Admitting illness is one of the hardest things for me to do. I don’t want it to be real so in the process I minimise what I’m going through. I’ve been telling everyone that me going into inpatient is more of a preventative measure than a crisis reaction. That it is purely to get on top of things before it gets any worse. It’s quite possible though that I have been fooling myself. I needed someone to pull me up about it and that is kind of what I got tonight. I went to my weekly group session and sat there telling them that this plan has been decided…and you know what? None of them were surprised. I thought they would be. I thought they would think “What the hell do you need to go IP for?” but instead I got the facilitator telling me that they had all been watching me get progressively worse physically and mentally for weeks and that they had been monitoring me, making sure that I attended and how I was when I was there. This admission is not a preventative measure but one that is needed. She told me I was ill. That one word just made me freeze up inside. Had I really gotten to that point? I wanted to deny it but what would it have achieved. My mind has been twisted up by Anorexia so much that I no longer can differentiate between its voice and mine. Again it came back to the point of me arguing that my weight was not low enough for all of this to be serious and her response was that at the beginning when asked about how I was I said that my world was crumbling and suicide has seemed like a reasonable option. How much further do I need to take it before I accept that I’m not well? To that I didn’t have an answer at the time…but later it came to me. I would have to be in the process of full blow organ failure or something equally life threatening before I might and that thought hit me like a punch in the stomach. Why would it take imminent death for me to realise that this isn’t some minor issue that means nothing? That my treatment and recovery could be delayed if need be. I don’t really want to let it get to that point, to let it get to a place where there is a strong chance that I might not be able to come back even if I really wanted to.
It kind of echoed a conversation I was having with a friend from treatment this morning. We got admitted at around the same time and so we kind of rode out those first few weeks together. It’s strange listening to her reflections of me at that time and then her saying all the things that I have been thinking in the last few weeks. That I am not like those other people who are going to be in the hospital. Those people are poorly. I’m not. She reminded me how when I came in last time, I would walk around saying the exact same thing, how I wouldn’t really engage with people because I believed that I would be there for a couple of weeks and then be free to go. She knew from our first meal that I was full of crap, just like she knows now when I was coming out with all the thoughts that my mind has taken me to in the last few weeks that I am still full of crap.
My pride will be my downfall if I don’t get it in check. I am not going into treatment to help everyone else who will be there and not focus on myself because that’s too hard (as I was reminded of this evening). I am going because I need to do this in order to get well. The facilitator told me she was relieved that I had made the choice to go in, my friends and half my family are too…so why is it all the people who don’t think it’s a good idea that I can focus on? Me pausing my life will mean that I’m not around to do what they need me to do and I can see how that would be an inconvenience. That’s what I feel I am most of the time right now. I have to let go of that guilt because if I keep holding on to it then I won’t be able to fully commit myself to recovery and that is what I need to do, for me.
I hope your day has been good to you.