Everything was so slow up until the actual intake. Panic attacks happened. My anxiety just blossomed into full on panic.
I was fearful that this was my last attempt at help. What if it didn’t work out? What if there is nothing wrong with me? What if it truly is all in my head? What if I’m too fucked up for her to help me?
I didn’t take any Ativan because I needed her to see me in the raw state–me at my worst. That is the whole point of this I take interview. It sucked going at it that way.
Leaving work early also was not fun. I still have fear that there was gossip about why I left early. All that nasty whispering that has been going on.
When I arrived to the clinic, during check in, another patient had seizures. So, naturally, I stepped in to assist. I don’t think the clinic handle them well, but now I’m all jacked up on adrenaline and panic juices. Fab combo.
Of course my new therapist is cute. Tiny, petite. I swear it’s like a requirement.
She has a close relationship with Cherry which makes me ecstatic. They talked about me which to most people is upsetting. To me it’s a relief. Cherry is a Cassie expert. Cherry can and will be an excellent resource as needed. Cherry was apparently proud of me for telling my boss about my struggle with anorexia. I’m still not sure if I regret that or not, but it felt wonderful to hear that from Cherry.
I had to take 3 assessment quizzes. One stated I was depressed. I said the last month it’s hard not to be when I’ve been bullied at work and home and I am unable to exercise because of my fall. I still don’t think I’m depressed–anxiety filled for sure!!
Then I had to do the usual in depth questionnaire that I hate.
Purging habits. Restricting habits. Explanations of how I truly have no desire to eat. My earliest memories of dieting desires and compulsions were 5th grade. My need to not eat was as early as 6 or 7 years old; yes I’m a lifer anorexic. I really hate food.
Then the conversation about how I’ve started to get the baby belly back again because I haven’t been eating so I’m agitated. That I’m having confusion and excessive sleepiness and it’s because I get out of meals and don’t eat not depression. But forcing to eat sucks. But I need to to lose weight.
Vicious fucking cycle.
She is tabling the idea of me working with a dietician. Ummm I will fight that. None of that.
After two hours, all I kept thinking, and still think, is I am not that sick. I don’t have a problem. When she asked about how many breakfasts/snacks/lunches/snacks/dinners I have eaten in the last 30 days, I just felt really fat. Like too many. And way too many to qualify.
But she wants to see me effective immediately. Definitely once a week minimum. She thinks maybe twice but she knows how hard it was to get once a week off for work.
She proceeded to give me a pamphlet of the labs she wants completed with my doctor as well. So while I still feel like a huge fake, it seems I’ve triggered something to indicate further and closer follow up.
It’s a relief in a way because now I can stop fighting on my own. I have someone on my team and someone who can validate me and my experiences.
Be thankful if you have friends and family who support you in your recovery. Some of us would kill for that. It’s part of what’s killing me.
My parents today told me I’m too fat that I’ll never be able to fit into a certain size. They also constantly tell me that PC must be grossed out seeing me naked. Both of my parents are more overweight than I am.
Glad to have someone remind me that what they say is not ok. Because Ed’s voice still latches on. And I’ve been crying all day over this.