Attachment, Friends, Body Image, About That Panic

Attachment

I emailed the AT to tell him that I would be here longer than I expected and to confirm that he will still take me back even if I am gone for months  (despite the fact that he has told me a zillion times that he will be with me until the end).  Of course, he said he would.  And the discussion and my insecurity made me think about my attachment injuries and the concept of ‘earned secure attachment.’  I realize that despite the fact that I am still totally insecure about my relationships with everyone, I have definitely been building the foundation of earned secure attachment with the AT.  And even though I railed against being attached to him, the truth is that I am.

Friends

I am still surprised when people are nice to me and seek me out for chatting or sharing pictures or whatever.  Yesterday, one of my peers, Mel, was excited to talk to me about when we transition to the partial hospitalization/day treatment program.  She is due to transition down in two weeks, as am I, and she is happy that we will be going at the same time.  And I don’t think her happiness is just because it will be more comfortable to go with someone she know, she seemed genuinely happy that we would be going together.  She also has made several social overtures at me in terms of sharing videos of her dogs, ideas for craft projects (and inviting me to do craft projects) and just chatting.  While it does kind of baffle me that she even sees anything in me to like, I actually like her too, so I appreciate her kindness.  And speaking of the transition, we have been talking about the idea of being roommates when we transition down to the next level.  I floated the idea by Meg, and it is indeed a possibility.  Mel is going to mention it to her therapist too.  It would be really nice if it works out.

It is funny to call treatment peers friends and I am very hesitant to do so.  The people here are not real friends.  Our relationships (except for this one developing with Mel ) are based on our mental illness.  It is such a fragment of ourselves, we miss out sharing about on the “real” parts of our lives…if we even have any “real” parts left…I did keep a couple of friends from Renfrew, but of the dozens of people there, keeping friendships with only a handful means I only connected past recovery stuff with a handful of people.    I don’t know yet if I will have anyone I keep in touch with from here.

Body Image

I was body checking  assessing   judging looking at my body in the mirror and really taking a good long look at my body.  This is what I decided. 1. I will never ever have the body I want. 2. I hate my body. 3. I have no idea what my body size is.   Sometimes, I wish that someone could show me pictures of comparable bodies and say, “Look, Heidi, this is what your body size is.” because I just can’t see it on my own.  As to the hating my body and never having the body I want….I think those are pretty much hopeless causes.  I mean, really, my body is ruined in terms of having the body I want.  And as to ever actually liking it?  It just loops back to #1.

About That Panic

So, I kind of got over myself about the dietitian.  The problem is that I really kind of like her, so the whole feeling really embarrassed thing kind of tapered off by the afternoon…I may judge myself and feel like I have been too vulnerable, too raw or too ED focused, but I am pretty sure she isn’t judging me.  And somehow, that made it easier…Which was a good thing because Mel and I spent about three hours with her this evening doing cooking for the community…Which was much more fun than I expected.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s