Rejection

I feel like shit. I've been dreaming about getting the undergraduate pharmacology & toxicology major at my university. But nope. They rejected my application. Thanks.

It's not like it's the first time I'm rejected in an academic setting. I should be used to it by now. I should just expect to not get that summer job position either. To save me the tears. To just accept that I'm inadequate at everything I strive to be.

Time to look for some other stupid major to apply and get rejected by.

A Year to Focus on Moi

As usual, it's a New Year's post because I might as well follow the social expectation to write all the wonderful goals I have for the new year since "this is the year things will change."

Heavy sarcasm and social critique aside, I do intend to spend more time focusing on getting my life where I want it to be. I want to be in a spot where I am proud of where I am at the end of the year.

Of course, I have an ED-specific goal myself. In a nutshell, it's to be in control of myself. I don't want the out-of-control binging that sometimes leads to impulsive purging. I don't want to indulge in junk food or unhealthy stuff just because it is there, free, and convenient. I really want to emphasize eating healthy foods AND doing exercise.

Learning (and applying) techniques to relax myself would probably help. I'm so, so, so, SO, SO relieved I finally managed to meet the minimum requirement GPA for my scholarship. I feel like "yes, I can actually survive and do well here." It's such a confidence booster. I'm still anxious about my spring semester since I'm taking the infamous organic chemistry class AND a French class. AND a literature class. All three require a lot of attention and time, and I'm so worried I'm going to get depressed and stressed to the point that I ditch class and do nothing but lay in bed for a few weeks like last year.

It would be very tricky to balance going to classes, memorizing chemicals, memorizing French vocabulary, reading books, and writing essays WITH getting some exercise. I'm thinking I could do more of a cardio-based exercises on machines  (since some exercise is better than none) and read or go over flash cards while exercising. I think it's a good multitasking plan.

I think locking myself in a library would also benefit me. I find it harder and harder to study on my dorm floor because the freshmen are so loud and annoying. There were way too many times I cried in bed because they disturbed my sleep. I am such a light sleeper with anxiety-induced insomnia. The echo-chamber in the hallway doesn't help my predicament either.

So yeah. I plan a healthier 1200 calories eaten in 5 sittings throughout the day with an emphasis on drinking water and avoiding unhealthy food. Within a year, even without exercise, I would reach my UGW. Sounds simple, but such a complex undertaking.

And I'm starting this literally on the New Year's. The last thing I ate was at 11:50pm, and I've not broken the promise yet lol.

A Friend Decided to OD

...on some morphine.

So, I innocently logged on to skype at about 1 am, and friend #1 sent a distressed message. After a few exchanges, I found out that friend #2 finished his bottle of morphine about an hour earlier. Thus, began my evening trying to understand the situation.

I checked up morphine overdose, and he reported several symptoms, like feeling exhausted, nauseous, difficulties breathing. He has a pacemaker heart implant, so it was purposely keeping his heart rate up (which morphine would make low). Friend #1 and I proceeded to try and convince friend #2 to go get help, whether it be call poison control to know how to counter the morphine effects or go to the hospital. But neither friend #1 or I knew friend #2's location, address, cellphone, or anything to be able to forcibly sent police or help his way.

Friend #1 was able to get a hold of friend #3 through facebook. Friend #3 was facebook friends with friend #2's twin brother. friend #3 sent #2's brother a message to try and have him help friend #2, but she didn't get any reply. Apparently, #2's brother was out bowling late into the night. Out of desperation, I call poison control. They only said, "send him to a hospital, or try and contact the local police to get him in the hospital." It wasn't any help.

A few hours has gone by. Friend #2 still didn't want to go to the hospital because he didn't want to go to the psych ward. He's been there too many times, and he hates it there (which is understandable). But he's still said warning signs, like having to remember to breathe. Friend #1 and I were quite nervous, and we've tried to keep him awake until we hear from his brother (and hopefully manage to send him to a hospital to get OD help). Friend #1 and I keep talking to #2 to keep him awake, just in case he stops breathing in his sleep.

Eventually, #2's brother returns. They share the same bedroom, and his brother (being paranoid about #2's health) does keep a close eye for signs of complications. #2 warned me and #1 about his heart acting up if he doesn't get sleep, so we told him we'll let him go once we're sure #2 will tell his brother he feels ill and having some breathing problems. It's been about 4 hours, which I was told was the half-life of morphine. Friend #1 and I decide it was safe to leave #2 alone for the night.

Regardless, the whole situation was scary. I binged/purged halfway through it. I was shaking from nervousness while talking to the poison control. Even my gut was messed up when it was all over. But I kept a level head during the entire thing. I was determined not to let the anxiety and panic incapacitate me from being able to help the situation.

This entire experience made me even more sure about doing my pharmacology & toxicology major. I want to know more about this kind of stuff so I can be even more prepared for these kinds of situations. I want to be a doctor and help people like friend #2. This situation absolved all doubts about the path I'm taking. I want this, and I want to document this experience so I can remember this moment when everything became clear to me.

It is now 5:47am. Happy thanksgiving.

The sounds of food

...are driving me insane. My roommate is sitting on her bed, munching on some delicious smelling Cheez-Its. It's the only sound in our entire room. And I find it triggering beyond belief.

A few days ago, I did a stupid and tried purging a brownie that absolutely refused to come back up. The strain landed me a headache for two days, a stabbing pain in my stomach, and absolute fear of eating again.

I still don't trust myself with food, and I'm struggling to eat a healthier amount as recommended by my nutritionist. I can't tell if I'm feeling hungry or just a craving. I know I should eat... it's almost dinner, and I've had only 230 Calories. I'm supposed to shoot for at least 1350 Cal every day this week, but at the same time, I feel like I'm not allowed to. That there is some stupid, supreme power bearing down on me that forbids me to eat, and resisting it is futile.

A week ago, I would have been thrilled to make it to dinner with only 230 Calories. I wanted to end my binging and purging and just go back to restricting so I may get back to losing weight. But now, I'm wishing I can let myself eat and relieve the hunger sensations.

But I can't. I'm too afraid. I want to cry, and then cry in shame that I'm crying about eating. It's humiliating and pathetic. I want someone to convince me that it's acceptable to eat, but I feel like it would be a fruitless task.

Ouch

I'm abusing my mouth. On Tuesday, I ate so many salted sunflower seeds that I gave myself salt blisters on my lips and tongue. On Wednesday, I binged on.... a shit-ton of stuff, many of which was scratchy and tore up my gums. About an hour ago, I purged violently, and my throat and salt blisters are on fire. Worst thing: my roommate walked in while I was purging. I didn't even get everything out, and the room has a slight stench of vomit. I swear, she knows about my ED.

I fucking hate food right now. Fucking hate it. I wish I could go life without needing to think or come into contact with it ever again. It's damn vile stuff. But because of how this stupid body works, I'm forever forced to ingest this poison.

I'm going to wait a few hours and have a damn salad or cooked vegetables. I want something light, something clean. I want to rid myself of all this vile stuff.

I'll write up a meal plan that I can actually follow, something that isn't dictated by my nutritionist. The whole seeing a nutritionist just gave me anxiety about my eating, which made me purge much more than before. Follow a strict regime that's a compromise of what she wants and what I want, and hopefully go a week binge and purge free.

Stupid Brain. Y U No Logic?

Not going to lie: September had been a bitchy month for me. It started out in panic, but now I feel numb and emotionless. I have little motivation to do anything other than what's necessary at the moment (homework, cleaning, going to meetings).

I'm seeing a therapist and a nutritionist. My therapist makes me feel so illogical with my thoughts, whereas my nutritionist makes me feel like I fail at a task as simple as eating (no shit, that's why they call it a fuckin' eating disorder). The worst part is that I think since I'm back to my numb-to-the-world state (instead of suicidal), so I feel like there's no need to keep going to the therapist. Plus, I have troubles physically speaking to people about my feelings, so most of the sessions consist of me saying 2-3 sentences, then long pause.

Plus, I'm in a weird relationship with my ED. I both want it and don't want it.

I want it because it's my sense of control. When I restrict and purge, it feels like I'm able to make this pile of flesh do what I want it to do, not what it wants to do. I feel powerful when I can skip meals and feel absolutely fine. I feel like a god when I hear friends say, "OMG I'M SOOO HUNGRY I DIDN'T HAVE LUNCH TODAY." When I restrict and purge, I feel like I'm "winning" at something.

On the other hand, I absolutely hate binging. Hell, I hate food in general. Food is my drug and poison: I feel like I must have it, but whenever I do consume it, I feel ashamed and physically sick. But at the same time, there is this desire for more. So my body wanders the kitchen or cafeteria in a trance, grabbing all sorts of food to binge on.

I hate the feelings of guilt and shame whenever I eat, but at the same time, I want to be able to eat without feeling horrible about myself. But I also don't want to stop restricting because I feel like it's the only way I can get a body I'm proud of, but now whenever I do restrict, I feel like I'm failing my nutritionist. Regardless of what I do, I never get what I want, and I never feel happy or confident in my decision to eat or not to eat.

And this is leaving me in a foul mood. Quick to want to kill somebody over nothing, quick to criticize my own decisions and impulses, quick to want to stop feeling this mood, and therefore quick to shut off my emotions and wander through life like a numb shell of a person.

Blood Drive

My campus had a blood drive today. I was hesitant at first on whether I should donate or not, but then I realized I would feel ashamed of myself if I backed out--I've already been consistent with donating every 8 weeks, and there won't be another drive for a while. So I signed up for a 4:45pm appointment. After a lunch (hummus, lettuce, tomato, feta cheese sandwich) and some fat-free Greek yogurt, I walked in to donate.

It went much better than last time. Last time, I was dehydrated (it was an extremely hot week, and I was outside a lot). I had barely enough blood iron (12.6), and it took me 11:40-something to donate. This time, I had 13.7 for iron and 5:24 for donation time.

Even though the main campaign for blood donations focuses on making people feel good about themselves with things like "donating a pint of blood can save up to 3 lives," it doesn't have that effect on me. It's more that I hate my body so much I might as well give some of it to people who would want it.

When I was younger, I was scared to donate blood. The thought about having someone stick a needle in me or drawing blood frightened me. But now, I have a masochist enjoyment of donating. The pricks when they test the iron and when they place the needle are not much different than if I SI myself. Feeling the blood draining from my arm and the lightheaded sensation after was euphoric. One of the blood tubes rested against my arm, and I could feel the warmth against my skin as it exited my body.

Even afterwards, I can feel my heartbeat not only in my chest, but throughout my legs and arms. It's like an awareness that I am indeed alive. And though I may feel exhausted walking, I can still push myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Unless, of course, it's thundering outside, and my laptop is in my backpack. Then I get the smart idea to run back to my dorm.

I now understand why they say don't do exercise for the rest of the day. Although during the run, I felt perfectly fine. I had good rhythm, good posture (at least as good as you can with a backpack), and excellent breathing. It's afterwards that my legs suffered. It was like a 5 minute jog, yet it felt like I ran a 10k race.

And the effect didn't hit the moment I stopped running. 10 minutes after reaching my dorm, my quads felt like stiff metal bars, refusing to contract or extend. I was in the middle of going back up to my room from the basement, and I had to stop on the floor before me and rest several minutes in their den before I had enough energy to make the last flight and into my room.

Regardless of what people say, I'm still going to keep donating just for the side effects to my body. I'm fat enough to fit the criteria, so I'm going to keep doing so until I can't "over estimate" my weight being 110.