Blah. BLAH. I wish I could say I was having more fun/less stress on my vacation. Unfortunately, my father insists that we only go on vacations where he can sit out at a pool doing nothing all day. In other words, doing what he does all day at home, only in a warmer climate. Well that's all well and good for him, but those of us contending with disorders know all too well that idle minds are the devil's playground. I think I actually wrote a poem when I was hospitalized one of the many times with a line that read, "If idle minds are the devil's playground, mine is a fucking theme park." I do my best writing when I'm angry/depressed/especially cynical. I'm actually okay when I'm by the pool...I keep covered up or under water and work on my fantastic tan (thank God I didn't inherit my mom's pale Irish complexion). I read, I listen to my music, I pontificate the meaning of life. That's a lie, I just wanted to use the word "pontificate." Maybe the sun blazes all my thoughts out of my head when I'm out there? I don't know. It's a minor reprieve from the rest of the day. I wake up in the morning morning and I'm faced with food and my parents eating. My mom keeps saying, "You have to eat something! Have some fruit, have a bagel..." I don't want to eat, but I also don't want my parents to think anything's wrong, so I eat. And then I feel like shit about it until I get hungry again, which makes me feel like shit even more.
Then I have my blissful, brain-numbing couple of hours in the sun. And yes, my tan is coming along nicely. After I leave the pool, I go back up to my room before my parents (I get sick of the sun rather quickly), and I see our kitchen of food. So I get in bed and sleep until I have to shower and get ready for--wait for it--MORE FOOD.
Every day this week I have acted on behaviors. I've gotten myself pretty drunk a couple times. I keep purging. I was so upset with myself yesterday after lunch that I made my dad pull over at some random gas station in the middle of the mountains so I could "go to the bathroom." I don't like these behaviors, I don't like that they make me feel so much better, and I really don't like lying to my parents.
I'm slipping. I'm slipping fast and hard. Ed has taken over ALL logical thinking in my brain. He has rerouted every thought to bypass the recovery-oriented part of my brain, and he just stands there, leaning against a bar, drink in his hand, smirking. One of those smirks that people do that just makes you want to jack them in the face.
So, with all of that going on, now the worry center of my brain (that looks like Pain and Panic in Hercules when they're worried about Hades finding out that Hercules lived) is telling me that I'll be home in 3 days, and then I go back to work and therapy and everything outside of my head that brings me stress.
This post is annoying me. It's so whiny and redundant. Ugh. I'm going to bed.
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