Missing

There’s been a lot of missing going on. I stepped down from residential to partial yesterday, and now I have another whole set of newness to cope with, just as I was settling in to the last set from resi. And on top of everything, I’m still tired from the fricking Prozac that I need to get off of (don’t ever let somebody start you at 40 mgs of the stuff, even if you were already on another related SSRI. Somnolence as a side effect BIG TIME).

But anyway, about that missing. I miss my friends. The ones back in Los Angeles. I see emails sent out to my college house by them and miss them. I see facebook updates and miss them. I wake up and miss them. I just miss them. And now I miss the security of RTC. I miss the safety, the protection from life. I miss not having to worry about so many things because they were just taken care of. I miss having complete permission to just focus on helping myself through things. And I miss my RTC roommate. I miss the friends I made there. I miss the recovery-mindedness that was waaaay more rampant, surprisingly enough, there.

I think that’s one of my biggest hesitations about partial right now. A lot of people just start at the partial level, don’t go through resi first, which leads to a big disparity in how far along people are in recovery. And there’s less support here, which means that people get away with more than in resi. It’s tremendously frustrating.

Enough to make me wonder if maybe I should be at a different treatment center. But there’s no guarantee that another treatment center would be any better. But I miss familiarity. I miss the comfort of knowing how to function. I’m not doing my eating disorder (though goodness knows last night I wanted to), but I’m not doing regular life, either. I’m stuck in some weird in between place, and I hate being stuck in limbo. All of this – and missing a couple of friends from back home, too – is driving me to want to go back to my family in St. Louis to do treatment there, except that prospect is terrifying, too. For one thing, I don’t know whether or not I’d get into a program there. I don’t know how to go about transferring to a program there. For another thing I’d be back around my family. My abusive, non-understanding, dysfunctional family that would probably treat me like I’m less competent than my sixteen-year-old sister. And I fought so hard to stay out here, in California. To keep up with the program I’m doing right now. Call it pride, but that means something to me. After I fought so hard, hurt so much, for what I thought I wanted, I don’t want to give it up now.

Clarity. Confidence. Comfort. I’m missing so  much right now.

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One Response to Missing

  1. jane says:

    i totally dont mean to pressure you to come back to STL. do what’s best for you ❤

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