...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.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Saturday, November 2, 2013
The sounds of food
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.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
The Fear
I really, really hate my ED right now. I'm scared to eat meals during the day, but then I lose control at night and splurge on binge food. This is a complete repeat of last year. COMPLETE repeat. I swore to myself that I'm going to be better, that "this is the year I'm going to fuckin' do it!"
But I think I fail to restrict because I'm afraid. I fear what will happen if I faint while walking to class, or while exercising. I fear every time I stand up and have to take a few breaths to stop the dizziness. I fear what will happen when I start eating after a long fast because of all the re-feeding horror stories about binging or stomach pains. I fear what will happen if other people notice me not eating. Most of all--I fear my emotions.
I notice I binge-eat when I'm stressed. It's my stupid coping mechanism when faced with deadlines and expectations. Food numbs me. Without food, I'm going to turn into a short-fused demon who will shy away from people and snap at anyone who approaches. I'll feel euphoric for half an hour, and then curl up in a fetal position crying the next. It's the same as when I refuse to sleep. It's my cover slipping off and revealing the insanity within me.
Why is it so easy for me to go 30-60 hours without sleep, yet can't even make 24 hours without food? I think it's because it's more socially acceptable to be an insomniac than having an eating disorder. People just say, "Oh, you can take sleeping pills," and shrug off the topic. There's no shame involved with insomnia as opposed to an ED. There's no fear with insomnia.
I need to accept my fears and dismiss them. It's my own punishment. I can endure it. 36 hours--only water, tea, and gum. That simple. 2pm Wednesday.
PS: For those who read my last post--I'm doing fine. I've talked to several people, and they've helped me. I'm not going to lie, though: I still feel suicidal, but to a less degree. I relax at the thought of doing it, but I don't feel the need to act it. Thanks for your concerns, though.
But I think I fail to restrict because I'm afraid. I fear what will happen if I faint while walking to class, or while exercising. I fear every time I stand up and have to take a few breaths to stop the dizziness. I fear what will happen when I start eating after a long fast because of all the re-feeding horror stories about binging or stomach pains. I fear what will happen if other people notice me not eating. Most of all--I fear my emotions.
I notice I binge-eat when I'm stressed. It's my stupid coping mechanism when faced with deadlines and expectations. Food numbs me. Without food, I'm going to turn into a short-fused demon who will shy away from people and snap at anyone who approaches. I'll feel euphoric for half an hour, and then curl up in a fetal position crying the next. It's the same as when I refuse to sleep. It's my cover slipping off and revealing the insanity within me.
Why is it so easy for me to go 30-60 hours without sleep, yet can't even make 24 hours without food? I think it's because it's more socially acceptable to be an insomniac than having an eating disorder. People just say, "Oh, you can take sleeping pills," and shrug off the topic. There's no shame involved with insomnia as opposed to an ED. There's no fear with insomnia.
I need to accept my fears and dismiss them. It's my own punishment. I can endure it. 36 hours--only water, tea, and gum. That simple. 2pm Wednesday.
PS: For those who read my last post--I'm doing fine. I've talked to several people, and they've helped me. I'm not going to lie, though: I still feel suicidal, but to a less degree. I relax at the thought of doing it, but I don't feel the need to act it. Thanks for your concerns, though.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Ah, the Insanity!
Oh, how I embrace it with open arms!
Here's my situation: I'm currently attending a tough, (and expensive) university, and somehow received a scholarship for free tuition for up to four years. But that scholarship comes with a catch - I need to keep a GPA above a 3.0. My first semester, I took a tough class and ended up with 2.8 as my GPA. The program coordinators decided to allow me a second shot. What happened? I got extremely depressed and ended up with a 2.867 as my GPA.
Now I have to meet with my scholarship program coordinators again and convince them to give me a third chance. Haha, yeah, I'm so certain that I'm going to accomplish that [sarcasm]. I haven't told anyone about my situation, and my family believes I'm getting good grades and everything is going all peachy. They even took me on a vacation to freak'n' Switzerland over the summer. The entire time, a voice in my head kept saying, "you don't deserve this. They don't know. the money spent on this vacation should have gone towards your tuition since now you'll need it."
So, I've been having random panic episodes. Crying on the floor of my dormitory's den for an hour at 3am kind of episodes. My eating habits are all over the place: I've starved myself for two weeks, binged for a few days, done stuff to make me nauseous/purge, exercised like crazy, avoid exercise like the plague...everything.
I'm completely depressed right now. Suicidal, even. I've already planned how and when, but I'm worried it might not be high enough to actually kill. Don't worry, though - it is an if/then sort of suicide. If I get a third shot, then I get to live. Otherwise, I'm going to jump from the building's roof after I get the final verdict, which will be sometime near the end of September. I don't care if I'll hurt the people who "care" about me. Maybe they should sample some of the pain I experience. And I don't care what happens after death, even if it's torture in the depths of hell. It's not like it'd be any different from what I go through every day.
For the few who read this, have a nice day!
Here's my situation: I'm currently attending a tough, (and expensive) university, and somehow received a scholarship for free tuition for up to four years. But that scholarship comes with a catch - I need to keep a GPA above a 3.0. My first semester, I took a tough class and ended up with 2.8 as my GPA. The program coordinators decided to allow me a second shot. What happened? I got extremely depressed and ended up with a 2.867 as my GPA.
Now I have to meet with my scholarship program coordinators again and convince them to give me a third chance. Haha, yeah, I'm so certain that I'm going to accomplish that [sarcasm]. I haven't told anyone about my situation, and my family believes I'm getting good grades and everything is going all peachy. They even took me on a vacation to freak'n' Switzerland over the summer. The entire time, a voice in my head kept saying, "you don't deserve this. They don't know. the money spent on this vacation should have gone towards your tuition since now you'll need it."
So, I've been having random panic episodes. Crying on the floor of my dormitory's den for an hour at 3am kind of episodes. My eating habits are all over the place: I've starved myself for two weeks, binged for a few days, done stuff to make me nauseous/purge, exercised like crazy, avoid exercise like the plague...everything.
I'm completely depressed right now. Suicidal, even. I've already planned how and when, but I'm worried it might not be high enough to actually kill. Don't worry, though - it is an if/then sort of suicide. If I get a third shot, then I get to live. Otherwise, I'm going to jump from the building's roof after I get the final verdict, which will be sometime near the end of September. I don't care if I'll hurt the people who "care" about me. Maybe they should sample some of the pain I experience. And I don't care what happens after death, even if it's torture in the depths of hell. It's not like it'd be any different from what I go through every day.
For the few who read this, have a nice day!
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