you've got a beautiful brain but its disintegrating from all the medicine

I've fallen under the trap of my narcissistic mother for years. I've done a lot of reading about emotional abuse from mothers over the years, but really finally feel like things make sense. I also have finally started to broach the idea that even as a teen - when I was into stupid pro-ana websites and crap because I honestly believed that I was in control of my life in that illness. But fuck, growing up and knowing that my mom conditioned and groomed me to believe that I was just a fucked up teenager who wanted a problem - that there was nothing really that wrong with me. How I carried that around with me for years and years - how I still do. How I let it consume me. How when I was put in the hospital she told the doctor I was dramatic - that I embellished stories. That i was okay. How one time in the car she just looked out the front windshield and told me that I needed too much.

I have been sick for almost 12 years. 2014 was the first time in my life where I started to make progress - real progress. Working with Lindsey and even that was hard because I literally believed I didn't deserve to be there. And fuck my mom for every putting that thought in my head. For making me feel like what I was going through was fake, that it didn't matter - that I didn't matter.

Most of all, I hate that sometimes I'll be driving in the car and the windows will be down because spring is coming and I'll think I can do this - I'm gonna be okay. And when I see Lindsey in 2016, things are going to be okay. But then I'm back in the house and I want to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.

Because these days, I feel that holding a gun to my head and pulling the trigger will give me the control I never found in my eating disorder.

Sorry, Lindsey.

other people are not medicine

It's already March. In a little over a week, it will be three months since I finished school, which is kind of crazy to wrap my mind around. Last summer was only four months long, and I thought that it would never end.

Being at home is so strange. I guess I kind of realized that I was always going to end up here. I go back and forth a lot between mind frames; one minute, I'm really good. Things are great and I still can feel that girl who walked into Lindsey's office on December 12th for the final times. Other times, mainly the night, I can feel sickness and depression and illness seeping back into my bones and I honestly get torn between telling it to shut up and just letting it move back in. Night is the only time that I ever "consider" relapse. That I don't push the thoughts back out.

I emailed Lindsey last week because I miss her. And I hate that I miss her. Because we aren't friends and we never were, and as much as I have adjusted to not seeing her every week, sometimes it is hard. Sometimes, I do miss it. And sometimes I think it would just be so much easier to not send her an email at all. To just cut it all out of my life, but I know that isn't fair either. And so I emailed her and she emailed me back and it cut in all the places that I didn't want it too. I miss her.

I also emailed LB - six years after the fact. After running into her, or well, I guess, seeking her out on Thursday last week, I finally felt like I had enough courage to confront her about what had happened all that time ago. I sent it to her on facebook, and I know she's read the message but hasn't replied. And thats okay too - I told her I wasn't expecting anything from her. But that the door was open. I just feel like a million times better with it all out in the open. Now she knows.

I really thought I had a lot to say today. But I clearly don't.