** Note: potentially triggering**
I was super anxious yesterday morning. I woke up at 4 in the morning anxious and groaning and tired and half0awake but unable to fall back asleep. I was awake at 5 and 5:30 and 6 and 6:30 and 6:42. Then I gave up and took a shower. It was a long morning. I don’t know whether it’s because of Prozac side effects that I’m all stressed about, or because I’m stepping down from residential to partial tomorrow or Tuesday, or if it’s just that I’ve been super body conscious and uncomfortable in my own skin or what. But yesterday morning, whatever it was, I was super on edge – like, thoughts racing, heart flying, can’t keep still, have to keep fidgeting. That kind of edgy.
Though… I might have been edgy because of the dream that I’d had the last night before.
I had a dream that I purged that night. But not just that; in my dream, I was back some weird version of my high school with some of my classmates from senior year. We were all having urges and talking about purging. And then we got in a line in the bathroom and did it, watching each other. Some people just walked up to the toilet and looked in – I was the first who actually purged. There were younger kids outside in the hallway; we were worried about them hearing us. We were worried that they’d figure out what we were doing and get ideas.
We left a mess. Some of us stayed behind to clean it, but not well enough. The administrators came in, and one girl who was left ‘fessed up and told on us. I came back in, crying, and admitted to being a part of it. One of the nurses from treatment was there in my dream, too. She told me that confessing wasn’t going to get me out much.
Then more happened in my dream that had to with purging. And crying and sleeping and finding kids were doing what I was doing but continuing to do it anyway even while I was telling them to stop. And then came the moment when I discovered that the administrators had told my parents what I was doing. My father came to the school office to take me away to a mental institution.
Then I remember wandering around a mental hospital that reminded me of the hallways and common rooms from Las Encinas. People – other patients – smiled at me, but I ignored them. I wandered around, alone. I knew I wasn’t with my friends from school. My real friends, the ones from college. I was by myself.
And then my father wanted to transfer me to some other hospital (which my subconscious decided was in Las Vegas, oddly enough) to have a surgery done in my throat that would sew something up that would burst and bleed if I purged again. A surgery that would rip open and potentially kill me if I purged again. I remember being afraid and mad.
My dream ended with me leaving for the plan that would take me to the surgery “at 1 o’ clock.” Even though I was leaving for the surgery, even though I was letting it happen, I remember thinking that it was all for nothing. That it was useless. That it wasn’t going to make a difference.
That even though I could die, I was still going to keep purging anyway.