I'm back in College City and saw both my therapist R and dietician J this week after a three-week holiday hiatus.
J was first, on Wednesday, and she was all about More Treatment. IP IP IP. She brought it up so many times that I was honestly just tuning her out by the end of the thirty minutes. She asked if I'd thought about taking another semester off to go to residential for a few months, to which I gave a resounding no. I've told her so many freaking times that I'm not even considering IP, and I wish she would just drop it. I realize that this would be more likely if I actually drank all the Boost she wants and put on the weight I'm supposed to, but still. I'm improving, albeit glacially, but I'm trying, okay? I promise. And there is just no way I'm leaving school again and no way I'm doing inpatient.
The Weight Thing is seriously weighing on my mind. She wants me to gain so much. This isn't a battle I'm going to win, I realize, because J has science and research on her side, but even thinking about the number makes me panic. I just don't know if I can do it, I really don't. We made a list of the pros and cons of weight gain, and obviously the pros (medical stability, reduced anxiety, increased energy, better concentration, etc.) outweighed the ONE con (temporary bad body image). But it's not like I can just read the list and realize, Oh! So weight gain is a GOOD thing! Okay, I'm game. It's so much harder than that and there's so much more at play.
When I saw R this morning, he said this: "It's time to fish or cut bait."(He had a lakeside upbringing, apparently.) I laughed at first, and I'm still not entirely sure what the mechanics are behind that idiom, but I believe it means something along the lines of "Shit or get off the pot," which is a bit more straightforward. Either way, the message was pretty clear; I've been tiptoeing around the meal plan, the weight gain, yada yada yada for long enough. I'm here, in treatment, and things aren't going to change unless I change them. He asked about IP too, I said no, and that's when he made the fish statement.
He was pretty blunt with me and expressed some serious doubts about whether I would make it outpatient. This upset me (although it doesn't take much to upset me lately) because he has always been so positive and has always reassured me, even when I doubt myself. So it was definitely a wake-up call - a necessary one, but unpleasant all the same.
But there was some positives, too. We talked a lot about the anxiety stuff, and he was completely understanding without being judgmental even though I was super duper uncomfortable and embarrassed and sat there jiggling my foot and wringing my hands and letting my eyes dart anywhere except R's face. He's pushing the medication again, and I think I might be down to try it this time. We'll see. I've waffled on this so much in the past that he just kind of dropped it, but today I came very close to agreeing.
Anyway. I'm drained from all the therapizing, but I'm trying to stay positive and remember how freaking lucky I am to have this chance. Two whole weeks of nothing but working on myself and my health, some of the top local professionals working with me, and a fully supportive mama bear who listens to me vent and wail and cry on the phone every night. (And some mornings.)