhere this weekend!

I immediately requested a Sit Down with Head Nurse.

"Grave and I went over all of this with you last week, Kage, and very thoroughly, too," she said pedantically, when we were seated across from each other in the tiny Family Room, just off the sleeping quarters.

"I know that," I said, exasperated, "but can you not see that you guys are just setting me up to binge here? I don't think that you should take away my Day Pass for losing weight, when I only lost it because I did what you told me to do!"

"I'm sorry, Kage, but those are the rules," she said firmly. "You have to gain a kilo and a half per week to get your day pass."

"Well then, can I at least be considered for a two hour hop-sital pass, so I can go downstairs and walk around the grounds?"

"No," she said simply.

"Why not?" I cried.

"Because not only did you not gain weight, you lost weight, Kage."

"Doing what you told me to do!" I yelled.

"Those. Are. The. Rules," she repeated.

"Well, who makes these rules?" I demanded. "Because this is not fair. I am here, doing the work, despite the guidelines you've given me being in direct contradiction to what you're telling me to do. So who makes these goddamn rules?"

"Well, we made them, as we made up the Program," she admitted. "But they cannot be open to interpretation, or every girl would want to plead her case."

"You really don't think that I have distinctive circumstances here?" I asked in disbelief.

"Every girl thinks she has special circumstances, Kage," she said.

I groaned in frustration and dropped my head into my hands.

"Fine," I mumbled from between my fingers, then let my hands drop from my face. "Fine."

I stood up and opened the door with a bang, and walked out of the room.

"Kage!" Head Nurse called after me.

Fuck off, I thought to myself.

I needed some time to think.

9:45 pm

I'm just after Evening Snack. Despite everything that has happened today, I managed to stick to my menu plan. Which, let's be honest, is nothing short of a fucking miracle.

Tonight itself has been nothing short of a miracle. M stopped by for a visit, and I'm not sure what was different, but we seemed to be a lot more comfortable around each other. We held hands and laughed a lot, and did lots of touching, like we used to do. I told him honestly about my frustrations with the Program, what with the taking away of my Sunday pass, and the making me stay in hop-sital longer.

"Yeah, but you knew that was gonna happen, didn't you?" he asked quizzically.

"I knew it was a possibility," I corrected.

"Uh huh," he said, and looked at me.

"Well...I mean...it still sucks!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, it does, but won't your weight even itself out in the end, if you give it the chance? By staying and eating what they tell you, won't you get healthy in the end? Which is the whole point?"

I sighed dramatically. "Yes," I admitted. But what about my suffering? I thought.

"So don't you think that's of what you should be thinking, your long term health?"

"I'm still here," I pointed out haughtily. "So obviously, that IS of what I am thinking."

"Okay," he grinned, backing off a bit.

"Alright, then," I snapped, then relaxed and smiled, too. I knew he was right, and he knew I was right. Everything was okay. I was still here in hop-sital, actively pursuing my recovery. I could bitch all I wanted, but I was still here.

"Do you want to see my car panties?" he asked me suddenly.

I looked up hopefully. He raised an eyebrow back at me.

M had told me a story on the phone last night, about his new boxers that have little cars illustrated on them. When he had been getting Baby ready for bed, she had turned to him and said, "Daddy, go put on your car panties."

"Fuck yeah, I wanna see your car panties," I said.

"Okay, come on," he grabbed my hand and stood up.

We walked past the alligators (elevators) and around the corner, so that we were in a small, L-shaped corridor. We stood in the middle of the hall, between the two corner mirrors that would show us if anyone was approaching, and M unbuttoned his pants.

Oh, God. I know it wasn't like he pulled out his wang and whacked me across the face with it, but it still felt so intimate, M showing me his car panties. I couldn't really even describe them to you now - I think they were green, with black and white cars drawn on them? - but it was so awesome. Without thinking, I reached out and touched him, just gently stroking his lower abdomen, just above his cock. It's somewhere I haven't been welcome to touch in a very long time.

I looked up at him, and smiled softly. He smiled back.

"Do you wanna see my panties?" I asked.

"Duh," he said.

I lifted up my shirt to get it out of the way, then thought, Oh, yeah. Might as well get it over with. I lifted my shirt higher and showed him my soft, no longer toned, no longer cut abdomen.

"This is my new tummy," I said awkwardly, and he smiled.

"I like it," he said.

"And these are my panties," I said, pulling my blue thong out from beneath my belt buckle.

"I like those, too," he grinned.

"Thank-you," I said, but I was preoccupied. God, my tummy was gross.

"And let's see your hair," he said, and pulled off my toque before I could stop him.

Fuck!

It was looking disastrous under there. I had chosen to save the ten dollars and not color my hair until I was done as an inpatient, and just wear hats for the rest of my time in hop-sital (clever, non?). Having blond roots with black hair doesn't help make my hair look any thicker, though. Plus I can't be arsed to put any product in it, or even blow dry it, cuz I'm just gonna cram a hat over, so why bother? I don't even brush it right now.

But I didn't know that M might take a look at it! Shit Fuck!

"It looks great," he said, and I snorted. "No, it really does. And it's gonna keep getting better."

"Well, I'm not gonna get all of it back, M," I said sadly.

"I'm sure you will," he said, stroking the hair around my face.

"Can I put my toque back on now?" I begged.

"Sure," he said, and pulled my toque back down over my head, tucking my hair in behind my ears. When my hair was sufficiently tucked, he pulled the toque down over my eyes.

I grinned and opened my mouth to say something stupid, when suddenly I felt his lips on mine.

Oh my fuck! I thought, and my heart leapt with shock. He's kissing me! He's kissing me! Yay!

His lips were soft, gentle and familiar, and even though I was a bit nervous, and I'm sure my breath was not the freshest, it felt so good to be kissed by him again. As you may have surmised, M cannot kiss me when he is upset with me. And suicide attempts and drug overdoses do tend to piss him off.

All I could think as he opened his mouth and his tongue touched mine was, I've missed you so much. Not just in the past few days since I had last seen him , or in the past three and a half weeks that I have been in hop-sital, or even in the past five or so weeks since I walked out of our house to overdose.

I've been missing him for a long time now, even when we've been together, living in the same house, our lives supposedly intertwined. I've been too caught up in my illness to let M get near me - Ed has owned me outright for a long time now, and there just wasn't room for M, too. So even though we were right there in front of each other, I was so far out of reach that we were almost always disconnected.

There were fleeting moments of connection, though, when the eating disorder and the addictions and everything else were somehow dormant for a few moments, and we were able to reach each other, however briefly.

I think it was those fleeting moments that compelled M to come hop-sital to find me a few weeks ago, and to forgive me once again for allowing my diseased mind to consume me, and upon which I am determined to rebuild the foundations of our relationship.

Because those moments are amongst of the very best of my life.

Just like the car panties are now, too.

Schiesse, es ist 11:30. Guten nacht.

Miss Congeniality

"Everybody! Someone to love.

Someone to love.

Until you hate them."

~lyrics by Ricky Butcher

9:45 pm

I don't know why, but I didn't really feel like writing today. I didn't get a lot of free time, and what little time I did get, I spent - get this - looking up complete lists of prepositions on the interweb (that series of tubes). You know you're at a loose end when...

I guess I'll give you a brief synopsis of my day, and then I think I'll fuck off for a bit and watch Big Bang Theory, before reading the book that Sweet Aussie Sue lent me, called Sky Burial.

She just came up to my bed in the hop-sital dorm room yesterday, and handed it to me.

"I think you'll really enjoy this," she said, and walked out again.

...Kaaaaaaay, thought I.

It actually does look pretty good, though. Something about a Chinese woman in the 1950s, trying to find her Chinese husband in Tibet, even though the Army had already informed her that he was killed in the line of duty. She joins a militia heading into Northern Tibet, but gets separated, and ends up wandering Tibet for thirty years, searching for her husband.

Anyway. My day. The first thing of notable interest is the apparent body swapping the aliens have done with Kitty and her alien body-double. At least, that is the only cogent explanation I can think of, for the completely new person who inhabits the vessel that is Kitty's body.

"Kage, we have got to talk tattoos later!" she said through a mouthful of Rice Krispies at breakfast this morning.

"Huh? Wha?" I looked up from my oatmeal. Did somebody say something to me?

"Yeah, I wanna go get a tattoo. That's what I always go and do on my first Sunday pass!" she laughed gaily.

"Um...what?" I stared at her. She's laughing! I thought with alarm. What's happening? What's going on?

"Well, actually, last time, I got a piercing," she corrected, waving her spoon in the air. "But then I fell down ten flights of stairs." More tinkling laughter.

Ummmm...

"The time before that, though, I got a tattoo," she smiled at the memory.

Oh, yeah - Kitty has been here in hop-sital plenty of times before. I think this is her fifth hospitalization, in the same Restorations Refeeding Program, in the same hop-sital, in the past TWO YEARS.

Not very encouraging, really. Though I like to think it's just her.

"Ooooh, I love this song!" she suddenly said enthusiastically, and reached over to turn up the radio.

Ironically, it was playing Nirvana's Heart Shaped Box again - the same song that was playing last night, when she said she wished she could trade places with Kurt Cobain, cuz he was dead.

I shook my head in wonder. What the fuck was going on?

It continued on throughout the morning, and throughout the day. Kitty had done a complete 180 degree turn-around. She was friendly and chatty and bubbly and giggly.

Now, I know I'm a bit cynical, a bit jaded, and very cute. But still - this behavior is just...so...unstable, so erratic. It's not that I doubt her sincerity, because I really don't - I believe she really is happy and chatty and all the other shit. Just as I believe that yesterday, she really was angry and pissed off and suicidal. It's just amazing to see, live in action right before my very eyes, the very extremes of what I can only presume to be mania, and...anti-mania, for lack of a better term. 'Depression' doesn't seem to fit quite right here, because it was too angry, too energized, to fit that precise term.

Anyway, the girl I used to sarcastically call Miss Congeniality has, in fact, become Miss Congeniality - or a reasonable facsimile thereof. She's not half bad, if truth be told. Who'da thunk it?

Another event of notable interest from today is that I finally got to go to the piercing parlor and get my labret situation dealt with. I actually had it all set up yesterday, just like the Filipina RN told me to do - called the shop, booked the appointment, called me mum and asked her to pick me up from hop-sital and drive me there. Everything was ready to go. I was just heading into the Group room for Dinner last night, which directly preceded Mum picking me up and taking me to freedom, when the same Filipina RN caught me by the arm and yanked me back out again.

"OwwwWWWWWW. What?!" I cried.

"Doctor want to see you. For you lip. After Dinner," Filipina RN said.

"What? You told me to book the appointment! Me mum's already on her way," I embellished slightly. (She wasn't).

"No. Doctor want to see you. For you lip," she repeated.

How did you become a nurse? I wondered silently.

"All he's gonna do is look at it and say, 'You really should get that taken out'," I said angrily. "I've got the appointment booked, and me mum's on her way, because that's what you told me to do! Why do I suddenly have to see the doctor?"

"Cuz that what he said," she said firmly. "Now you call you mum. No appointment."

I opened my mouth to protest, and LOUDLY, but something in me made me take pause.

Do you really care, Kagie? I asked myself. Honestly? The only difference is whether you go today, or whether you go tomorrow, and you know it.

Yes, but - I started to protest.

No butts, I told myself. It's not worth getting upset over, and you know that, too. Pick your battles, dum dum. 

I took a deep breath, and let it out slooowly. Amazingly, I could actually feel the anger and tension ease a little bit. I really didn't care that much. Certainly not enough to blow a smegging gasket. Yes, they could have handled it better, and not told me to book the stupid appointment and call me mum before they knew what they were talking about. But, and it's a very big but(t), it would be just as much fun leaving the hop-sital tomorrow to go to the piercing parlor as it would be right now. I could wait for one more night, couldn't I? I was a big girl now, was I not? 

With one last long sigh, I turned away from Filipina RN, and walked into the Group Room for Dinner.

The truly ironic part is that the fucking doctor NEVER SHOWED UP. Ha ha! I waited for NOTHING. The back of my piercing was almost entirely submerged under my lip by the time I calmly showed it to the RNs this morning and demanded a pass, on pain of malpractice lawsuit. Which I got. Quite easily, too, prolly since my lip had progressed from being an issue that could be easily dealt with at a piercing parlor, to something that required minor surgery at a doctor's office.

You know what, though? I ended up having a great afternoon out on my pass today, and was so glad I didn't go the night before. Yes, it was immeasurably more painful to remove the jewelry from my labret piercing, and I cursed Filipina Nurse and the doctor-who-couldn't-be-arsed-to-show-up for their sins. But, and again, it's a HUGE but(t), Sweet Aussie Sue told me to take some extra time off this afternoon, just to have a break from the hop-sital! Which ended up having to be cut short by half an hour, cuz she forgot that I had an appointment with an RN from Day Program at 3, but that was okay too, cuz Mum brought the dogs anyway!

Fuck yeah! It was an awesome pass! I got my lip fixed, we got sweet, delicious, beautiful COFFEE, then we took the kids down by the river for a walk, before heading back up to hop-sital, where me mum even bought me a magazine before releasing me back into the loony bin.

In a brief aside...oh fuck, was that coffee ever fecking good. Oh, God. Though both Mum and I learned how bloody impossible it is to walk three dogs while holding two cups of coffee.

Anyway, I got back upstairs just in time for my Preliminary Orientation session with the RN from Day Program. Which means, da da da da (that's music)...that I will be graduating soon! Yup, they have offered me a place in Day Program, and I have graciously accepted. I will find out in the next few days when I will be making the transition from inpatient, to outpatient.

It's funny. Last week, when I found out I will likely be here in hop-sital for longer than thirty days, I was furious. But now that my discharge date approaches, I find myself at times to be somewhat apprehensive. Especially today, at the Orientation session, when we were reviewing the rules for Day Program.

"...there will be no purging during program hours," Rachel, the Day Program RN, read aloud from the package information, as Mumbles and I followed along from our own booklets.

"Whoa, wait," I cut in. "I thought Day Program was zero tolerance for purging."

"While you are in program, at the hospital, during treatment hours," Rachel corrected, and I smirked.

"Are you serious?" I said. "That's stupid."

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, because I thought it was zero tolerance at all. That was really gonna work for me. I didn't want to lose my spot in Day Program, so I wasn't gonna purge. But now I know I can, and I won't lose my spot. It kinda robs me of my motivation to not purge anymore, to be honest."

"It's not an open invitation to purge," she protested.

"I know that," I shrugged. "But still."

Oh, Ach du lieber himmel. Es ist 12:30 am. Shiesse!

I need to go to bed, I finish this stuff tomorrow. 

Night.

My Fat Lip

"Ladies and gentlemen, while Mr. Kim, by virtue of his youth and naivete, has fallen prey to the inexplicable need for human contact, let me assure you that my research will go on uninterrupted, and that social relationships will continue to BAFFLE and REPULSE me. Thank-you."

~ Sheldon, Big Bang Theory

4:30 pm

Ha ha! Look at my poor lips! I thought I'd skip out on the disturbing pic for today, so we could all have a right laugh at my fat lips.

I picked up a new post for my labret piercing on Sunday, though obviously, it ain't long enough (that's what she said). The back of the post is being sucked into my lower lip as we speak, and the flesh is closing ranks around it, so I cannot get it out on my own.

Which is all very clever of me, cuz now I have Angelina Jolie lips for a day, and me mum has to come and take me out of hop-sital to go to the piercing parlor and get it fixed. Rahahahahahahahahaha! Fucking eh!

Ahhhh! Life's simple pleasures, you know?

Other than that, my day's been...well, boring. No wait, I mean well boring. I'm impatient for some reason today. I think (know) it's mostly due to that back-alley stray, Miss Kitty, and her shitty fucking attitude, poisoning up everything she comes into contact with. The girl could bitch and whine for her country, and while I am determined not to let ANYONE fuck with my treatment, I am finding it challenging to stay positive and motivated and in the present moment, with Kitty around. She just hates everything we do, and let's everyone know it, so then we feel stupid for liking it, or participating in it. No one has said anything to her yet, cuz no one wants to be the bad guy - not even Mumbles, and she tells off everyone. It was on the tip of my tongue in Exploring Emotions this afternoon, but I didn't think I could do it without yelling.

Like, I wanted it to sound something like this:

"Kitty, I understand that you are certified, and are therefore here in hop-sital against your will, and I empathize. However, we need you to recognize that all of your negative actions and dismissive dialogue are deeply affecting the other people in this Group, who were once actively participating, but have desisted since your arrival. You are affecting all of us with your negative behavior in these rooms, and it needs to stop."

But in actuality, it was gonna sound more like this:

"Bitch, I know you're certified and you want to go home and kill yourself, and I really don't give a fuck - nobody here can make you want to live if you don't want to. But your shitty fucking attitude is infecting everyone who comes into contact with you, and it's starting to fuck with our treatment. So stop thinking only about yourself all the fucking time, and think how your actions are affecting the people around you. You acting like a miserable fucking cow all the time is jeopardizing everyone else's chance at getting better."

Ooooh, it's Dinner time. Back in a bit...

10:30 pm

Just sitting up in bed, cranking Sons of Butcher in my ears so that I don't have to hear whatever it is they are doing to Eva, on the other side of the hop-sital curtain beside my bed. Eva is the new medical patient in our room, the one that had to vacate Kitty's room so Auschwitz-the-Lifer could move in and be under constant supervision. So now in our hop-sital dorm room, there are four crazy anorexics, and one wheezing-but-not-demented-thank-fuck-old-lady.

I feel bad for Auschwitz-the-Lifer. She had just made the decision that she was really going to try to stop exercising, that maybe there was something to what Kage said about her fucking dying this way. The first morning that she managed to stay in bed, the first morning she didn't sneak out of the hop-sital and go out for a run on her fractured ankle, was the day they moved her out of our room.

She was devastated.

"But I didn't go for a run this morning!" she pleaded with the nurses as they packed her bags. "Please, please don't make me go. I didn't go for a run!"

"Doctor's orders," the RN said, barely glancing up as Auschwitz bawled her eyes out beside her.

Charming bedside manner, you whoor, thought I.

I pulled Auschwitz away from the packing and enveloped her in a hug, shushing her as she cried. I awkwardly patted the bones of her back, and softly reassured her that she could still come and hang out in our room, whenever she wanted.

She clung to me and sobbed. "Kage, I don't want to go. Please, don't make me go!"

"Oh, honey," I said, and gently stroked the back of her head, with it's long, full blond hair. I still couldn't figure our how both Lifers, Auschwitz and Buchenwald, still had full heads of thick, luscious hair, when both were under 80 pounds. How? How? "All you can do now is work your ass off to get back in the room with us, okay? Tell them that's your goal, or that that's the reward you want when you reach your goals. Okay?"

"Okay," she sniffed.

"Good girl," I said.

"Auschwitz," the RN said, and took her by the bony arm. "Let's go."

Auschwitz allowed herself to be pulled out of my embrace, and be led out of the room.

I watched them go, then turned to go back to my bed, but something on my shirt caught my eye, and I looked down.

There, shining brightly against the black showcase of my shirt, was a massive clump of Aushwitz's beautiful blond hair.

Euthanize This Kitty

"Look, buds, I’m glad you like my meat, but I don’t swing that gay."

~Sol Butcher

7:00 pm

Um. I’m actually having a really good day today. I am trying really hard not to let it be affected in any way by the fact that M didn’t respond to my text about my 30 Day chip last night, or bother to show up to hop-sital to visit me tonight, like he said he would. Or even call.

He’s been distant for a while, now, so it’s not like this is a surprise. It fucking hurts, but I’m not gonna use over it, I’m not gonna drink over, I’m not even gonna eat over it - and I’m still right here in treatment, getting stronger every day. I cannot control M or what he thinks or how he feels, and accepting that is essential to my recovery. And surprisingly, I think I have accepted that.

It still fucking hurts, though.

9:45 pm

Speak of the devil! If I hadn’t been too goddamn cowardly to call him, I could have saved M the trip to the hop-sital to visit me, half an hour before my AA meeting.

I was sitting up in my hop-sital bed, watching Colbert on my MacBook, when he texted at 7:24. You around?

Yes, I replied, my heart in my mouth. I knew he was about to tell me to go fuck myself.

A moment later, he walked through the door of our hop-sital dorm room.

My mouth dropped open. But...I thought you were...

“What are you doing here?” I blurted out rudely.

He hesitated, his steps faltering. “I said I would come and visit you tonight,” he said, a little taken aback.

“Yeah, but I have AA in half an hour,” I said, frustrated. Why didn’t you answer me last night? Everyone else did.

“Oh,” he said, slowly approaching my bed again and handing me my mail.

“Didn’t you get my text last night?” I pressed on.

“No,” he said, and pulled out his phone. “Oh, one missed text, from you. Hey, you got your chip!”

Argh!

I wanted to be mad at him, but what I really was, was disappointed in myself. All I had to do was call him today and find out why he hadn’t replied to my text the night before, and to see if he was still coming to see me in hop-sital tonight, so I could let him know about the AA meeting. But I didn’t want to hear that maybe he just wasn’t interested in seeing me anymore, so I didn’t call him. I just hid from the situation, instead of being proactive and dealing with it - taking the risk that yes, maybe I wouldn’t like the answer that I got, but at least I would have an answer, and could proceed from there - instead of agonizing in the land of the unknown, or worse, the land of my imagination.

Sound familiar, Kagie? Fucking durrr.

We only had a few minutes together. M sat on my hop-sital bed and showed me some pics on Facebook of a show he just played recently, and oh God, it was horrible. He looked so good, I just wanted to cry. It actually hurt, physically made my insides ache, how good he looked. He was wearing a tight black shirt with the sleeves ripped off, with an illustration of all the muscles and tendons of the human body drawn in white over the front of the shirt.

To me it just looked like his muscles and tendons.

Oh, God. I wanted to reach up beside me and stroke his pecs, right there in the hop-sital. I always loved to touch his pecs.

He used to love to touch mine, too.

“Let’s go sit in the hall,” I suggested instead.

We had a few more minutes together, before Mum showed up with tea (thank-you Mummy). Things were a little awkward. Sometimes I am so intimidated by how good looking M is, I can't look him in the eye, and I feel really stupid and self conscious, and like I can't breathe. I hope that as I learn to be more comfortable in my own skin, I will eventually get over this. It's very...it's just...it's like a wall. It's just another wall between him and I, that maybe I allow cuz it's easier than the strength of what I really feel. I know I don't do it on purpose, per se, and I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to stop completely, but there you go. It is what it is. Whatever the fuck it is.

How's that for introspection for ya? Raha!

Anyway, Percy showed up at the Nurse's Station to take me downstairs to the meeting, so M and Mum both left, and my blood pressure eventually returned to normal. I ended up being grateful that I had put so much effort into my makeup today. M said that I looked really good.

Tee hee! STOP it.

Now, then. Let's move onto more treatment related stuffs, shall we?

Guess what miserable, back-alley fucking stray joined our anorexic therapy group this evening? One that really should be put out of her misery, but was fobbed off on us instead?

That’s right! Kitty! Remember, the one they had to hold down and shove a tube up her nose, so they could Force Feed the Kitty? MMMWWWOOORRRRR.

Christ. I hope they force an enema on her soon, too, and clear out whatever’s up her arse. She is just miserable. She was forced to join us in the Group Room for Dinner tonight, and from the moment she (very reluctantly) entered the room, she was a bitchin'.

“I don’t want to sit there...No, I won’t sit there either...I’m not going to fucking eat that...I want my roommate back! I don’t want to live with Auschwitz-the-Lifer, she’s got a fucking eating disorder. No offense, Auschwitz."

Auschwitz stared up at her, gormless and speechless (as usual).

"I said I’m not going to fucking eat that, are you deaf?" Kitty continued bitching to Abbey, the poor Nurse's Assistant who got saddled with Dinner duty tonight. "I wish I could trade places with Kurt Cobain right now (Nirvana was on the radio)...I have to go to the bathroom...Now! I don’t care what the rules are...I don’t want to eat with these fucking girls. I have to see them all the time anyway, I don’t want to fucking eat with them, too.

“No offense,” She muttered to the Group at large, as she eyed us disdainfully. 

“Oh, none taken, Kitty, none taken,” I beamed up at her brightly, and watched as she turned back to the Nurse's Assistant. "MMMWWWOOORRR!" I hissed under my breath.

The other girls looked up from their dinners and froze in shock, their forks suspended in midair. Then Mumbles snorted into her dinner and covered her face with her hand, and the other girls dissolved too, giggling and snorting into their respective meals. 

God. What a miserable fucking COW Kitty is. 

After Abbey begged me to switch seats to accommodate Miss Kitty, which I shrugged and did without comment, she finally sat down in MY chair with a dramatic sigh, and lifted her plastic plate-cover. She had the same dinner as I tonight, a veggie patty on a whole wheat bun, with a slice of tomato and a leaf of lettuce.

She discarded the lettuce and tomato (why? Bad anorexic! That's the least calories, stupid) and disassembled the burger, then grabbed her knife and quickly began cutting the veggie patty into tiny little pieces.

“Kitty, what are you doing?” Abbey, the NA, asked.

She kept cutting.

“You can’t do that,” Abbey said to her.

She continued to cut.

 "Kitty," said Abbey sharply. “You’re supposed to eat it like a burger.”

“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know that?” Kitty threw her knife onto the table with a clatter. I couldn’t help but notice, though, that she had finished cutting her patty into dozens of little pieces.

Hmmm. In.ter.esting.

Abbey sighed, then opened the Group door and leaned out. A moment later, she reappeared with Leslie, one of the family counselors.

“Kitty,” Leslie motioned to her. “Come out here, please.”

With another long suffering sigh, she got up from her (my) chair and stomped out of the room, taking both the NA and the counselor with her.

Fucking brat, I thought, and took a bite out of my veggie burger. Oh God, that's good.

Abbey and Leslie escorted Kitty back into the room a minute later. She sullenly plopped down into her seat and waited for them to leave, but she wasn’t giving up the ghost just yet. As soon as Leslie left the room, and it was just Abbey the NA on her own again, Kitty started to eat just the dry bun, leaving the veggie patty in pieces on her plate.

“What did we just tell you?” Abbey asked, exasperated.

“I dunno,” she mumbled, through a mouthful of bread.

“You have to Eat. It. Like. A. Burger.”

“Fine, then can I have some fucking ketchup or some shit? Relish? Something?”

“No,” Mumbles cut in. “You have to put condiments on your menu beforehand.”

“But I didn’t get to do my own fucking menu,” Kitty snapped.

“Gee, that’s too bad,” Mumbles said gleefully, and I snorted into my tea.

Ding Dong! I thought. She’s gonna blow.

Kitty scraped her chair back and stood up, then walked over to the little kitchenette. “Well, what condiments can I put on my burger?”

“Ranch dressing,” Mumbles replied. (Why can you put Ranch dressing on absolutely anything here, but every other condiment must be requested prior to eating? What's so fucking special about Ranch dressing?!)) 

Muttering yet more obscenities under her breath, Kitty reached into the condiments drawer and started  rummaging around. Then - get this - she pulled out a mustard and a ketchup, and started back towards the table.

Bitch, are you for real? I wondered, amazed.

Mumbles and Abbey both spoke at the same time. “You can’t do that!”

She turned around and threw the packets roughly back in the open drawer, before grabbing a Ranch dressing and slamming the drawer shut, then stomping back to her seat.

Where she proceeded to eat the veggie patty in it's tiny little pieces, and then the bun, dipped in the lightest coating of Ranch dressing. Then, when Abbey tried to stop her from leaving the Group room, she told the poor girl to go fuck herself, and walked out anyway. 

Ker-ist, thought I. Someone euthanize this fucking Kitty.