Lots has happened since I wrote last time.
For starters: my boyfriend told me he wants to break up. It hasn’t officially been done, but it will be at the end of the week. I’m in pain because of it. I couldn’t breath when he told me he wanted to stop our relationship. I called my dad. “Can you come home, please? I need you.” He was there in like 10 minutes. I cried for an hour straight. He talked to me. Whispered things like “baby, you’ll be okay. You don’t need a guy who can’t be there for you in hard times. He doesn’t deserve you in your good days when he can’t be there for you on your bad days. It’s all or nothing. You know that, right?” I do. But I also know the good times we had. The love between us. It ain’t fair. But then again; I know… I don’t want to live with a guy who just flees when I can’t stop crying because of my depression.
But is it? Is it my depression?
Is there really a depression? My psychologist diagnosed me so in January. But… it’s April now. And we know a lot more about me now then we did back then.
We know now I’m too stubborn to just listen to people who tell me “just to eat a bit more” to have a healthy BMI again. I didn’t listen to psychologists who told me to gain weight before I could start EMDR-sessions. I just told them I would be fine. They trusted me. They shouldn’t have.
Because today, I went to a clinic. For intake. For an eating disorder. Still haven’t got the diagnose. Should be waiting on it for like, another 2 weeks. Because of Eastern. It sucks. The waiting sucks.
On March 13, I told my psychologist I felt fine about all the PTSD-symptoms. There was something else going on. The “losing weight” and “eating as less as I could” were the things my whole life was about in the last weeks. I told her. It was so fucking hard to be honest. First to my parents, then to my psychologist.
She told me she would get some help from a staff-meeting about my confession, because she couldn’t make a decision for me on her own. I had to wait a few days for her to call me.
I waited 4 days for her call. I was a zombie. I was just waiting for her to save me. I was just tired of fighting. I told her because I wanted help. Now. Not days later. I wanted someone to save me.
On March 17, she called me. She told me to make an appointment to see my general practitioner. So I did. My dad told him everything, because I couldn’t. In the waiting room, I had an eye-opening-moment. ‘What am I doing here? Do I really have an eating disorder? Me? What am I doing to myself? I’m hurting my body. I shouldn’t be treating myself the way I do now.’ I could only cry at the time the general practitioner could see me. He gave me a reference to a clinic for eating disorders.
That day, there has been lots and lots and lots going on in my mind. I had found my motivation to stop with my crazy eating behavior that day. So I got a book from the library: “13 steps to conquer anorexia nervosa”. I would start a new diet from the book, by myself from the next day.
The next day, it was my boyfriends’ birthday. I wasn’t invited. He and his parents didn’t want me there when other people would be coming over. I would get an hour to say congrats and I would be gone. It was okay for me. I was proud of myself because I started my new diet that day. I told him that. And I told him I would be getting help from a clinic for eating disorders.
My boyfriend told me “thank you”. “For what?” “Not making a big deal out of this. Wanting to slow down a bit for me.” “Of course” I told him, with a warming smile. It was the last time I saw him.
Days were passing by. Weeks were passing by. I missed him. But I was focussing on me. It felt good. I felt free.
I still am focussing on me. Yes, it fucking hurts me to pieces when I know I won’t get any more love from someone who I am still in love with. But I know it’s for the best. For my best. I’ll have to focus on me now. On my battle. On my battle with me and my eating disorder.
I still can’t believe I have an eating disorder.
Today, I was confronted with the fact that my BMI is almost that low that they would want me there for hospitalization. I literally couldn’t breathe. The first thing on my mind was “but I don’t belong there. I don’t even look like an anorexic patient. I’m not skinny enough. You can’t see my bones. I’m eating! I stick to my diet.”
Still gotta let it sink in. It was a fucking crazy day.
I just don’t want to wait no more. I want to be happy again. I don’t want an eating disorder. I still can’t believe I have one. I still can’t believe they want to hospitalize me. I can’t believe any of it.
I’m in the middle of a nightmare I can’t snap out from.