Grapes

*I will preface this with the statement that life is not always roses. It has been suggested to me recently that I might want to try and throw a little more my personal emotions into my writing. That this is a tough time and its not always just about whats going on around me, but whats also inside as well, that matters. Its just that its not so consistently as positive as I make it seem here. This next entry is something that I wrote because, at the time of writing it, that is how I felt. It doesn’t mean that its a constant struggle or that I’m not doing well in the long run, just that this revolution is not as easy as I would like it to be…and its hard admitting that.*

Maybe I should start doing some of the exercises in the body image workbook thats been sitting on my desk for the last two months. Its just been staring at me collecting dust without even so much as a single crack in its glossy spine. I have it because I thought it would be helpful but its sitting there almost as a trophy of strength and triumph. Do I think I don’t need the same lengths of help that others do? Am I really that much better if somewhere in my disillusioned mind I still think I’m tougher than everyone else? Why does it become second nature to feel I’m not allowed to show my weaknesses? Its difficult enough to even let leak that I have them. All I know is that right now I don’t feel pretty. I don’t feel myself. I’m not even sure what that would feel like if I did. I feel more nauseous than anything else…or maybe its that I’m hungry. I can’t even tell anymore.

I wish I knew if there was an end to this or not. It sometimes seems that the healthier I get physically the more often I feel confusion mentally. I’ve just been getting this common undermining sense that some part of me is lost. Its not that I felt any better in the depths of the eating disorder, its just that at that point I had something that I could actually pin my sadness to. The emptiness had a name then. There is no way in hell I would want to revisit that misery but I’m not real keen on how I feel right now either. Its troublesome but worth contemplation.

Versus

I got to go outside yesterday for the first time in two. After each meal there is an alloted amount slot of time for “fresh air” and you have to have eaten 100% of the previous 3 meals in order to achieve the privilege. Since I had arrived I had always just assumed that “fresh air” time was more for smokers than anyone else and that all you did was stand around on the pavement out front doing nothing. It didn’t seem terribly appealing to me so I was pretty surprised to find that assumption proved wrong once again.

We elevated down to the bottom floor and exited at the side of the building into the natural light. It was the first non-rainy day in almost a week and the warmth felt great. By comparison our little wing of the hospital could have passed for an icebox. We stepped out onto a short walkway leading to a small lawn, a semi-neglected little garden, numerous benches and chairs, and a rather good view of the Hudson River beyond the highway. I don’t know if I’ll be going out every time the opportunity arises but I was definitely pleasantly surprised.

Towards the end of our little outing we were joined by 5 or 6 guys from the THC study that is occurring in a different wing of the building. Apparently there is a lot more going on here than I am aware of because fascination upon finding out that there was an actual study promoting the smoking of pot definitely ensued. Its like Wonka’s chocolate factory – you never know what going on behind the next closed door!

Back in the building again I finally got the okay to move into my new room. My roommate, Elle, had already established herself in the space closes to the window so I began unpacking my thing on the remaining bed next to the door. Twin sets of basic furniture decorated either side of the room and we each had a barren closet that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. Elle, who has been here once before for treatment, informed me that they used to come equipped with hangers but that privilege was taken away when one of the previous residents had apparently tried to hang herself from her hanger. So, with no real dresser as replacement, I finagled my suitcases into a make-shift tower for my clothes with a shrug. Heck, you win some, you lose some, right?

Oh, and due to the force of gravity vs. the strength of a plastic hanger I wasn’t surprised to hear that the suicidal girl hadn’t succeeded. This may be a semi-surreal setting compared to every day life but the laws of physics do still apply.