My Everyday Facade

My mom is proud of me. She just told me that she’s so happy to hear how great I’m doing.

I worked 11 hours today, pretty standard. I’m not complaining. It was great. I got through almost 100 emails. I was honestly really productive. I ate 700 calories. I didn’t even need the last 200, I was just bored. I’m obsessed with thinking about food. My company caters lunch and dinner almost everyday, I have never eaten it. I hate being around it. I have to plan, measure, calculate my meals everyday.

I just opened a bottle of wine. All day, today, I contemplated whether I was going to drink tonight or not. I constantly think about how I went to AA inpatient and if I really need to start going. 

I’m pissed there’s a huge snowstorm because I want to go to work tomorrow. I want to get out of my apartment. I don’t want to be snowed in. I don’t know what I’ll do “working from home” tomorrow. 

I sometimes think I’m miserable. When I think too much, I think I’m miserable. From the outside, I’m not miserable. I’m overthinking things, which is making me conclude things that aren’t true or real. In reality, everything is going just fine. I’m making things complicated. I’m making things harder for myself. I’m good. I’m great.

I hate being home. Home as in my apartment, in Boston, with my two roommates. (I wish to death, “home” meant with my mom or my dad.) At home, amongst the three roommates, I’m the odd-ball out. Ever since Christmas break, I came back after being hospitalized for a manic episode. I came back, obviously, skinny and with the determination to stay as thin as possible and I think it’s created a divide. My eating disordered habits are most likely obviously.

I feel left out and paranoid. I don’t really want to be a part of their two-some friendship, but I feel paranoid not participating, like they’re talking about me. (I know they’re not, I’m just delusional). I have to keep reminding myself that it’s okay.

I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m paranoid. I worry about my lithium level, ALL THE TIME. I started to write down how much seroquel I take and how I sleep depending on how much seroquel I’ve taken. And if I’ve taken my extra lithium, which I should take.

I remember the first few times seroquel worked and worked well and I slept throughout the night. I remember when that was the norm, having a night’s sleep without waking up once, let alone 7 times or more, was normal. I would wake up at my alarm and it was amazing, nothing disturbed me, not even having to pee. I would wake up and feel like a pregnant woman, running to the bathroom since nothing could wake me up throughout the night. But now, I wake up and I’m mad that it’s 3am. I want to wake up and I want to have my day start. Why is no one awake at 3am?! Nothing has happened. I’m just ready to go.

Is this what hypo-mania is? I’m too into reality to be manic but I’m too out of it to be grounded. People think I’m fine, clearly. I am fine. But I am worried about myself. And I’m conscious of this.

I haven’t been to therapy in months. I miss it. I miss my therapist dearly. Maybe I should email her now. But, I don’t want a new therapist. I like my therapist, we’ve been through so much together. I’ve looked up DBSA groups. And I know there are support groups. But they all make me nervous. I feel uncomfortable being exposed in group settings. What do you think?

I’m going home next weekend to my parents. Back home to Princeton. I’m so excited. I’ve been counting down the days for the past few weeks. I can’t wait to see my dad. I can’t wait to see my mom. I can’t wait to leave Boston for St Patrick’s day weekend. I want to miss out on the “fun” and the parade, etc. I want to be nurtured by my mom and dad. I want to be cared for again.

I need to feel safe.

My mom is “so proud of me”. So, for now, I’m just going to go with it. From the outside, I’m doing just fine. As I always am. That’s how I was brought up to be. Michelle’s good. Michelle’s fine. She’s just swimming a lot. Oh she’s out in Michigan at school. She’s interning for Bank of America. Michelle’s fine. Michelle lives in Boston now. Michelle works for a law firm. Michelle’s doing great. 

Michelle does almost great…. but never quite. But you know what. I hold it together. I have my shit together from the outside and for no one else to know that I’m never fully there. I get jobs. I get into college. I make friends. I date guys. I move to new cities. I do things on my own. Thank you Mom and Dad for teaching me how to fake it. I will fake it forever. I hope one day I can make it.


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