Empty Promises

I normally try and start these posts off with some type of greeting. For now, I think I should just get into the post before I start to ramble too much. Forgive me? Any who, these past few days have been off. When my mom got back from my grandpa’s house after my appointment I was scared shitless. We were both in the kitchen and she asked how the appointment was. What was more nerve wrecking was that after I filled her in on the payment discrepancy  she so kindly let me know that Allie would be emailing her later on that evening. Its like the lady knew. “How was it? (The appointment)” my heart sank. Minutes prior to her return, I found myself pacing in my head trying to figure out the best way to tell her everything. Do I start off with my weight? Do I sound fake and start off with all of Allison’s “I’m proud of you” and “It wasn’t intentional” positive reinforcements? No. The best way to approach this was trying to be as mature as possible. “We talked.” I said trying to ease my way into it. My mom laughed thinking it was another one of my smart ass remarks. I told her that I have to get back to my old self with my old schedule and no more stress. She ordered that I focus on myself and no more stress. Then the dreaded moment arrived. I mentioned how I have to go back to seeing her every 2 weeks where she cut me off, “Does Allie think you are slipping?” I paused. I thought about it for a second or two. Looking back, Allie never said she thought that I reverted back, she just doesnt want it to get worse. “No, but my weight went down a little.” That concerned look that only mothers can get quickly dictated her once understanding face. I knew it was coming, I felt the words creep up and down my spine. “How much is a little?” I tried to find the words. My mind went blank.  When I told her my weight from the last appointment to my five pound drop now, her face went white. It was as though she was looking at my coffin. I don’t think that look will ever escape my self conscious for it is engraved in my mind. She couldnt speak. She said I had to focus on me. Reassuringly, she told me that it wasn’t selfish because its been long enough where I havent been happy or myself. I don’t necessarily like the idea of focusing on myself since I like to focus on others, but I will try to do it for the sake of all this stopping.  I can’t go to school anymore without feeling all tense and even more awkward. I get this pit in the back of my throat when I wake up. I see it in my teacher’s faces. They look at me the way they did last year when I spiraled downward. I see it in my mom and dad’s faces, who now ask me if I ate breakfast like old times. I see it in my brother’s faces when they try and talk to me without making it obvious that my relapse is on their minds. No one knows me more so these days. They never really knew me, but now its as though I moseyed on over to my house this morning as a stranger and no one knows how to kick me out yet. My parents never knew how to communicate with me, however, its worse now. They are so scared that I realize they talk to strangers more comfortably than they do me. They know its bothering me, but they miss me. I was talking to my friend Anna on the phone this morning. “I miss you and your happiness. The person who had funny comments and jokes and an amazing sense of humor. The person who was sarcastic all the time, the person who wore makeup and felt pretty. The person who wasn’t so dead all the time or tired all of the time. I miss the person who was so full of life. I miss your smiles and laughs and giggles. I want to see you happy and yourself again.” I’ve been hearing this more and more lately. My mom told me that she misses my zingers and my brighter self- that she realizes that the life was sucked out of me. My parents hated hearing me cry and have panic attacks in the bathroom and in my bedroom all these months prior. All the nights I laid awake in bed fighting, those times I had to be positive for the sake of attempting to help someone. All the days I just needed someone to get me through the hardest days or the days I knew would be the worst and ended up taking cough medicine to ease me through the pain of the let downs of those days.  All the moments I tried to hurt myself. All the times I contemplated running away- or worse… then realizing that would be pathetic. All those moments I wished I just died. It caught up to me over time and its made me the numb, unanimated, unfazed,stressed, tired, more anxious person I am right now as I sit here writing to “all you”.  I’m done with these empty promises of how I’m going to get better or how I’m magically going to “bounce back”. It doesn’t work that way. All this doesn’t just stop after months and months. I know it wont be easy, but I know somewhere down in my lost logical mindset I have to do it for me. For the real me. I haven’t been myself for months, and its gotten to the point where I am numb and brain dead. It’s never been this bad for this long before. It’s all therapy and doctor appointments for now. Until next time, be strong.


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