@ Traveling lady - I don't really have a doctor right. Just got a referral tonight for a psychiatrist that understands EDs and the rest of my stuff. Hopefully she's taking new patients. My really awesome PCP retired... have been adrift medically since then.

@eskielover - Thanks for sharing a piece of your story with me and for understanding. It helps to know I'm not alone - though I hate that you've had such a go of things. Eeek, sounds intense with the oral surgery bit. I live in fear of anything like that. I too struggle with liquid food (Boost was the choice where I went to tx) because of what it meant for me once.


Well... I was a bit more blunt with my therapist today and told her that I need someone to set limits for me, because I'm losing control over this thing and I have no intention of stopping. I told her about the dark places my mind goes and how the ED feels like survival at this point. We looked up psychiatrists that take my insurance and she vetted the list for a few that she would actually support me going to who understand ED and trauma and the rest of my issues. We also talked about seeking more support... though I refuse to entertain that idea at this point in time, but willing to set some limits. If things don't get better by X, then Y needs to happen. Let's call it a Relapse Intervention plan. Maybe if she really listens... if I can find a doctor to help me get out of this nasty depressive place... then maybe it can all stop before the treatment spiral begins?

I don't for one minute believe I'm to the point of needing IOP or any other level of care. I also know my insurance sucks and SHOULD I get to a point of needing true help, I have to prove that I wasn't able to do it at lower levels of care (don't you hate that clause in coverage? I mean really, how do perfectionists work with a fail-first plan????).

My mind goes in circles. The recovery-oriented part knows that this is in order. It's time to start talking about it. The ED part says oh-hell-no and embraces denial. It's just not that bad yet. It won't get there. And if it does, let me get truly small enough first? Please? F'in head. I hate this disease. But the idea of eating a real meal right now makes me queasy. Which probably means I'm closer to needing more support than I think.