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pixiegrl · 3 years

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Am I Pretty?

Part 18 of Lingeriesos:

Luke’s having a hard time adjusting to being home from Australia.

I need to preface this by saying it's a very body image heavy piece. Ages ago, @lifewasradical suggested a prompt based on "Am I Pretty?" By The Maine and I wrote this when I was not in a good headspace personally. Alot of Luke's feeling are how I feel and it's not representative of everyone. Just as a general warning. I'm not sure what else to say here other than I hope people enjoy reading it, even if it's more angst than normal. There’s also talk of eating disorders and panic attacks.

On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643556

Luke’s having a panic attack in his bathroom. He’s a grown man and he shouldn’t be, but here he is. Luke has felt off-kilter all morning, feels too big and too loud, like he’s taking up all the space in their house without meaning to. He’d woken up just feeling wrong in his own body, attempted to go downstairs for breakfast and found that the thought of food made him nauseous. He tried to eat breakfast this morning, but he’d almost lost it, looking at the omelet Ashton made, hands shaking, brain telling him that he doesn’t need to eat, not when he feels like this, not when his body just feels wrong. He couldn’t stomach eating anything, kept gagging just thinking about food. He’d gotten into an argument with Ashton about it, snapping when Ashton had told him to eat something. It had turned into some stupid fight about Luke’s habits and Ashton’s need to be in control and had ended in Luke grabbing his coffee mug and storming back to their bedroom. It’s mid-morning now and Luke feels shaky and hungry, but his brain isn’t cooperating with him, stuck on an anxiety loop about his fight with Ashton that he’s only made worse by going into the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror.

Luke made the stupid decision to get on the scale they have in the bathroom (he’s not even sure why they have one) and he’s freaking out because he saw the number. Granted, Luke doesn’t feel any different. His body looks the same, his clothing fits the same, he feels fine, but the scale’s told Luke that he’s gained some weight. Luke also logically knows that it’s the holiday season and he’s been home in LA more and also in Australia, so his diet’s been off and he shouldn’t be freaking out about it, but he is. He’s standing in his bathroom freaking out because his brain doesn’t know how to handle things, anxiety taking over, trapping him in it’s cycle. It’s not even a lot of weight, but it’s enough that Luke’s spiraling a bit, hyper aware of it now, sitting on the bathroom floor trying to remind himself to breathe, scared that if he stands up and sees himself in the mirror he’ll start really panicking.

It’s stupid that Luke’s brain is like this. It’s been like this since he was young, right when they had started getting famous, pushed more into the public eye. He’s always felt so scrutinized, everyone’s focus on him and how he looked, how he acted. It had gotten worse when he’d suddenly gotten taller, broader, looking more like he does now. He’s always felt pressure to look a certain way, act a certain way, be a certain way. He’s always been hyper aware of how he looks, the image he’s portraying. It’s gotten a little better recently, the freedom of being able to express himself with makeup, jewelry, lingerie and dresses, Ashton’s constant love and support, putting him more at ease, making him more comfortable with his body.

Luke’s been in Australia for a few weeks though, unable to do any of those things. He’s enjoyed being home, getting to do wedding plans, spending time with his family and Ashton’s family. He knows he’s been on edge for awhile, taken out of his routine, and making the stupid decision to get on the scale was really just the tipping point. Luke takes a seat on the floor, back to the tub, knowing that if he stands any longer, staring at himself in the mirror, he’s going to end up on his knees throwing up like he did when he was a teenager, stressed and anxious.

Luke takes a few shallow breaths, trying to count to ten, feeling the cold of the bathtub at his back, trying to ground himself before he slips too far. He knows this is really just one part of the whole problem too. Having to wear nothing but his more masculine clothing back home with his parents has put him into a strange headspace. Even when he’s on tour, Luke still has some freedom in what he wears off stage, what he puts on under his clothing. He doesn’t get that when he goes to see his parents.

Luke put on his favorite part of panties this morning, soft pink cotton with little stars on them, after wearing nothing but his boxer briefs during the trip, and all he can focus on is how big he feels. He feels too large, too masculine, too much to be wearing them now. He feels itchy and uncomfortable, stretched too thin, out of place. Luke hates feeling like this, not feeling at home in his body. It sucks because he’s gotten comfortable over the last few months wearing his dresses and skirts and lingerie in public, painting his face and being free, being himself when he’s out doing things. He’s just gotten comfortable being able to express himself outside of his home and now he’s back to where he was ages ago, feeling like even the panties are too much, not right on his already large frame.

Luke’s trying to will himself not to cry, shoulders shaking slightly, head against the lip of the tub, when he hears Ashton calling his name. Luke doesn’t trust himself to answer, still hoping that he can hold it together long enough that by the time Ashton finds him, he’ll be okay. Ashton’s voice gets closer, until Luke can hear him outside the bathroom door, knocking on it lightly. Luke takes a couple deep breaths, shoulders shaking slightly with the effort of it.

“Luke, are you in there?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, startled by how broken he sounds.

“Do you want me to come in?” Ashton asks, tentative. It’s something they started back when Luke was living with Ashton the first time around, when the world was too much and he was close to breaking. Ashton put the choice into Luke’s hands, not asking Luke if he could come in, but asking Luke what he wanted. Giving Luke the power to decide how much or how little he wanted Ashton involved. Luke has never once turned Ashton away, desperately needs Ashton as his rock, his grounding presence, but Luke’s always been grateful for the choice Ashton gives him every time.

Luke considers it now, turning Ashton away. He doesn’t want Ashton to see him like this, but the thought of being without Ashton makes his chest tight and his throat close up. Luke just wants someone to hold him. Luke lets out a strangled sound, managing a choked out yes when Ashton asks the question again, concern and alarm clear in his voice. Ashton pushes the door open, making a sad noise in his throat when he sees Luke on the floor, kneeling down and wrapping Luke up in his arms, holding him close while Luke wraps his arms around Ashton, tears suddenly coming, streaming down his face.

“Oh sweetheart,” Ashton says, pushing Luke’s curls back and kissing his temple. Luke hiccups, sniffling around his tears. He lets Luke keep crying, body shaking as Luke tries to regain control of himself. Eventually he runs out of tears, sniffling slightly. Luke feels a little more aware of himself, but the out of body experience is still there, the feeling of it being not quite right hanging over him.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to cry about it and let me hold you?” Ashton asks, when Luke’s hiccups have calmed down.

“I don’t know. I just...I woke up feeling wrong and overwhelmed and I can’t breathe now. I can’t stop thinking about how I look, how I feel. My brain won’t stop telling me I’m too big, too much, that I’m a burden and a bother and I just want to stop feeling like this,” Luke says, pressing his face into Ashton’s shoulder, letting Ashton run his hands through his curls.

“Why do you feel like this? You haven’t talked about this since the first lingerie set you bought.”

“We went home. We stopped touring and we stayed home and I got comfortable. I got comfortable going out in public in dresses and skirts and wearing the lingerie under my clothing and no one caring. We go out to restaurants and local places and no one bats an eye, no one thinks I’m Luke Hemmings in a dress, they just see me. And then we went home and I just...I felt like I had to put myself back in a box for my parents. I’m just uncomfortable in my own body now, like everything I’m doing is wrong. I didn’t feel right back home, but it’s like being in that mindset for a few weeks has just made me feel out of place here now. And I made the stupid choice to get on the scale and now I just don’t feel right Ash and I hate it and I hate that I’m crying about this,” Luke rushes out in one breath. He feels Ashton’s hand pause, hears Ashton hum quietly, before he starts his movement again.

“Luke, you’ve never too much, you’re never a burden. I know it’s hard for you to understand that when your brain doesn’t want you to, but I love you. You can never be too much for me. You’re beautiful and wonderful.”

“Even when I’m like this?”

“Like what?”

“Miserable. Angsty. I can’t get out of my head and I feel so itchy in my own skin and I only feel comfortable sitting here in my underwear, but now I can’t even think of it as my underwear because I couldn’t wear it for weeks. I just...I wish I was different. I wish I didn’t feel like this. I wish I was comfortable in my body, I wish I could be a better partner, I wish I was just...better.”

“Luke, I don’t want you any other way. This is you, this is who you are. All your good parts and bad parts, the perfect bits and all of the flaws you see in yourself. They make you who you are. They make you beautiful. And you love me, even when I’m locking myself away for hours or when I’m depressed, when I was binge drinking all the time and when you had to handle me getting sober. That’s what being in love is, all the good parts and the bad parts and the in between parts,” Ashton says. He tilts Luke’s head up, smoothing back a curl and pressing a soft kiss to Luke’s forehead. Luke sighs, leaning into it, closing his eyes. He still feels itchy and stretched to thin, but it feels nice, knowing Ashton’s here for him, that Ashton loves him.

“Promise?”

“I promise. I love you, all of you.”

Luke nods, leaning into Ashton, matching his breathing to Ashton’s until he feels calmer, more centered.

Eventually, he feels Ashton shift, straightening his legs out, Luke shifts too, tilting his head up to look at Ashton.

“Thank you.”

“I love you, Luke. You’re welcome. Now, do you want food? Water? Cuddles?”

“Can we have a snack in bed? Watch a movie?”

“Of course darling,” Ashton says, smiling softly, pressing a kiss to Luke’s forehead pulling him to his feet, leading him back to bed. Luke gets comfortable while Ashton goes back downstairs, getting popcorn and water, letting Luke set up something for them to watch. Luke gets under the covers, curling up, grabbing Petunia when she ventures into the bedroom and cuddling with her until Ashton gets in. He curls up at Luke’s side, letting Luke put his head in his lap, playing with Luke’s curls. Luke still doesn’t feel quite right, still feels stretched too thin, but he feels better now, softer. Knowing that Ashton loves him, cares for him, even when Luke’s being irrational and scared and unhappy, makes Luke feel better. It reminds Luke that this is what love feels like. This is what their love feels like.

#5 seconds of summer #lashton #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #body image tw #weight tw #references to alchoholism #alcohol tw #its a slightly more angst piece than i normally do for this series #projection was strong #my writing #eating disorder tw #panic attack #lingerie Luke #lingerie sos

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never-not-ever · 4 years

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Can you share your story with us? You can do it ❤️

Thank you! It wasn’t that bad… The 8th graders this morning were paying attention which was nice but no one asked questions in the end so it was like a little awkward lol. But after that at the high school I was a part of 5 periods where the kids would shuffle in and me and my co peer mentors would sit at the front like a panel. Since there was a bunch of us we didn’t all have to present each time but I ended up doing mine twice!

Also just to preface this, my story is not the full story. The first draft I sent to the coordinator was like 10x long and over time we shortened it and tried to not make it as descriptive/triggering… but here ya go!

“Freshmen year of high school, I was sitting in class joking with my best friend about how it was going to be my last day in school. I had an annual physical with my doctor later that afternoon. This was my first doctors appointment since I started self harming. Back then I thought that the second she saw my arm I was going to get taken away by two men in white coats. I didn’t go to a psych ward that day. Instead, she asked me if I was okay and I replied “I’m fine, it was a stupid thing I did, I promise I won’t do it again”. She handed me a little white card with the name and phone number of a therapist. I often wonder what would have happened if I actually called that therapist and got help back in high school. Would the self harm have stopped? Would the suicide attempts have been prevented? Would I have graduated from college by now? Who would I be if I got help back then?

I think I had a pretty normal childhood. I didn’t have a mom and a dad but I had my Nana and my Aunt. My Nana got custody of me when I was 2 and she and my Aunt raised me my whole life. My Aunt was like my mother and everywhere we went people thought I was her daughter. I have no memory of my father. He was an alcoholic and left before my mother lost custody of me. My mother has her own problems with mental health as well as a drug addiction. We tried to have a relationship but as I grew up I saw who she really was. By the time I turned 15 I wanted nothing to do with her and I haven’t spoken to her since.

Growing up I was really close with my Aunt, she was like a mother to me, a real one. My Aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in middle school and she was constantly in relapse and remission. For months it would disappear and then all of a sudden it would come back again. I went to a small middle school with probably about 15 kids in my class. I was the biggest person in my school. At the 8th grade dance all the other girls wore cute dresses and I wore pants and a nice shirt. That wasn’t my style but I was just way too self conscious to ever wear a dress. In high school I was once again the biggest person. I had a couple close friends but I hated being around people, always fearing that they were judging me for my size. I had a friend online who introduced me to self harm. He was always bullied so he starting hurting himself as a way to cope. You see I was never bullied. I was always overweight but no one ever called me names or made fun of me, at least to my face. I was the bully. To myself. I hated the way I looked, the things I said, the way I interacted with other people. I hated everything about myself. I always scolded myself for saying or doing the wrong thing. I started self harming in my freshmen year. Back then I didn’t see a future for myself. I was so depressed that I wasn’t thinking about the consequences I’d later face because of my self harm. My depression, along with my extreme self hatred, turned my self harm into a way to punish myself.

After high school my depression and self harm got worse and I started feeling suicidal. My Aunts cancer was back and had traveled throughout her body. She passed away in April of 2012. She died at home and I watched her take her last breath. Right after she passed I ran up to my room and tore apart the suicide notes and threw away all my self harm supplies all while telling myself “I have to be there for my Nana, I can’t leave her too”. My Aunt’s death made me feel selfish for feeling depressed and suicidal. It made me think of all the people who have it worse and here I was so depressed and wanting to end my life? It didn’t make sense. But I wasn’t choosing to feel this way and I had every right to feel the way I did. It took me a while to realize that but I know now after feeling such joy and happiness I wouldn’t chose sadness and depression, no one would. For a while after my Aunt passed away I thought maybe she was watching over me and so every time I had that urge to hurt myself it was easily pushed away. The day my Aunt died it was like I put this shield up and I automatically started comforting everyone around me so I wasn’t actually grasping the fact that she was gone. Later on that fall I tried to go back to school but my depression got worse and the reality of my Aunt’s death finally came to the surface and so I ended up dropping out. The self harm started up again and it was now a full blown addiction.

Almost a year after my Aunts death I saw my first therapist and later that summer my first psychiatrist. I spent a year in therapy while working part time. I tried once again to go back to school but for the third time I dropped out. I was severely depressed, self harming and binge drinking alone in my room. I was soon admitted to a psych ward at McLean Hospital. I was there for a week and on the day I discharged I went home and attempted to end my life. The memories of that day will haunt me forever. Back then I didn’t think about how my death would effect the ones around me. When I hear suicide survivors talk about their lost loved ones it hurts to think I could have put my friends and family through that.

For years after that I started this cycle where I would feel fine, happy even, for months at a time. But then out of nowhere I’d slowly start to feel depressed again and the self harm would start up. Depression looks different for everyone but for me it’s not wanting to get out of bed. It’s pushing away friends and family, always feeling like a burden. It’s staying up until 4 am and not waking up until the late afternoon. It’s binge eating and gaining weight and climbing up past 300lbs. It’s hating everything about yourself and the person you’ve become.

I’ve had to go back to the hospital a couple times since my suicide attempt. There were no scary men in white coats like I had thought. Going to the hospital is needed if you’re in danger of hurting yourself. It’s a place to go if you can’t keep yourself safe. A couple years ago I was feeling suicidal and I vaguely talked about it on Tumblr and thankfully someone called the police. Back then I was so angry at that person but looking back they probably saved my life. During one of my hospitalizations I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder which was something I had never heard of before. BPD is a mental illness that consists of intense mood swings, self harm, suicidal thinking, bad body image and impulsive behaviors.

Finally I reached a point where I wasn’t constantly thinking about ending my life. I started Dialectical Behavior Therapy, the most successful therapy for helping people like me. This type of therapy can be done outside of the hospital so it allowed me to go back to work and school. It teaches you skills to help manage your emotions, maintain healthy relationships and handle stressful situations. I’ve done many different types of DBT therapy, residential, partial programs, groups and individual therapy. But I’ve finally gotten to a place in my recovery where all I need now is just therapy. It’s become a weekly place to check in and talk about any red flags before they become another spiral.

McLean hospital and DBT have literally saved my life. I mean, I saved my life but DBT taught me the skills to not destroy my relationships and myself. Today I’m in a healthy, stable relationship with my girlfriend and we’ve been together for 3 years. We just moved in together last summer and adopted two little black kittens. Last fall I passed my first classes since 2015 and I know now that I want to work in the mental health field some day. I’ve lost a lot of weight and I’m starting to feel more comfortable in this new body scars and all. I work full time as a florist manager and I’m now part of this amazing peer mentor organization. I might not be here today if someone didn’t call the police back then. I wasn’t able to reach out for help so I’m grateful that someone else was able to do it for me. It sounds cliche but it does get better and if you had told me that back then, I would have laughed in your face. After 12 years I still have urges to hurt myself and sometimes I hear a song that reminds me of the day I tried to end my life and all I want to do is sleep to escape those feelings. But it passes. The urges and the sadness and the hopelessness. It all passes. I think of my cats and how amazing it is to feel the sun on my arms. I think of things that help me chose recovery instead of resorting back to old behaviors and that’s how I know things are different now. Thank you.”

#personal #my story #mental health awareness #borderline personality disorder #depression #self harm #recovery

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sharingshane-blog · 5 years

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BPD in Doctor Who

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Suicide, Abuse, Self-Harm, Mentions of Physical Assault and Rape

When I was 17, almost a senior in high school, I watched my first episode of Doctor Who. I started with Christopher Eccleston and worked my way through. It took me only a couple of episodes before I was hooked. I became obsessed with the series, and many of the characters, particularly the ones from the Russel T. Davies era, because I felt like I could emotionally connect with them. I understood them. Rose Tyler really grew on me. She was supposed to be around my age at the time, and we both lived at our parents’ home feeling overall empty and worthless.

At that age, my anxiety and depression were particularly bad. Someone who was mentor and major influence in my life had committed suicide. Not long after, my grandfather whom I would see all the time passed away. I was already wallowing in major levels of grief and loss. I had also just gotten permission to skip eleventh grade and graduate a year early from high school. With that, I had to work last minute to get myself together, so I could apply to colleges and universities. My parents had a history of neglecting my needs frequently and one of the ways they did was helping me prepare for college. They refused to help me research or check out schools. They would not take me on visits because it was too much of a “financial burden” on them. They also refused to teach me how to drive or help me much at all for the next step ahead. I felt extremely lonely and I felt very abandoned. My parents have a history of physical and emotional abuse towards me, but I did not come to terms with that until I was in college, eventually developing PTSD.

Feelings of abandonment and isolation became chronic and debilitating for me. There were many emotions I would bottle up until I could not take it anymore. I felt like a geyser. As the emotions bubbled and heated more, the pressure in the chamber underground increased until there was a burst of boiling hot water—a crisis or outburst of anger. I had trouble maintaining consistent relationships with people which only added to the loneliness. People came and went, and I never expected them to stay. I felt too worthless to think they would care about me. I had recurrent suicidal ideation. For a long time, the way I would keep myself alive would to just tell myself every night that I will just kill myself the next day. I refused to go to therapy until well into college. This had to do in part that I did not know how to express my emotions, and it also had to do in pat because of trauma. My mom forced me against my will (on my 16th birthday) to see her therapist and basically admit how horrible of a child I have been. After my grandfather’s death, I did attempt to see a counselor, but it was a religious counselor who told me that I did not need counseling and that I just needed to focus on my faith in God. It was not until I was 19, well after beginning college, where I decided to actually pursue therapy. I had many unstable friendships at college. I was with my abusive ex-boyfriend. My already unhealthy relationship with my parents became worse. The tipping point was when I was in the car with my dad one day, and he tried to hit me. I jumped out of the car before he could do anything to me. He drove off leaving me on the side of the rode in tears. It was not long after that experience that I filled out the paperwork to start counseling. I eventually got a therapist outside of the college campus. After almost attempting suicide, I was hospitalized for a week at a psychiatric facility. It was there where the psychiatrist inquired me about a condition called borderline personality disorder.

Here are the symptoms or signs of the disorder:

-Efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment, such as rapidly initiating intimate (physical or emotional) relationships or cutting off communication with someone in anticipation of being abandoned

-A pattern of intense and unstable relationships with family, friends, and loved ones, often swinging from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation)

-Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self

-Impulsive and often dangerous behaviors, such as spending sprees, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, and binge eating

-Self-harming behavior, such as cutting or burning

-Recurring thoughts of suicidal behaviors or threats

-Intense and highly changeable moods, with each episode lasting from a few hours to a few days

-Chronic feelings of emptiness

-Intense anger or problems controlling anger

-Difficulty trusting and possessing a fear of other people’s intentions

-Feelings of dissociation, such as feeling cut off from oneself or seeing oneself from outside one’s body

Not everyone with the disorder experiences all these symptoms. The symptoms also come in varying degrees. No two people with the disorder is completely alike, although they tend to understand each other. After I received the diagnosis, I felt that my life made a little more sense. I began to understand myself better. I have been in treatment for a long time and have made many improvements. During this whole journey though, I learned something else, one of the reasons why I became so obsessed with Doctor Who. I mean who doesn’t want to fly away from their boring lives to explore all throughout time and space with a mad man (or woman) with a box? I have not seen the episodes with Jodie Whittaker so no spoilers! You may cause a paradox and destroy all of reality if you tell me anything. It’s my future. It was more than a form of escapism or a way of leaving my miserable life. I realized that the Doctor’s character really resonates with me on a more personal level. Now I am specifically referring to the New Who episodes. I haven’t watched enough of Old Who to make adequate judgments of the character during those episodes. The Doctor in New Who exemplifies many of the characteristics associated with borderline personality disorder. I am no psychologist or psychiatrist, but for me, I feel like that this was one of the main reasons I fell in love with the Doctor. He (or she) is the star of the show, the hero, the person everyone loves aside from say the Daleks, the Cybermen, the Slitheen, the Weeping Angels, the Zygons, the Silurians, and well, okay not everyone. But in other shows, people with the disorder or exhibits multiple aspects of the disorder are usually portrayed as antagonists and creeps.

The Doctor continuously goes out of his (or her) way to try and avoid losing people. It causes him a lot of pain when he loses his closest friends. Sometimes he will push his closest friends away, even for years at a time, because he’s afraid he’d never see them again. Sometimes he’d isolate himself from making new friends for fear of them falling apart. We see this with the tenth Doctor at the end of his tenure. He refused to take on new companions. He was also reluctant to take on Martha as an official companion after losing Rose. But as you know, things did get “escalated.” The eleventh Doctor set up Amy and Rory with a house on earth so he could come back to them whenever for hundreds of years because he knew that humans could not live near as long as him and he couldn’t bear to see his closest friends die. He uploaded River Song as a computer program in the biggest library in the universe so he could always come back to her. After losing Amy and Rory, he isolated himself from most of others except from a select few refusing to make other friends for fear of the inevitable loss. Like Martha, he was reluctant at first to take on Clara as a companion. On the whole though, the Doctor is fairly quick in choosing is companions, almost like Jesus choosing his disciples. The Doctor becomes close pretty quickly and has people by his side while traveling in the TARDIS (time and relative dimension in space). However, he is also quick to cut communication in order to “save” his friends or most often himself from impending grief. He tricked Rose and Clara to have the TARDIS take them home while he faced a life or death scenario. When Clara came back to the Doctor 300 years later in his future, he admitted that the reason he sent her away was because he would have buried her a long time ago. It seemed to be more for his sake than hers. She didn’t want to be sent home, and she was willing to face every danger he faced. For those who struggle with BPD, the fear of loss and abandonment is quite prominent. Similarly, to the Doctor, I would frequently be quick to make very close friends. I often idealized them and think they are basically perfect. “And she is perfect,” the Doctor says about Clara Oswald. “You are the most important woman in the whole universe,” he says to Donna. At the same time, I was also just as quick to push people away. I’ve sometimes seemed to ghost people, hide things from them, push them away from my problems, refuse help when I desperately needed it. I was too afraid I’d hurt them or overwhelm them to the point that I’d lose them. I become a roller coaster ride to be friends with. I constantly felt the need to protect people from myself and try to save myself from impending grief which hurts so bad that it makes me sick.

Like the Doctor, I also felt persistent emptiness and loneliness. I felt like no one really understood me. Even though I usually had close friends nearby, they also seemed temporary. Give another year and it will be a whole new group of friends. I am very blessed that I’ve been able to maintain a strong relationship with my best friend for almost five years. I’ve not had a romantic relationship last even a year. Alongside the loneliness came emptiness. For the most part, I felt like my life was pretty meaningless and boring. I felt like I constantly had to be doing something in order to fill the gap. The Doctor gets like this too. When he stuck around in Amy and Rory’s home for a couple of days, he got anxious. He rarely sticks around for tea after saving the day. He has to constantly be doing something, or he just feels bored or pointless. This causes anxiety or depression. The tenth doctor, after trapping himself in the 18th century with Madame de Pompedour to save her from impending doom, looked sorrowfully into the night sky because of losing access to his TARDIS. Like him, I usually can’t handle monotony. I get anxiety and depression really fast.

Impulsivity is another common trait between me and the Doctor. This can look different for each person who struggles with BPD. Many do struggle with alcohol or drug addictions but not all. I do not, but my impulsivity comes out in other ways. It actually is similar to how the doctor is impulsive. I am very quick to putting myself in compromising or dangerous situations. Personally, I cannot actually go into much detail on this issue for my safety and the safety of others around me. As a result of impulsive decisions I’ve made, I have gotten assaulted or raped. Now these crimes are ultimately not my fault, and do not advocate victim blaming. People should just have the common decency to know that those things are wrong. Unfortunately, that’s not the world we live in. I was almost physically assaulted after outing myself as transgender. I learned quickly the dangers of being trans in society. I’ve stretched myself thin for the sake of others without taking the time to analyze how much I can handle. The Doctor is very similar in this regard. Over and over, he’ll walk passed “keep out” signs. For him, they are like “dry clean only.” He’s one of those people who usually takes action before thinking. Although sometimes we find out that he has actually put more thought into something than we, the audience, assumed he had. Still, a lot of times the plan is to run towards the danger, see what happens, then come up with another plan. When he hears a scream, he runs towards it. When a sketchy guy is offering jobs at Hooverville in 1930, he was the first to volunteer. Despite his intelligence and cleverness to get out of dangerous situations, he usually just as quick into them. The results have even blown up the entire universe.

Both the Doctor and I also seem to have struggled with a personal sense of identity. This also can result in intense mood swings. Sometimes I have feelings of euphoria, a heightened feeling of myself. I can be the life of the party or on top of the world. I can become hypomanic (BPD and bipolar disorder often mimic each other). Other times I am the complete opposite. I think I’m the most awful, pitiful thing that creation gave birth to. I will self-harm or have suicide ideations. I’m afraid that I am an abuser just like my parents, that I just hurt people, or that I constantly let other people down. This sometimes spawns feelings of isolation. Sometimes my emotions swing between extremes within a day. The Doctor seems similarly to reflect these traits. For most of New Who, he is haunted about destroying Gallifrey in order to end the Time War. Was he a genocidal maniac or a hero who ended a war that would have destroyed all of reality? Is he any better than a Dalek who belongs to a race of ethnic cleansers. Even after the 50th anniversary episode, the twelfth Doctor feels the need to ask Clara whether he is a good man. People with BPD tend to have a difficult time knowing themselves outside of how others perceive them. They constantly rely on others to tell them how they are more than trying to take the time to analyze personal actions and intentions. We usually think our intentions are just excuses for the horrible things we’ve done. The Doctor kept telling himself that he was trying to end the most deadly war in all of history when making the decision to eradicate his own species, but he wondered afterwards whether it was just an excuse to be the monster he truly was. It wasn’t like he had a super friendly relationship with the Time Lords (although he was also half human first suggested in the 1996 movie and confirmed with the twelfth Doctor). He constantly wrestled with the prospect that maybe he took on companions in order to use them rather than actually befriend them. Davros visibly gets under the Doctor’s skin when he suggests that the Doctor takes “ordinary people and fashions them into weapons.” We have the episode with the Dream Lord, a suggested personification of the negative aspects of his character. There is a very dark portion of the Doctor which makes him such a complex character to fully understand. Still, generally, we most often see him as a hero. We are more gracious towards his decision to destroy Gallifrey to end the Time War than he is to himself. I struggle to understand myself. I generally have persistent feelings of shame that if the dark side of me comes out, then people will leave me. It’s something I try to control.

Building off the last point, the Doctor is prone to anger quickly coming to that emotion. “The fury of the Time Lord” is explored throughout the series. It’s related to the question as to whether he is a good person or not. This is one area I have seen significant improvements in. It is okay to angry, but sometimes my anger was ineffective in achieving my goals. I am not as quick to anger as I used to be. I think a part of it is that I don’t live with my parents anymore. I still have much room for improvements.

The Doctor’s fears of abandonment and loneliness has given away to trust issues. Too many people have betrayed him. We never learn his actual name throughout the series. He doesn’t trust anyone with it. He keeps a lot of himself a secret. He will refrain from being vulnerable around others including his companions. He’ll always say that he’s fine, that he is always fine. This is the classic thing that someone battling mental illness says to cover up their emotions from others. It is something that I have said in times of distress many times because I am afraid that people will judge me or betray me or leave me. River Song tells him to trust her. She whispers his real name in his ear to prove to him that she is worthy of trust. Even then, he has his reservations. When learning River was a prisoner for killing man and she doesn’t reveal who, he questions her and why future self would trust her. There is always constant questioning of other people’s motives and intentions. When Rose saves her dad’s life altering a fixed point in time, the Doctor is quick to accuse her of selfishness, that she only wanted onto the TARDIS to save her dad, that she was only using the Doctor. Though Rose’s decision was impulsive and unwise to say the least, the audience isn’t as quick to accuse her of that. We get the sense that she had a genuine care for the Doctor and actually wanted to travel in the TARDIS for the purpose of exploration. As we millennials like to say, I feels.

Thoughts of suicide and self-harm or disassociation are not attributes that we can necessarily observe or be able to observe in the Doctor. We do know that he does tend to view his life as less important as others. He’s hinted that death may be a gift for someone who lives so long. He is quick to sacrifice himself. He gets angry at River when she tries to save him and tell him that the universe doesn’t want him to die. He’s willing to neglect his life for the sake of others. When he tried to destroy Gallifrey, he didn’t expect or want to live. The ninth Doctor explained it wasn’t his choice. The Doctor seems to be depressed that he didn’t die after ending the Time War, that his guilt is unbearable at times. I don’t think I can delve much further on this particular aspect of his character to be honest.

I have thought about this for a long time as you probably can tell. I am still in love with the Doctor and it is one the view shows that I garner pleasure from when I am severely depressed. It can distract me from my sometimes very intense and unbearable emotions. I believe this in large part due to how much I relate to the Doctor, that maybe I may not be an absolute monster. Maybe, I’m not that bad of a person. Maybe I’m someone that can be loved just like the Doctor. Maybe I am just as interesting and unique. Maybe at times I can be the hero and not the villain that I always view myself to be. I continue to love the series and I can not wait to see Jodie Whittaker’s depiction of the character when I am able to get access to the episodes. I am sad to say goodbye to Capaldi, but the story always continues.

#bpd #doctor who #mental health #depression #anxiety #abandonment #love #tardis

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nicolekidmanwigfactory · 6 years

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ok, so listen to the shit my psychiatrist told me yesterday because IT. IS. JUICY. (TW: eating disorders)

i need to vent but here’s a read more in case you wanna skip this because this is LOOOOOONG

i was describing to her how i’m currently pricing out personal trainers to help me start exercising again in a healthy, non-disordered way because the last three times (in the past 18-24 months or so) that I tried to start working out again, I found myself spiraling and getting overly anxious or unrealistic about my goals, so i’d either overexercise, restrict, and/or purge.

as i described the height of my exercise compulsion-- highest intensity elliptical for 60 minutes or 2000 calories burned (whichever came second) every single day, no exception (Sundays were my off day and I relished them)-- from seven years ago, which was worse than the actual bulimia at times, she just cut me off and said an hour a day wasn’t too bad, ignoring 1. the 2000 calories thing, 2. that i weighed about 130lbs less I do now, and 3. i was either severely restricting or compensating for binge behaviors from voracious appetite swings 4. caused by hormonal fluctuations 5. due to then-undiagnosed thyroid cancer.

BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE. then she laid into my dietitian and said eating disorder dietitians in general are overly focused on “making sure their patients are comfortable eating” instead of losing weight (if they're ones who need to, of course). ummm...getting me less regimented in my eating is the fucking point. i’d eat something i wasn’t “supposed” to and then purge it somehow (exercise, vomit, restriction, etc.). <-- that’s the fucking basics of the fucking disorder, and that’s not even explicitly mentioning the mental illness aspect.

again, she told ME, A LONG-DIAGNOSED, DEPRESSED GRADUATE STUDENT WITH A HISTORY OF TREATMENT FOR BULIMIA AND OTHER EATING DISORDERS that i need to lose weight. Yes, i know that. does she really think i don’t know that? i wear my clothes and look in the mirror and have been in eating disorder treatment for the past five fucking years. what makes her think this is news to me? does she not think i don’t remember how I bust my ass off to healthily lose 100 pounds in college, and then gained it all back (and then some) in FOUR FUCKING MONTHS when my bulimia turned into binge eating disorder and my EATING-DISORDER AND QUASI-SUICIDAL MIND tricked myself into thinking this was the healthier option?! BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL REMEMBER. she does have the point that my weight is not healthy in the long-term (of course i know that), but neither is a fucking depression and any kind of eating disorder.

i WANT to lose weight but my dietitian agreed to work with me on the condition that my focus COULD NOT be on losing weight (she was gonna work with me no matter what, but she’s a genius with how she approaches her clients) until my eating patterns were stable and the frequency of my disordered behaviors dropped dramatically (which they have- i’ve only purged ONCE in the past year. My binges are not just far and in between but also much smaller and cheaper than they used to be). so if she’s gonna come after my dietitian, this psychiatrist is also coming after me because i would not be where i am without her (+ my therapist).

okay, i did expect some of this coming into the appointment though, so i did subject myself to this a little. she said some of this stuff in october at the first appointment i had with her but i was able to talk back against it in my head and discuss it with my therapist and i didn’t think about it again for a couple weeks. but the shit she was saying yesterday was just so much more inappropriate and insensitive that I only tolerate it for the refills on my meds.

i’m not saying she’s an awful psychiatrist. i just feel she needs to work on her bedside manner, or at least with her overweight eating disordered patients (because we already feel pretty shitty about that, and you don’t even need to have an eating disorder to feel that) or she needs more training in eating disorder treatment protocol. at one point in both appointments, she implied with the subtlety of a sledgehammer that it won’t be possible for me to have good self-esteem at my current size and weight, which completely defeats the point of body positivity and loving yourself at any size (FYI: Loving yourself at any size ≠ pro-obesity. Anyone who says otherwise is looking for a socially acceptable way to hate on fat people. The key word is “any.”).

All this said, she is a capable clinician. the medication regimen she has me on is working beautifully. my depression is so much more stable and the highs and lows of my mood are more like speed bumps and potholes than the mountains and ocean trenches of before. my anxiety is under much better control too (though a lot of that is because of the strategies I’ve been working on with my wonderful therapist) and the anxiety is also more situational. after all, i did go a gay bar by myself last weekend for the first time ever (it was at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon, but i still did it despite the anxiety!).

I am also so appreciative of her ADHD diagnosis. I was apprehensive at first because the diagnosis was so quick and not even the focus of the appointment, but the medication she put me on is working. i thought that high school killed any enjoyment i once had for serious, intellectual reading, but since the medication i’ve started paging through the plethora of books i’ve bought over the years but never read and gotten absorbed by random pages even though i don’t know what’s going on. I don’t remember the last time was able to concentrate for extended periods of times without a deadline or outside pressure. i can read lengthy journal articles in record time and still absorb the information. the only downside is they kill my appetite, which she admitted she is part of the reason why prescribed them for me. (this part i’m not that upset about since i have been on binge suppressants for years and I see this as an additional tool- I’ve had no urge to abuse them other than the ED voice that instinctually tells me to, but I’ve just ignored it from the beginning).

so even though she is highly insensitive to my needs, she is also a highly capable and otherwise qualified psychiatrist. however, during therapy today, i discussed her comments with my therapist and that I would continue to see her while i searched/waited for an appointment with a different psychiatrist, since I had to wait 7 months to see this current doctor. instead, my therapist jumped on the phone, called a couple numbers and was able to get me an appointment with a psychiatrist she trusted for right after the new year. so i only have to see this current one once more and that’s only so I can get refills and continue my current medication regiment, which been working wonderfully for me.

i didn’t mean to make this so long but it feels good to get this out. my clinician is gonna inform my dietitian (which is making me impatient for my next appointment because she was ready beat a bitch last time because of this doctor and i want to see what she has to say this time) and then, if i didn’t mind, she wanted to bring this up with some managers at her location. i don’t care if she informs some higher ups, i just don’t want my name to get back to the psychiatrist until after the next/last appointment. i’m also going to file a complaint, not for vengeance or anything, just so her superiors can hopefully let her know how other patients might interpret her comments.

at least for me, this psychiatrist’s comments aren’t about me not being able to handle what i don’t want to hear. they were unprofessional, inappropriate, and frankly, uninformed and dangerous. if i hadn’t been further along in my recovery, i might have been liable to abuse my adderall as an appetite suppressant for weight loss purposes, start exercising and dieting again when i’m not mentally ready, or just accept her fat-shaming for what it wasn’t since since it was coming out of the mouth of an MD.

But I’m lucky to be in a place where I can recognize those comments for what they are. And I give credit to my therapist and dietitian, who’ve gotten me that place in the past year and a half (and I guess the current psychiatrist deserves some credit too for her medication regimen that was effective right off the bat, but that’s where I’ll leave it). And to the therapists, dietitians, and doctors I’ve have in the past five years, but mostly to my current ones, because they got me back on track when I moved back to WI and then further along than I have ever gotten before. Their voices are nagging in my ear to myself credit to, so I guess I played my part too.

@lorinwasadiver let me know when you’ve read this bc i want to know your angry thoughts

#tw eating disorder #depression

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myaekingheart · 7 years

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Alright, I need some help with something eating disorder kinda recovery related(?). Details under the cut. Help, ideas, advice, suggestions, whatever would be more than appreciated.

So I'm pretty positive I have some kind of eating disorder but I honestly have no idea what to label it as, I feel like I don't fit into any of the categories. I keep thinking maybe it's ARFID but I'm not entirely sure? I've always had a kind of uncomfortable relationship with food. When I was a kid, I'd restrict food based on a severe fear of vomiting and that has carried over into adulthood. I'd refuse to eat foods that had made me sick before and for a while I even refused to eat after sunset and would panic if I had to eat dinner when it was dark out because I had this irrational fear that nighttime meant if I eat anything, I was going to puke it back up (the majority of the times I've vomited throughout my life have been at nighttime). I feel like recently, however, this has only gotten worse. I'm in a really stressful point in my life right now finishing up my last semester of college before earning my associate's degree and prepping to move 4.5hrs away in three weeks plus my parents looking to move, as well. My anxiety has been through the roof and my eating habits have completely plummetted. I find it hard to eat a lot if at all, like I have to force swallow my food because my anxiety is so through the roof that it's messing with my digestive system. When I do eat, I'm terrified anything I consume is going to flare up my irritable bowel syndrome which is never fun to deal with. Between those two factors, I'm left just not wanting to eat at all but I get really terrified of not eating because of a couple experiences I had not too long ago. In December of 2015, I went through another serious bout of horrible stress where I just gave up on eating a whole lot if at all because everything I ate was sending my IBS through the roof. I lost a lot of weight at this time (I'm not going to specify how low I got but it was really bad) and got so paranoid that I had ruined my body because of it. I'm still trying to recover from the experience and get back on track, it's always at the back of my mind, I am so paranoid of losing so much weight again. It also didn't help that during this time when I wasn't eating, I went a while without eating hardly anything for about a day and a half and I ended up getting violently sick so I'm terrified of that happening again. But back to the weight issue, it's gotten to the point where I'm so terrified of dropping weight that I'm kind of obsessed. I've been counting calories the past couple weeks not because I think I'm fat and shouldn't eat but because I'm obsessed with consuming as many calories in as little food as possible so I don't have to deal with trying to eat a whole lot while meanwhile still getting some form of energy fuel in my body. Except then when I count up how many calories I've eaten at the end of the day, it's never high enough and I get angry with myself, like I've failed. The same goes for my weight. I hope on the scale all the time and when I see a number that I think is too low, I get upset with myself yet I don't seem to make any effort to positively change that both because of the trouble eating thing and because if I get on the scale and see a number I'm content with, I think I can cut myself some slack, that I can handle skipping a meal or eating less or whatever because I'm at what I thought was a healthy weight and don't have anything to worry about. It's all very screwed up and I acknowledge that and I want to get better, I just don't know how. Especially when I have no idea what, exactly, is wrong with me. I feel like I don't fit into any of the categories. I was thinking maybe ARFID because of my history with selective eating but then on the other hand, every resource I've looked at concerning ARFID explains that unlike anorexia and bulimia, it's not concerned with body image and I am definitely concerned with my body image. But like it feels almost like it's reverse anorexia in the way that I'm not focused on losing weight but rather I want to gain it. Every time I see I've dropped a few pounds, I get incredibly angry with myself and start putting myself down, thinking I'm not good enough, that I don't weigh enough, that it's wrong to be able to wrap all my fingers around wrist and have a thigh gap and slightly see the imprint of my ribs or something. It's like instead of fat, all I see is bones and I can't stop thinking about how I think I'm too skinny and being terrified of dropping to a much too low weight. The only eating disorders I know of are anorexia, bulimia, binge (which the latter two I know for a fact I don't have here) and ARFID/SED but still, I feel like I don't fit squarely into any of these categories and it makes me feel lost and confused not knowing what, exactly, this is. So, does anyone have any opinions? Thoughts? Ideas? Please let me know. I feel like I can't solve this problem until I know what it is.

#like seriously please help me figure this shit out #arfid #ednos #anorexia #eating disorder #eating disorder recovery #eating disorder help #ramblings

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asethetic-okay · 7 years

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i've gotten into a really bad habit of not eating enough. i don't think it's a eating disorder. I will eat what's given to me but I won't ask for more even though I'm still hungry. it's not about body image. if anything, i would want to gain more. i just won't eat. i'm very hungry right now but i'm fighting myself because I think I need to be punished. there's no other way to describe how i feel during the day besides blank. i feel so emotion. i may be in a good mood, but i'm not happy or positive. the blankness gets me every time. during important events where i should be happy and joyous, i'm siting there with an emotionless face contemplating life. during the day i will feel extremely blank but as soon as it becomes nighttime, all the blankness turns into self hatred. i don't hate myself personally but my depression does. it's telling me things about me that I know aren't true but I believe them because I have no choice. i'm being brainwashed by my own brain. the guilt and the anger. i think that's why i mainly ct at night. i can not fight against the urges. i just can't. they are too powerful. I feel to helpless and so i will punish/hurt myself because i'm not feeling enough pain. over the last day or so, my ADD spiked. I went through a depressive phase a few days ago so i'm still in recovery from that. I'm in the confused stage. I'm not happy but i'm not sad. i'm emotionless, but not blank like how I usually am. I'm not getting to many thoughts. my brain today... it's just gone crazy. in my head I go "see you aren't depressed. you never were. stop wanting help. you don't deserve help. you deserve pain. you should kill yourself. can't even get your thoughts straight" and then i will start thinking about something random like salads. it makes me feel like I'm crazy. i know i've been depressed. I know i have been suicidal and I do cut sometimes. my brain lately has just been going like ASHSIWGSIEBEIDHEKEJU. (jan 5, 2017, 12:56) i am not crazy, i am just sad and lonely. i am not crazy, i am just sad and lonely. i am not crazy, i am just sad and lonely. i am never alone in my head. i am always talking to someone. there is someone else in my head. i always imagine conversating with random people about random things and i will just get lost in my head imagining having a conversation with them. i've been imagining really weird scenarios and conversations that will never happen for the longest i can remember. it's just normal day to day conversations but to the extreme. its not daydreaming. i don't purposely do it, it's just a really weird habit that i picked upped. i don't like doing it because it makes me feel like a crazy person. i am never alone in my head. someone else is always there. i feel like i'm always being watched and judged by people in my head. i'm not schizophrenic. when i say people i just mean someone in my head. i'm just never alone. my thoughts are layered. i. any think clearly. too many things are going on in my head. i've read some where that people who tend to be lonely do this. i'm just saying that i'm lonely just to suppress the fact that there is something wrong with me. probably not. i don't know. i am not crazy, i am just sad and lonely. i am not crazy, i am just sad and lonely. when people joke about mental illnesses, they don't understand all the pain that people go through. depression takes everything from you. it just sucks it out of you. you have no control over it. there's just a heavy black blanket put over your head. you have no control. your thoughts roam free without control and they can make you do things that you will probably always regret. it's just this overwhelming sense of heaviness, guilt/shame, self hatred. you can't think about the future. it doesn't let you. it overpowers you. at first it starts to take over little things but then it will grow stronger and stronger and then it will control such major/important things like your food intake, your social life, your self control, what you feel. there's no stopping it. it's too powerful. it feeds you lies that you know aren't true but you have to believe them because your head is telling you so. at first you know the things it's telling you are lies but it just grows stronger and stronger and you can't do anything about it so you're forced to believe those thoughts. i'm brainwashing my own head into thinking crazy lies. this thing has turned myself against myself. i've never really like myself but i've never really hated myself. i didn't mind myself until now. i will never be satisfied with the amount of pain i receive. i deserve less and more pain. it completely takes over you. it eats your soul. it devours it until nothing but a broken soul remains. it has no remorse. it's a ruthless killer. it does not give a shit who you are. it does not care about your social status, race/gender/sexuality, it doesn't not care if your family is stable, it does not care if you have relationships and friendships because it will destroy every single one of those. i just wanna apologize to everyone i know. i'm sorry. i should of fought harder. it's my fault everyone is suffering. i can't look people in the eye. too much shame. i'm sorry -february 7th i don't like to not take my medicine. my thoughts are scrambled and layered, my brain is literally all over the place, and i can't focus. it makes me feel crazy. i feel more comfortable being on the meds because it organizes my thoughts in a way, and helps me focus. it doesn't make my depression worse, but it doesn't make it better. it clears my head and calms my thoughts which allow the intrusive thoughts to come in, but when i don't take it, i get very very mad at myself for not being able to focus and think clearly. i'd prefer the intrusive thoughts rather than the scrambled head. i also use it to suppress my hunger. it doesn't change my appetite majorly, but it does kinda calm it down. it's okay though, i don't deserve to eat. i haven't tried to not take it lately. it's not that i'm attached to it, im just scared of what will happen if i stop taking it. this could be a start of an addiction. I hope to God that this isn't. it's not a serious one though. it may take awhile for me to get used to not taking it but it can be fixed. i have thought of overdosing on it though. i'm not going to do it anytime soon, obviously and it would be very cowardly for me to go like that. february 16th i used to think that i would go through depressive phases and then be fine afterwards. i do go through hard phases where the depression is particularly strong those few days, but i'm not any better afterwards. the last 4 months have been a blur. this whole thing is a depressive phase. time drags on, but it flies by so fast. half of my 8th grade is gone. the last four months have been hell. i've gradually gotten worse. i haven't hit rock bottom yet but i'm on my way too. the last 4 months have been a slow decline. as the months passed, the thoughts got stronger, the urges are more powerful, and i've lost self control. it has taken over me. i can't measure the weeks by how bad they were because they were all bad in their own way. i don't have a particular time where it was the worst. each week i get weaker and weaker, losing strength. it's a slow decline to rock bottom. o mental breakdowns are like panic attacks but on steroids. i have been having them more frequently lately. ill start completely freaking out about a topic and i will just break down mentally. they aren't panic attacks because with panic attacks you're anxious and you don't have control. mental breakdowns are calm but hectic. you'll get into some really deep thoughts and they just leave you broken. after the first couple of times self harming or something, it starts to grow on you. at first you're like "i'm never going to do that again, ever" and yhe more you think about not doing it ever again, the more it grows on you. it will get to the point where you're craving that experience even though it may hurt. you go "i'm never doing that again" and then you blink and there you are with a razor in your hand or over the toilet. i've been eating a lot lately. i just don't have self control. the last few weeks i've barely eaten anything but this week i've eaten a lot. i think i may be bingeing. i'm eating but not eating enough but i still considering this a binge. i still feel so damn guilty for eating. i don't want to lose weight but i don't want to gain weight. i'm not happy at all with my weight and appearance at all but i don't want to change it. this whole eating this isn't about body image. i feel ashamed for losing weight but i feel even more ashamed and guilty for gaining weight. im now following pro-ana websites. i'm trying to follow those rules but i don't have self control. i feel too guilty for not eating. once the thought of eating comes on my mind i can't get it off my mind. i've tried throughung but i'm haven't been successful yet. in trying really hard though. if i eat to much i cut my stomach i started to think today about how much i've been eating lately. i've been eating a lot (in my head) and that may be due to emotional stress. i'm not even noticing that i'm stressed. i'm so used to feeling like shit, i've gotten used to it. i didn't realize how stressful the last few weeks have been until now. that's sad. i like the pain though. i don't like being painless. why do i like pain so much? i made myself throw up today finally. i hated how it made me feel good after it. i hate how i liked it. i'm scared that this will evolve into something bigger. it's been a week since i first started throwing up and i'm now throwing up 5-7ish times a day. it's scary to think how this got out of hand so quickly. it's funny to think last month around this time i was barely eating anything. i will eat a lot and just purge. i do feel really guilty about how much i eat. i will try and eat by myself because of the shame. sometimes i will start to think about how much food i'm wasting but i always dismiss it. i'm scared i will go back to my old self. possibly ednos. i showed signs of anorexia but i didn't fit the criteria but i'm showing signs of definite bulimia.

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