August 8, 2017

It was December. The days were long and
dark. Very dark. My thoughts were as dark
as the winterdays. Maybe even darker.


It was January and the dark days got even
worse. It was all I would’ve known. Every
single day was the same.


It was February and I was in the same
mental state as the last two months. You
weren’t. You distanced yourself from me.


It was March and we didn’t even talk
anymore. You were acting like I didn’t
excist in your life anymore. And so did I.


It was April. You were done. You ended
everything we had. I tried to cope with your
descision. I coped with it, in a way.


It was May and I finally got myself some
help. I was battling my demons. Sometimes
I watched you living your life without me.

It was June. I tried to reconnect with you.
You were fine with the contact, but only on
your terms and conditions.


It was July. I became stronger and healthier.
You noticed it as well. So you tried to reach
out to me, but again on your terms.


It was August, and I was done living in
insecurity about our future together. So I
asked you what you wanted.


But you were still living in December,
s I am living in August.


April 28, 2017

What’s going on? Life, basically.

Today was an intense day. I had a bad sleep last night, because of the alcohol I was hitting the last two days because of something called Kingsnight and Kingsday. I had an awesome time, mostly. I was with my girls, which I enjoy. We were just having fun, getting drunk. Until I saw my ex-boyfriend, everything was perfect. Everything was perfect, until I got emotional. I couldn’t relativate anything anymore, because of my drunk. I started begging him to kiss me. Not to have a relationship with me, but just to kiss me one more time. He said no. I begged him even more.

Before that, I was looking for love in all places. I started flirting with every man just looking fine. I was craving for love. I am craving for love.

But he didn’t give me any love. He was cruel, actually. He told me I looked awkward. I told him I wasn’t, it was just because I was cold; my hands are always cold. So he went for his pocket and grabbed his handcloves. But then he started laughing and put them away as soon as he grabbed them.

My memory is awful when I’ve had some drinks. I just remember some fragments of the day. I don’t know why, but I always seem to remember the worst things better than the good things.

So, I even begged him more for some love. I told him I was getting hospitalized. He told me I should work on myself, and on my health. But I already am. I already am working on that, just by almost getting hospitalized. That’s the biggest step to make for your recovery out of an eating disorder. You have to want to make a change, for you. And you have to do it yourself.

So, J., this is for you. Not that you will ever read this. But here it is, anyway: screw you. Screw you for making me love you as much as I do. Because I still do. I care for you. I hate it knowing you got back on drugs again. You know I hate drugs. You stopped for me, when we were in a relationship. But now we broke up, you started again. I hate you for it. I’m worried sick. Couldn’t sleep last night because of it. Screw you for being such an asshole when I needed affection the most. Screw you for not whiping away my tears when I wanted you to. Screw you for not giving me any comfort, when I wanted you to comfort me in these hard times. Screw you for always choosing you over me. Screw you for what you did to me, or just didn’t. Screw you for making me think you love me, but you don’t. But most of all: screw you for not being there when I needed you the most. I hate you for it. I hate that I still love you.

And that is why I couldn’t be with the guy who is having a crush on me. He was also there. Hadn’t seen him all day. And I guess that’s why I wanted the affection from my ex. I just needed love. From the new guy in my life, from my ex, from just… a guy. I needed love. I was craving love. I needed someone to hold me. I needed someone to like me, just for me. I needed to feel like I deserved to be here, in this world. I needed to feel like I have a purpose. I needed to feel like someone wanted me here. I needed to feel like someone wanted me to stay.

Because I don’t. I don’t want to stay. Here. I’m not as suicidal as I have been the last couple months. I just feel tired of all the shit going on. People are shit. Full of shit.

After the break up, I went on a date with a guy who had been having a crush on me for the last 3 years or so. My ex never liked him for it, and had forbidden me to ever talk to him again. So, when we broke up, the first thing I did was talking to this guy again. It was easy. Talking to this guy, flirting. Feeling wanted. It was nice. So, we went on a date. I got drunk, actually. I don’t know my limits, because of my new limits because of the underweight. So, I told him my secrets. Even some secrets which weren’t mine. He passed the secrets on. I got in a fight with a friend who found out I spilled out some secrets. Alcohol was doing its damage. Or was I?

Anyway, I kissed the guy. On the first date. He was a terrible kisser, but I wanted to feel wanted. So, I didn’t care. We made an appointment for our next date, a couple days after our first kiss. Never spoke to the guy again after my fight with that friend. I let him. He wasn’t worth it, anyway. He got what he wanted for 3 years, I was easy, so now he didn’t want it anymore. I was kinda upset because of it. I wasn’t wanted, anymore.

Was it because I spilled secrets? Was it because I spilled my secret? About the eating disorder? Why did I tell him that in the first place? Why him? Some friends don’t even know what is going on with me, but he is now. I don’t even know this guy, now I think it through. Was it because of what my friend might have told him? Was it because I was easy? Was it because I was a bad kisser? Was it because I wasn’t like the girl I was in his fantasy? Why? Why didn’t he want me anymore?

I don’t know. I won’t ever know.

Then, I met this guy, who I was talking about before. I had known him from high school. We never really had been friends, but the last couple weeks we started talking. We met at a party and we got along very good. So we have been in touch the last weeks. When I was out with my girls, I saw him. I was afraid to talk to him again, but my friend forced me. It was nice. He was nice.

A week later, we met again when we were out again. I had been wanting to kiss him from the last week, and my friends knew. And, it happened. Just like that. I don’t even know what we were talking about before the kiss. We kissed like, all night long. It was nice. He was a good kisser. He was sweet. His friends left, but he just stayed. With me. Even when I had to leave, because my friends wanted to go home, he asked me for another kiss. It was sweet.

But now, he is sending me texts like “I’m in bed, where are you?” I don’t want that. I don’t want a new “relationship-thing” based on sex. I don’t even want sex. I can’t imagine sex with someone else than with my ex just yet. I’m definitely not over him, yet. I will be. Ever. Just need more time. A lot more time.

But I really like this guy. Just want him to be as sweet as I imagined him to be.

So, I woke up today, feeling crappy as fuck. Because of the hangover, because of crying in my ex’s arms the day before. I felt like shit. I had 3 appointments at the clinic today. It was intense.

First, I finally got my diagnose today. It was hard for me to face it. But I’m glad. It gave me some relieve. I wasn’t making it all up: it was real. I was a girl with an actual eating disorder: anorexia nervosa. And I would be hospitalized for it.

They told me, during the first appointment of today, I would have to wait for hospitalization until the end of May. I couldn’t breathe. They told me over the phone it would be mid-May. Not end of May. It was awful.

But during the last appointment of today, the psychologist told me I could start May 8. Hopefully. If everything goes right. That is only a couple days away. I couldn’t breathe, again. This was too much. I was confused. I still am.

The psychologist told me I would be at the clinic just for me. Not for the other girls in there. I wouldn’t have to help them. There are psychologist and therapists to help the girls. The moment she told me that, I knew I would be getting a hard time trying not to help those girls. Because it’s in me. Wanting to help the people in need. That’s what I am studying for. But I am in need now. I just have to accept that.

But I don’t. I still don’t accept that I am in need. I’m fine. I’m not “that” sick that I need to be hospitalized. I’m not as skinny as the other girls there. I am not in danger because of my underweight. I am just a dramatic little princess who seeks for attention. I am not that sick. I am just tired.

I need to be loved. I hate people for not loving me.

I am a mess.

It’s friday night and I’m in pain.

April 11, 2017

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.

March 13, 2017

Today I had an appointment to meet with my psychologist. I told her everything. She made me tell her. My dad forced me to. But my psychologist made me tell my own story. It was hard. It felt like failure.

I know it isn’t. It ain’t failure. It’s a succes. But that’s not how it felt like.

I haven’t got what I wanted. Not yet. I haven’t got a diagnose. She told me to take it very seriously. She is going to discuss with the upper-psychologist (?) about what to do with this. What to do with my story. What to do with my behavior. What to do with my thoughts.

She will call me tomorrow. Or on Friday. That’s 4 days from now. That really is a long time for me. The days are long. I’m tired all day, every day. So days are like, always too long for me.

It might take 4 days for her to call me. I don’t know what she will tell me over the phone. Maybe I’ll have to get a treatment somewhere else. She told me today there are external healthcare which can provide the best care for me.

But do I want the care? Yes and no. It’s a struggle. A conflict. A dilemma.

I know I should get some help for this behavior of mine. But I feel like I’m not ready yet. Will I ever? Don’t think so.

But I don’t think I’m already at the point where I am already the stereotypical “girl with an eating-disorder”. You can’t see my bones. I’m still eating. As less as I could, but still; I’m eating.

I’m counting my calories. Today was a good day for me. I hadn’t eaten all of my lunch. I was proud. I ám proud. I had gone to school today, and still hadn’t eaten all my lunch.

Today I woke up, and I felt like I should weigh my lunch again. I left a few more pounds at home. I thought it would’ve been too much. Because of the calories. Carrots got a lot of calories, you know… I didn’t know before.

Tonight, when I got home after the appointment with my psychologist, the 1.5 hour drive and dinner with my parents, I weighed the “left-overs” of my lunch. I weighed it again because I would know what my real calorie-intake of the lunch was. My dad was horrified. I asked me what I was doing. I didn’t hide my action. They already know I’m struggling. Why not just be honest in the one place I can be and feel like myself?

So, I went to school. Crying in the morning because I felt awful. It’s the depression. In the train, I ate my breakfast. 225 ml skinny yogurt. Weighed, of course. A guy kept looking at me while I ate. I hated him for it. Like he hadn’t ever seen somebody eaten their breakfast in the train.

In school, a friend told me I looked like a walking ghost. Gee, thanks. I felt like it, tho. So, I wasn’t hurt by it. Another classmate told me it appeared like I was just there physically; not mentally. Like I was living on a cloud. Far away from reality.

I am. I am living far from reality. My reality is food. My obsession with food. My control over my food. Not over my body yet, because I still maintain the same weight for three days now: 45,5 kg. My Body Mass Index is 45,5 / (1,64 * 1,64) = 16,9.

So, I cut in my lunch. What did I eat for lunch today?

  • 300 g carrots
  • 400 g cherrytomatoes
  • 115 g cucumber
  • 40 g red pepper
  • 60 g orange pepper

I know it’s bad for a 18 year old girl who needs a lot more energy to just get through the day. But it’s my addiction. I don’t feel like I’m ready to give up yet.

It’s like I’m being an alcoholic. I need more (less) to get the good feeling of not feeling those extreme emotions anymore. I love feeling less. I love escaping from the real world. I love escaping from reality.

I love obsessing over food. But it makes me tired, too. I just want to enjoy food. I was never like this. I lóved food. I still, I think. I love good food. I just don’t like the calories the food contains.

Today was my best day so far in this battle. My calorie-intake today was 329.

I got a few days left to lose some more weight. I don’t know what will be next. I don’t know what my psychologist will tell me on the phone in 4 days.