Carrie Fisher died today

But that’s not really what this post is about. Or maybe it is? I’ve already taken tonight’s dose of Seroquel, so my ability to analyze themes is currently sub-optimal.

Speaking of medication, I have taken my morning meds really late for the past two days. At first, this surprisingly had little effect on me. But then I realized that my anxiety was worse than usual. And when I found out about Carrie Fisher, I knew that the extent of my reaction was almost certainly a result of my “neurochemical shit” getting “fucked up”, to use the technical terms.

I really like Carrie Fisher. I realized this earlier in the year when I watched her interview with Stephen Colbert. She was such a fucking badass, and everything I hope to be one day. Carrie was confident and funny, and she took shit from nobody. This is probably dramatic and self-absorbed, but I saw a better version of myself in her. I feel like, if Carrie and I had ever met, she would have understood me on a deep level. Reading her quotes, which are now scattered across my Facebook feed, I have learned that she gave the world honest insight into mental illness. This only confirms my belief that we are similar.

I didn’t think much about Carrie until she had a heart attack on the 23rd. I was sad-drunk when I found out, and told my friend I would need to go to psych emerg if she died. I attributed this extreme reaction to the alcohol at the time, but I obsessively checked google over the next few days for updates on Ms. Fisher’s health. And when I learned of her passing today, I was devastated. I can’t tell whether my emotions surrounding this event are largely chemical, or if this is just the way I feel.

I always judge people who get upset by celebrity deaths. You didn’t know Whitney Houston. You didn’t give a shit about Michael Jackson when he was alive. You’re making this about you when you aren’t remotely connected to it. Of course, I felt differently with Robin Williams, as the way he died was particularly upsetting.

But Carrie Fisher didn’t die the way Robin Williams died. And yet, I find myself thinking that I don’t want to live in a world without her. That she was the last genuine person left on this planet, and that there is no hope for us now.

But again, this post probably isn’t about Carrie Fisher. I think it’s about my failure to take my medication on time, and the dramatic emotions I experienced afterwards.

This evening, I watched this Vox video summarizing the year 2016:

Maybe I should have known this video would upset me. And maybe to some extent, I did. But I didn’t think it would lead to suicidal thinking. I did not expect that a reminder of the election and the war in Syria and the Orlando shooting and the Standing Rock would leave me feeling so hopeless.

But here I am, feeling this way, unsure whether these thoughts are even my own or if they belong to the brief decrease of Effexor in my system. I feel like political corruption runs so deep, and the system favours the powerful to such a great extent, that nothing can be done to achieve fairness and equality. I feel like people are inherently bad, and that nothing can be done to change this fact. I feel like a world without Carrie Fisher is boring and pointless and hollow. I think that’s what this post it about.

I apologize if my writing is incoherent; again, I have already taken my Seroquel tonight. But that’s what I am thinking. So there it is.


Bye, 2016. See you never.

I felt like posting an update tonight, and then I realized that it’s about the right time to start reflecting on the giant pile of shit that was 2016, so here I am.

Before I begin, I would like to contextualize this year in my life by briefly summarizing 2014 and 2015, which weren’t too great for me either.

I began 2014 in my first Severe Major Depressive episode and was bingeing and purging almost daily. Around March, I began dating a guy I didn’t like at all because I was desperate to not be alone. That relationship ended in July with a traumatic event, and my eating disorder worsened and became mainly restrictive. I was unable to function, and did not return to school in the Fall. I began a Day Hospital Eating Disorders program in December.

I remained in the Day Hospital program for the entirely of January, getting discharged on the 31st. I returned to school in February, but maintaining recovery on my own was harder than I had expected, and I relapsed almost instantly. I was re-admitted to Day Hospital mid-April and was discharged 9 weeks later. I began to relapse in June and July, but was able to turn things around, and have essentially stayed well since, aside from the occasional  bad week or two. I was fired from a job after disclosing my mental health disability (which is definitely illegal), and later quit a job that caused more anxiety than I could handle. I moved out and returned to school again in September, and in November, I began dating my ex. Ugh, fucking Jennifer. 2015 concluded with the one good month of that relationship.

Enter 2016. The New Year brought a lot of anxiety, as I hadn’t yet told my parents I wasn’t working and I knew they wouldn’t be happy about it. My ex was being dramatic as fuck about her co op term, and was unbearable to be around. She also stopped giving a single shit about me. In May and June, I had to live at home, as my landlord sold our student house and the new place I wanted wouldn’t be open until July. I also had a hard time finding a job, which caused a lot of self-hatred and finance-related anxiety. The job I eventually found was pretty good, but working really triggers my social anxiety. And of course, on my last day of work, my ex broke up with me in the shittiest way imaginable. I suffered my second Severe Major Depressive episode, which brought on 3 overdoses, a relapse into self-harm, a brief eating disorder relapse after unintentional weight loss, and just overall misery. And then a fascist, sexist, reality TV star became leader of the free world.

So here we are, in December 2016. The past three years have been one very long shit-show, but maybe things are gradually improving? My hospital stays lasted days instead of months, I held down a full-time job for most of the Summer, and I spent most of the year out of the toxic environments at my parents’ houses. I learned a lot about myself and became much stronger. I loved and I lost (it should have been you, Bernie), but mostly I survived. And maybe 2017 will fuck me all over again. But maybe it won’t?

I’m generally pretty cynical, and it’s not like I expect the new year to bring me fairy dust and a pet unicorn. But the bar has been set low, so 2017 will likely be an A+ year on the bell-curve of my life. I guess I just need to do what I can to make that happen.


My eating disorder is an asshole

Hi everyone,

I wrote a post recently (yesterday?) about my strong thoughts of relapsing into Anorexia. I acted on some behaviours yesterday, and today, my eating disorder won’t shut up. It’s kind of shitty having my brain hurl insults at me all day, and I thought writing about it might help.

So, these are the nuggets of pure wisdom that Anorexia is bestowing upon me on this lovely day:

1.I never actually had an eating disorder, and especially not Anorexia, because I barely lost any weight. None of what I went through matters unless I do it right.

2. I am a dramatic piece of shit for complaining when I literally restricted for one day. People do that all the time. I’m a weak, pathetic whiner. I have been so dramatic about the barely-real eating disorder I had, and I need to either shut up or get a real eating disorder.

3. I am going to get over this in a day or two, as soon as I get hungry, because I am weak and undisciplined. I was never able to lose that much weight, and I never will be, because I can’t do anything right.

4. If I relapse now, maybe I can actually be skinny and see what that’s like. Then it will be out of my system.

5. If I relapse, people will care about me and like me.

So, this was fun. My brain is a super fun, exciting place to be. That’s really all I wanted to say, because I am a dramatic whiner.

Hope everyone is well!


Oh haaaaay Anorexia

TRIGGER WARNING: This post is being written by my eating disorder.

Things have been a lot lately. I still feel depressed and lonely more than three months after my breakup. I’m writing finals this week and next. Finances are very tight, as I am reaching the end of the student loan money I received in September. And I am dreading the hours I will have to spend with my family on and after Christmas Day. Maybe this is why I have been feeling particularly nostalgic about my eating disorder lately.

I don’t feel fat- no more so than usual anyways. I’m not feeling anxious about eating a normal amount with decent variety. Recovery is not difficult right now.

But I keep thinking about the high I got from losing weight. The way I actually liked myself for a little while. I think about watching my body change and feeling my clothes get looser. I miss the routine and the obsession and the perfection. I even miss that god-awful Day Hospital program, where healthcare professionals cared about me for a second because my pain became visible.

I know rationally that I was miserable when I was in the throes of my disorder, and that I would hate myself if I gave up on recovery. But the desire to lose weight is so strong. I can feel Anorexia taking over my brain, and I don’t even mind. This might go away in a day or two, or I might let it continue.

Today, for the first time in a while, I tried solving a problem by restricting. My roommate bailed on our plans today, and I felt incredibly angry and anxious at the sudden change. I wanted some way to let my anger out, and my stomach was in knots anyway, so I threw out the bagel I was making for dinner and had a bowl of vegetables instead. I’m having a hard time studying now, but I feel powerful.

I don’t know what to write as a conclusion. Obviously, my thoughts are incredibly disordered right now, and they’ll probably go back to normal soon, but I wanted to express them. So, there they are.


Hello from the darkness

Hey internet friends,

I’m not in a super great place today, but that’s like half my life at this point, so I’m over it. I figured I would greet you from the void, and let you know what I’ve been up to.

The Fall term is almost finished, and I write my first of four finals next Monday. I feel pretty confident and caught up on the material. So that’s pretty good.

I’ve been seeing my family more often than usual, which will only increase during the holidays, so I guess I’m covering that base pretty decently.

I haven’t overdosed or self-harmed in around a month and a half (maybe two months?), and I am eating a varied and sufficient diet.

Oh, and I’ve been going to the gym. Yaaaaay endorphins.

Overall, things have been a LOT better than they were in September and October. But a feeling of loneliness constantly looms over me, and it often triggers a depression-loneliness-self-loathing spiral of doom. Currently, I am in one of those spirals. I hate studying and I hate going to the gym and I hate seeing friends and I can’t imagine feeling happy ever again. I feel completely alone and cut off from the world, and I’m pretty sure nobody loves me and nobody will ever love me and this will be the rest of my life and then I’ll die. But like whatever.

I miss her again. Not her exactly, but the way she made me feel in the beginning. This time last year, I was completely head over heels for my ex. We hung out everyday. We did other things everyday. We always wanted to be around each other. I felt things that I had never felt in my previous relationships. After January, everything went to hell, but last December was incredible.And this December won’t be.

I know it’s pathetic, but I am just desperate to feel that way again. I probably need to learn how to cope with loneliness instead of jumping into a new relationship, but that sounds difficult and unpleasant. So I swipe through the approximately 6 queer women on Tinder, hoping a message turns into a coffee date turns into something more.

I could work on building friendships instead, but there haven’t been many social events lately as everyone is studying for finals. And again, solid friendships won’t bring back the feeling I miss more than anything.

That’s about all I have to say, and I’m not really sure how to conclude this. There isn’t a happy ending or a silver lining… at least not yet. Essentially, I just wanted to vomit depression all over everybody. Sorry.

But I certainly feel hope that things might get better. And that’s enough for today. I’ll sit here in this hole until that “getting better” thing comes to fruition.

Until then, hello from the darkness!



My mood has always depended on the little things.

This fact is often helpful. If I’m slowly dying from an eating disorder, but I bought cute boots and my coffee is delicious, then I’m in a good mood.

Unfortunately, the inevitable flip side is that if everything in my life is going well, but my bus is five minutes late, it’s a disaster.

Today is an example of the latter case. Sort of. Pretty much everything is going well for me right now. I’m making friends, I’m earning good grades, I’m getting #thosegains around three times a week at the gym. I also feel incredibly lonely a lot of the time, and my depression is much worse than I would like. But I’m not overdosing anymore, so my doctors are thrilled.

Anyways, here is the actual story. I made a burger for dinner and put it in my room while I used the bathroom. I knew Zoloft (my cat) wasn’t in my room, so I figured I had time before she tried to eat it. I came out of the bathroom and looked around for the cat, and my roommate told me she put Zoloft in my room because she was digging in the garbage. I ran into my room to find Zo eating my burger. So that went in the garbage and I had no dinner.

This story probably sounds like a bummer, a minor inconvenience. But tears are streaming down my face right now and I am considering just taking some Ativan and calling it a night.

Here is the event in my brain. I am exhausted. It has been a relatively long day. I’m really not feeling great emotionally. I came home feeling weak, and looking forward to eating. I spent around ten minutes making this burger, which is about nine minutes longer than I usually spend preparing a meal, and I was going to eat it in my room and watch YouTube videos. This was going to make me feel okay. I was in the bathroom for maybe thirty seconds, and now all of that is gone.

I could go make another burger and continue with my plans ten minutes later than I had anticipated. But instead I’m crying in my bed without dinner because that wouldn’t be the same. My expectation of eating THAT burger and watching YouTube videos and being happy is gone. And I did nothing to deserve this.

I understand how unreasonable I am being. I don’t understand why I am reacting this way. But I am. And I have done this before.

Maybe I have been approaching this breakdown all day, and this seemingly- innocuous event was “the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Maybe my happiness is just fragile, always a cat-eating-a-burger away from shattering and becoming depression and loneliness and sadness.

Maybe this is a symptom of my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder,  which had irreversibly fixated on having THAT burger when and how I planned to have it.

Maybe my control issues have been triggered by this sudden change of plans. And the fact that I can return from a trip to the bathroom to find a different reality than the one I had expected is what’s crushing me.

Like I said, I have done this before. When I was younger, I would attribute my extreme reactions to something “serious” happening in my life at that time. And adults understood. My childish meltdown was the outcome of bottled and displaced emotions originally caused by a “real” problem. I have a specific memory of getting unreasonably angry with my friend Lacie on the same day that my dad was moving out. I remember crying to my mom that “I don’t want daddy to move out.”

But that wasn’t why I was upset. I was just angry with Lacie. And I always felt that I was lying when I blamed my emotions on a larger problem. Even today, I don’t feel like ongoing stressors finally caught up with me. I feel like I wanted that burger.

So, I don’t know why I reacted this way. Maybe there is some meaningful psychological reason, or maybe I’m just a piece of shit who flips out over nothing. Either way, it feels like shit.