Baby Steps??????

 

I hope you're right. The new T is okay. I think I spilled a little too much. I am starting to doubt myself. I'm wondering if it's possible to truly have lived my life.  Is it conceivable to have lived the life I have and still be alive?  I wonder if some people survive through sheer proof that we humans are in products of god. So, that god can say, " do you see? I am here. Aware of all of you.  You did not climb from ooze." 

   I am in no way saying that my existence is more deserving of god's proof. Oh, fuck it maybe I am. I have just noticed that when I talk people's eyebrows start to climb towards their scalp. 

"oh, sure, sure you survived cancer. You were in a coma ?? How many people sexually abused you??? Wait you have what kind of illness. trigeminal neuralgia? no that's not possible. You have autonomic neuropathy too. Sweetie, I'm pretty sure you're fucking delusional." Yes, I know.  I have never even thought about how much I have done that to other people.  I'm sorry about that. I get it now. 

  I asked the new T what the pros to EMDR are. He said things like, it's fast, its not triggering (as much), you stay grounded. Then he said that the processing happens on the inside.  Whaaaa ??? Hang on. I'm pretty sure the whole reason why I'm in a shit storm right now is because I can not process this inside my head.  I need to talk about it. I need to tell. I need to tell more than" oh hey I was sexually abused."  I have tried that move on fast bullshit. The whole "R, we don't need all the minutiae." " Can't we talk about something else?"  

  Now, I do not want to talk about everything. I do not need to describe every tiny detail. I do need to get some history straight. I do want  to say hey fuckers that douche bag raped me.  Maybe that's wrong. Maybe the platform for that discussion has disappeared. I don't care.  I DON'T CARE got it.  I don't  I wish I had the words before but I didn't. I do now.  I am hoping that is a step in the right direction. I hope that is my first step. I am pretty sure I have taken many first steps in the wrong direction. I don't really know how much more I have. 

Broken thoughts

 Wilkie asked me to make a list of what I wanted to be. Who the girl could have become.  She asked me if I knew. I don't know. I am so tired of people telling me that it was so long ago. Is that supposed to help? Am I supposed to know why I feel more broken today than a year ago?  I lost that so long ago. Now I'm supposed to walk into a new therapist? I'm supposed to tell him that so long ago someone ripped out my heart and ground it up. Could you please find it and put it back??? I feel so confused. I wrote this in my journal because everyone keeps telling me that I have to move on. That I have to find something to live for. I don't really know that I exist. So maybe its not about me.

     It's about her. It is not about how bad it was or how long it has been it is about her. A small girl's spirit that was broken and crushed time after time. It's about how the world went on without her. How her body grew and her mind. How her family never even suspected. It's not about therapy and its not about justice. Not about revenge. It's not about how bad it was or if it is still bad. It is not about growing up it isn't about how her body betrayed her over and over. It isn't about taking back my life. It isn't about moving forward. It isn't about who I am know or who I can choose to be. It isn't about watching her friends grow up and her sisters too. It isn't about being believed. It isn't about staying a child. It isn't about being alone. It's about a little girl with all her hopes and dreams. A pretty little girl who loves to twirl and laugh. A girl who had never felt unsafe. A child full of promise. An innocent baby. Brand new to this world. She was real. She really lived. I see her. I can almost catch a glimpse of her if I turn real fast. All of that gone in a moment. In a quick hard grasp, fingers with dirty nails, pulling and pushing. Ripping her clothes then her body. That was all it took she was gone. Her eyes went dark she held her breath and disappeared. She buried herself deep inside the darkest hole she could. She told herself that there was no hope, or beauty. That dreaming was dangerous. Worst of all she told herself that she was bad. That god made her bad. That he sent her to earth to be punished. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I don't know how to fix this.

Anyway, I start EMDR today.  What do I say to him? Uhh yeah hello. I'm your new fucked up trauma client.  I hope this isn't too much...  Wow, I can't even face myself in the mirror. Why is it when your doing something for the first time that you really really don't want to do your body grows 14 sizes? please god shoot me now

Bad week

I was so unique 

Now I feel skin deep 

I count on the make-up to cover it all 

Crying myself to sleep cause I cannot keep their attention 

I thought I could be strong 

But it's killing me 

Does someone hear my cry? 

I'm dying for new life 

[Chorus]

I want to be beautiful 

Make you stand in awe 

Look inside my heart, 

and be amazed 

I want to hear you say 

Who I am is quite enough 

Just want to be worthy of love 

And beautiful 

Sometimes I wish I was someone other than me 

Fighting to make the mirror happy 

Trying to find whatever is missing 

Won't you help me back to glory 

[Chorus]

You make me beautiful 

You make me stand in awe 

You step inside my heart, and I am amazed 

I love to hear You say 

Who I am is quite enough 

You make me worthy of love and beautiful

I was trying so hard to be more consistent in writing.  My life feels like it has been put on hold this past couple of weeks.  Okay, my life has been put on hold for years.  I'll just say its been pretty crappy.  

     I don't know very much about the spectrum of dissociation disorders. I do not even know if there is one.  I do know that I have struggled with it in the past. I seem to have a pretty big disconnect from my body. I think I also have one from my "identity".  However I don't really have any clue who I am right this second.  Where that fits into my identity, I have no clue. Here is what I do know.

    I know that I have sexual trauma in my past. I know that I have bullying and emotional abuse in my past. I know that I am scared.  I am terrified. There is not a word big enough for what I am.

    So, what's with the lyrics?  Sometimes I can't find the words, or arrange them to mean what I want to say.  Music helps me to do that.  this song is Called Beautiful.  Its sung by Bethany Dillion.  When I heard it it touched my lost soul. The part of me that remembers what I could have become.  When I say that, I don't really mean a different person/personality.   I mean that deep inside my spirit, my heart, remembers what I felt like before.  My terror started young.  I don't really have many conscience memories of the "first time".  I have always said I died. The real me. That she was murdered. That she became my screamer.  I remember when that happened. Is it a true linear memory, no, probably not. It is vivid though.  The screamer is also clear as glass. I can see her and hear her. Sometimes she gets very loud. Like right now.  She remembers being unique. She remembers having to die. I remember. I remember locking her away. Trying so hard to keep her safe.  I wanted her to go away.  It is her I see in the mirror. 

     Wilkie wants me to do EMDR. I think I have frightened her.  I have said way too much. which is just like me (blah,blah, blah,...) I don't really know.  I wish this would go away. I do not know why it refuses to stay buried. I wish someone could help. I wish. I wish.  Wishing doesn't work.   There is no one coming to save me. They were always right about that.  

     Wilkie asked me. Rissa, after all you have told me, about the illnesses, the abuse, the rapes. Could there possibly be anything worse? She said, maybe this feeling is a shift in thinking. Maybe the long held beliefs that you hold on to are changing.  That would feel very frightening.  It would be a very normal reaction to be apprehensive about being okay.  Damn, skippity, she is right about that. She is so very wrong about the storm that is coming her way.  

     What is coming? I don't know. It is going to be bad though, it feels like it might kill me.  I have said so often that I want to find the pieces of my broken soul that have been scattered like trash. I started with my spirituality. That has been a hard piece to find, it was ripped away so early.  I know now know that god didn't abandon me. In those places he could not enter and the times I had to walk alone he gave me a guardian angel to walk beside me.  He gave me a mind that could take me far away. I do not curse god. I only hope to understand. I know someday I will.  You know, I always hate when people get preachy on Facebook and blogs. However, since I'm pretty sure no body reads this blog.  I suppose I don't care.

   On the medical front, there is not much. The Neuroman says the MRI found white matter disease. He also does not think its causing my symptoms. so pretty much he thinks I'm full of shit. So I am taking a whole ton of meds and writhing in pain most of the time.  However, I can see my first 3 ribs so that is a super bonus.  Now if someone could please explain to me how I can have all the symptoms of autonomic dysfunction, and trigeminal neuralgia, but all of my tests are normal ??????? 

     Dear Lord,  please kill me? Please make this stop. If you can't make it stop please let others see it. I could really use someone on my side.  I could also deal a lot better with all of this if you would please make me 74 lbs. Yes, I know I am insane.  If I can't have any of the good please make this pain visible. Please god, Please help me deal with your will. Let me learn these lessons swiftly.  Please carry this.

     Wow, okay this blog post is so out of control. let's bring it back together and just say this. It has been a really hard week.  I am exhausted.  My screaming soul can not contain it anymore.

Free to choose ???????

Wilkie said something that so many people say to me.  " Riss, it seems to me that you fight so hard to keep your body alive." This came after a very long discussion about how I do not identify with this ugly, fat, sick, vessel that my mind and spirit calls home.  I have told her how disconcerting it is to stand in front of a mirror and not recognize who the hell is staring back.  So, I wondered if I should tell the truth about the physical part. I have never, not once told anyone why I am willing to treat the body when it is ill, or in pain. Granted, if I focus on the pain that is caused by living in a diseased body it is so much easier. Easier to admit that I have no fucking clue why my spirit is so ill. I don't have to admit that my mind is ill and torturing me.  Underneath all of that is another reason. One that I said out loud for the first time. I believe that the body god gave me was destroyed. Beaten, raped, and finally deemed used up.   Because even though my mind and soul screamed for relief.  My body refused to obey.  I went back. I didn't run fast enough. I couldn't scream loud enough.  Most of all I could not tell.
I do not know what memories I have made up, exaggerated, or happened to someone else. All I know is that there are huge empty spots of things I should remember. I also know that deep inside me is a small child that stands in a corner of my mind with her eyes screwed shut and her ears clapped hared over her ears, Her mouth open in a scream that only I can hear.  Is she me ? Is she made up ? I don't know. I don't know if it matters.

       So, I told her.  I feel like I earned the right to destroy this body. I feel like in every way conceivable, this body has betrayed me. It remains to do so to this day. In my mind it is comparable to the worst kind of criminal. I feel that I have earned the right to return the favor in kind. It betrayed me it has teased and tormented me, into believing that I might heal, physically, mentally, and even emotionally. Only to be forced to give up dreams, passions, desires, and needs. Now I am at war with myself. I will beat, starve, purge, medicate, and exhaust it.  Because it is my tormentor. Cancer, Pneumonia, coma, hypothyroid, POTS,  those are its weapons. I can only fight with what I know.
     
      The only problem with all of this is my spirituality. My belief in god. I know that somewhere stands beside me a guardian angel. He has done a damn good job of reminding me that my values do not mesh with any of this. That I believe that one day there will be peace.  That if I can get through one more day  I will learn. I will find all of the dreams, the passions, and my deepest desires will be found. So today is one more day that I made it through the pain. Yes I did it with restricting, isolating, and ineffective behaviors. Today I chose another day in hell.  I hope one day I don't

Please let me repeat myself

I can not tell you enough that living with my aging parents is delightful.  However, I  can tell you that there are somethings that if I don't laugh at I think I might just kill all three of us.

 I have told my father over and over and over. Please, for the love of all that is holy do not, I mean do not touch my clothes while they are in the laundry process.  I must be talking to a brick wall. Yes I know that I have a particular way of washing my clothes. I know that they are not his way of washing clothes. I hate coming home after a long day of doctor's appointments, MRI's, poking and prodding to my favorite shirts. shrunk down to a toddler size that I could no more squeeze my foot into then my big ass belly. Then as I try to vent my frustrations to them and try once to convey that my nice clothes that cost me a bunch can not be dried in the dryer. That bras can not be dried on the highest cotton setting. I get a lecture that reminds me that my dear old dad was trying to help his poor sick daughter. Lighten her load so to say.  Well, pop if you would listen in the first place we could stop having this convo. I mean really how hard is it to just leave it alone.  

Yes, I have OCD. YES I am a basket case. Yes, I am in some pretty severe need of help. NOT with my laundry though. I got that. I don't mind carrying your 25, 50 pound buckets of 30 year old food storage ( sorry Mormon reference ) out of the basement. Even though my sweet ednos, and POT syndrome, and my super fun pain that I can't handle, has me pretty much crawling on the floor. I smiled and said you're welcome. I will say it again Please leave my laundry alone.

Coming Back..... warning Trigger possible

 So this is a recent email to S we were having a discussion about truly being happy or "faking"  I am not a supporter of the fake it until you make it theory. I don't believe it happens that way at all. I believe that faking only produces more faking. I want to be real.  Anyway I am coming back to blogging after a hiatus. Mostly because I have been unsure of what I want this blog to be. I also have been pretty ill.  I want to share my experiences clearly and fully so here is my first entry on the journey. Where to ? I'm not entirely sure.


 I'm hesitant to share this because, I don't want to take away from the skill use and mastery that I have achieved. I'm afraid not just of happiness. I'm terrified that while I look and can act appropriate, that my ineffectiveness will be over looked.  I can always laugh and make jokes. I'm full of interesting tidbits.  Mostly it is all bull shit that I have learned over a lifetime.  I have learned to smile through insurmountable pain. I have learned to laugh and lie all while hating who and what I am. I have learned to cover scars, cuts, burns and bruises. Because that is not what people like to hear. I have always been what other people wanted or needed.  I learned at a very young age that no matter what the pain you stand up brush it off and go on. Because there is always ALWAYS someone worse off than you.  I was taught that I am not just insignificant. But that I will always be unheard. That crying out only brings more pain. That talking about the darkness can bring death. I was groomed and taught to put on a smile because this world doesn't give a shit about what has happened to you. It only cares what you can do for it. I was taught that selfishness is an ultimate sin. Everything I do I do to keep my selfishness in check.  Even in the most desperate of times be it cancer,coma, rape, or flashback.  Anyone can get me to smile. Because I have learned my lesson well. I understand and I can even take into my heart that I have made some progress that I'm feel like I'm coping a bit better.  I will continue to work not because my past or present tells me it gets better ( because for me it tends to get worse) But because my belief is that one day I will get to rest. That somewhere somehow this pain will leave me in peace. I do not believe in "fake it  til you make it". I think that is a fallacy. Because I am fake, and all I have accomplished is fake. That I am still a little girl laying gang raped and alone on a floor. Because people always tell me. Brush it off, smile, your life is not hard, it could be worse you could have been born in Africa, lymphoma isn't that bad. You could have breast cancer.  Hey being sexually abused happens to lots of people and they're happy.  What's wrong with you??  I am so fake that I say all of it to myself. Then I tell it to everyone. All I have made is a mess.  I don't understand how people can say to me that I have all the reasons to be happy.  I am nothing. I am no one. I don't even recognize my own face. I can be happy because there is not even a me. I know that makes no sense.  I wish I could explain it.  Please help me not to give up on me.  I don't know where I lost my soul. I hope that I can find it. I hope that this is what this journey is about. I have to find out. I have to try.  I'm learning slowly that I can use skills to make living easier. That does make me happy. I am learning that this body is really mine not something for the world to use. I hate it. I hate that it is diseased, and disgusting. I hate that I can't abuse it in to submission. No matter how I try. I hate that starving, purging, cutting, and destroying makes me feel so good. Yes, I want to change all of this. I want to accept that being abused over and over is not my fault. I don't really see that because I'm pretty much the only common factor.. But oh well. Sorry I don't really know when this became a novel. It's just how I feel. 
Clarissa

Coming back...

I want so much to come back. Back to where I was better. Where I happier. I don’t think I have ever truly been HAPPY. I have been happyish though, I think.  I was doing ok. I was talking, learning to trust, other people and myself, then smack, chronic illness, again.  I have never, that I can remember a super healthy person. I am usually battling one virus or bacteria,or some kind of infection. I also battle my mind which often goes rouge.  I think this blog helps I am not really very good at it. I hope with some practice I can get better at it.  So I am coming back. I hope it is the first step back from where I have been. Where I dove head first after Edog left.  I want to come back. I hope I can someday.

Totally fine

 I have no idea why I say this so much. I often mean something completely different. I say fine because I don’t think many people want to know really how I am. I am sure I am not the only person to feel like this. So, you’re wondering why I’m whining ? I’m in the mood for being a whiner.  So there is the reason.  I made a huge stinkaroo this past week because I was feeling ignored. Ignored by my family, my friends, my therapist, and pretty much anyone who was breathing. The thing is, I think I overreacted a bit. If I am always telling people I’m fine, well what can I expect.  What am I getting at ? What is the point ?  The point is I can now see where all of my lying has got me. So, I am going to try. Try being the operative word. To tell the people who matter the truth. I really have no clue how I am going to do this.  But for starters, I am going to ask for regular therapy from my so called therapist. Yeah, I know super tough

hey, i got sumthin to say

Here is my problem. I feel lonely. I feel ignored. I feel fat. Fat with emotions that I can't seem to handle, let alone control. I have so much to be grateful for. I have so much to love. Here is the thing. I have so much to say.  I feel like I want to start screaming and never stop. I feel so completely alone. I think that is why I have relapsed. I need to quiet that screaming. I need to silence all the words, swirling in my mind.

What I want is to tell. To bitch and moan, I want to be mean and hateful. I want to be angry.

So since no one ever reads this blog I will say it here.

Stone, I am so mad that you think that that I am the one that needs to do everything to keep this friendship alive. I feel used and unsupported by you. I feel like you think that having a friends means the have to do every thing to support you with nothing in return. 

Tree, What can I say. I feel used. I feel second citizen. 

momma, I hate that you make me grovel. I hate that you think I have no needs. I can't stand that you can't put the fuck computer down and talk to me. You asked me to come over. I hate that I need you so much.

Daddy-o I am so sorry I was born and that I turned out to be such a failure. I hate myself enough for us both.

E-dog I blame you for leaving me in such a mess. I am so sad.
That is enough for now. I feel so ashamed sorry everyone.

dietary-DIEtary

I know that Granola is trying to help, I get it, I do. The thing is that I don't know if I want her help. It feels so, so, so good to step on the scale, and see the number fall. I know that women and men everywhere agree with me. I also know that I am a bit obsessive. Just a bit. I tend to be extremist instead of moderate in behavior. Hence, DBT therapy. I wish that my mind could see my ineffective actions. I wish it would say, "slow down there, sparky. Slow it down." I can't, in fact I wouldn't even know where to start. So I have come to the conclusion that I will keep my team informed. I will try to be as honest about what I am thinking, feeling, sensing, and understanding. Try being the key word there. So, ana, Ed, and Ednos, buckle up. Life is about to get bumpy.

I Am Sorry

I am sorry, sorry,sorry.  I hate that I can’t control my emotions. I don’t know how to be the person anyone wants to have around. I know how to be needed. I know how to make them all disappear. I don’t know how to be strong. I don’t know how to be honest. I don’t know how to ask. I am sorry. I am so confused. I am so lonely. I want to be forgiven. I want to be good. I want to disapper. I want to be real. I am sorry.  I don’t mean to make it worse. I don’t mean to ineffective.  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.  I am a coward. I am wrong. I am sorry

TOO....

When I was in elementary school. I remember learning the grammatical differences , of the words two, too, and to. Ever since I struggled with my pencil on that cheap schoolhouse paper. (you know the kind that rips when you try to erase it.) I have been plagued by the word too. We all know that when using too in a sentence. It means more, bigger, and more than one. (Okay, I know that there are other instances for it and all.) This is the form I am talking about. Whenever I think about learning what it meant, and how it is used, I have images of my third grade teacher drawing on the black board. Two over sized OOs, I hear her say" always use two fat Os because this word means too much" I can see this day so clearly in my head, which for me is a big deal because there is so much that I can't remember from this time. Yes I am rambling, get over it.  I remember thinking in my head "Oh, wow now I get it." I know. I know. Get what? you ask. Well I will tell you. My whole life has been. "Clar, you're being too loud." "Sweetie, you're laughing too much." "Riss, you're eating too much."  "Clarissa, you're too fat." "You breathe too loud" We all know that junior high is hell.  Every day I was too something. I was too dirty, too loud, too dramatic, too big,  too whiny, too, too, too... On and on until I am cowed in a corner, silent.  

      Here is the thing, my personality is all of those things. I am loud, I am hungry, I am nosey, I am definitely whiny at times.  Yet here I am in my thirties, and all someone has to say is that phrase. You're too... I wish I knew how to stop being. Too

Unbreakable

So, I was perusing the web. I came across a photo project called Project Unbreakable. This young woman,[Grace] has taken it upon herself to give survivors of sexual assault/abuse back words. It can be words the perpetrator used against them (us), or words they (us) have used against themselves. I loved it. It is beautiful, empowering, and courageous. These women and men, are taking back so many words. I myself, have taken all those words that were used to, berate, degrade, humiliate, and ultimately destroy me. All of these words I turned inside. Using them as weapons to keep myself in line. I am not in a place where I can declare myself healed or even remotely able to declare I am strong. I hate myself. There I said it I hate, hate, hate myself. I wish all of these survivors peace, and power. I also want to say To this young woman. "You are an amazing, young woman, thanks.

nothing

Okay so today is not a good day. I can feel my anger and emotions bubbling, boiling inside of me. I have horrible anger. It seems to be a default emotion. I hate hate being trapped without some kind of outlet. I am e.d. triggered, and feeling horribly full, fat with negativity. How is it possible that a quiet week has turned into feeling bitter and rage filled. I will tell you how. Too much time to remember how much I hate myself. How much I wish I could disappear. How much being me bothers me. I do not want to become my grandmother and my mother. I hate that I come from a family of complete and utter emotional imbeciles. I hate just sitting in one spot day after day. I am afraid of becoming old of losing my mind. I wish that I could run.

Possible ?.....

How is it possible, that as of right now I am sitting with my calorie count at 737 and I am feeling so lost so guilty and so so so afraid? I don't know. I don't know, I have no fucking clue. I am, of course, hugely triggered. I am lying,(laying,) on the floor of my grand parents home. They have lived here all of my life. As well as all of my mother's life. The problem is that while I have always loved being here in this quiet home. I have never, never, felt uneasy as I do this time. Why? Well because my uncle who has always been huge, both physically and emotionally has shrunk. Shrunk due to the fact that he had a Gastric bypass 8 months ago. It feels so haunted here. As if there is a ghost of this fun loving smiling person, who had so much. So much gusto, for life for, food and for experience. Now he is gaunt, drawn, quiet. He is starving. Now I know that so many people have experienced this horror as they watch us,(you know us as in the worshipers of Ana, Mia, ED). I am watching this unfold. I have never thought of it before. Here is the rub. I hate it. I want to be the whose flesh is disappearing, who,s light is fading before all of those eyes. I want to turn and walk away with only the though of, "I am so thin" in my head. I am envious that a person (namely my uncle),can walk into a hospital have his stomach sewn shut and everyone in my family applauds the "hard work" "determination", and "great sacrifice". I on the other hand, restrict, count, subtract, purge, obsessively exercise, lose a shit load of body weight, but I am sick. I have to go to treatment. I have to be "brainwashed" by therapists, dietitians, and doctors. I have to stop. I am still obese, still heavy, still, still, still. Yes I am whining. Someone PLEASE explain this. How is this possible.

Realizations

Another missed opportunity down the drain, My therapist suggested a possible career change free of charge. I like the fool that I can be, waited until after the close date. Admittedly I have been dealing with this whole shingles debacle. My hands still work though, bah oh well cest la vie, kay sera as they say. Let’s just say that this has not been my finest week. I have been near paralyzed by gripping fear that my waist, butt, arms, thighs and stomach, have been secretly sneaking ding dongs, while I sleep. Only to realize as I put my jeans on this morning that I have maybe, possibly, that my restricting is getting out of hand. This realization was fleeting though, because almost as instantaneously that sweet sweet voice told me “That feels good doesn’t it. Putting on your pants and having to roll them. I told you that food was poison”. Damn her, but alas she is right. So, the war continues. I will continue to restrict and suppress my intuitive self (ha, yeah right), okay, the intuitive self I was trying to foster. In the hopes that this time with help from Ana I might be able to find the identity that I lack.

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BE QUIET, SHUT UP YOUR SO LOUD

I have been told I am too loud. I have been told my voice is too loud. People have told me to stop screaming, yelling, crying,  arguing and laughing. I have been asked if I always talk so loud.  I get it people. I make your ears hurt. Maybe I make you all uncomfortable. I get that too.  Here is the truth I don't want to be quiet. I want to scream, yell, argue, and laugh. I even want to fart really loud.  My new T Wilkie  asked me why people in my life tell me to shush. I told her I don't know.  I honestly don't know. It could be that I know a lot and they don't want to hear it. (hmm, no probably not.) Maybe they have very sensitive ears. (again, unlikely.) Perhaps it is because I feel like nobody listens. ( ding, ding, ding.) I hate feeling like this truly I do. I do not always want to listen sometimes I want to be heard.

Mania hits

Hey diddily do all of you,
Sorry super weird mood everyone. Okay so i am feeling out of sorts. I am relapsing I will say it again RELAPSING. Hoo fucking ray.  So we all know that the holidays are hard for us ED girls and guys. I am no different. I am also going through a therapist change and have no one to talk to about it.  I am back to purging purging purging. I don't care either. In fact I love it it makes me feel so empowered. I know that most likely has to do with trauma therapy stopping and not finishing it.  Thanks E-dog.  Woo hoo this is crazy time so pro Ana today and a bit manic sorry