Sunday, May 25

sunday night, 8:00pm, holiday weekend-- just amazed that my landlord sent out a handyman to not only change the locks, but add additional deadbolts and reinforce the tampered door. however minor, i am notoriously quiet, therefore when speaking up, nothing announced will go ignored.

it felt extremely uncomfortable to call and let him carry this issue. unless it involved shutting off the water, i have managed alone.

outside of blathering sarcastically about human stupidity, i hate to partake in a holy crap moment, but... apparently ten vehicles were stolen from this property two weeks ago.

"ordinarily, the average is like only one or two cars stolen each month," he said.

is like.
only.




it just never ends.

there are extremely minor tell-tale signs/ someone thought/ or thinks to break into my office/ AND ten feet prior to arriving at the door-- there stuck the pinhead-sized speck of white lint which sounded the alarm -- AND thank dad i'm so nuts. the needle-like line from a screwdriver/ slightly drawn into the doorjamb/ AND its freshly snowplowed paint/ should have never been caught.

nothing/ there is nothing here but additional fuses of anxiety to light. scared of that/ scared of how it already inspired a raspy chest. sitting here/ feeling like after the first swim of summer.

consider:

- person is just flat out unaware as to what is not here?
- person seeks information rather than valuables?
- living triple locked, even when inside of the vault.
- how to secure that which can neither be replaced nor protected?

how to relax/ how to trust/ or, why strive to further these freedoms? the strengths and benefits that i believe are woven throughout the sick ritual/ intricate obsession/ AND intensity/ continually prove true.


Wednesday, May 21

spine, loose

recycled concern, here to stay: resident doctor #4 is here to make me better. it is documented that patients with low weight anorexia nervosa do not respond well to therapy prior to weight restoration. whether or not he verbalizes it, any increase in my weight must be one of his goals.


hate this

Q: how will zyprexa change the outcome of the half-finished skeleton spread out on the table?

A: "it will change it-- but it will not ruin it."

AND, then consider the symbolism in that.


after three years of passionately fearing zyprexa, a prescription for this medicine has finally unfolded. at this current time, only 90% of me remains awestruck by its potential for distress.

perhaps, the apprehension is slightly less.

if anxious now, when finally selecting the first pill from the bottle to trial, how will that aspect of nervous be defined? that impending level of rigidity should be feared. loose is so sick, but i hate not breaking out of tight, too.

implications, mechanism, and debating the prediction-- attending to this prescription outside of the office it was written in, after all of this time, is of significant importance.

i intend to take this for three completely different reasons: 1) none of the side effects which may result from this 'medication notorious for rapid weight gain' can be worse than my last few weeks; 2) it will improve my mood; and, of course, 3) 'my anorexia thinks' the risk factors associated with its biochemistry can be countered and the anti-obsessional properties put to work.

a lot of people swallow this pill and then grant the light of the refrigerator an unwavering call of influence. the joke is that in my history of appliance, i still never allow it lit. if obsessions prove reduced, and they should be, there is a threat that a lot of weight can be lost while on this pill.

what about those tales from people who have taken zyprexa and subsequently gained 20 pounds in the first two weeks? a quick search reveals many, many complaints. experiences where people have increased their size dramatically, in a short time, even while adhering to a restricted diet, has kept me from previous investigation.

my doctor does not believe my anorexia will allow this to happen to me. i suggested i might retain water weight initially, considering this medicine will be a foreign substance in my body. he shrugged. fine-- i will not confuse the initial edema -- since my body will consider itself poisoned -- with weight gain.

"all of my patients who have gained weight on zyprexa said they had not, but did radically change their eating behaviors. some ate an additional sandwich after dinner, or started eating a pint of ice cream at bedtime -- something they had never done before -- and their opinion insisted that daily calories were pretty much the same as always."

i look to its influence, the mechanism of action, and altered gene expression before disagreeing, but he is the geneticist-- and one who has taught biochemistry at a university level. does that matter? he neither lives with an intricate and irrational fear of weight gain, nor has he a mental illness which can compound results stemming from the power of suggestion. when overtly familiar with a subject, one can take a passing glance and easily spit out the answer. when obsessed and not-so-familiar, that is the student who has more chance in locating potential disaster.

"with all of the ratings you have read about zyprexa in regard to weight, diabetes, and ravenous carbohydrate cravings, you will be able to use it to lose weight," resident doctor #4 said. "i don't want you to challenge this pill, and i want you to let me know right away if you feel it making you hungry."


Tuesday, May 20

"if you ever hit me again," said chuck, "god, just don't punch me in the face. how am i supposed to explain this swollen lip at work?"

- severe food allergy?
- insect bite?
- angioedema?
- tristan must have run out of klonopin, began secretly slipping you xanax, and you reacted?

apparently, truth cannot be told.


Monday, May 19

- the free-fall stopped two weeks ago
- this has been the hardest and most expensive impact experienced

[need: transonic flow / want: to survive this injury / start: NOW]

Q: awakened by slamming heart? seizure? ________?
A: awareness: $300 rituals, spent under the guise of feeling better.

consider: circumnavigating 'goal of ordinary life' to thwart this depression?


Sunday, May 18

understand that pompous yellow is a story, its stain only stubborn now...

+ hot
consider: buttons or these buckets of urine?

+ fat
+ sick
consider: skeleton is loose, exposed and desperate to purge weather.

veins, fluid spine, soft; consumption, sour

Q: AND what sucks most?:

- when the loose is not only pixelated, but spreads outside of conflict?
- when frustration takes to throwing those offensive buckets at other people?
- when analysis of (highly embarrassing) metaphor reveals reality-relatedness?

A: 296.34


Thursday, May 15

there is a short waiting-list for both day treatment programs. i still want to attend, but time is such a threat. AND the blogging has been off because, for me, tales of recent insanity lack a full spectrum of humor. once upon a time, the presentation wouldn't have mattered. understand that the situations of mental illness are excruciatingly entertaining, but how the boring sludge those details mask is of greater importance.

consider: embarrassment, and its potential to facilitate change.
consider: formerly too sick to care/ par has changed.


blue hearts
yellow moons
green diamonds

-- heard that somewhere before --

how, charms call out for a luck
people haven't the capacity to manage

Q: what did the serial killer eat for breakfast?
[ ---> breaks fast = rabbit foot ]

my dad takes cheerios.


Monday, May 12

let the record show, it can get worse.


Saturday, May 10

Saturday-
MUST avoid crazy bitch
security guard

up since four-
MUST haul ass
have no ass
wonder why


MUST arrive early
not too early, or = weird


[ *** science *** ]


low fuel light indicator ---> circle
too many circles between there and here
stopped, sign says MOBILE.


[ *** science *** ]


Q: "how are you?"

- security guard
- says
- something wistfully about
- central air

think: oh, for the want of a metaphoric kernel to at least ponder.
think: yes, i am cold... efficient... unfeeling, to the core.
think: yes, she knows not to try -- that she can never get to me.
think: wistful -- how the security guard dreams of not being so hot.

consider: this abrupt loss of saturday stress.


Wednesday, May 7

pacmantonight, resident doctor #4 was told to scratch the inpatient idea, but that i was interested in hearing his opinion on the 'general' partial hospitalization program at ucla.

this program runs monday through friday until the late afternoon, and though non-specific toward eating disorders, has many valuable components. if registering, i would invest myself in total. my doctor agreed ucla's 'general' program would benefit me, but then tactfully stated that it can have "quite a mix of people." later in the appointment, he was free with the f-word as usual. in my case, he thinks cedars-sinai medical center offers a better option for psychiatric care if seeking to avoid the eating disorder treatment structure.


aside from the sentiment that the patients of the ucla program can be exceptionally fucked up (even when compared to my current psychiatric crisis) consider the rest of his concern:

- the current level of my sensitivity
- could i develop this enrollment into a major blow to my esteem?
- frightening/threatening patients there? might i retract more?
- or, might i find value and decide to invest in that community?
- how attendance can actually worsen my mental and physical health


there are other components that resident doctor #4 should address:

- might i spend one day with these patients, find an immediate desire to drop the labels effortlessly thrown around, and flat out refuse their future use? perhaps, interaction with shockingly ill patients will be another catalyst for leaving the term "disability" behind? my ego strength is enormous-- won't i go there and be desperate to virtually redefine myself overnight?

the 'general' program will not treat the urgency of anorexia, rather, it does offer a simple, yet profound destruction of one major foundation of illness.


the woman who is desperate to be my mother-in-law has requested i purchase a volkswagen beetle convertible to serve as her retirement present. "i don't know what color, though," she said. "not red-- maybe a champagne?"



"ACT I, Scene I: An Appalling Lack of Tact"
"ACT I, Scene II: Oh, Endless Greed"
"ACT I, Scene III: Frustration"

v.

"People Must View My Abilities Much Differently Than I Do"


Tuesday, May 6

ha, lucky rhyme/ a need for boxes of perfectly presentable words was announced earlier. other than depression/ anorexia/ and stuff/ why am i going to a hospital now? the lack of a tidy reason makes it worse.

AND another traumatic experience occurred tonight.
AND eventually, that chaotic whoknowswhen/ i will endure its subsequent loss.

laugh nervously when suggesting a phenomenon is not only aware/ but controls/ AND scatters sick tests of doubt at preposterous intervals. shrug/ i ultimately navigate. three easy sentences could reveal vorticity/ inversions/ AND yet all dynamics of this trauma remain off.


finally, a good day. in ten minutes or so, the night will end wrong. made the mistake of reading blog entries which were written while the author was in treatment. the person was positive, but i am panicking-- i was on the verge of making good choices.

consider the competition aspect in a treatment program. i don't necessarily want to, but if involved, would never allow another person to hold the negative success. consider the other side, where just registering into specific therapies is "quitting." perhaps i would rather die than face simultaneous terms. or not. i don't know.


Monday, May 5

in my opinion, going inpatient, whether it be related to eating disorder or depression/anxiety, is a dead idea. why wouldn't i sign myself out around the third or fourth instance of discomfort? AND other than resulting in a huge bill, what would that produce? nothing other than attitude along with a bad experience. considering this is all voluntary, registering into an inpatient program is not a responsible choice.

there are various day treatment clinics available at ucla-- general, depression/anxiety, or eating disorders. they sound non-threatening enough that i actually want to inquire.

consider:
intensive toward depression/anxiety = food could balance out
intensive toward eating disorders = elevated stress, non-compliance


reduced the stack of online bills to the point of restoring phone service/ perhaps broke 10 rules by taking in half of a container of nutritional supplement/ will vacuum splinters from yesterday's broken furniture/ AND then treat this infected finger.


Sunday, May 4

since the term "rock bottom" was used before, wtf is this called?

tomorrow is apt to be the greatest day of my life because this low can neither worsen nor persist. the delirious juice is in and, how i hate the word magic, but if it weren't so cold as to blind the backside of my left eye, it would have tasted like a lifeline. every nothing remains wrong. the metaphor is sensitive. AND look, brain freeze-- from concentrate. "shake well before enjoying." yeah, i did not.

i asked rd#4 yesterday if "i could go inpatient for something other than food." after twenty seconds of uncomfortable silence (- in which i did squirm -) he said yes-- to call him first -- and then go to the emergency room at ucla.

after some thought, that therapeutic respite excites additional racing thoughts. the loss of privacy. i don't want to shower somewhere else. don't want to be looked at. ASSume other patients are dangerous and will harm me. perhaps they would intend to steal my belongings. other paranoias creep in. suddenly i don't want to stop the thoughts-- i want to be best at being the worst if it has envious aspects. all that. thus, the idea of help is harmful.



consider the confusion,
the riddle: a place providing protection and specialized care.
you are expected to feel this and be able to relax.

ha, not a chance since you know what's coming:

"no one can take care of you, but you."