Medication

     I handed over 950mg of Tramadol last night. Yes, I intended to use it. But is that really the point? I think what matters most is that I'm still here, even if that's a bad thing. I ended up making little scratches on my arm last night, but that's really not a big deal.
   
     I'm sorry I've been so coldly distant; I haven't felt much like writing. I have, however, been composing things on the piano and crocheting quite a lot, so, for the most part, I'm doing healthy things with my time.

High School Cafeteria = Anxiety Attack Central

     Too upset to really write anything tonight.

Parents

     I have to be careful what I post here now, because my dad copied the text from the last post and emailed it to all three of my therapists. I know this is a public blog and everything, but that was really uncalled for. Like, this blog is NOT for my parents. I don't even want them having the URL. So I'm really pissed that he gave my personal thoughts to people who have a hell of a lot of control over how my life goes. Anyway.

     I writing this at school, because apparently Blogger isn't blocked in this high school. I'm supposed to be at lunch right now, but I'm posting something instead. Let's see if I finish before the bell rings.

     One of my best friends and I were arguing last night. I know that doesn't seem like it would be a big deal, but it was to me. I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, but that's not what matters.  What matters is that I did. So, now she's probably even more angry with me. I can't blame anyone but myself, so I feel pretty horrible right now, but that's okay. I just really really hope she's doing alright, and I hope we stay friends, and I hope we get to see each other over break. Marie*, if you're reading this, I just want you to know that I'm sorry, and that I love you so much; I'm still here for you, and I always will be.

     My lunch period will be over in less then two minutes, so I'm gonna hurry up and post this. See ya.



*name has been changed

Max Ehrmann

I'm Back, But Not For Long.

    Hey. I haven't posted anything recently simply because I've been banned from the internet. I found out through Facebook that one of my best friends from Renfrew had to get her stomach pumped. I still don't know the whole story, but I'm assuming she overdosed. Anyway, my parents and my DBT therapist, Carol, decided that I shouldn't have any access to the internet whatsoever. But I'm on now, aren't I?

Here's my update:
     On Friday, I got suspended for bringing a "weapon" to school. Seriously? They were just razor blades, and they know I wasn't going to hurt anyone besides myself, so I really don't see why they had to make such a big deal out of it. Regardless, I've spent the last three days with my parents while they worked and ran errands. Fun, right? So tomorrow's my first day back at school. I'm not too excited about that, but at least I don't have to be harassed by my parents all day. I love them, but they are so, so annoying sometimes. Actually, a lot of the time.
     I went to the ARL (Animal Rescue League) on Saturday morning with Anna and her youngest daughter, Jess. I really enjoy going there, and it made my day to learn that my favorite cat, Oprah, had finally gotten adopted.
     Sunday was nice, too. Have I posted anything about the Living and Learning class I help out with when I go to my dad's church? I'm not sure. Well, just in case I haven't... it's a Sunday School class for adults who have developmental disabilities. Though I have no idea how they get to church, most of the class members come every week. It's incredible. None of them have cars, most don't have jobs, and some are homeless. And they are all mentally challenged. They are such sweet people, and I love working with them. Back to the story, I was with my dad this weekend, so I went to the Living and Learning class, and we made little ornaments. I'm so excited for next Sunday, because that's when we're having our Christmas party! One woman in the class, Loretta, saves up her money all year just so she can buy every one in the class a present. I can't even begin to tell you how kind she is.
     Monday and Tuesday were pretty uneventful, and very boring. Being suspended is no fun. However, I had a treatment team meeting at school on Wednesday afternoon. Let me tell you about how awful it was. There wasn't even one person in the room who didn't make comments about my food intake. Since when is that any of their business? Anyway, that was really frustrating, and what made it even worse was that I came home to my family therapists outside my house wanting to have a session. Emily and I got kicked out of it pretty quickly, though. That happens a lot; we laugh at the therapists. While my mom was still talking to the therapists, I decided to be disgusting and eat in entire chocolate bar. I purged right after I finished it, so I guess it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but still. I ate it.
     There are only a few people who know why I barely got any sleep Wednesday night, and I definitely am not going to tell anyone else. I'm skipping over that story to get my point across, and that point would be that I didn't go to school Thursday, either. So today (Friday) is the only day I had to go to school this week. It's slightly ironic; I was only in the building for two hours. An IU13 staff member took Amber, two other kids from my class named Kelsey and Jake, and me to a ballet at Franklin and Marshall College. We had to walk for what seemed like miles just to get to the building, but I didn't mind that. Although it was ridiculously cold out. Anyway, the dance was really boring, but Amber and I managed to keep ourselves entertained by finding humor in the ballerinas' mistakes. I know, it's really mean, but we really had nothing better to do. As soon as the ballet was over, Mr. Moser, the staff guy, took us to Cici's, which, for those of you who don't know, is a pizza buffet. Seriously? That's just great, Mr. Moser. So of course, me being me, I pig out on breadsticks and Alfredo pizza, drink a ton of regular Coke (I hardly ever drink nondiet soda) just to get some carbonation in me, then head straight to the bathroom to puke it up. Typical. But I'm not at all upset with myself for purging, even though I know I should be. I'm just pissed that I ate so much in the first place.

    Sorry for ranting so long on things you couldn't care less about. I doubt anyone made it through this whole post, but, if you did, thanks.
  

"We Know The Price We Pay" -A Day To Remember

The question should not be: Do you know what you are doing to yourself?
A better question would be: Do you care that you are doing this to yourself?

     Ask me the first question, and I will reply with: Yes.
Of course I know. How could I possibly be unaware of the effects, short-term and long-term, that my eating disorder and self-harm behaviors have on me? If you think I don't know what I'm doing to myself, then you're stupid. You're dumb. I was in residential treatment for eighteen months straight. I got all those useless handouts on eating disorders, self-harm, and even substance abuse; I got all the lectures from therapists, nutritionists, psychiatrists, social workers, Emergency Room docs, etc; I've heard all the horror stories from those who have recovered, those who have yet to do so, and people who have lost loved ones to those things. I know all there is to know about the dangers that come with them.
   
     Ask me the second question, and I will reply with: No.

I Don't Know What To Title This One.

Monday - Saturday

     If you read my blog regularly, you probably gathered from the last few posts (not including yesterday's) that I had a pretty rough week. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out.

     Monday was just exhausting. I hadn't eaten much for a few days, so I felt really weak, and I spent most of the day crying. Like, it was seriously uncontrollable. I ended up cutting that night, and I couldn't sleep at all, even after taking 150mg of Benadryl. I was really worked up, because I didn't want Tuesday to come. But of course it did.

     Olivia, who I knew from Renfrew, would have turned nineteen on Tuesday. I was in Devereux when she died, so I didn't even know about it until this January. I feel really terrible about it. It's like I wasn't even a good enough friend to go to her funeral or anything. I didn't know she was dead for more than six months. And of course there's the missing her. I don't know why her birthday was more difficult than the anniversary of her death. It sounds silly, but the worst part about Tuesday was that I couldn't even send her a birthday card. I made one, but I couldn't send it. It sucked.

     Wednesday was hard, too. I still wasn't eating enough, and I'd barely slept the night before, but I had to be all positive and energetic because my class had Buddies that day. Buddies is every Wednesday during second period group time. My Therapeutic Emotional Support class walks over to the elementary school to do activities with their Therapeutic Emotional Support class. It's usually really fun, but I was still having a really difficult time, so it didn't go so well. I was trying so hard to keep it together for the kids, and I was doing really well with that, but then I just couldn't hold it in anymore and I started to break down. I didn't want the kids to see me like that, so I left their classroom, but there's no way they didn't hear me crying in the hallway. I still feel awful about it. I'm kind of scared to go back next week.

     Thursday was a ton better. My friend and I didn't have to be in school for pretty much the entire day because we were helping our school's Life Skills class at the IU13 Holiday Bazaar. The Bazaar is basically an event for all of the IU13 classes of every school in the county. They come to the main IU13 building and set up tables with crafts they've made, and then sell them to the parents, teachers, IU13 employees, etc. The event lasts all day, and, as crowded as that place is, I had a lot of fun. I want to be a Special Education teacher when I finish school, so I always enjoy working with the Life Skills class. I feel like I've really connected with several of those students. It was so great being with them. I'm not trying to say that they understand eating disorders, but I honestly think that those kids are the reason I ate lunch that day. They're so sweet and loving that I hardly even thought about the food I was putting into my mouth. And, ever since then, I've been eating normally again.

     Friday was so much fun, and I have Amber to thank for that. She's seriously like my best friend at school and we have every class together, so we're never apart. She rocks. I know she reads my blog, and she'll probably kill me for writing about her, but I don't care. That girl is hilarious - she always manages to make me smile. Like, always. And, Amber, since I know you're reading, thanks for being my pal, even though you're "not at school to make friends." (:

     Anna took me to the animal rescue league again this morning! It was super fun. I spent the whole morning in this one cat kennel just petting kitties and letting them play with my shoelaces. I love going there. Anna and I joke that I could quit therapy if I could go there more often, but I don't think that's far from the truth.

     Well, this is pretty long! I wasn't expecting that I'd write this much. I'm out of things to say now anyway, so I have no other option but to stop boring you. I hope that all is well with everyone!

IM BEING FORCED TO DO THIS

     I DONT KNOW WHAT TO SAY no caps. words words words words blah blah blah, -thats not my name <(0.0)>

i love raccoons and my best friend cody but that idiot wont marry me! GRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!! -Olivia not the one that died

(my buddy Amber wont type anything) D:


I'm blogging from school!!!

An Untitled Poem For Olivia

Your birthday has come and your birthday has gone.
I made you a rose and I wrote you a song.
You probably hate me for not visiting.
I wanted to go but I just wouldn't sing
not one note to that rock that sits on the ground-
not one word to your corpse that is so far down.

The stars were your candles that God lit for you,
but you made no wishes so nothing came true.
You could have come back if you'd just blown them out.
I know that you didn't since you're not around.
You've found a new home that you don't want to leave.
You want to stay there; you don't want to see me.

I looked to the sky and I saw that the moon
refused to turn into a birthday balloon.
It was just a crescent, so small and so thin
because it was hidden by clouds that rolled in.
But maybe from heaven you saw the whole thing.
That's certainly what I would like to believe.

I went for a walk and I noticed that leaves
are carried by wind after falling from trees.
When you fell, was there any wind there at all?
I doubt it because nothing cushioned your fall.
But now that you're gone, it should really start up
and carry you quickly so you'll be with us.

I miss you, my darling. I miss you, my love.
Are you happy now that you're way up above?
I hope you're at peace now. I hope you have fun
still singing and dancing and going for runs.
I need you to make sure that this wish comes true:
You will be my angel until I fall, too.

What's There To Say?

   

Rest In Peace, Olivia.

You will always be my angel.



Happy Birthday!

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2341366689209.2114232.1101200518&type=1&l=c726d466bf

Olivia Rose Belfiglio

November 29, 1992 - June 4, 2010

Forever in my heart.

Shakes And Aches

     Anyone who says that people with eating disorders hate food is either really stupid, or really ignorant. We, and I believe I speak accurately for most eating disordered individuals, love food. If we hated it, we would not be so obsessed. If we hated it, we would not be so afraid of it. We don't hate food, especially when we're starving.

     They're back. The much too familiar hunger shakes and headaches have returned. They're awful, but I wouldn't sell them for anything. I feel just like I did when I was taking big doses of those diet pills and consuming over 1000mg of caffeine every day. I am weak, physically, emotionally, and mentally. I want to eat. I do, I really really do. But I won't.

     I need a scale. Now. I need one now. I need to know how much progress I've made. I need to know what I am. Not knowing my weight is absolutely torturous.

Lunch

     Ever since Friday, I've been struggling with food more than usual. My family is eating lunch in the kitchen right now, and I'm trying to keep down two low-fat cheese sticks and a bowl of peas left over from Thanksgiving here in the living room. Honestly, I think the only thing keeping my head out of the toilet is the massive amount of diet tea that I just drank. I need that caffeine in my system. Anyway, this is what my mind looks like at the moment:

Yeah. I'm pretty much obsessed.

Apology

    I'm really sorry for what I posted last night.

I deleted it and it's gone now, for those of you who never saw it.

Erin's Little Blog

Yes, this is the same blog you've been reading - just changed the title. (:

Soak This In.

Was It A Slip Up, Or Is It A Relapse?

     I don't understand. I really don't. Yesterday went so well. I didn't restrict, binge, or purge. How did I manage to do all three today? I told my dad I ate breakfast, when, really, I just had black coffee. And lunch was easily avoided because of the Black Friday shopping spree that I went on with Emily and my grandmother. But then came dinner. We were celebrating my dad's fiance's birthday today. Her mom wanted to go to this huge buffet called Shady Maple, so that's what we did. I really thought I could handle it, but I was terribly mistaken. I ate so much. It was horrible. And it's not like I was eating anything healthy, either. Starches, starches, and more starches, with two desserts to top it off. It made me feel sick, emotionally and physically. I asked my dad if I could go for a short walk outside of the restaurant, and he said yes to fifteen minutes. I really didn't intend to purge. I just wanted to calm myself down. But once I got outside, I just gave into the urge. I found a nice bush to hide behind, and puked. When I was done, I felt awful, yet so accomplished. That's the part that scares me.

     I didn't have to do it. No one made me. The urge wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been, or as it has been in the past. But I still did it. I did it knowing that I was doing it because I wanted to feel the pride that comes with purging. I didn't feel disgusted - only, well, proud. It had been quite some time since I'd last purged. I guess I just missed that feeling. But it's not like I couldn't control myself or anything. I made a conscious decision to let go of my recovery. And I'm not so sure that that's a bad thing. Scary, huh?

     Professionals say that an eating disorder is a disease. They say that it's a type of addiction - that its sufferers aren't at fault. But I'm pretty sure I'm the exception. I brought this on myself. I asked for it. I wanted it. I thought I could make it go away once I got the results I was looking for, but I found out the hard way that it doesn't work like that. According to my therapists and psychiatrists, I'm stuck like this forever. And it's no one's fault but my own.

Eating Disorder Or No Eating Disorder, Let's All Be Thankful.

     Thanksgiving is a holiday dedicated to that one huge meal that everyone's supposed to enjoy. Every year since my parents divorced, my dad, his mom and step-dad (who drive from Alabama), my sister, and me all pitch in to fix every food imaginable for dinner, one that could never in a million years be consumed by five people. But we do it anyway. Don't get me wrong; I love my family, and I love spending time with them. The AL grandmother, Mama, is the one who sent me a card every day during the eighteen months that I was in residential treatment. And this is the grandfather who sent thousands of dollars on a Martin guitar for me two years ago. They love us so much, and we love them, too. They're awesome. But that doesn't make the holidays any less difficult for someone with an eating disorder.

     I feel terrible about feeling so terrible. I hope that makes sense. I have so many people and things that I am able to be grateful for, and I thank God for that. But there's just so much food. The meal has been over for hours now, but there is still so much food in this house. It's horrible to consider that a bad thing. Not everyone can say that they even have enough food, and I am keenly aware of that. But it's still really hard. My mind is consumed with the guilt that is leftover from eating. I didn't even binge, but I still feel absolutely awful. Maybe it's the whole concept of the meal that gets to me, or maybe it's all that food that's still around me. Either way, I simply cannot shake this feeling of misery.

     I really don't know what to write about now. I guess I'll just state the obvious:  I survived Thanksgiving. I really really did. It certainly wasn't easy, but I got through it. Now I have to remember that for Christmas.

Trichotillomania?

     I did this thing when I was about six where I used to pull my eyelashes out. My parents put me in therapy and everything for it, and I seriously was the most hideous little kid alive; my eyelids were bald. Anyway, that ended a long time ago, but I still find myself doing compulsive things like that, like biting my nails. And, sometimes, I even pull my hair out. It's really weird I know, but it honestly doesn't hurt. Like, not at all. Hence, I'm beginning to doubt my own sanity. It really sucks being crazy. I'm always acting like a freaking psycho; it's horrible. Whatever. I'm starting to get really pissed at myself again, so I'm not writing anything else.

Heaviness Despite My Gargoyle

     I'll start this post by telling you that today was a really good day. I spent most of it painting a ceramic gargoyle, while one of my best friends, who's practically my big sister, painted a cute little troll. We ate lunch together and had a really great time. She is the one and only reason I can honestly write that today was good.

     I don't mean for this next part to come across darkly, but I'm inclined to believe that it will. Heavy - that is what everything has become. Each word spoken by those for whom I have unrequited love adds yet another weight to the heaviness. Each thought that enters my mind stays there; they pile and crowd inside my head, pushing against the walls of my skull. Each glance into the mirror adds countless pounds, figuratively and literally. Every one of my unidentifiable emotions has entangled itself into a massive knot. It is all so heavy. So, so heavy.
    
     Contradictory to yesterday's post, the quote by Henry Miller, I have been praying to God. Not for myself, -I haven't done that in years- but for my family, my friends, and all who are suffering. But I know he doesn't hear me, and I know it's because he doesn't want to. A cry for help would do me no good. He wouldn't listen anyway.

    

    

I Don't Feel Much Like Writing.

"I have found God, but he is insufficient."

                          

   –Henry Miller

Serenity Prayer

Hope

 

I Sure Hope So...

Elisabeth*

My lovely Elisabeth,
     "I hate myself so much." I read those words back in January. You wrote them in a Facebook message. Because they were never vocalized, I never heard you say them. But that doesn't make them any less powerful.
     It is now November. Snow came and melted, sunshine warmed and cooled, and leaves changed and fell. The cycle continues. As I write this, icy snow is lying in the dead grass right outside my window. It's been nearly two years since I last saw you. It's crazy. I'm witnessing first hand how absence makes the heart grow fonder.
     I don't know what my point is in telling you these things. When I began this letter, I knew exactly what to write; that changed very quickly. I'm trying my very hardest to keep myself from deleting anything but typos in this post. This is only the third paragraph of your letter, but I already regret writing certain things. Let me expand on them.
     You were right, sis. I can't help you. I can't be the one who makes everything all better. I can't make you stop hating yourself. I can't make you smile or laugh, I can't make you try or hope, and I can't make you stop doing things that are destructive to you. All I can do is be here to support you. And so I will. If you fall, I'll help you get up. If you cry, I'll lend you my shoulder. If you feel alone, I'll send virtual hugs your way. I pray for you, I think of you, I hope for you, and I believe in you.
     We've been through so much in the time we've known each other. I've seen you completely break down, and I've seen you put yourself right back together. You've watched me lose it in every way possible, and youve watched me give recovery my all. I scribbled you little notes and left them on your bed. You came to the dayroom to visit me inbetween every single one of your groups. When you left, I felt so alone. Not because I didn't have other friends; I had wonderful friends. It was because none of them could replace you. Elisabeth, I'll never forget that time in the dayroom when Ms. Renee had left, and there was no other staff there, and I started digging into my arm with a paperclip. You were sitting next to me on the two-person couch that faced the windows. I tried to hide it; I tried not to let you see. To this day I don't know how you caught on, because I was doing it under my pink monkey blanket. But you did, and all you had to do to make me stop was say that you loved me. That's it. You were already having a horrible day. You had skipped your groups, you hadn't slept at all the night before, and you got supplemented at breakfast. You were so deeply depressed that you barely spoke the entire day. But you managed to help me in the midst of your misery. Anyway, what I'm trying to get at is this: You've always, always been there for me. I don't know why, but you are. Even when I said the most terrible things to you, and even when you didn't reply to any of my texts or Facebook messages, you were there. Sure, I've doubted that. Sometimes I've even doubted you. But when it's all said and done, you're still there for me, just like I'm still here for you.     
     You're my big sister, and you always will be. I'm getting choked up as I type this, and the letters on the screen are getting blurrier the more my eyes sting. You wouldn't believe how much I miss you, and you wouldn't believe how sorry I am that things turned out this way. Will we ever see each other again? This question seems to haunt me every time I think of you.

BREAKING NEWS! I just read your status that says:
"I am strong
I am loved
I am beautiful
I am hopeful
I am courageous
I am imperfect
I am free"

That is so very very true, darling.

Elisabeth, I love you. I wish I could come up with words that you'd believe. I'm not very good at that. So, for now, I love you and for always I love you.

[You are strong
You are loved
You are beautiful
You are hopeful
You are courageous
You are imperfect
You are free]

*name has been changed

"Love After Love" -Derek Walcott

The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.

Marie*

Dearest Marie,
     I'm going to ask you some questions, even though I know the answer to each of them.Why do you this to yourself? Why can't you see what every one else sees in you? Why can't you stop? Why do you say you're in recovery when you're barely eating? Why hasn't treatment made you completely better? What's wrong? Why can't I fix it? Why do you still think you're a bad person? What makes you think it's okay to say such horrible things about yourself? Why won't you get more help? Why do you think you're fat? Why don't you believe that you're beautiful?
     Enough asking. Let me start telling. You need to stop punishing yourself for things that aren't even crimes. You need to be kind to yourself. You need to stop tricking yourself into thinking that you're okay. You're not okay. You're hurting yourself, and you don't even realize it. So, realize it, and stop hurting yourself. Marie, you are a wonderful person. You are my best friend, my sister, my roommate, and my inspiration. You are so many of the reasons why I am still here. You are beautiful. You are loved. You are special. You are strong. You are so much more than your diagnosis. You are so much more than your scars.
     We're in this together. Right? Right.
                                                                                     I love you.
                                                                                     -Erin.

*name has been changed

I Am A Wrecking Ball

I am a wrecking ball.
I am unworthy.
I am a burden.
I am weak.
I am a mistake.
I am hated.
I am a tyrant.
I am selfish.
I am a hidrance.
I am disgusting.
I am a fool.
I am dangerous.
I am a failure.
I am hopeless.
I am a fake.
I am cruel.
I am a loser.
I am evil.
I am a monster.
I am me.

Rambling...

Well, my friends, thus far, today has been a success. I averted an anxiety attack, threw away a staple with which I intended to hurt myself, ate a good amount of food for lunch, stayed out of the bathroom afterwards, and didn't have to leave my classroom. Let's count all of that as progress, shall we?
I don't know why I started blogging. Maybe I'm doing this instead of writing in a journal, or, perhaps I do this in hopes that sharing my experiences will make others feel less alone. I'm not really sure. Regardless, I like it. Hence, I will continue.

As some of you know, I ride a van to school. On both the front end and the back end, it conspicuosly states that it transports SCHOOL STUDENTS. I can't complain, though. There are a few kids in my class who ride short buses. Anyway, I was riding in my little van yesterday morning, headed to school, when, for no apparent reason, I freak. Yeah. Fun stuff. So for almost ten minutes I'm just sitting there with my legs up and my head down, crying and hyperventilating. I really thought I might die from overheating or hyperthermia or something of that sort. When Greg, the van driver, pulled up school, I decided I simply was not going to get off. If I did, the inconsiderate, apathetic, insensitive, and "normal" trolls of the highschool would ridicule me, which would, not only cause me to feel like an imbecile, but it would escalate the horrible sense of panic I was experiencing. So the only other person who rides the van at the same time I do, who also happens to be in my Therapeutic Emotionl Support class, went in the building to get my teacher, Miss Boone. She rocks, by the way. When Miss Boone came out, she got on the van and talked me through my anxiety until the bell rang and I could go inside without being seen. The rest of the day was alright, though.

I don't know, guys. I think I've just given up hope, but it's probably just for the time being. I really couldn't care less about recovery at this point. Sometimes, I don't even care about life. But that's nothing new; I've delt with those thoughts on and off for years.
I vote we end on a positive note. And, since I'm the only one voting, and since majority rules, I win.(: So, I'll leave you with a little quote.

"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."

Short Post

     This has been a really rough week. And, unfortunately, it's only Wednesday. Although, except for one cutting incident, I've been handling my "emotional disregulation*" fairly well. If you're one of those people who spends a significant amount of time with me or talking to me, it won't be a shock to you that I had a few anxiety attacks. That's just how I roll. But I survived, obviously. I guess that's all that matters. I don't really feel like writing much else, so that's about it for now. Thanks for reading this.
   
*said by Carol

Easier Said Than Done

Enough Said.

Stability

     So far, today has been fairly difficult, but I'm managing it. I only had one anxiety attack, though, so I'll consider that progress. My urges to restrict were pretty high up there, and still are, but I ate a reasonable amount and plan on eating dinner. The last time I followed a meal plan was when I was required to at Renfrew in April of last year, but I really don't think I need to. I currently am not seeing a nutritionist, so I don't even have a meal plan to follow. I'm okay with that. Recently, I've been eating well and my weight has been stable, and I honestly think I can handle this on my own.
     I know this next statement will contradict that very last sentence, but I'm going to write it anyway. I am in between two different therapy sessions with two different therapists (well, three if we're going to get technical about it) right now. I just had an individual session with my DBT therapist, Carol, and now I'm at home with my dad waiting for our family-based team to arrive, Deb and John. Emily, my sister, has soccer practice tonight, so she doesn't have to participate like she usually does. She hates therapy almost as much as I do. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't appreciate the time and effort all of these therapists have put into me; it's that I'm not too fond of sharing personal thoughts and feelings with people who are practically strangers.
     I should really stop rambling about such trivial things. Sorry, guys. I've got a lot of things on my mind, none of which I'm particularly comfortable sharing on a publicly accessible blog. They basically boil down to thoughts produced by pretty strong emotions.
    So, enough about me. How are you guys holding up? Leave a comment, write me a letter, message me on Facebook, etc. Do whatever. All I ask is that you fill me in on how you're doing.
                                                                         With love,
                                                                          Erin.

My Very First Post On My Very First Blog

     I'm not quite sure how to go about doing this. As stated in the title of this post, I have never done this before. So, I suppose I'll begin by telling you about the types of things I intend to do with this blog.

• post words of encouragement, like quotes and sayings, for those who are struggling
• regularly document my experiences with my eating disorder (no numbers referring to weights, BMI, calories, etc. will be mentioned)
• express urges to self-harm through writing and asking for support (nothing graphic will be written and no self-harm photos will be posted)
• post letters to people who I can't send things to
• post about the usual teenager stuff, like high school, friendships and relationships, my family (you should expect to read a lot about my amazing little sister), driving lessons, etc.
• put up cool things I find on www.stumbleupon.com, poems and lyrics that either I or someone else wrote, maybe audio clips or little videos of some of my songs (I've never done that before, either), interesting news articles, etc.

     Okay, so, I'm gonna get on facebook now and tell everybody about this. I hope you like this! Come again soon! :D