Long update

So today I got my call from Homewood. They've accepted me to the program, and I can expect to be admitted around late February or early March. They usually admit people on Wednesdays, from what I've seen, so my admission date would probably either be February 28th or March 7th. I suppose it could also be March 14th, but I really hope it won't get pushed back quite that far... :/. They're making me wait three months from late November, because that was when I got admitted to hosp for the last OD, and they want me to have been stable for three months before I am admitted. Which I can completely understand, given that their admission exclusion criteria includes active suicidality.

My psychiatric stability isn't really the only thing I'm worried about, though. I have actually questioned my own medical stability lately -- like, honestly and with seriousness questioned it, not just had hypochondriacal misgivings. I have a doctor's appointment for Thursday, so hopefully I can at the very least get my vitals and some bloodwork done, just to make sure there aren't any major problems. Because if I become medically unstable, that is another reason for my tentative admission date to go *poof!*. In other words, I have to avoid medical instability if at all humanly possible... and I intend to. I do not want this plan foiled because I was stupid enough to not at least look after the very basics of my own health.

Part of me is excited, and even hopeful. Part of me doesn't want this at all. However, this program might be the stepping stone I need to really start dealing with my shit -- and I won't know until I get there what the program might have to offer me. So I really want to give it a shot. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Someone could pay for my plane ticket a little earlier than they were expecting? I mean, it would have had to be paid sometime anyway, right? I dunno. I'm trying not to let myself get into that little pessimistic void I'd been sinking back into lately. Not sure how well it will work -- but it has to work well enough to keep me out of hospital, at least, otherwise I'm really fucked. Right? Right.

So I have to try and keep myself up even a little bit... because, even though I don't believe in fate, I know I was given this chance for a reason. I mean, clearly the Homewood team heard something in that interview which made them decide to admit me despite the fact that I've been suicidal and I self-harm and I've been diagnosed with BPD. And it's pretty clear to me that something in me is trying desperately to claw its way out... something that they are apparently willing to help free itself. And I have to give it the best chance I can to do that. Otherwise I'm never ever going to get better from this shit -- and if I don't get better, I will die, in months or years or however long it takes. I am sure of that now. And that's not a thought I can stand.

I honestly don't even care if I get better from the ED. However, I realize, among other things, that the ED is just a symptom -- albeit a very big and potentially life-threatening one. I use it to block out my feelings. I use it to focus on something other than the things in my head that are trying to bring me down and even to kill me. I mean, that would sound melodramatic, but you all know my history. I think enough has happened now that we can safely say this isn't just me being a drama queen. This is real. And the very first step to being able to deal with myself is being able to get rid of the ED symptoms, if only for a few months. Bring myself back to better physical health, at the very least. It's pretty damned hard to deal with one's psychological demons when one is in a state of malnourishment; and I am well aware that nutrition is gonna be an important part in building my strength to face whatever it is that I'm not facing. (Realize that at this point I'm so far in denial that even when I have some idea of what the real problem is, I say, "That's such bullshit. That can't be the real problem." And then I just go off and keep ignoring it.)

I probably sound intelligent at this point, and maybe even vaguely more "well" than I was before. Please believe me when I say that I am not. If my brain was functioning properly, I would not be killing myself with restriction and purging. I would not have been a self-injurer in the first place. I certainly would never have taken all those overdoses, especially that last one, which was what I'd consider the first "true" suicidal moment in my life. I really, honestly did not care if I lived or died -- and I came pretty fucking close to actually dying. And that scares the shit out of me. I need to get out of this mindset that dying is okay. It's not. It's not.

Help me be strong, help me be... help me...