Rosemead, CA.

I arrived at Reasons, an eating disorder center Friday, Sept. 25th. I'm in Rosemead, CA.

As we got closer to this destination, I had just wanted to jump ship, wake up from the bad dream, or disappear altogether. I was so scared. Scott held my hand as we were orientated by George who told us which was what and who was which. It was all so sudden and overwhelming. And I remember saying good bye to Scott. One last hug, one last kiss. . . then it was just me. Alone. And then I was scooped up in this unfamiliar whirlwind of activity and faces. I was so scared shitless that I just smiled through it like I was okay and I do this kinda thing all the time.

September 27th:
I woke up the next morning, learning the new routines, like vital checks, blood draws, weight (we're not allowed to see), shower time, line-up time, breakfast time, group time. . . .my first process group time. It started out with deep breathing and the person leading it said take your mind to a place that makes you feel happy. I automatically thought of home. I flash backed to sun spilling through the windows in the morning, a hot cup of coffee in Scott's recliner, playing aggravation my children, cuddling with Scott before bed, and the smell of my goats. On the next deep breath in, I was sobbing. Just crying in grief. I felt so ripped apart. The deep breathing session ended and I was still crying. The counselor of the group asked the typical, "What's going through your mind?" And God be blessed, the door opened and someone called my name to come out. I ran out with relief. And still crying. A woman said she was my therapist and I know she said her name, but I just wanted to be somewhere else. I think she suspected so, because we went to a private office and so started my first therapy session. The Reality Check.

September 28th:
The schedule here is so to the minute that it makes the days go by very fast. We get ten minute breaks a couple times a day and I just go sit out in the sun and think. I get personal time from 7-9 every night cause that's visiting hours and I have no visitor's. Here, I'm the oldest by many years and it's difficult fitting in. There's a set clique and a mom of teens isn't a good fit.There are other moms but there kids aren't older than 5 and we are just not in the same stages of parenting. And everybody's a city slicker. I just don't think like they do. I feel uncomfortable. I feel isolated. The others avoid me, or so it seems to me, they don't sit by me at the meal table, they don't ask questions. We have a lot of group sessions that we are supposed to speak up in, but I never get to speak, not that I would. I don't feel welcomed, so why would anybody care?

September 29th: I've woken up in a foul mood. I had a nightmare last night. Tryin' to shake it off and not let it determine my day.

September 30th:
So yesterday was a hard day. I felt tears threatening  to spill out at every word or action I made. I felt so invisible that I isolated myself and hardly spoke. At the last process group of the day, I finally talked. And cried. (I can't emphasize enough--there's been a lot of crying.) I hate crying. I never like giving people the satisfaction of seeing me hurt. It makes me feel vulnerable and raw. And to top it off, I started the day again from another nightmare. The last few days have been nothing but panic attacks and crying.

October 1st:
Another nightmare. I can't stand it. They absorb so much energy from me.
In a month it will be my birthday and it'll be the second time I have spent my birthday on a psych ward. I feel ashamed. I feel like my life revolves around me always getting better. It's all about me and I feel shame and guilt for that. There's so much more to live than this. I feel useless and unproductive to God and my family.
I did have a break through in speaking in group; the counselor opened up with, "Does anyone have anything they want to speak about?" And the room stayed silent. So one of the "veteran" patients said, "If no one is gonna talk, then I will." And the counselor replied with, "If other people aren't going to talk then that's their problem." I felt like somebody slapped me in the face. I vehemently exclaimed that I totally disagreed with that statement and maybe some people don't talk in group because they don't feel comfortable and they feel pushed out of the group and that if they said anything no one would care. And. . . you guessed it, I started crying.

I'll stop here for now and type more tomorrow if I can get access to the one computer with internet. I, of course, have still much more to say.

P.S. They are stuffing my face. We literally eat six times a freakin' day!