After my session this week, the thought of my responsibility in my own healing must have become rather weighty. I wasn’t immediately aware of it until my behavior changed.

It seems that I must have at least one compulsive behavioral issue or I don’t function.

I was doing really well with the sexual compulsions. I thought. But, when I increased my eating, the urge to masturbate overwhelmed me. If the sexual impulse was gratified, I was able to eat. If I tried to avoid the sexual impulse, then I felt the need to restrict my food again.

This is not ok. I don’t like being some sort of freak who has to have some kind of disorder to live.

Why can’t I have nothing other than bipolar disorder and DID? Is that so much to ask?

Now I feel like a perverted failure again when I give in to one impulse but when I eat, I feel  nauseated and disgusting.

I was sitting at home and the sexual impulse came over me. At the same time I hadn’t had too many calories yet today. When my body and mind began to crawl with that sick desire, I decided to eat a giant Snickers bar. I then promptly recorded my calories and felt like a weak, pathetic loser.

I sat around for a little bit trying to figure out what to do. I decided to try something I’ve never done. I am absolutely terrified of throwing up. Seriously. It’s one thing that can make me cry. Nevertheless, I went into my bathroom and gave it a shot.

There were no tears, but it didn’t work either. I’m not sure what I did wrong but whatever the case, I failed. Again.

I have one last chance today to keep my calories under a different level and while I think of this, my body and my mind want me to indulge in other activities.

This sucks. No doubt about it. I don’t understand why I’m so weak.

I thought to myself yesterday that if my uncle really did do only one thing to me (since I have no proof otherwise, even after all this time in therapy), and that thing was just a kiss on the underwear…well I’m just shit aren’t I? What moron becomes what I’ve become over something as shit as that? It makes me want to punch myself in the face until I’m black and blue.

I’m seriously considering canceling therapy for a while because there’s no reason to go in right now. I have the same memory that I had in the beginning. There are no answers. No new information. I know nothing else. Whatever parts I supposedly have, are keeping quiet, which makes me question if I have DID at all. All evidence points to just one incident happening which just means I’m shit, all by myself.

It’s very basic and people may prefer pen and paper but I figured I’d mention it. If like technology you can use your smartphone to type in the details of your dream, categorize it, write about any symbolic content you saw, how the dream made you feel, what you think it means etc. It will save all of your dreams and you can look them up later. I believe that I also saw an option to email the dream which may come in handy if you want to tell your therapist about it. It supposedly has a “night” dimmer mode so you can write about your dream while it’s still fresh without lighting up the whole room. I haven’t tried that yet.

Just figured I’d throw it out there.

She accepted my anger quite well, telling me that anger is good which made me want to roll my eyes. She said that in cases where a client has an eating disorder, she always gives the “speech” at least once to educate them. I told her that I didn’t need it as I already know how to eat properly, I’m simply not doing it. She agreed. She seemed to pick up on a feeling that maybe I wasn’t in touch with, and that was my personal rights. She said that I have the right not to eat and to do what I want. I hadn’t realized until she said it that it was part of where my anger had come from. She said that nobody can make me do anything and to tell my husband that he’s wasting his breath trying to talk me out of it.

I think that maybe part of me needed to hear that I can’t be forced to do anything. Maybe.

I asked her why, if she thinks that something else is at the core of this, we’re not going over it? Her answer surprised me. She said that we can’t until my eating is back to normal. I was shocked as that seemed rather circular. She explained it. She said that I’m using the eating to distract me from things that I don’t want to think about: my mother, my uncle, the abuse etc. She said that as long as that distraction is there, I will never get at what’s at the core of the problem. That made me sad for some reason. I was sitting there listening to her and this feeling of deep sadness hit me briefly and then went away.

She was actually very empathetic at this point, almost like she realized that she needed to try to see where I’m coming from. She told a story which I actually found helpful in a way because it made her sound less judgmental.

She told me that she has realized over the years that she has a tendency to do OCD things when she’s anxious about something. It’s pure distraction and she’s learned to recognize the behavior. She told me when she realized this. She was anxious about something and at her house there was a whole box full of different size nails that had been there since she moved in. She doesn’t use tools and had never touched them, but some reason she felt the need to organize every single one of them into jars by size. It took her four days to do it but she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t until the last couple of hours of sorting that she thought to herself, “This is insane.” She said that’s when she understood what she was really doing; that she was distracting herself from what was making her anxious. She admitted that even when she realized the truth, she still had to finish it. She couldn’t stop. That was in the past and now she’s more mindful of when she’s trying to distract herself.

She told me that what I’m doing is an addiction and that sometimes people have to hit the bottom before they say, “This is insane.” So, she’s not pressuring me to fix my eating but she warned me that if I want to know the truth about what’s really going on, I’m going to have to make a choice at some point to stop.

That feels like a lot of pressure but I also feel disappointed in myself because I thought that I was making myself open to whatever feelings or memories would come. To be told that I’m not as open as I thought makes me annoyed and irritated with myself.

On the way home after the session, that deep sadness hit me again and this time it stayed for a while. I couldn’t figure out why I was sad because it felt like it was about more than the food thing. My eyes hurt and my breathing was off like I was going to cry. I didn’t but it stayed with me for a long time during the drive home. No matter what music I played, it just sat there. So I decided to sit with it and just feel it. I couldn’t cry but I did feel it and it hurt. It hurt a lot. I just wish I knew where it came from.

The odd thing was that, for the next 24 hours or so after the session, when I tried to eat I felt nauseous but I also felt that sadness hit me. Literally, each time I took a bite of food, my eyes would feel heavy and I would feel like crying. I would swallow and the sadness would go, then I would pick up my fork to take another bite and it repeated. This lasted the whole next day. It was very strange to have sadness come and go with the fork. But I sat with it when it happened.

I think tears are probably a good thing sometimes, but mine refuse to come.

I’ll write about therapy later.

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play
And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’ve been fool and I’ve been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I’m always dragging that horse around
All of his questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground
‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

And I am done with my graceless heart
So tonight I’m gonna cut it out and then restart
‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

Shake it out, shake it out

Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him out, oh whoa

And it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back
And given half the chance, would I take any of it back
It’s a fine romance but it’s left me so undone
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
So here’s to drinks in the dark, at the end of my rope
And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope
It’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
‘Cause looking for heaven, for the devil in me
Looking for heaven, for the devil in me
But what the hell, I’m gonna let it happen to me, yeah

Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
Shake it out, shake it out
Shake it out, shake it out, oh whoa
And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back
So shake him off, oh whoa

After my computer sent all kinds of ridiculous emails to people, I did a full scan and there was no virus. Strangely, both of my security programs had been turned off. My husband saw his were too so he fixed his right away. Anyway, it seems that my email was hacked instead. I’ve never had that happen before so I don’t know what to do except change my password which I did and I also sent emails to anyone that I could see had gotten one from me. Some people got emails about improving sex, others about weight. It was irritating and it freaked me out a bit too. It all happened in one batch with different messages going out, and there were no other emails even before I changed my password. Hopefully that’s done.

There was a consequence of course and I was hoping that it wouldn’t happen though. My mother got one of the emails as her address is still in my contacts in case I should ever have to contact the harpy. She of course replied and asked me if I had sent it or was it fake. Now people, you have to understand that the email was something along the lines of: “Hey fatso’s, lose weight with blah, blah, blah” and the addresses it was sent to weren’t just hers but well-known businesses too. It was obvious that I had not sent the email but she just had to write back anyway, asking me a stupid question as an excuse for contact. She threw in, and I could almost hear the bitter sarcasm, that if I hadn’t sent it, she was sorry she contacted me without my permission.

Ha! Sure she was. There was no doubt that the email was fake as I could see the message that particular group received. I was angry to see her message in my inbox and angry that she even tried to get me to talk to her by asking me if I sent it. My response was to delete the email with no reply.

Moving on. I sent in my disability paperwork the other day and now the waiting begins. Waiting to see if I get to keep my benefits. Waiting for someone else to decide how I am. I have no idea how long this takes and I can only hope that they don’t make me see the government appointed psychiatrist during the review, like they did when I first got approved. That was horrible and I was a shivering pile of mental goo after that guy was done with me. But, it’s been three years and this is the process. Waiting…

Lastly, I will be seeing my therapist and this will be the first time we will talk about last week’s session and the fallout and anger from that. It’s not going to be easy to tell her that she botched it but I’m not going to be rude about it either. I’m simply going to say how it made me feel rather than saying “You did such and such”. Hopefully we can work it out.

What she did manage to do was give me food ideas to incorporate into my low calorie diet, so good for her on that one.

My husband is now also in the loop about the eating because I was so pissed off and not like myself that I spewed about my therapist on the phone with him last week, with therefore alerted him to what I’d been doing. Now he’s paying attention and I don’t like it.

One nice thing was that we went to the store together and bought lots of fruits and vegetables and some fish. He knows that mentally and physically I don’t have it in me to cook very often, so, If I was going to try to eat the way my therapist wants me to, the food would need to be cooked already where I could just heat it up. He took care of that for me and he’s awesome for it.

Of course when we were shopping, he saw healthy fruits and vegetables. I was calculating calories in my head and feeling pleased that they wouldn’t be a danger to my 800 regimen. That’s ok. I’ll keep that to myself.

Last night I was going to have a sandwich and I was reading the label. My husband asked me if I was going to eat and I said yes but that I needed to count the calories first. Yes, I know my therapist forbade that but honestly she can go to hell. My husband made a few suggestions on what I could eat and I said that they had too many calories and I told him how much it was. One was like 250 calories for a serving. He said that was really low so there would be no problem with me eating it. I said it was too many at which point he got mad and proceeded to tell me that I needed to stop being crazy. I remained calm and explained to him that this behavior is, according to my therapist, not really about food or weight. I explained that there’s something else that needs to be worked out first and I can’t just turn it off. He told me that was crazy and stupid. He told me I was being stupid. He went to sit down in the living room and I was still holding this jar of peanut butter which I had been considering spreading on one piece of whole wheat bread. From the living room he continued to tell me I was stupid and crazy so I put the jar away and went upstairs feeling my eyes sting like I was going to cry, but I didn’t. I turned my computer on and played around and he came upstairs and explained that he wasn’t trying to give me grief, he’s just worried. I knew this, so there was no argument and we were fine. It just hurt that’s all. It wasn’t something I needed to hear at that moment. But it was ok. Later in the evening I went ahead and had my peanut butter on wheat.

We’ll see how therapy goes.

I spent the next several days after that session being pissed off and feeling unheard and I just ate whatever I wanted. I ate chips, and sweets and regular food too. I hated every mouthful and I could literally feel all the weight coming back, which of course it did. What I had managed to lose in 9 days came back in 3, well minus one little pound.

I’m still angry and I’ve stayed angry. I feel like she blew me off by giving the “speech”.

It was like she didn’t hear me, but I can’t tell you what she was supposed to hear. It just seems to me like she shouldn’t have jumped into the lecture without trying to get to the root of the problem that she claims exists. I feel like I was given the company line and then sent out the door with the assumption that all I needed was a “little talking to”.

It makes me feel…insulted I guess? Like what’s going on didn’t require more than a food pyramid speech.

As of this morning when I weighed myself, fully knowing just from the way I feel, that I had gained most of it back, I’m determined to go back to my way. My therapist doesn’t deserve to have me try her way because she didn’t listen or dig at all. I’m wondering if she patted herself on the back after I left, thinking that she had “fixed” me? The thought pisses me off.

I had therapy and I told my therapist that I would not be bringing up my eating habits if I didn’t feel a sense of responsibility to my readers who were concerned and asked me to talk to her about it.

I casually rattled off the information: how many calories I was restricting myself to, the fact that I had lost 8 pounds in 9 days, and after her eyes almost fell out of her head. I remembered to mention the laxatives, at which point I thought she was going to have a stroke.

She told me I have an eating disorder. I told her that fat people can’t have eating disorders. She said that it’s not about a person’s weight, it’s about the obsessiveness with food and weight etc. and that yes, I have one. (She doesn’t think I’m fat but according to medical standards and myself, I am.)

*Commence annoying lecture that sounds like health class from junior high*

I sat there completely disinterested as she went on and on about how the body needs food to function and people who eat the way I am have heart attacks and organ failure. She guaranteed me that I would have consequences from this behavior if I continued.

I couldn’t care less. It was like hearing that teacher on Charlie Brown talking. Just irritating noise.

I noticed that she watched me constantly while she chided and gave a speech worthy of an elementary school play about the basic food groups.

“You need 9 servings of fruits and vegetables everyday, and you need 3 servings of whole grains, and 3 servings of protein, a serving would be like a small deck of cards or a handful of nuts…”

That’s a direct quote via the notes I took to get her to shut up.

What the hell was this? An after-school special?

She started suggesting foods like oatmeal, bananas, yogurt, fish, walnuts and she said that I needed to eat all this stuff at 3 meals a day. I proceeded to take out my calorie counter to see the damage this crap would do and she told me to put it away and that I wasn’t allowed to count calories anymore. I almost laughed in her face. Maybe I did.

I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes and I told her that I didn’t think I could do that. She said that people who eat in a normal way don’t count calories. *No shit. They’re skinny*

She also banned the laxatives, which was fine by me as I was beginning to worry about what they were doing to my insides.

The rest didn’t mean a damn thing to me. We spent the entire session with her telling me how I was going to eat form now on and promising that I would lose weight if I did things her way.

I was pretty pissed the entire visit. You’re my therapist and I tell you that I’m eating 800 calories a day and that I’ve been working on this diet for a while now to perfect it. You launch into a government approved speech about nutrition and that’s supposed to do what?

Am I supposed to see the light and say, “Of course! What was I thinking! I just need to eat fruits and vegetables and grains and everything will be awesome!”

Seriously? Just like that huh? You think that one speech is going to fix my behavior? Does it look that easy? *Anger*

I just sat there feeling rebellious and unheard. I felt like she didn’t hear anything that I said even though she obviously did because she ranted about food.

There was about 2 or 3 minutes left in the session and I asked her, “What if this is about more than food or weight? My readers seem to believe that there’s some other motivation going on.”

She replied with an ecstatic, “Oh my gosh! Of course there is! There is definitely something else going on here!”

I said, “There is?” in a confused voice.

She said, “Absolutely! You’re just using this to hide from what’s really going on, so you don’t have to deal with it. If you eat the way I’m telling you to, then the real issue will come up and we can deal with it.”

I’m thinking: why the hell didn’t we talk about this at all during the session? It seems to me that motivations should come first before you plan my new, shiny diet.

She also warned me that anxieties will come up as I adjust my eating and that I need to keep track of it so we can talk about it.

All-in-all I feel pretty angry. I had a sandwich when I got home as a goodwill gesture and a couple of snacks. They sat in my stomach and I felt sick on several levels. This morning I got up and I had gained 1.2 pounds. Fabulous…

I decided right there that I can’t do her diet. A) It’s boring as hell. At least my way I could still get a taste of things I liked, just in teeny bites. 2)I don’t have the energy to make meals to her standards. It takes a ridiculous amount of energy for me to cook during the week and that’s cooking the stuff I know.

I just took a bit of banana while I was sitting here typing, and my stomach cramped up. Yuck. My way works a lot better and if I had stuck to it I would have lost more weight, not gained it.

Oh! And to top things off I just got my disability review paperwork to fill out. This will be the first time they review my status to see if I will continue to get disability benefits for being Bipolar. It makes me ill. I have to dig up dates of doctor’s visits and hospital stays and I have to hope that they agree that I’m still disabled. Whether they do or not doesn’t change the fact that I can’t work. It would mean that we’d have to live on just one income.

I would love to work. I miss working, I’m just not reliable. My mood changes from one moment to the next and I can’t keep a job like this. Even in regular life right now I’m not reliable. People will say, “Oooh, it must be nice to just stay home all the time.”

It’s not nice. It sucks and my mind torments me everyday. I can hardly leave the house anymore and my moods are mercurial enough to throw me off-balance.

Anyway, I get to fill out paperwork and then wait for other people to agree or disagree about what my life is like.

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The part I remember started with a teenage boy who lived with his mother and father (no one I know). They were in a physically abusive household. I remember that the boy said that whatever his father did to his mother, he would do to the teenager as well. So, I’m the Observer in the dream, not a participant, and the father came home and wailed on the mom. I couldn’t see it because I was in the teenage boy’s room. I watched his face and his posture change though as his father came his way. He started screaming. Then the dream changed.

I was alone in this oddly large dream-like room in a different house. Now, I am the participant.

The me who’s aware that she’s dreaming is also watching though. A figure appeared at the door in this room and although their features weren’t clear because of distance, the Me who was aware knew that it was my mother. The me in my dreams however, did not seem to know that. She was absolutely terrified of the person at the door. So I watched her and she started screaming. What was weird was that she was screaming “Mom!” like she was calling for help. She wanted someone to save her from the person at the door. Well the figure started walking over and the Dream Me started screaming louder and louder until the noise filled my head.

She didn’t take a breath or pause or anything she just screamed. Our mother came over and picked her up (even though she was an adult). The Dream Me had actually begun to realize that the figure was our mother before she got to us, but she didn’t stop screaming. In fact, she screamed even louder and she was crying hysterically. Just the same word over and over again without stopping. The Observer me had realized that she was calling for someone upstairs in this big house, but I don’t know who that was.

The worst part was that as she screamed and cried, and it built up to a point where you’d think a person couldn’t possibly make that kind of noise, I woke up and I was half-screaming in real life. It was like a sob and a scream together. It was brief because I woke myself up, but it shook me. I was afraid to go back to sleep for while, but eventually I did.

I have no idea what brought that on. I hadn’t watched or read anything that would make me dream like that.

I’m no expert on dreams so I can’t understand it. The only thought that occurred to me this morning was that yesterday, I had a brief and completely non-serious thought of being in contact with my mother for the sole purpose of getting information from her about my uncle. She claimed that he did something to her when she was younger too and I wish that I had asked about it when I was a teenager. Perversely, she also has the only picture of my uncle and his wife and I want a copy of it. I just do, don’t ask why. But, I’ll never get it as long as she’s alive and we’re not talking.

BUT! This thought lasting maybe 3 seconds? And I made a point of saying, internally, “Hey I’m not serious. I would never contact her.” which I wouldn’t. There is no comparison when it comes to the benefits of remaining estranged from her. I would never change that now. It was a stray thought, that’s all.

So…the dream? I don’t know, but I wanted to write about it.