as far as kaitlyn knows, she’s guaranteed out of treatment by the end of the month. she called me sobbing the other night after a fight with her parents on the phone, in which she had to -berate- them into agreeing not to bully her into more therapy ever again. No more therapists or psychiatrists or treatment. Because what they thought would help her never has, not for the years they’ve put her in different treatment programs or sent her to different therapists. She just wants it to /end/. 

So basically, since neither of us ever really…explained what happened to land her in treatment to begin with, her parents essentially coerced her into leaving school, talking around her and asking her to make the decision to pull out of classes on medical leave only /hours/ after they’d picked her up for the weekend, and she’d been sobbing for hours and she was so scared and so drained but the only thing she kept telling them was that she /did not want to leave school/, which apparently wasn’t a decision from their 21-year-old adult daughter that they were willing to respect. They talked around her and over her and pressured her into signing the paperwork to leave school /that night/, when she wanted a couple of days to think about it, at least, if they wouldn’t respect her telling them repeatedly that she didn’t want to leave school. But they kept saying over and over and over that she needed to decide /now/, that they needed to get the paperwork in /the next morning/ and she was so wrung out she didn’t have the willpower or the drive to resist them anymore.

The next day, they faxed in her school leave paperwork, and they went to a therapist to get the recommendation she needed to enter treatment, This therapist, as was the /legal/ thing to do, /asked/ kaitlyn herself directly if she felt like she could make a decision this big at that moment in time, which she /did not feel/ capable of doing, but her parents had had her sign a disclosure agreement because they wanted to be involved in whatever treatment she received, and they were in the room with her and the therapist, and she didn’t feel like she could /say/ she wasn’t ready to make the call on whether or not to enter treatment in front of her parents, especially when he hadn’t slept enough in too long and when she’d been so anxious for so long and she was too tired to even try to resist them anymore. So the appointment to visit the treatment facility was set up that afternoon, and they took her to visit it the next day. And then two days later her paperwork cleared and she was checked in.

Kaitlyn’s had upwards of ten different therapists in her life, been in multiple treatment programs for ED, and has /never once/ felt that talk therapy has done anything to help her. The repeated visits and repeated therapists have always been her parents convincing her to see them, “maybe this time will be different”, “we just want you to be happy”, “we want you to love yourself”, but /it should not be about/ what they think will do her good when kaitlyn’s never once felt that talk therapy and group therapy has ever done her any good whatsoever. In fact, it only makes her more likely to compare herself to the people she’s surrounded with in those group sessions, compare her bodies to theirs and compare her problems to theirs and they /always/ make her feel like she /doesn’t deserve to be there/. Like the things she struggles with are trivial compared to theirs and that she shouldn’t get to feel as bad about herself as she does when there are people around her she /knows/ have endured circumstances worse than hers.

And /this/ place, this immersive residential program she’s been at for the past four months, she’s afraid has made her /more/ anxious and afraid of going back to her life as it was than she was before she’d been checked in. She feels /crazy/ for still thinking negatively about herself. She feels invalidated and hounded and insane because she can’t seem to get her parents to understand that /this method of treatment doesn’t help her/. She feels like she’s had the last four months of her life /stolen/ from her, and she feels like her inability to love herself has irreparably damaged her relationship with her parents, because they won’t own up to having rushed her into treatment when she was in no stable mental or emotional position to make the decisions they had her sign off on, and she /resents/ that they pressured her into being there.

And the crux of the matter is, she was checked in under having an “unspecified” eating disorder. She’s too physically healthy to fit the criteria for anorexia, which was what she’d struggled with in high school. She eats enough. She doesn’t restrict herself and she doesn’t over-exercise. What she struggles with is self-hatred. And talk therapy has not once in the /years/ she’s been seeing therapists done her any good at all. And the repeated /insistence/ that she just ‘try it again’ has only made her feelings about herself and her fears about her future even /worse/.

All this time she’s just wanted to go /home/. But now she doesn’t know where home /is/. It’s not her parents’ home, or her apartment at school, and definitely not where she’s staying while at treatment. She feels stagnant and stuck and like she’ll never remember what it felt like to go to class and do homework the way she used to and feel vaguely normal anymore. She’s afraid she won’t be able to integrate back into school and that she can’t write well anymore and that she can’t /focus/ enough anymore to go back to school or do anything without second-guessing herself because /therapy has made her feel crazy/, like she cant trust her own perceptions or trust the things she feels and sometimes even like she’s not allowed or entitled to feel the ways she does at all. And if she can’t do that, if she can’t go back to school and find a routine and get the same high grades she’d used to before she was pulled out for treatment, then she doesn’t know what she even has left. School was the one thing she felt /good/ at. And the things she used to do for fun feel like work and too much effort to her now and she wants to /write/ but she doesn’t know /what/ and even if she starts something she’s afraid she’ll never be able to do it the way she used to, and that no one will read it, and that she’s regressed too much while stuck in treatment that wrings her out and leaves her too exhausted and drained and emotionally tapped out to write.

So now that she’s theoretically close to being released, her therapists keep asking her what she wants to do when she gets out. Whether she’s got another therapist or a nutritionist lined up for when she’s out, whether she has plans for herself. And she /doesn’t/. She /refuses/ to see any more therapists or submit to any more treatment when it’s hurt her so much more than it’s ever helped her. She wants to go back to school but if they re-accept her she’s afraid she’ll fail and if they don’t re-accept her she’ll feel like she /has/ failed. Failed at school and failed at recovery and failed to live up to her parents’ expectations that she’d feel different after all this and failed at her whole existence. 

Some people just /can’t/ love themselves. And all she wants is acknowledgement of that, but she knows her parents will never admit that they were wrong, and that sending her to treatment has affected her negatively. They’ll never understand that /not/ being able to love herself doesn’t make her broken.

All she knows is she /can’t/ endure treatment much longer but she’s so afraid she can’t do anything else anymore, either. And i don’t know how to /help/ her from the distance i’m at.

I’m utterly useless at showing people how much i care about them or offering comfort when i can’t touch them or hug them or kiss their faces. And even though we text /constantly/ we’re restricted from that when she’s in group, or with her therapist, or during meals, and then when i’m at lab and working with people hanging over my shoulder i can’t even leave her texts to come back to and distract her between her sessions. I love her so much and i want to take the hurt away from her more than i’ve ever wanted anything else in my entire life, but i know i can’t do that, and i know being loved doesn’t fix anything, and i know there’s only so much my telling her how beautiful she is and how much i adore her can help. But i don’t…know how else to soothe the fear or the pain for her when i can’t hold her hands or sit with her or pull her into my arms when it surges and knocks the wind out of her and /hurts/. I feel so powerless and i can’t even imagine how much worse she’s felt /constantly/ for /four months/. i can’t make it better. And that’s /crippling/ to me. 

0 notes; 5 months ago ;

remember when i said it’d be too good to be true if they actually let her go by the end of january like they were supposed to?

i was right. she may be there til the end of february, and i’m /praying/ her readmission to Davis paperwork goes through because as scared as she is about having to go back to school, /it will be better than where she is now/ and she’ll be back on her own terms and she’ll be able to /leave/ situations that make her hurt without fear of repercussions and she’ll have face to face interaction with people who aren’t going to watch her or judge her constantly and i just want her to get to feel /safe/ again

0 notes; 5 months ago ;

please, please, please, i’m fucking begging them not to make her stay longer than the end of the month, please let her go home.

and i am /so fucking afraid/ to hope that they’ll release her because as soon as i let myself, just watch, they won’t. 

0 notes; 6 months ago ;

she wants to /not exist/ anymore, she isn’t suicidal but she’s just so tired and i can’t do /fucking anything/ for her it hurts so much

0 notes; 6 months ago ;

Last night was the roughest it’s been in a while. We were on the phone for /hours/ just sobbing on each other and i’ve never felt more futile and powerless in my life, the only thing i want is to protect her and it’s the only thing i don’t have the power to do. She thinks she ruins everyone she cares about, drags them down and hurts them and causes problems there’s no repairing and she kept telling me i shouldn’t love her, that i’m crazy for caring about her, that she’s too fucked up to deserve it and that she’s a genuinely bad person and that she’s going to wear on me until there’s nothing left—i can’t promise her much of anything else but i can promise no matter what that she’s not going to break me, that she’s not a burden and she’s not a terrible person and she does deserve to have someone to cling to when it’s too hard to fight, i want to be that for her. i’m going to love her, and no matter how bad it gets i want her every worst day when breathing is too much effort and i want to carry everything she’ll give me until she feels like she can put it down and leave it, and if that day never comes then i don’t care, i’ll carry it forever. 

I hope she’s asleep right now, she hasn’t texted me yet and i know she’s exhausted, every fucking minute of every single day is exhausting for her, but i won’t know if she’s okay until she answers me and i’m just scared. i know it’s probably for no reason, but. I need to know she’s okay.

0 notes; 6 months ago ;

i may have been right to be scared to hope they’d let her go soon, the earliest she can go back to Davis is March, so she’s afraid they might make her stay at treatment /longer/ because of it and nothing about this is okay

she’s /so/ tired of this, they just keep hammering away at things that have yet to serve her in any way, and she /hurts/ so much and i can’t do anything for her in any substantial capacity, not anywhere near enough to make a difference, i can’t be there for her in a way that’d give her more peace, i can’t hold her when she falls asleep and i can’t tell her in person how beautiful she is or kiss it against the side of her face i can’t show her how much i /want/ to be in physical proximity to her or even give her something to compare herself against, to be able to see she’s small and pretty when measured with someone else. I don’t pretend i can fix her. She doesn’t need fixing and she doesn’t need a white knight and she doesn’t need to be protected but i just want to give her somewhere she can fall asleep and feel /safe/ and i can’t even do that

0 notes; 6 months ago ;

we talked on the phone for awhile last night and it was….a bad night. I mean it was /so, so good/ to talk to her because i could hear her calm down the longer we talked and i could tell she felt better for it, i could tell and i could hear her relaxing more and more over the course of the phone call but hanging up was so /hard/

and she mentioned in passing that she seems to be on track for them to let her leave treatment around the end of this month and I am /so afraid/ to hope for that because what if they end up making her stay? what is that going to do to her if that happens? 

0 notes; 6 months ago ;

today’s been a terrible day, and i would tear the fucking fabric of the universe apart just to hold her right now. 

0 notes; 6 months ago ;

i want to destroy anyone who has ever made her feel less than absolutely fucking beautiful.

0 notes; 7 months ago ;

she’s had such a rough couple of days—really there hasn’t even been one day she’s had it easy since she got there, and all the people who work there, and the other people in the program, the therapists, the group leaders, her parents, everyone invalidates how awful and anxious just existing in this environment makes her feel /hourly/, they make her feel fucked up and broken and like everything she’s ever confided in anyone about the things that affect her is wrong, that she has no good reason to feel the way she does and that she doesn’t have it nearly as bad as she’s making it out to be and and she doesn’t have any right to feel the way she does about her own body and it’s fucking disgusting, she’s always scared and she always feels threatened and there is nowhere and no one near her that she can go to as a safe space, she’s constantly monitored and removing herself from situations that make her anxious gets her in trouble, she’s afraid if she does that they’ll insist on keeping her there longer because she’s not “letting herself be helped”, and i’m too fucking far away and there is only so much texting and skyping can do to help alleviate that and i can’t do /anything/ to help her breathe the way she needs to, I can’t hold her or kiss her or talk her down or squeeze her hands or be as /present/ as i want so much to be and if it’s hard for me to breathe i can’t even imagine what she must be feeling every waking minute she’s stuck here and it hurts so much and i know she hurts worse and that hurts most of all 

0 notes; 7 months ago ;