Land of the Free, Home of the Brave

I got admitted back into treatment on that Tuesday, and had to stay for two weeks. It wasnt as bad as it could have been, but I hated it. I hated it so much more than the first time I went in. Sleeping there was horrible. Every fifteen minutes someone would have to come into my room, shine a flashlight in my face, and make sure I was still breathing. I have trouble sleeping anyway, so this only made it worse. For the first two days I couldn't go outside or do any of the fun groups because I had to be watched. I had to meet with my therapist, dietitian, nurse practitioner, and psychiatrist at least twice a week. Other than that we had groups and free time. I was pretty bored the whole time I was there. We could watch movies during free time, but we always fought about what we would watch, and watching 4 movies a day gets pretty old pretty fast...

We could receive mail while there, but I never got any because I was only there two weeks, and everything happened so fast that no one knew that I was even there. Every night I would watch all of the other girls open that letters and packages, while I sat there feeling lonely. I compared myself a lot to all of those girls. Comparing really put strains in my relationships with the others because I often isolated myself. I didn't want to feel bad about myself because if how amazing they were and how amazing I wasn't. 

I did get pretty close to my roommate while I was in. We stayed up at night, and when they came to check on us, we would pretend to be asleep. We had some really fun times together. The hardest part about leaving was knowing that I could possibly never see any of these girls again. I finally found these girls that could relate to me and understand me, and then I had to go home. Back to the real world. 

I only had one week of school left when I got home, so I finished everything I had to do, and got to go back for yearbook day, and basically school was out. That was the end. The stress could all leave now. I was free to do whatever I wanted, except that my therapist wanted me to do intensive out patient again. I didn't want to go. I didn't want to have to spend my summer in more treatment. I told her what I felt, and she told me she couldn't work with me because it was part of my out patient treatment. I understood that she was my therapist and I should do what she said, but in the end I decided not to do it. I switched therapists again. For the third time, I had to. Today I see him, and I love going and talking to him for an hour each week. I'm still learning, I'm still a work in progress, but I am working to be free. I'm working to get rid of the voices in my head telling me that I'm fat, and not good enough. I'll keep fighting until it's done. I'll fight until I love myself...