I think this was the wrong week to take time off therapy. I canceled because all three kids have dentist appointments today. I didn’t think too much of it at the time because I’ve felt relatively stable for the most part.
Except I have a weigh-in with my psychiatrist next week and I’m terrified. I keep crying, having panic attacks, etc. I’ve stopped eating almost entirely. I know my fear is mainly due to the fact that I will be forced, and won’t have a voice. I want to cry. I feel so violated standing on that scale. I’m sure it would feel absolutely no different if I were forced to strip naked in front of my psychiatrist. I don’t know why. I know it’s supposed to feel like, I know no one means to make me feel like way. But it does, we’ve talked about it, and I’m still being forced to step up there. I won’t lie, I’m angry and hurt. I feel like no one cares what it does to me, how it makes me feel.
My psychiatrist told me last session that neither she nor I have any say in the matter, and that she is sorry. She’s allowed me to get away without weighing in for a year now. It began because I stopped showing up for my appointments and ran out of meds. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, I was simply too scared. I never said anything to anyone, I just stopped showing up. Eventually, my therapist recognized something was off, and I fessed up about it all. I was forewarned that the “no weigh-in agreement” was not permanent, eventually, things would go back to the way they were before. But enough time passed, and I started to think that maybe not.
I really wish she wouldn’t do this to me. I don’t care what treatment standards say. If it’s counter productive and triggering, then maybe it isn’t worth doing until I’m in a healthy enough place to do so. I’ve done so much hard work to get to where I am today. I’ve put on a considerable amount of weight, the health issues have dissipated, and no one around would have any clue that I struggle with an eating disorder. Now I feel myself pedaling backward. If I’m honest with myself, I’m terrified of the prospect of getting sick and the ramifications it would have on my everyday life—what it could do to my family, to my career, to my health. I don’t want this, I don’t want it at all. And I really, really need my therapist’s support to navigate through all of these fears and emotions.
I wish I had been more open and honest about it the last session. I wish I had gone into more detail. I’m too afraid to move forward in treatment, but the fact that I’m afraid of moving backward and haven’t allowed myself to do so up till this point speaks volumes. My therapist keeps insisting that I don’t want to get better. It hurts to hear her say that, but I recognize the truth in what she says. Yet, at the same time my fear of getting that sick again, does show that maybe I am fighting harder than either she or I realize.
Ugh. It’ll be okay. I’m gonna keep telling myself it will be okay. Maybe I will call my psychiatrist and ask if we can make it an hour long session instead of the normal twenty minutes? I’m so scared I will show up and make a scene or that I won’t show up at all. Maybe she could help me work through what is going on in my head? I don’t know. I’m so, so, so scared and the appointment is still a week away.
In other news, I’m getting my first massage today. I’m a little scared that it might be triggering, especially since we have been dancing around the topic of sexual abuse and touch a lot in therapy lately. The massage is my Mother’s Day gift, and in all fairness I requested it. My husband just came back from a month of Army training, so he scheduled it as a couples massage. And that’s where everything internally began to unravel. I don’t want him there. It ruins everything, but of course, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that.
I felt okay with the idea of it just being me in the room. If things began to get uncomfortable, I could just speak up. I knew eventually, I’d probably be able to relax and things would be okay. But with him there, things are different. Now I have more people in a room, and the one person I don’t trust…him. That breakdown of trust isn’t entirely his fault. It’s mine. I didn’t speak up for myself when I needed to, and I should have. But, I guess that is a story for another day.