I just had one of the worst therapy sessions ever, which was very disappointing because I have not had therapy for a few weeks and was really looking forward to and needing it. I just don't know what the deal is. I feel like crap. And talking about it doesn't seem to help me feel any better.
We talked about my body image. How fat and gross I feel. My acute dispair and obsession over my aging face. I attatch so much of my self-esteem to the way that I look. I mean, I know people that I don't consider attractive, but they have a magnetic personality, a cool job, or stories about travels and neat experiences. Something about them draws you to them and you just love and want to be around them. I don't feel I have any of that. My therapist said that I do have cool stories, but then I pointed out that most of them involve me being locked up in some kind of psychiatric facility and thats not really the kind of stuff you can just break out at a dinner party (she agreed).
Then we opened a whole other can of worms, which is to say, the fact that I feel like I am a complete failure as a mom. At least with Emma. I think Annie is young enough that I still have time to do better. Ok specifically I have not provided my daughter with a good model of how to be mentally healthy, resillient, optimistic, ect. I fear that Emma is not confident and does not have the skills to handle stress or change. I am worried she will grow up to be deppressed, eating disordered, anxious, have BPD, or all of the above. This weighs heavily on me. This is someone's WHOLE LIFE that I am responsible for and I feel I have failed and there are no do-overs.
We talked about a time in my life when I was doing well. There was about a 9 month window of time when Emma was about one that I was on the right track. I really felt I was "getting better". I told her about when I was younger, and I looked at my eating disorder as something that was finite. It would end. I would recover. One day, it would just click, and whatever therapy or treatment I would be in would just work and I would leave the ED world behind and go on to do the things I've always wanted and be RECOVERED. It made it much easier to live with my ED. I don't feel that way anymore. Somewhere I have lost that hope. Recovery is a word that I hear alot, and I use alot, but if you get right down to it I think (for me) that recovery is some fairy tale that I will never experience. this is my life.
By the end of the session I was feeling such despair that i felt physically sick to my stomach. I really wished we could have wrapped up the session in some kind of positive way and I could shake off that feeling but I just cant seem to. So that's why I'm writing about it. I'm sorry you all have to read this whinging but believe it or not, getting it all out on here helps. And I know that probably some of you know how I am feeling (although I hope that you dont!).
Tomorrow at 8:30 I go to the dentist. That means that in 16 hours I will get to take the single dose of Xanax that has been whispering to me from the bathroom cabinet all week. For those of you who don't know, Xanax is about my favoritest thing in the world, and since I am pretty restricted with it these days, taking it is an occasion. 16 hours. If you count the time that i will spend sleeping, that is really only six more hours I need to get through.
So Merry Xanax Eve to you all, and to all a good night.
Posting from the sky
1 month ago