As I sit here in my new skinny, high-waist jeans I hear the words "you cut out this food and then that and I'm going to sign up for a marathon." And my pants get tighter and my anxiety higher.
I just barely am ok with letting go this holiday. Maybe because I'm writing I'm actually not ok with it. Ya actually my ED (I'm really trying to separate the disease from me and my thoughts) is so fucking pissed at the idea that I did what I did and I can't do anything about it now. The damage is done. And I am sitting here uncomfortably with the consequences. I want to rip myself apart verbally and physically. How could I live under this illusion that I would be ok with eating seconds? Butter on everything? Having a drink every night? Idiot. Now look what you've done. You've stepped out of line and now you'll pay for defying me.
Recovery and the work I'm doing never stops--or well it shouldn't if I want to make progress. Yes I had more than two cookies a day and yes I didn't work out once and yes I sat with the thoughts and the uncomfortability for the last week of it all thinking I was somehow pushing forward in my recovery but I feel like the biggest fucking failure now. I want so badly to workout non-stop, to cut calories to show all of you people that talk of diets and exercise how it's really done. But if I let up now and give in I'll only let it win and have gone through all of that for no reason.
God I wish none of this fucking mattered. But it does. It feels like it really fucking does.
All of this anger and hate comes from me overhearing a conversation. My simple morning turned upside down.
I am frustrated that life is like this for me. That I am not further in recovery. And I am also just fucking bitter that I'm so uncomfortable all the time. Before I was with therapists to talk to, dietitians, girls and guys just like me that understood. Now I am seemingly alone. Stuck in my head and these fucking jeans and this environment that's full of people throwing out their regrets, calorie counts, diets and distorted view of the word healthy.
Sometimes I believe I am not the one with a problem but the rest of you are. The way you define healthy, the way 'cleansing' is seen as healthy even though it's essentially anorexia, how you post photoshopped pictures of models on your pintrest to push yourself further in your workout and publicly shame yourself for eating too much food. AND I'M THE ONE WITH A PROBLEM? I'm just trying to get my five grains a day and workout to relieve stress. But nothing around me supports this idea of moderation, enjoyment and pride in our bodies for the way they are.
I'm so fucking sick of having to work so hard to try to be normal in a world that doesn't know what normal is.
I usually like to end on a positive note. To end concisely. But I'm going to leave this open and uncomfortable. I'm going to sit with my anger and feel it. Because as much as I fucking hate it it's ok to be uncomfortable.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Monday, December 22, 2014
I Don't Know What To Title This
I haven't written in a while.
I have wanted to and haven't.
I've been afraid of what I would say and even worse afraid of what I couldn't say, because I don't have the words.
Having to face the fact that I don't know what I'm doing here. That I don't know what I'm feeling or how to fix it.
Well I know what I initially feel--anger.
It strikes up out of nowhere lashing out at those closest to me.
There aren't many people here that are close to me, so one person keeps taking a beating.
I stand outside myself watching it all happen. Wishing I wasn't, wishing I wouldn't.
Yet it feels so good at first, like I have power. The surge of energy engulfs me--now we're getting somewhere.
But then I slowly come down and come to and hear what I'm saying. Talking just to talk. Just to try to figure out why I started yelling in the first place.
Shame overwhelms me.
I've done it again.
I'm the problem, I'm the one who likes to fight.
What is wrong with me?
Nothing is wrong with me. I left a full life behind for a new one but I don't know what to do with this new life. I can't even put it into words which is ironic that I'm writing. I haven't fully accepted the fact that this suburban ____ place is my home. That I am not going back. That I need to start building something for myself here.
I resent that it's all up to me to make my life a life again. I want something to come easy as I feel I've struggled so much in my life but then a mean voice comes into my head telling me I wanted this. I just didn't know it'd be like this. I can't even connect with myself or my feelings anymore. Like I said I just feel anger. I don't even know where it comes from it just is sparked by anything.
It's protecting whatever I'm feeling underneath. And I haven't let myself feel what's underneath unless it's the end of drunken night or a blow up like tonight. And when I feel I feel lost, I feel confused and I feel helpless.
I don't like feeling this way, and I'm not sure what to do. Other than to DO.
So I'm going to work on balancing my life out as mostly what I do is work and home and clean my God I clean everything. Oh and try to decide if I'm going to give into my ED or not. It's a miserable sad little life and I am none of those things.
I am the kind of person that puts themselves through treatment twice. I am the kind of person that remembers your birthday and tries to get you a thoughtful present. I am the kind of person you can count on. I am the one that will say what's on everyone else's minds but is too afraid to. I'm a self starter. I'm passionate. I'm witty. And so many other things.
But I'm not one to sit down and have life go past me.
Haha there's a little rant for you.
Sometimes I don't know why I write these and I always want a moral and have it sum up nicely but I got nothing.
I am just sick of the way my life is going and I'm going to do something about it.
I have wanted to and haven't.
I've been afraid of what I would say and even worse afraid of what I couldn't say, because I don't have the words.
Having to face the fact that I don't know what I'm doing here. That I don't know what I'm feeling or how to fix it.
Well I know what I initially feel--anger.
It strikes up out of nowhere lashing out at those closest to me.
There aren't many people here that are close to me, so one person keeps taking a beating.
I stand outside myself watching it all happen. Wishing I wasn't, wishing I wouldn't.
Yet it feels so good at first, like I have power. The surge of energy engulfs me--now we're getting somewhere.
But then I slowly come down and come to and hear what I'm saying. Talking just to talk. Just to try to figure out why I started yelling in the first place.
Shame overwhelms me.
I've done it again.
I'm the problem, I'm the one who likes to fight.
What is wrong with me?
Nothing is wrong with me. I left a full life behind for a new one but I don't know what to do with this new life. I can't even put it into words which is ironic that I'm writing. I haven't fully accepted the fact that this suburban ____ place is my home. That I am not going back. That I need to start building something for myself here.
I resent that it's all up to me to make my life a life again. I want something to come easy as I feel I've struggled so much in my life but then a mean voice comes into my head telling me I wanted this. I just didn't know it'd be like this. I can't even connect with myself or my feelings anymore. Like I said I just feel anger. I don't even know where it comes from it just is sparked by anything.
It's protecting whatever I'm feeling underneath. And I haven't let myself feel what's underneath unless it's the end of drunken night or a blow up like tonight. And when I feel I feel lost, I feel confused and I feel helpless.
I don't like feeling this way, and I'm not sure what to do. Other than to DO.
So I'm going to work on balancing my life out as mostly what I do is work and home and clean my God I clean everything. Oh and try to decide if I'm going to give into my ED or not. It's a miserable sad little life and I am none of those things.
I am the kind of person that puts themselves through treatment twice. I am the kind of person that remembers your birthday and tries to get you a thoughtful present. I am the kind of person you can count on. I am the one that will say what's on everyone else's minds but is too afraid to. I'm a self starter. I'm passionate. I'm witty. And so many other things.
But I'm not one to sit down and have life go past me.
Haha there's a little rant for you.
Sometimes I don't know why I write these and I always want a moral and have it sum up nicely but I got nothing.
I am just sick of the way my life is going and I'm going to do something about it.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
RIP Natalie Jane
I got the call around 3 today.
It was a headhunter.
Oh I can't wait to tell them I have a sick ass job I thought, that'll shock em.
But actually, it was me who was shocked.
They were calling to tell me that our mutual friend had passed away on Friday night, with complications from depression. She wanted to make sure I knew.
Awkward, sad, lighthearted conversation followed with plans for a memorial. And we hung up.
I went through the movements. Grabbed my coat, my phone, my key card, made polite small talk with a co worker and left the office. I burst into tears not even sure if I had really thought through what was going on. Not feeling genuine. Feeling impulsive.
I encountered every interaction I had with her to my boyfriend. Telling him about her curly hair she had shaved off recently. Her kindness towards me at work. The goodbye post-it she was forced to leave me two years ago as the company didn't tell her it was her last day until it was her last day.
I didn't feel better. I didn't feel calm. I didn't feel how I felt I was supposed to.
I called everyone I trusted to talk to about this and no one was answering, as I walked through the cemetery next to my office.
I expected I was supposed to be alone with my feelings, with the uncomfortability of not having them, not knowing them. And as I walked past the graves and I felt the cold sting my nose and blinked the sun out of my eyes and I gave myself permission to feel uncomfortable.
I thought of her. Not just what I wanted to remember but what I remembered. I remembered thinking when I first met her how she was kind of dull, her crazy curls should have been straightened and I bet I was a better writer than her.
And then one day she came out of no where with a kind of kindness, a light and a vibe that was overwhelmingly warm, comforting. My hardness cracked and I met Natalie.
We did the standard new acquaintance thing. We liked each other's statuses and instagram photos.
We ran into each other in the bus tunnel. Once again me attempting to avoid what could be an awkward conversation and her jumping right in with a huge smile and now short, straight hair. Five minutes later me racing to catch my bus as I had almost missed it I was so into the conversation. Feeling warm inside, feeling just calm, confident, happy.
One day when I was in treatment she wrote me about this blog. And she sympathized. She made me feel less alone. We talked and traded stories.
Later, she invited me to her church and out to eat. She accepted me, as I was. She understood.
I read over our messages and I almost bailed on her because I had binged and purged the night before and felt awful. Now my heart pings with shame. But I went and I remember I didn't like church but I liked the food, I liked the company and we met again at some point.
I feel like I have talked to her since and kept up with her on social media but that's not really 'keeping up' with someone. I didn't know she was hurting. She reached out to me when I was in a time of need, and while I'm not saying I could have prevented this...I want to say something along the lines of how important I believe being authentic and transparent is.
Acceptance and authenticity are values of mine, they are why I write. It is why I will be honest to your face about whatever I'm going through. It is why I want you to message me, comment, talk to me. If it weren't for her reaching out that one day after reading my blog I might have never gotten to know her. I might not have learned my lesson to not judge a book by its cover. I might not have learned how far a nice conversation can go.
I can't really get profound or give advice because I don't understand life or how this works but I do know that it's hard. Life is hard. It is not what is put out there for all of us to see from movies, tv ads, pintrest and facebook statuses. Life is difficult. It's wonderful and not all bad but it frustrates me and motivates me to write even more because I don't believe what we really go through is talked about or out there.
So I will keep being honest with you all. I will tell you how fucking lonely I am here. How I went inside my shell yesterday and didn't talk to anyone and I was miserable. And then today I said fuck it and tried to make friends and it sort of worked. That I left my headphones at home and that sucked. That I avoided all eye contact with my boss today our of fear that he saw my typo in my email and I would be judged. That I'm wearing all Christmas stuff minus my yoga pants that I did weird squats in to stretch them out for like a minute. That I forgot to text a friend back for a full day who asked for my help. That I wear the same outfit when I get home every night. And I totally took tissues from work.
I will basically try to be as me as possible in here so hopefully you can relate, feel more comfortable with what's going on in your head and feel like you have an outlet for it.
She gave me an outlet and hope and I will not forget that. I will miss her happiness posts on Facebook and the gazillion pictures of her dogs, I will probably unwillingly look for her every time I am in Westlake's tunnel and as I pass Microsoft. But mostly I will think of her when I choose to act on the lessons she unknowingly taught me.
RIP Natalie. You are missed but not forgotten.
It was a headhunter.
Oh I can't wait to tell them I have a sick ass job I thought, that'll shock em.
But actually, it was me who was shocked.
They were calling to tell me that our mutual friend had passed away on Friday night, with complications from depression. She wanted to make sure I knew.
Awkward, sad, lighthearted conversation followed with plans for a memorial. And we hung up.
I went through the movements. Grabbed my coat, my phone, my key card, made polite small talk with a co worker and left the office. I burst into tears not even sure if I had really thought through what was going on. Not feeling genuine. Feeling impulsive.
I encountered every interaction I had with her to my boyfriend. Telling him about her curly hair she had shaved off recently. Her kindness towards me at work. The goodbye post-it she was forced to leave me two years ago as the company didn't tell her it was her last day until it was her last day.
I didn't feel better. I didn't feel calm. I didn't feel how I felt I was supposed to.
I called everyone I trusted to talk to about this and no one was answering, as I walked through the cemetery next to my office.
I expected I was supposed to be alone with my feelings, with the uncomfortability of not having them, not knowing them. And as I walked past the graves and I felt the cold sting my nose and blinked the sun out of my eyes and I gave myself permission to feel uncomfortable.
I thought of her. Not just what I wanted to remember but what I remembered. I remembered thinking when I first met her how she was kind of dull, her crazy curls should have been straightened and I bet I was a better writer than her.
And then one day she came out of no where with a kind of kindness, a light and a vibe that was overwhelmingly warm, comforting. My hardness cracked and I met Natalie.
We did the standard new acquaintance thing. We liked each other's statuses and instagram photos.
We ran into each other in the bus tunnel. Once again me attempting to avoid what could be an awkward conversation and her jumping right in with a huge smile and now short, straight hair. Five minutes later me racing to catch my bus as I had almost missed it I was so into the conversation. Feeling warm inside, feeling just calm, confident, happy.
One day when I was in treatment she wrote me about this blog. And she sympathized. She made me feel less alone. We talked and traded stories.
Later, she invited me to her church and out to eat. She accepted me, as I was. She understood.
I read over our messages and I almost bailed on her because I had binged and purged the night before and felt awful. Now my heart pings with shame. But I went and I remember I didn't like church but I liked the food, I liked the company and we met again at some point.
I feel like I have talked to her since and kept up with her on social media but that's not really 'keeping up' with someone. I didn't know she was hurting. She reached out to me when I was in a time of need, and while I'm not saying I could have prevented this...I want to say something along the lines of how important I believe being authentic and transparent is.
Acceptance and authenticity are values of mine, they are why I write. It is why I will be honest to your face about whatever I'm going through. It is why I want you to message me, comment, talk to me. If it weren't for her reaching out that one day after reading my blog I might have never gotten to know her. I might not have learned my lesson to not judge a book by its cover. I might not have learned how far a nice conversation can go.
I can't really get profound or give advice because I don't understand life or how this works but I do know that it's hard. Life is hard. It is not what is put out there for all of us to see from movies, tv ads, pintrest and facebook statuses. Life is difficult. It's wonderful and not all bad but it frustrates me and motivates me to write even more because I don't believe what we really go through is talked about or out there.
So I will keep being honest with you all. I will tell you how fucking lonely I am here. How I went inside my shell yesterday and didn't talk to anyone and I was miserable. And then today I said fuck it and tried to make friends and it sort of worked. That I left my headphones at home and that sucked. That I avoided all eye contact with my boss today our of fear that he saw my typo in my email and I would be judged. That I'm wearing all Christmas stuff minus my yoga pants that I did weird squats in to stretch them out for like a minute. That I forgot to text a friend back for a full day who asked for my help. That I wear the same outfit when I get home every night. And I totally took tissues from work.
I will basically try to be as me as possible in here so hopefully you can relate, feel more comfortable with what's going on in your head and feel like you have an outlet for it.
She gave me an outlet and hope and I will not forget that. I will miss her happiness posts on Facebook and the gazillion pictures of her dogs, I will probably unwillingly look for her every time I am in Westlake's tunnel and as I pass Microsoft. But mostly I will think of her when I choose to act on the lessons she unknowingly taught me.
RIP Natalie. You are missed but not forgotten.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Homesick.
Wrote while listening to : Jon Bellion, Audra Mae Luxury
describe the indescribable
make sense of this confusion
dry wet eyes
reach out to no one
empty room, it's just me
oh the irony
everyone gone to familiarity
I'm what's left behind
oh, oh what I left behind
distant
my feelings, disconnected
oil and water
these roads have already become repetitive
but I miss the routine
what are you doing?
life goes on without me
don't break
singular
now I've known pain
and I've felt out of place
never knew loneliness like this
Monday, November 24, 2014
Pre Thanksgiving Post
Man all it takes is a good song, some nostalgia and a blank page on here and I'm waterworks.
This season is about different things for different people. Or I should say a lot of things.
There's the reflective part, the thankful part, the stressed the fuck out part, the Black Friday deals part, the family part (might go into the stressed the fuck out part sometimes), the food part and the diet part.
I can't remember a time when I would eat without some kind of emotion attached. As young as 10 I remember the surge of excitement over eating certain kinds of food in large amounts. And I don't remember a Thanksgiving where I haven't thrown up or under eaten. And this isn't dramatic, it's the truth.
When this time of year comes around and as my progression into recovery grows it's interesting to see my reaction to the thought of Thanksgiving dinner.
I will be hosting it along with my boyfriend. We will have 7 other people in our one bedroom apartment. And a shit ton of food.
This could go many ways. I used to start out very determined to make Thanksgiving "ok" to eat. I would workout harder all week and not eat a thing the day of going to the gym before. I would beg my mom to make everything low-fat, low-carb, calorie free please? She never would--and I don't blame her now. I would put as many veggies as I could on my plate to cover up that I was skimping on dinner. Then shamefully sneaking seconds while pretending to clean up the kitchen. Or I would eat. I would eat and eat and eat. And then I would purge.
Two Thanksgivings ago my mom caught me and screamed through the door. I was ruining Thanksgiving.
And as much as I never wanted to do those things, they always seemed to happen. I would get caught up, confused.
But this year I'm working so hard to make it different. I believe I didn't binge or purge last year and I would be so thankful and fucking proud if I didn't do it again. Just the thought of trying to do that with 8 other people in my house is just awful--and of course doing it in the first place is just terrible.
Starting down the recovery path I have chosen to blog instead of go to the gym tonight. I'm addressing my fears. I'm making a plan. I am ignoring what my ED and all you people (not really ALL of you) keep saying.
My coworkers and facebook friends don't know how much a words like "diet, fat, healthy" set me on a tailspin. I am much better but certain times make this harder for me. I hear people in passing talking about how they are going on diets before the holiday just so they can eat more. Wait what? Treatment told me that was bad. I see signs in the gym telling me to come work off the weight after Thanksgiving as though eating a larger meal once isn't ok.
I guess what I'm getting at and what I need for myself, because well sometimes I feel like this blog should be called By Me For Me, is reassurance that I'm doing the right thing. That this is ok. I don't feel very in control or safe not being able to know I won't gain any weight from turkey day.
Hearing all these diet tips tricks and comments constantly around the holidays confuses me. I only worked out for a half an hour today and coming off a weekend of not really eating on a meal plan rather when I was hungry makes me feel very unsafe. Like I can't do that without making up for it later. But instead I'm taking care of myself in other ways, by writing, listening to Zeds Dead, playing with the cat and eating.
I want to reiterate how hard this holiday is for those with eating disorders because of all the stigmas around food and "health" in this diet focused culture AND the stresses of being with family or friends probably triggers a lot of emotions / memories / stresses (just like in a 'normal' human). All of this combined is a very hard place to be with an ED, in recovery or not.
So I'm doing my best to not trigger my ED too bad while listening to a healthy voice. I will workout normally this week, I will eat all my meals and I will eat a Thanksgiving dinner according to my meal plan. And I'm going to check in with you guys about it. So there's the accountability piece that always gets me.
This time of year is about memories and what I want more than anything is to have good memories this holiday.
This season is about different things for different people. Or I should say a lot of things.
There's the reflective part, the thankful part, the stressed the fuck out part, the Black Friday deals part, the family part (might go into the stressed the fuck out part sometimes), the food part and the diet part.
I can't remember a time when I would eat without some kind of emotion attached. As young as 10 I remember the surge of excitement over eating certain kinds of food in large amounts. And I don't remember a Thanksgiving where I haven't thrown up or under eaten. And this isn't dramatic, it's the truth.
When this time of year comes around and as my progression into recovery grows it's interesting to see my reaction to the thought of Thanksgiving dinner.
I will be hosting it along with my boyfriend. We will have 7 other people in our one bedroom apartment. And a shit ton of food.
This could go many ways. I used to start out very determined to make Thanksgiving "ok" to eat. I would workout harder all week and not eat a thing the day of going to the gym before. I would beg my mom to make everything low-fat, low-carb, calorie free please? She never would--and I don't blame her now. I would put as many veggies as I could on my plate to cover up that I was skimping on dinner. Then shamefully sneaking seconds while pretending to clean up the kitchen. Or I would eat. I would eat and eat and eat. And then I would purge.
Two Thanksgivings ago my mom caught me and screamed through the door. I was ruining Thanksgiving.
And as much as I never wanted to do those things, they always seemed to happen. I would get caught up, confused.
But this year I'm working so hard to make it different. I believe I didn't binge or purge last year and I would be so thankful and fucking proud if I didn't do it again. Just the thought of trying to do that with 8 other people in my house is just awful--and of course doing it in the first place is just terrible.
Starting down the recovery path I have chosen to blog instead of go to the gym tonight. I'm addressing my fears. I'm making a plan. I am ignoring what my ED and all you people (not really ALL of you) keep saying.
My coworkers and facebook friends don't know how much a words like "diet, fat, healthy" set me on a tailspin. I am much better but certain times make this harder for me. I hear people in passing talking about how they are going on diets before the holiday just so they can eat more. Wait what? Treatment told me that was bad. I see signs in the gym telling me to come work off the weight after Thanksgiving as though eating a larger meal once isn't ok.
I guess what I'm getting at and what I need for myself, because well sometimes I feel like this blog should be called By Me For Me, is reassurance that I'm doing the right thing. That this is ok. I don't feel very in control or safe not being able to know I won't gain any weight from turkey day.
Hearing all these diet tips tricks and comments constantly around the holidays confuses me. I only worked out for a half an hour today and coming off a weekend of not really eating on a meal plan rather when I was hungry makes me feel very unsafe. Like I can't do that without making up for it later. But instead I'm taking care of myself in other ways, by writing, listening to Zeds Dead, playing with the cat and eating.
I want to reiterate how hard this holiday is for those with eating disorders because of all the stigmas around food and "health" in this diet focused culture AND the stresses of being with family or friends probably triggers a lot of emotions / memories / stresses (just like in a 'normal' human). All of this combined is a very hard place to be with an ED, in recovery or not.
So I'm doing my best to not trigger my ED too bad while listening to a healthy voice. I will workout normally this week, I will eat all my meals and I will eat a Thanksgiving dinner according to my meal plan. And I'm going to check in with you guys about it. So there's the accountability piece that always gets me.
This time of year is about memories and what I want more than anything is to have good memories this holiday.
Saturday, November 22, 2014
RoyGBiv
This morning I picked a fight with my boyfriend. I am sick, I was tired. I just wanted to fight.
After a stupid back and forth where I just dug myself deeper in things I would have to apologize for later--I apologized.
I know why I get angry, it's things from my past mostly that I haven't fully dealt with mixed with of course frustrations / changes with moving / being human, but I don't know why and how they seem to randomly come up. And I still don't know how to stop the anger until it just blows up.
So then the dude I'm cohabitating with in love with what have you leaves and I'm left alone. I immediately go to the kitchen. I'm not hungry. It's just automatic. I want comfort. I want food.
I fight the urge to binge by cleaning and telling myself to think of the future. It helps to distract myself. Minute by minute the urge lessens.
Mother Nature showing me that the storm will pass and there's light on the other side. I just have to keep going.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Be Selfish.
My body is pulled back magnetically charged at my heart--or was it my head? Either way I'm back at the car the wind whipping my face--it's not a dramatic scene though tears don't stream my face--I'm too angry--at least I think it's anger. And I stand up for myself.
Our conversation included miscommunicated dirty texts, denied sex, fighting, telling the other one they were the worse one, me screaming at the top of my lungs into the wind.
Cohabitation ladies and gentlemen.
I had no fucking idea.
Suburbia. Vancouver, Washington.
I had no fucking idea.
No friends.
I had no fucking idea.
Moving from Seattle to Vancouver Washington to live with my longtime boyfriend with no friends and starting a new job and no car....I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I had no clue how hard this was going to be. Add onto that a new job--which is amazing mind you--but still new--and I'm one ball...avalanche? of anger. Anger for me signifies power. It makes me feel like I have some kind of control.
FYI I have no control.
I'm just a big bitch.
And that anger is getting in the way of a lot of love and enjoying the choices I've made. Now most of you--well it seems like it--are married some with kids now. And you've probably figured all this out but I'm late to the game and just starting down this road and it's hard.
How can someone I care about so much piss me off so fucking much?
I've thought about this a lot lately and most of it so far comes down to selfishness.
I think he's selfish (not always mind you but let me get my point across) and I think it's about time I am too.
And selfish gets a bad rep but really it has its place.
I want everything to be perfect here in my little home and my relationship because I can't control what goes on in my head or the fact that I have no friends here or that I'm incredibly lonely or that I don't know what road I live off of or where the milk is at the grocery store. I'm so out of my element and so uncomfortable I need something to work, to feel fine, to feel happy to feel perfect. So I put all this pressure on me and my boyfriend's relationship so I can feel OK. And because my expectations are not met. And he does not have mind reading capabilities. I do not feel OK.
So instead of me molding and folding and bending into this person I'm not to try to make this work and then feeling well small,..it's time for me to do what I want to do.
It's time for me to put on HGTV. It's time for me to serve myself first. And it's time to be selfish.
I've mostly created this storm on my own, and it only took me three weeks to untangle it, but I'm happy I did.
The other factor is the loneliness. I am too distracted from work to the gym to obsessing over my ED (ya it's kind of back--actively working on that) to realize how insanely lonely I am. How much I miss my friends. How much I miss being able to walk Broadway and see familiar faces however unfriendly they were. How much I miss the water. How much I miss happy hour with my best friends. And knowing where the weights are in the gym. I miss familiarity. I miss my home.
Our conversation included miscommunicated dirty texts, denied sex, fighting, telling the other one they were the worse one, me screaming at the top of my lungs into the wind.
Cohabitation ladies and gentlemen.
I had no fucking idea.
Suburbia. Vancouver, Washington.
I had no fucking idea.
No friends.
I had no fucking idea.
Moving from Seattle to Vancouver Washington to live with my longtime boyfriend with no friends and starting a new job and no car....I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I had no clue how hard this was going to be. Add onto that a new job--which is amazing mind you--but still new--and I'm one ball...avalanche? of anger. Anger for me signifies power. It makes me feel like I have some kind of control.
FYI I have no control.
I'm just a big bitch.
And that anger is getting in the way of a lot of love and enjoying the choices I've made. Now most of you--well it seems like it--are married some with kids now. And you've probably figured all this out but I'm late to the game and just starting down this road and it's hard.
How can someone I care about so much piss me off so fucking much?
I've thought about this a lot lately and most of it so far comes down to selfishness.
I think he's selfish (not always mind you but let me get my point across) and I think it's about time I am too.
And selfish gets a bad rep but really it has its place.
I want everything to be perfect here in my little home and my relationship because I can't control what goes on in my head or the fact that I have no friends here or that I'm incredibly lonely or that I don't know what road I live off of or where the milk is at the grocery store. I'm so out of my element and so uncomfortable I need something to work, to feel fine, to feel happy to feel perfect. So I put all this pressure on me and my boyfriend's relationship so I can feel OK. And because my expectations are not met. And he does not have mind reading capabilities. I do not feel OK.
So instead of me molding and folding and bending into this person I'm not to try to make this work and then feeling well small,..it's time for me to do what I want to do.
It's time for me to put on HGTV. It's time for me to serve myself first. And it's time to be selfish.
I've mostly created this storm on my own, and it only took me three weeks to untangle it, but I'm happy I did.
The other factor is the loneliness. I am too distracted from work to the gym to obsessing over my ED (ya it's kind of back--actively working on that) to realize how insanely lonely I am. How much I miss my friends. How much I miss being able to walk Broadway and see familiar faces however unfriendly they were. How much I miss the water. How much I miss happy hour with my best friends. And knowing where the weights are in the gym. I miss familiarity. I miss my home.
Monday, October 20, 2014
The Big Move Update
Hi kids.
I'm writing this on my lunch.
Every coworker can see that I'm blogging as my desk is in the middle of the office and my monitors are for everyone to see aka no facebooking for at least 3 months until I'm established.
If you're reading this this means you care about my life so I'm going to update you on my move to Vancouver.
Saturday was the longest day ever--because I was up until 6:30 AM Sunday.
I had awesome helpers all morning in Seattle and we got out by 2ish.
Got into Vancouver and walked up to the cutest little apartment / Harry Potter complex and walked into my new apartment.
My jaw dropped. My heart sank.
And my voice raised.
I was pissed.
The place was FILTHY.
Dust on walls, food in the fridge, the toilet was dirty and my mom was cleaning it as we moved in, the lock was taped down bc the door was broken, the blinds fell off the wall when I went to close them and the windows aren't all sealed.
So long story short we moved everything in with the help of boyfriend's friends and my amazing parents.
The place is so bad that we are deciding to find a new place to live.
We're living out of boxes right now and I'm trying to balance starting a new job with the added stress of apartment hunting and I'm getting better.
Work has been amazing. It's so professional here. And nice. Everyone welcoming.
And living with my boyfriend has been good too. It feels right...one of the only things that does in this crazy moving mess.
So there ya go.
Job good--well four hours into it!
Apartment--sucks--working on it.
Friends--everyone is welcoming.
Kitty--adjusting. She slept on my head last night.
Overall I'm learning so much about myself and my relationship with my boyfriend. I'm learning that I shouldn't invalidate my feelings and keep pushing myself to be happy and positive when I don't feel it. I'm not saying dwell but I'm saying just be ok with not being ok. I've also learned that when I'm not ok I need to learn how to take care of myself and how to treat others. AKA not drink too much or snap at my boyfriend when he just asks a question. I'm also learning that I need to work on zooming out...that shitty situations aren't final and there are resolutions. Ah life.
I'm writing this on my lunch.
Every coworker can see that I'm blogging as my desk is in the middle of the office and my monitors are for everyone to see aka no facebooking for at least 3 months until I'm established.
If you're reading this this means you care about my life so I'm going to update you on my move to Vancouver.
Saturday was the longest day ever--because I was up until 6:30 AM Sunday.
I had awesome helpers all morning in Seattle and we got out by 2ish.
Got into Vancouver and walked up to the cutest little apartment / Harry Potter complex and walked into my new apartment.
My jaw dropped. My heart sank.
And my voice raised.
I was pissed.
The place was FILTHY.
Dust on walls, food in the fridge, the toilet was dirty and my mom was cleaning it as we moved in, the lock was taped down bc the door was broken, the blinds fell off the wall when I went to close them and the windows aren't all sealed.
So long story short we moved everything in with the help of boyfriend's friends and my amazing parents.
The place is so bad that we are deciding to find a new place to live.
We're living out of boxes right now and I'm trying to balance starting a new job with the added stress of apartment hunting and I'm getting better.
Work has been amazing. It's so professional here. And nice. Everyone welcoming.
And living with my boyfriend has been good too. It feels right...one of the only things that does in this crazy moving mess.
So there ya go.
Job good--well four hours into it!
Apartment--sucks--working on it.
Friends--everyone is welcoming.
Kitty--adjusting. She slept on my head last night.
Overall I'm learning so much about myself and my relationship with my boyfriend. I'm learning that I shouldn't invalidate my feelings and keep pushing myself to be happy and positive when I don't feel it. I'm not saying dwell but I'm saying just be ok with not being ok. I've also learned that when I'm not ok I need to learn how to take care of myself and how to treat others. AKA not drink too much or snap at my boyfriend when he just asks a question. I'm also learning that I need to work on zooming out...that shitty situations aren't final and there are resolutions. Ah life.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Camel Driver.
I feel really unstable.
Not like I'm going to hurt myself or anything like that.
Just like I'm in a glass case of emotion on a roller coaster unstable.
I keep trying to change my perspective on my stresses and life and then I immediately revert back to my old self--and it's exhausting. On top of my life already being the most stressful it's been in a -- ever.
So here's the dealio.
I have a boyfriend who I love very much, so much in fact I'm moving to Portland from Seattle to be with him. Among other reasons of course. So what that means is that:
I had to take a personality test today for this job and it dubbed me the Peacekeeper.
"Neat and orderly, others see Kris as practical. She thrives on consistency and dependability..." Two things I do NOT have in my life right now.
"Reaction to pressure: stubborn, fearful..." Thanks Captain Obvious.
I should "Be more open to change and be more flexible."
So then today on the worst days of days I get slapped in the face with my flaws.
AND I'VE JUST FUCKING HAD IT.
And every time I type something this negative out or try to talk to someone about it I just feel so guilty because I feel like maybe it's not that bad. And I know other people have it worse than me. And I should just shut up. So then I distract myself and bottle it and it gets worse. Oh ya that stupid test told me I need to be more confrontational and not bottle my feelings.
Well I'm unbottling it bitches.
I AM HAVING A HARD TIME. I don't know what the balance is between freaking out and getting to cry and wanting someone to tell me how hard my life is and it's ok that I'm losing it...and also not wanting to live this way.
So I keep reading stupid pins about stress relief and I sit in funny yoga positions all while thinking how unproductive this is and how I should be writing tweets about testicular cancer (volunteer thing).
I wish I had my therapist back to sort this all out with. So she could tell me what's rational, what's selfish, how to move forward.
I know things will work out--but that doesn't make me feel any more safe or in control. I mean they better fucking work out. I just hate not knowing if my application will go through on the place, if I'll get this job, if I'm going to have to pay unemployment back, where I'll be living in 16 days. There is so much unknown and I feel so unsafe and ungrounded.
But thinking about this mess doesn't make it go away. But wallowing in it does make the evil inside me feel better...thinking about all the shit and how "bad" my life is and how I want people to feel sorry for me and how I want everything to just get easy.
The only way it's going to fucking do that is if I change how I think about it.
I mean I've had a roof over my head for this long and haven't gone hungry (except on my own accord -- terrible anorexia joke) so this has to work out.
If I get the place I get it -- if not SOMETHING ELSE will come along that I'm meant to have.
If I get the job I get it -- if not SOMETHING ELSE will come along that I'm meant to do.
If unemployment fucks me I know I didn't do anything intentionally and they have always been really great up until now--just a lot of work for not working--I'll be ok either way.
I guess as I type all of this out I realize that I will be ok. That these questions all have answers, and when I know those answers I can act accordingly.
But until then I really need to change my perspective on what's happening and stay in the present.
"Because I don't live in either my past or my future. I'm interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you'll be a happy man....Life will be a party for you, a grand festival, because life is the moment we're living right now," says the camel driver to the boy in The Alchemist
Not like I'm going to hurt myself or anything like that.
Just like I'm in a glass case of emotion on a roller coaster unstable.
I keep trying to change my perspective on my stresses and life and then I immediately revert back to my old self--and it's exhausting. On top of my life already being the most stressful it's been in a -- ever.
So here's the dealio.
I have a boyfriend who I love very much, so much in fact I'm moving to Portland from Seattle to be with him. Among other reasons of course. So what that means is that:
- I told my apartment building manager I'm moving out so by November so I have to getdafuckout by November or else I'm homeless.
- We've got an application on a place but we have no idea if we've got it so there's still that what if of do we keep looking? Are we ok? When do I move? When do I start packing? Can I make plans with people?
- I have an interview at a place next week and who knows if I'll get that
- If I do that means I have to move sooner
- so if I don't get said place basically I can't take the job
- I could not get the job and still get the place and move in slowly which would be nice.
- Or we could not get the place or the job and then I'm fucked.
- Then I got two letters from unemployment today saying that I committed fraud because they overpaid me by A FUCKING DOLLAR and that I'm doing self-employment (promos...which I was doing in case I DIDN'T get granted unemployment) so I may be ineligible for unemployment and I might have to pay all the money back--with what fucking money? Oh what you gave me? Because that went to rent seeing how I have no job.
I mean one of these is stressful on it's own, apartment hunting, job hunting, moving in with a significant other, fuck just trying to get a hold of unemployment is fucking stressful...but all at once? And the emotional part of leaving all my friends and family behind just when their lives seem to be coming together. I'm still writing for a music blog and then volunteering for a scholarship foundation on top of all this.
OH YEAH and I still have that eating disorder thing that just rears it's ugly fucking head when I'm stressed. So ya I'm battling that too.
I thought this was going to be fun, an adventure and I thought I could handle it but I'm having a really hard time. I had no idea what this was going to be like because well I've never done it.
OH YEAH and I still have that eating disorder thing that just rears it's ugly fucking head when I'm stressed. So ya I'm battling that too.
I thought this was going to be fun, an adventure and I thought I could handle it but I'm having a really hard time. I had no idea what this was going to be like because well I've never done it.
I had to take a personality test today for this job and it dubbed me the Peacekeeper.
"Neat and orderly, others see Kris as practical. She thrives on consistency and dependability..." Two things I do NOT have in my life right now.
"Reaction to pressure: stubborn, fearful..." Thanks Captain Obvious.
I should "Be more open to change and be more flexible."
So then today on the worst days of days I get slapped in the face with my flaws.
AND I'VE JUST FUCKING HAD IT.
And every time I type something this negative out or try to talk to someone about it I just feel so guilty because I feel like maybe it's not that bad. And I know other people have it worse than me. And I should just shut up. So then I distract myself and bottle it and it gets worse. Oh ya that stupid test told me I need to be more confrontational and not bottle my feelings.
Well I'm unbottling it bitches.
I AM HAVING A HARD TIME. I don't know what the balance is between freaking out and getting to cry and wanting someone to tell me how hard my life is and it's ok that I'm losing it...and also not wanting to live this way.
So I keep reading stupid pins about stress relief and I sit in funny yoga positions all while thinking how unproductive this is and how I should be writing tweets about testicular cancer (volunteer thing).
I wish I had my therapist back to sort this all out with. So she could tell me what's rational, what's selfish, how to move forward.
I know things will work out--but that doesn't make me feel any more safe or in control. I mean they better fucking work out. I just hate not knowing if my application will go through on the place, if I'll get this job, if I'm going to have to pay unemployment back, where I'll be living in 16 days. There is so much unknown and I feel so unsafe and ungrounded.
But thinking about this mess doesn't make it go away. But wallowing in it does make the evil inside me feel better...thinking about all the shit and how "bad" my life is and how I want people to feel sorry for me and how I want everything to just get easy.
The only way it's going to fucking do that is if I change how I think about it.
I mean I've had a roof over my head for this long and haven't gone hungry (except on my own accord -- terrible anorexia joke) so this has to work out.
If I get the place I get it -- if not SOMETHING ELSE will come along that I'm meant to have.
If I get the job I get it -- if not SOMETHING ELSE will come along that I'm meant to do.
If unemployment fucks me I know I didn't do anything intentionally and they have always been really great up until now--just a lot of work for not working--I'll be ok either way.
I guess as I type all of this out I realize that I will be ok. That these questions all have answers, and when I know those answers I can act accordingly.
But until then I really need to change my perspective on what's happening and stay in the present.
"Because I don't live in either my past or my future. I'm interested only in the present. If you can concentrate always on the present, you'll be a happy man....Life will be a party for you, a grand festival, because life is the moment we're living right now," says the camel driver to the boy in The Alchemist
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Sliders at 2 AM
It's the typical therapist bullshit-ok no it's not bullshit at all actually it's very true but I'm calling it bullshit because I hate how true it is-I am afraid to feel my feelings so I numb out.
I don't even want to write right now because I am actually scared as to what my eating disorder is going to say and do to me and what I am going to feel. Lately it's been really mean and attacks my legs and butt making me feel incredibly fat and like I need to claw at myself (not hard or in a self-harm way but like grab at them repeatedly). To the point where I can't sit or sleep because I cannot stop thinking about how much weight I've gained and how incredibly wrong that is.
And it's true--I am not over exaggerating--I have gained weight. And well I needed to and even typing this out it makes me feel ashamed that I have done so. In a world that lives off of fad diets and clean eating and stupid pintrest workouts that aren't backed up by anything except a chick in fucking spandex and a tan.
And I realized after a painful, long, very disordered conversation with my boyfriend last night that I cannot bare to gain anymore weight or do anything that resembles going towards fucking up my appearance because I will no longer be liked.
I have had four solid days of not bingeing and purging. And I've been doing it not by my old methods of distraction and overeating vegetables. I have been doing it by journaling daily, asking for help and really trying to figure out why I feel the need to eat more or to hurt myself. It only took me three months out of treatment but I finally figured out I need to tailor my life as though I was still in treatment.
I learned a long time ago--6th grade--from the mean girls that because I was different I was not liked. I was the odd one out and there was nothing I could do or say to make them like me. For whatever reason I was no longer their friend and my life was no longer fun. I awkwardly went through junior high going through things like sexual trauma on top of a dysfunctional household and again the mean girls. I had no where to turn for love and approval but my body.
It clicked that when I was pretty that when I had cool clothes that when I was thin people started to approve of me. And it just picked up from there in high school and then in college I was hooked.
I lost complete sight of who I was as a person. Having an eating disorder causes great lack of self confidence as well as the trauma I've experienced so who I was, what I brought to the table besides a size 4 and long legs was lost on me.
And that is where I get stuck today.
I still do not know who I am and am too damn scared to say things like I am smart, I am a good writer, I am funny, or whatever because I feel that just leaves me up to ridicule, to disappointment, to heartache. And after feeling that for so many years that has become my worst fear.
So when I see a slider at 2 am and I am hungry and I eat it I have just done a huge disfavor to myself. I will get fat. I will lose the only thing that makes me me and I will no longer be loved.
Now I'm told this isn't how the world works but it's all I've ever known and taking a leap of faith that I have more to me than my looks is very scary. And I really can barely even type this post out. Just having the idea in my head is a start and I know I don't want to live life this way--being trapped and not having any real substance to me or not seeing who I am. But I'm just not sure how to do so.
I don't know exactly how to get out of this but I'm trying positive talk and listening to compliments and just trying. But I really am near tears right now and I'm not sure why. It just seems so unreal that I have anything to offer anybody. I can string together compliments about my looks but I can't tell you what traits make me up as a person.
That's where I'm at and I appreciate you listening.
I don't even want to write right now because I am actually scared as to what my eating disorder is going to say and do to me and what I am going to feel. Lately it's been really mean and attacks my legs and butt making me feel incredibly fat and like I need to claw at myself (not hard or in a self-harm way but like grab at them repeatedly). To the point where I can't sit or sleep because I cannot stop thinking about how much weight I've gained and how incredibly wrong that is.
And it's true--I am not over exaggerating--I have gained weight. And well I needed to and even typing this out it makes me feel ashamed that I have done so. In a world that lives off of fad diets and clean eating and stupid pintrest workouts that aren't backed up by anything except a chick in fucking spandex and a tan.
And I realized after a painful, long, very disordered conversation with my boyfriend last night that I cannot bare to gain anymore weight or do anything that resembles going towards fucking up my appearance because I will no longer be liked.
I have had four solid days of not bingeing and purging. And I've been doing it not by my old methods of distraction and overeating vegetables. I have been doing it by journaling daily, asking for help and really trying to figure out why I feel the need to eat more or to hurt myself. It only took me three months out of treatment but I finally figured out I need to tailor my life as though I was still in treatment.
I learned a long time ago--6th grade--from the mean girls that because I was different I was not liked. I was the odd one out and there was nothing I could do or say to make them like me. For whatever reason I was no longer their friend and my life was no longer fun. I awkwardly went through junior high going through things like sexual trauma on top of a dysfunctional household and again the mean girls. I had no where to turn for love and approval but my body.
It clicked that when I was pretty that when I had cool clothes that when I was thin people started to approve of me. And it just picked up from there in high school and then in college I was hooked.
I lost complete sight of who I was as a person. Having an eating disorder causes great lack of self confidence as well as the trauma I've experienced so who I was, what I brought to the table besides a size 4 and long legs was lost on me.
And that is where I get stuck today.
I still do not know who I am and am too damn scared to say things like I am smart, I am a good writer, I am funny, or whatever because I feel that just leaves me up to ridicule, to disappointment, to heartache. And after feeling that for so many years that has become my worst fear.
So when I see a slider at 2 am and I am hungry and I eat it I have just done a huge disfavor to myself. I will get fat. I will lose the only thing that makes me me and I will no longer be loved.
Now I'm told this isn't how the world works but it's all I've ever known and taking a leap of faith that I have more to me than my looks is very scary. And I really can barely even type this post out. Just having the idea in my head is a start and I know I don't want to live life this way--being trapped and not having any real substance to me or not seeing who I am. But I'm just not sure how to do so.
I don't know exactly how to get out of this but I'm trying positive talk and listening to compliments and just trying. But I really am near tears right now and I'm not sure why. It just seems so unreal that I have anything to offer anybody. I can string together compliments about my looks but I can't tell you what traits make me up as a person.
That's where I'm at and I appreciate you listening.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
A Misunderstanding That Lead to Understanding
I'm going to out my eating disorder.
We've--it's been hiding (trying to not make us one in the same) from you all because of fear. Fear it'll be taken away from me. It thrives best when I'm isolated, made to feel like no one cares and that all I have is it. My trusty friend always there for me. It's twisted and weird to me still to think of it as having its own agenda and personality but that's really what it does.
Since last Sunday I had binged and purged 6 times. I fell down and I fell fast.
I believe it was a combination of losing the job (I had no incentive to NOT do it as I could sleep in the next morning I had no one to answer to etc) and the fact that I had to decrease my medication.
Topiramate is associated with significant improvements in both binge and purge symptoms and represents a potential treatment for bulimia nervosa. Found in a study done by Mountain West Clinical Trials, Boise, Idaho.
Also, my psychiatrist at The Emily Program, a facility focusing specifically on eating disorders, had been prescribing the medication to me since February. I am not ashamed to tell you all that I needed help in my recovery or that I chose to take medication to do so. Obviously since I am typing it out here.
I recently lost a job that was going to lead to health benefits AKA I thought I was going to be able to go back to The Emily Program a week before I got fired. This means I had no way of getting my medication in time for my prescription to be refilled. So I just took one less a day--which on top of the firing and the emotional stress of being unemployed lead to a dramatic increase in depression, anxiety and my eating disorder.
I got a doctor's appointment as soon as I could. I only had three pills left--enough to get me through that night and tomorrow. Just in time I thought.
I waited patiently in the well waiting room and talked for what felt like forever with an eager-to-learn intern from UW all about what it's like to be a bulimic. He was kind, understanding and empathetic. My nerves were calmed, this was going to work and maybe I could get back on my feet again.
An hour and a half later the doctor comes in. I again relay how I have not been sleeping. How I have been bingeing and purging regularly for the past week straight. How I recently lost my job. How I have no income. How I am tormented with depression, feeling guilty for bingeing and purging and working hard all day to eat normal meals only to break down at night, and repeat the cycle. Slipping faster and faster into my old self and relapse.
She leaves the room and comes back in 20 minutes to say she cannot help me.
I feel the tears well up in my eyes and my throat tighten as I hear her say the words:
She goes on to say she'll need my medical records and to talk to The Emily "Project" as I keep correcting her it's "program".
I fight for myself while feeling so abashed that a medical professional would dare use the words "strange" "don't know what to do with you". I tell her my psychiatrist prescribed this to me for months, there are studies done that says it helps and clearly it does since my behaviors have increased since I had to lessen my dosage.
She continues to say that she doesn't trust what I'm telling her and doesn't feel comfortable.
I leave after two and a half hours of sitting in that little white room feeling so violated and more alone than ever.
I am being dramatic but that's what I was feeling. I finally had the chance to open up to someone again to tell them the truth about what was happening and they had the chance to help me and I was met with hurtful words and no help.
It reiterated what I've been trying to not tell myself for these past months since I've been out of treatment--That no one understands.
I called up my old psychiatrist and even though she hadn't seen me in over 3 months she was able to tell me that she'd help me. She told me that people just don't understand eating disorders yet and there's a lot of ignorance out there. She was able to help me calm down and not feel like such a freak and a strange case, rather to feel sorry for the doctor who didn't have all the information and maybe even excited that I get to help educate her.
I know I'm not the only one out there that's misunderstood and this situation reminded me of that. To be a little more patient with others, to try to be a little more understanding. You never know what someone else is going through. Or what a smile, kind words or patience can do to help brighten their day or even your own.
We've--it's been hiding (trying to not make us one in the same) from you all because of fear. Fear it'll be taken away from me. It thrives best when I'm isolated, made to feel like no one cares and that all I have is it. My trusty friend always there for me. It's twisted and weird to me still to think of it as having its own agenda and personality but that's really what it does.
Since last Sunday I had binged and purged 6 times. I fell down and I fell fast.
I believe it was a combination of losing the job (I had no incentive to NOT do it as I could sleep in the next morning I had no one to answer to etc) and the fact that I had to decrease my medication.
Topiramate is associated with significant improvements in both binge and purge symptoms and represents a potential treatment for bulimia nervosa. Found in a study done by Mountain West Clinical Trials, Boise, Idaho.
Also, my psychiatrist at The Emily Program, a facility focusing specifically on eating disorders, had been prescribing the medication to me since February. I am not ashamed to tell you all that I needed help in my recovery or that I chose to take medication to do so. Obviously since I am typing it out here.
I recently lost a job that was going to lead to health benefits AKA I thought I was going to be able to go back to The Emily Program a week before I got fired. This means I had no way of getting my medication in time for my prescription to be refilled. So I just took one less a day--which on top of the firing and the emotional stress of being unemployed lead to a dramatic increase in depression, anxiety and my eating disorder.
I got a doctor's appointment as soon as I could. I only had three pills left--enough to get me through that night and tomorrow. Just in time I thought.
I waited patiently in the well waiting room and talked for what felt like forever with an eager-to-learn intern from UW all about what it's like to be a bulimic. He was kind, understanding and empathetic. My nerves were calmed, this was going to work and maybe I could get back on my feet again.
An hour and a half later the doctor comes in. I again relay how I have not been sleeping. How I have been bingeing and purging regularly for the past week straight. How I recently lost my job. How I have no income. How I am tormented with depression, feeling guilty for bingeing and purging and working hard all day to eat normal meals only to break down at night, and repeat the cycle. Slipping faster and faster into my old self and relapse.
She leaves the room and comes back in 20 minutes to say she cannot help me.
I feel the tears well up in my eyes and my throat tighten as I hear her say the words:
She goes on to say she'll need my medical records and to talk to The Emily "Project" as I keep correcting her it's "program".
I fight for myself while feeling so abashed that a medical professional would dare use the words "strange" "don't know what to do with you". I tell her my psychiatrist prescribed this to me for months, there are studies done that says it helps and clearly it does since my behaviors have increased since I had to lessen my dosage.
She continues to say that she doesn't trust what I'm telling her and doesn't feel comfortable.
I leave after two and a half hours of sitting in that little white room feeling so violated and more alone than ever.
I am being dramatic but that's what I was feeling. I finally had the chance to open up to someone again to tell them the truth about what was happening and they had the chance to help me and I was met with hurtful words and no help.
It reiterated what I've been trying to not tell myself for these past months since I've been out of treatment--That no one understands.
I called up my old psychiatrist and even though she hadn't seen me in over 3 months she was able to tell me that she'd help me. She told me that people just don't understand eating disorders yet and there's a lot of ignorance out there. She was able to help me calm down and not feel like such a freak and a strange case, rather to feel sorry for the doctor who didn't have all the information and maybe even excited that I get to help educate her.
I know I'm not the only one out there that's misunderstood and this situation reminded me of that. To be a little more patient with others, to try to be a little more understanding. You never know what someone else is going through. Or what a smile, kind words or patience can do to help brighten their day or even your own.
Friday, September 5, 2014
I Got Let Go From My Job At Lunch.
I just finished my taco salad and was about to get back to cold calling--my new least favorite thing--when I catch eyes with my manager.
I knew what was about to happen. She didn't even need to call me into her office and do the formalities. I knew I was being let go.
It feels like ages ago when I took the scary step to leave the hell hole that was zulily. To chose my recovery over a job. I felt so scared and yet so empowered.
The months that followed were full of me killing it in informational interviews, sucking up to recruiters and then came the weekly in-person interviews--maybe a couple second interviews.
I was as fresh as a spring chicken. I had just said a big ol fuck you to the company that dragged me down for years and I knew I had so much to offer. I had passion, I am a killer writer, I am on tv, I model, I am a kick ass promo ambassador and I wanted to work--enough of this unemployment crap.
I wanted to be apart of something. I wanted to share my ideas. Improve the place I worked while improving who I was. I wanted to grow and learn.
This began to dwindle with the constant no's and hearing about my "lack of experience" with writing jobs. So I took at shot at sales--and the company I just left took a shot on me.
The first day was like being in junior high. I was clearly at a disadvantage and way out of my element. I was drowning in information, overwhelmed with the material and incredibly insecure. I lost sight of who I was and all the work I had put into my recovery and my values. It seems as though the new me could not exist here.
I compared myself. I belittled myself. I stressed myself the fuck out. And on top of that the people I was talking on the phone with did too. Hang ups, no's, and other relentless negativity was not good for who I was trying to become.
I have to give it up to people in sales that can pull it off--you've got to have some thick skin and be incredibly competitive. Two things that I don't have and am totally ok with.
I have a ping of shame that I really did my best and it still didn't work out. Reading inspiring quotes every morning. Calling my boyfriend crying on breaks. Listening to my favorite music on my lunches. Revamping up every day, every hour trying to do the best I could.
Knowing that everyone is there now and sees my empty desk. Knowing I didn't make it. I don't know what they'll say but I guess it doesn't really matter.
I am really proud that I tried this. I have never done anything like this and I didn't have the support of my treatment team at all during it--and well I still don't. I did give it my all and while it's shameful to me that my all wasn't enough--I know that if I gave up I'd be even more mad at myself.
The part that scares me shitless though is that I have no idea what to do now.
I have no income and I feel I have nothing to offer. I have no direction or idea as to what I want to do or what I am even qualified to do.
It became clear to me that I have no writing experience from being put in a box for three years at zulily. There seem to be no copywriting jobs out there that I do qualify for. And now after working my ass off for a month I can't put sales on my resume.
I don't even know what positions to start looking for, what to even say if someone asked me why me, I feel very empty, insignificant and helpless.
I don't know what the next step is for me or what I'm meant to do.
I know this isn't the first time I've written about this but before I had hope and now that's really dwindled.
This is when my faith in my higher power is tested and when I really have to take it hour by hour and look for omens.
I will keep my eyes and my heart open and my mouth shut--I think I've heard that's the best way to listen.
I knew what was about to happen. She didn't even need to call me into her office and do the formalities. I knew I was being let go.
It feels like ages ago when I took the scary step to leave the hell hole that was zulily. To chose my recovery over a job. I felt so scared and yet so empowered.
The months that followed were full of me killing it in informational interviews, sucking up to recruiters and then came the weekly in-person interviews--maybe a couple second interviews.
I was as fresh as a spring chicken. I had just said a big ol fuck you to the company that dragged me down for years and I knew I had so much to offer. I had passion, I am a killer writer, I am on tv, I model, I am a kick ass promo ambassador and I wanted to work--enough of this unemployment crap.
I wanted to be apart of something. I wanted to share my ideas. Improve the place I worked while improving who I was. I wanted to grow and learn.
This began to dwindle with the constant no's and hearing about my "lack of experience" with writing jobs. So I took at shot at sales--and the company I just left took a shot on me.
The first day was like being in junior high. I was clearly at a disadvantage and way out of my element. I was drowning in information, overwhelmed with the material and incredibly insecure. I lost sight of who I was and all the work I had put into my recovery and my values. It seems as though the new me could not exist here.
I compared myself. I belittled myself. I stressed myself the fuck out. And on top of that the people I was talking on the phone with did too. Hang ups, no's, and other relentless negativity was not good for who I was trying to become.
I have to give it up to people in sales that can pull it off--you've got to have some thick skin and be incredibly competitive. Two things that I don't have and am totally ok with.
I have a ping of shame that I really did my best and it still didn't work out. Reading inspiring quotes every morning. Calling my boyfriend crying on breaks. Listening to my favorite music on my lunches. Revamping up every day, every hour trying to do the best I could.
Knowing that everyone is there now and sees my empty desk. Knowing I didn't make it. I don't know what they'll say but I guess it doesn't really matter.
I am really proud that I tried this. I have never done anything like this and I didn't have the support of my treatment team at all during it--and well I still don't. I did give it my all and while it's shameful to me that my all wasn't enough--I know that if I gave up I'd be even more mad at myself.
The part that scares me shitless though is that I have no idea what to do now.
I have no income and I feel I have nothing to offer. I have no direction or idea as to what I want to do or what I am even qualified to do.
It became clear to me that I have no writing experience from being put in a box for three years at zulily. There seem to be no copywriting jobs out there that I do qualify for. And now after working my ass off for a month I can't put sales on my resume.
I don't even know what positions to start looking for, what to even say if someone asked me why me, I feel very empty, insignificant and helpless.
I don't know what the next step is for me or what I'm meant to do.
I know this isn't the first time I've written about this but before I had hope and now that's really dwindled.
This is when my faith in my higher power is tested and when I really have to take it hour by hour and look for omens.
I will keep my eyes and my heart open and my mouth shut--I think I've heard that's the best way to listen.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Feeling Defeated.
I am so tense and frustrated to the point of tears.
I'm sitting here in my shorts and a sports bra--I was going to go workout to try and calm my anger--but I'm getting sick and am incredibly tired from this weekend and that's not in my best interest.
But I feel like the energy is pulsing off of me. I need to get rid of it.
I'm listening to Impavid Evence Remix and every time I close my eyes I picture myself running on an open highway as fast and as far as I can go. No end in sight.
The energy, the anger and my tense muscles are all set up to protect me from feeling.
It's hard and uncomfortable for me to feel when I'm bare like this.
I am forcing myself to sit with it.
My stomach in rolls and my thighs bare. They 'feel fat'.
I forced myself to go further and figure out why it's so hard to sit here like this and feel--it's all about shame. Unbearable to look like this and to have feelings at the same time.
I don't understand that part yet--I just know it's true.
I've been pushing really hard against my ED lately and it's screaming back at me.
I wish it was easier, that I could just yell louder and it would back down but it gets out a mega phone.
It chants. Repetitively. Relentlessly.
I want it to quiet so I give into the urges but then I'm back where I was.
So I know I can't give in but the things it says to me. The intensity of the anger it has towards me is hard to contain. It's hard to focus. It's hard to try to be me and stay on a normal path.
And I'm doing this mostly on my own this time--I really miss my treatment team.
I saw myself in a bathing suit yesterday and what I thought I looked like this entire time was the complete opposite of what I saw. I still need to gain. But then I have this voice in my head telling me that that's not ok.
I'm so tangled.
I feel very detached.
Everything is an ordeal. I can't write like I used to.
This shit head in my head won't shut the fuck up.
Delete it. You just whine. No one reads this anymore. No one cares.
Trying to remember why I wrote in the first place.
All I want is to be left alone. I want my mind to quiet. I want to enjoy my life.
And it just isn't that simple for me right now.
And it's incredibly frustrating and I don't know what to do to get out of this.
As I said I'm working really hard against it but my life just gets harder and more uncomfortable and I get more angry.
I'm so sick of having an eating disorder.
It's funny because after I write blogs--like immediately after I feel like my authentic self comes out. And I am able to think with my wise mind.
So I'm editing the end of this.
I am exactly where I am supposed to be--and considering everything I'm going through and have gone through it all makes sense. Especially when I'm defying ED it's going to get pissed. But I can't give up now that I'm trying so damn hard. I just need to learn how to take it easy and take care of myself while it is being a bitch. And remember that this intensive anger will pass--this depression will pass. I will be better for it. I'm so sick of this disease ruling my life. I am doing everything in my power to continue on a path to recovery and I should recognize that rather than focus on where I lack--however it takes a lot of guts to post shit like this on here so good fucking job self.
I'm sitting here in my shorts and a sports bra--I was going to go workout to try and calm my anger--but I'm getting sick and am incredibly tired from this weekend and that's not in my best interest.
But I feel like the energy is pulsing off of me. I need to get rid of it.
I'm listening to Impavid Evence Remix and every time I close my eyes I picture myself running on an open highway as fast and as far as I can go. No end in sight.
The energy, the anger and my tense muscles are all set up to protect me from feeling.
It's hard and uncomfortable for me to feel when I'm bare like this.
I am forcing myself to sit with it.
My stomach in rolls and my thighs bare. They 'feel fat'.
I forced myself to go further and figure out why it's so hard to sit here like this and feel--it's all about shame. Unbearable to look like this and to have feelings at the same time.
I don't understand that part yet--I just know it's true.
I've been pushing really hard against my ED lately and it's screaming back at me.
I wish it was easier, that I could just yell louder and it would back down but it gets out a mega phone.
It chants. Repetitively. Relentlessly.
I want it to quiet so I give into the urges but then I'm back where I was.
So I know I can't give in but the things it says to me. The intensity of the anger it has towards me is hard to contain. It's hard to focus. It's hard to try to be me and stay on a normal path.
And I'm doing this mostly on my own this time--I really miss my treatment team.
I saw myself in a bathing suit yesterday and what I thought I looked like this entire time was the complete opposite of what I saw. I still need to gain. But then I have this voice in my head telling me that that's not ok.
I'm so tangled.
I feel very detached.
Everything is an ordeal. I can't write like I used to.
This shit head in my head won't shut the fuck up.
Delete it. You just whine. No one reads this anymore. No one cares.
Trying to remember why I wrote in the first place.
All I want is to be left alone. I want my mind to quiet. I want to enjoy my life.
And it just isn't that simple for me right now.
And it's incredibly frustrating and I don't know what to do to get out of this.
As I said I'm working really hard against it but my life just gets harder and more uncomfortable and I get more angry.
I'm so sick of having an eating disorder.
It's funny because after I write blogs--like immediately after I feel like my authentic self comes out. And I am able to think with my wise mind.
So I'm editing the end of this.
I am exactly where I am supposed to be--and considering everything I'm going through and have gone through it all makes sense. Especially when I'm defying ED it's going to get pissed. But I can't give up now that I'm trying so damn hard. I just need to learn how to take it easy and take care of myself while it is being a bitch. And remember that this intensive anger will pass--this depression will pass. I will be better for it. I'm so sick of this disease ruling my life. I am doing everything in my power to continue on a path to recovery and I should recognize that rather than focus on where I lack--however it takes a lot of guts to post shit like this on here so good fucking job self.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Battle Cry - Angel Haze
Lately I have been feeling like no one sees me.
I don't feel as recovery focused. As in control. As productive as I was when I was in program. I feel like I'm falling.
And as I reread this I know that I'm in the part of recovery where I validate my own feelings, I become my own therapist etc and I have to advocate myself. And while this is a cowardly attempt at doing so instead of going to you people individually it's a start.
Like my disease does not matter.
Like people forget I have it at all.
And it's a secret again.
My insurance cut out and I'm on my own now.
And it's harder than I'd like it to be.
But I'm ok I guess.
Or am I?
I don't feel as recovery focused. As in control. As productive as I was when I was in program. I feel like I'm falling.
I miss therapy. I miss my dietitian. I miss my group.
Mostly I miss people that understand.
Mostly I miss people that understand.
I guess that's where some of the empty hollowness comes from when I sit alone too long.
Because I feel I have no one to turn to anymore.
My support system's lives never revolved around me in the first place but now their lives have gotten even busier and more complicated.
And even if I did reach out what would I say? What would I need from them? Half of the time I don't know.
But as I'm writing right now I know I would say that I'm scared of ED coming back. As I binge and purge about once a week now. And before I had a month without behaviors. I am no where near what I used to be but it's happening more than I want it to. I still drink more than I wish I did. I'm afraid I'm going to become reliant on it. I'm still scared to eat some foods. I still have major PTSD with sexual abuse. I have lost a significant amount of weight and need to gain it back but am petrified to do so. I keep most this to myself (or dump it on my amazing boyfriend but there's only so much he can handle) because I feel like such a burden. Like my time is over. I am done having the attention. I am no longer eating disorder treatment girl. Fix yourself.
And as I reread this I know that I'm in the part of recovery where I validate my own feelings, I become my own therapist etc and I have to advocate myself. And while this is a cowardly attempt at doing so instead of going to you people individually it's a start.
But it's ironic that all of THAT came out because I was actually feeling seen by someone. My brother.
He sent me Battle Cry - Angel Haze. And I have not stopped crying through this post or the 4 times I listened to the song and read the lyrics.
He sent me Battle Cry - Angel Haze. And I have not stopped crying through this post or the 4 times I listened to the song and read the lyrics.
You said it girl.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Acceptance, Acting As If and Other Advice I Should Take
Oh life.
You just are so fucking funny right now.
I see you with your sarcasm.
When I’m finally situated to write on the Bolt Bus—shoes off,
one leg mashed up against the seat the other one on the ground for stability
since my seat apparently doesn’t need to be bolted to the floor. I’m hunched over like The Grinch attempting to
type with my laptop sitting on the empty seat next to me as my purse and denim
jacket act as an efficiently failing desk.
I’ve had to switch positions twice since the girl across
from me in the aisle decided to make out with her fork instead of use it to eat
her salad with it. I wish I wasn’t so sensitive to weird fucking people.
All I want to do is go home in peace.
But that’s hard to do when you’re on a public bus with
Chatty Charlie who has a voice for a children’s television show and an opinion
reserved for The View.
I’ve got I Mean It, G-Eazy and Remo on repeat in my
headphones while I type this so if “fuck” and “bitch” slip out more than often—so
every four words—you’ve had your warning.
I try so hard to ignore the world when I’m in a mood like
this—lack of wanting to be a decent human
being mood—and it seems that the world doesn’t want to be ignored.
I made fun of the girl sitting diagonal from me before
boarding the bus. Her Lana Del Rey headband was asking for it. Of course she would
be across from me and she would fucking give me the most genuine smile when we
hear Chatty Charlie snort at his own joke.
I would ignore the ‘pushy’ bus driver who was only trying to
put my bag away for me and then so kindly greets me when I get on his bus.
I would make fun of fucking Chatty only to see him give up
his single seat so a couple can sit together.
And who knows what lesson Fork Girl could teach me if I didn’t
have my back to her. Sans salad of course.
Continuously The Universe and my Higher Power teach me
lessons, give me guidance and I still have an insanely hard time giving up my
illusion of control.
My list making, my “what if, and then” fantasies, my
manipulating.
I’m going through a really big change in my life.
I’m relocating from Seattle to Portland to take that next
step with my boyfriend.
That means new city. New job. New lifestyle. New friends—no friends
at first.
I have no idea where we are going to live.
I have no idea where I’m going to work.
I have no idea where I’m going to work.
I have no idea what kind of money I’m going to make.
I have no idea what living with a significant other looks
like.
And I’m still fresh in recovery. Like Bambi fresh.
This is all so new to me and it’s so exciting, so romantic,
so right—and yet fucking frightening.
I have stayed up til 1 AM way too many times already Google
mapping where a gym is in comparison to a grocery store in comparison to a bus
stop then trying to find apartment complexes that are within our estimated
price range. Only to come up empty handed and feeling more frantic than ever. Zoom
out repeat.
So I try job searching and I’m pushing my resume and I’m suddenly
the best receptionist ever. Ya I love the service industry. Yes I love cold
calling. Yes I like suits. Of course I’ll work overtime. WHAT?!
Then I’m living in the city. No I’m traveling an hour to my nonexistent
work via the bus. No I’m in the suburbs. There’s a Target. Ok cool yes I can do
that.
There are too many what ifs? Then this? Or then that. It’s a
web of confusion and I’m stuck.
And of course I’m talking to my man about this (hahaha I
never say my man but I just wanted to) and we’ve come to the conclusion to slow
the fuck down and take it one thing at a time.
BUT IT SO DAMN HARD. I want the answer and I want it now. I
want to know and I want to feel safe. I want to feel secure. I want everything
to be ok.
And yet I have little examples every day that show me that it WILL be ok. AND I STILL FREAK OUT.
However, by the fact that I’m in recovery, I’m alive and I
have a great life The Universe keeps proving to me that everything will be ok
even though I do not see how or what that looks like just yet.
So some tips that help me with this and might help you if
you are crazy like me:
-Act as if. So say you totally want to keep checking your ex’s
facebook but you know you shouldn't but you so want to one last time (not like
last time’s last time but this last time)—just act as if you are that new
person you want to be and don’t do it.
-Repeat: “Resistance is suffering.” – So say it. “Resistance
is suffering.” When you resist a situation, how a person is acting etc. it
doesn’t change said thing. It just makes it harder on you. So Chatty Charlie—who
is still going strong an hour and twenty minutes in—is still going to talk and
I can be passive and glare and blow out my eardrums or I can say he’s fucking
annoying but he’s not going to stop. I appreciate the conversation he’s having
with the person next to him. Him talking doesn’t mean I can’t listen to my
music or I cannot write.
-One Day—or thing—At a Time. – There’s a reason this is so
popular in AA and other anonymous programs because it fucking works. When you
look at your day and you see all the shit you have to do you probably want to
crawl in bed. However, if you just see that you have to just get to work then
do the next right indicated step when you get there it’s not as daunting. So I
should listen to myself. I need to see if they are going to take unemployment
away from me—then we’ll go from there. I cannot and will not pick my job,
apartment, budget and fucking welcome mat tomorrow. I will stay in the present
moment and focus on that and only that because that’s all I can do, all I want
to do and honestly all I need to do.
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Shoulders Suffocated.
The bellow is me exploring my feelings about my body and what it means to have one in our society.
About being made to feel like a sex object everywhere I go.
Feeling like it's not ok to take my sweater off when it's hot out because of what I am then subjected to.
How I've been made to feel it's my fault that I get hollered at...or worse.
How it's my duty to put up with cat calls because I have a decent body. And it's my fault that men react to me.
I realize more and more that as years of unwanted advances from men pile up the more I want to hide my style and my body. It isn't fair. It isn't right. And it isn't my fault. And most importantly I shouldn't have guilt or be ashamed.
I have just started to see how fucked up society's messages to men and women are about men and women. And self worth. And self esteem. And more. I really need to do more reading and thinking to develop a solid opinion on this but this video and blog post began to help me believe it's not me that's in the wrong.
Stop Telling Women to Smile and An Open Letter to My Daughter: Your Modesty Is Your Choice.
sunny sidewalk
uncomfortably hot
smooth knees
unknowingly alluring neckline
shoulders suffocated
breath abated
music bumps
windows rolled down
suggestive slang
coil back at the vulgarity
leave me be
redirect
life changed
never ok
sex object
my being is no longer mine
self medicated
doctor's out
head hangs with the weight of it all
knowledge, shame, undeserved guilt
eyes averted
no one look
but someone see my pain
a chuckle
manly grunts
I see them seeing me
naked, vulnerable
I pull my clothes tighter
weights slam
echos reverberate my body
they get trapped inside my head
relentless is the panic
muscles tighten
my vision goes
my heart races
I see only shapes
are they approaching me
fight or flight
flight flight flight
About being made to feel like a sex object everywhere I go.
Feeling like it's not ok to take my sweater off when it's hot out because of what I am then subjected to.
How I've been made to feel it's my fault that I get hollered at...or worse.
How it's my duty to put up with cat calls because I have a decent body. And it's my fault that men react to me.
I realize more and more that as years of unwanted advances from men pile up the more I want to hide my style and my body. It isn't fair. It isn't right. And it isn't my fault. And most importantly I shouldn't have guilt or be ashamed.
I have just started to see how fucked up society's messages to men and women are about men and women. And self worth. And self esteem. And more. I really need to do more reading and thinking to develop a solid opinion on this but this video and blog post began to help me believe it's not me that's in the wrong.
Stop Telling Women to Smile and An Open Letter to My Daughter: Your Modesty Is Your Choice.
sunny sidewalk
uncomfortably hot
smooth knees
unknowingly alluring neckline
shoulders suffocated
breath abated
music bumps
windows rolled down
suggestive slang
coil back at the vulgarity
leave me be
redirect
life changed
never ok
sex object
my being is no longer mine
self medicated
doctor's out
head hangs with the weight of it all
knowledge, shame, undeserved guilt
eyes averted
no one look
but someone see my pain
a chuckle
manly grunts
I see them seeing me
naked, vulnerable
I pull my clothes tighter
weights slam
echos reverberate my body
they get trapped inside my head
relentless is the panic
muscles tighten
my vision goes
my heart races
I see only shapes
are they approaching me
fight or flight
flight flight flight
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Merry Krismas To Me : Seven Months Later
I wrote this post about seven months ago.
And it breaks my heart because I remember that girl.
So desperately wanting to be free.
Wanting a holiday without addiction, disease, turmoil and torture.
I tried. I know I did my best.
And my best got me about three days in a row. Which bless me, was amazing.
I hated my parents. I never saw how we could ever exist in the same room together.
It wasn't possible. Not with me, my disease and them--it was too crowded.
I was at ground zero then.
Days later I had plans with my parents to go shopping at the Seahawks team store. I would get a new hat. We would go on The Seattle Great Wheel. I would have the happy Christmas I dreamed of each year.
That never happened.
I was confined to my bed because I could not stop throwing up. I was a slave to my disease. I had binged and purged for meals and days straight. Like a zombie I went to the store just a block from my house, spent hundreds on food, ate as much as I could and got rid of it. And then did it again. Slept. Repeat.
But then my body began to shut down. I had no sense of time of day, hunger, self.
I remember lifting the chips to my mouth and so desperately not wanting to. Wishing with all of my might that I could just stop. Leaning over the fridge in my puke-splattered sweats, oily hair, shaking not wanting anything in there and seeing my hands reach for something new.
I could not stop.
Until my body did stop.
My body said I can't do this anymore the day we were supposed to have Krismas in Seattle.
I remember so vividly opening the door for my parents. All of my energy was drained. I didn't even try to hide the dishes, the wrappers, the food or my ghostly appearance.
My mom covered her mouth when she saw me. Shock of what her daughter had become. My dad put down the coupons Mom had cut for me back home. I wouldn't be needing those.
The fear in my parents' eyes is indescribable. The shame I felt was overridden by exhaustion. I felt as though I was done. I hadn't actually eaten in days and my stomach was eroded by acid.
My parents stayed with me for hours.
My dad brought me Diet Sprite at my request (which really doesn't help anything but ED was still so loud as I lay there lifeless). I don't remember their time there as hours. It's a blur. There were crackers and broth. And there was my mom.
I had let them down. I was so scared. How did I get here again? Where did I go?
As I write this I remember how dark my room was, how sick I felt, how ashamed I was.
And by the grace of the universe I began to keep food down.
And my parents finally had to leave.
My mom said she thought I wasn't going to wake up.
Once again I had, my disease had, ruined another family event.
Days later my friends had an intervention with me and I wrote these words in my blog on Christmas Eve:
"I'm looking forward to working my ass off to get a better life. One where these thoughts aren't constantly breaking up my day.
I'm looking forward to a life where going to work won't be a struggle. And I will have enough nutrition in my body to stay focused and not forget things.
I'm looking forward to WANTING to eat which currently I don't have. It's all or nothing at the moment.
I'm looking forward to wanting to cook.
I'm looking forward to a new life. The life I was always meant to have.
Merry Krismas kids."
And I write to you now sobbing and snotting and with total fucking pride that what I wanted and what I looked forward to is exactly what I'm doing.
And recovery is more than wanting to eat, and quieted thoughts.
It's wanting to live. It's wanting to be me. It's having the clarity to carry on a conversation. It's being honest. It's being able to breathe. It's having the peace of mind to think of others. To live in the moment. To remember. To show up for people. To live.
And it breaks my heart because I remember that girl.
So desperately wanting to be free.
Wanting a holiday without addiction, disease, turmoil and torture.
I tried. I know I did my best.
And my best got me about three days in a row. Which bless me, was amazing.
I hated my parents. I never saw how we could ever exist in the same room together.
It wasn't possible. Not with me, my disease and them--it was too crowded.
I was at ground zero then.
Days later I had plans with my parents to go shopping at the Seahawks team store. I would get a new hat. We would go on The Seattle Great Wheel. I would have the happy Christmas I dreamed of each year.
That never happened.
I was confined to my bed because I could not stop throwing up. I was a slave to my disease. I had binged and purged for meals and days straight. Like a zombie I went to the store just a block from my house, spent hundreds on food, ate as much as I could and got rid of it. And then did it again. Slept. Repeat.
But then my body began to shut down. I had no sense of time of day, hunger, self.
I remember lifting the chips to my mouth and so desperately not wanting to. Wishing with all of my might that I could just stop. Leaning over the fridge in my puke-splattered sweats, oily hair, shaking not wanting anything in there and seeing my hands reach for something new.
I could not stop.
Until my body did stop.
My body said I can't do this anymore the day we were supposed to have Krismas in Seattle.
I remember so vividly opening the door for my parents. All of my energy was drained. I didn't even try to hide the dishes, the wrappers, the food or my ghostly appearance.
My mom covered her mouth when she saw me. Shock of what her daughter had become. My dad put down the coupons Mom had cut for me back home. I wouldn't be needing those.
The fear in my parents' eyes is indescribable. The shame I felt was overridden by exhaustion. I felt as though I was done. I hadn't actually eaten in days and my stomach was eroded by acid.
My parents stayed with me for hours.
My dad brought me Diet Sprite at my request (which really doesn't help anything but ED was still so loud as I lay there lifeless). I don't remember their time there as hours. It's a blur. There were crackers and broth. And there was my mom.
I had let them down. I was so scared. How did I get here again? Where did I go?
As I write this I remember how dark my room was, how sick I felt, how ashamed I was.
And by the grace of the universe I began to keep food down.
And my parents finally had to leave.
My mom said she thought I wasn't going to wake up.
Once again I had, my disease had, ruined another family event.
Days later my friends had an intervention with me and I wrote these words in my blog on Christmas Eve:
"I'm looking forward to working my ass off to get a better life. One where these thoughts aren't constantly breaking up my day.
I'm looking forward to a life where going to work won't be a struggle. And I will have enough nutrition in my body to stay focused and not forget things.
I'm looking forward to WANTING to eat which currently I don't have. It's all or nothing at the moment.
I'm looking forward to wanting to cook.
I'm looking forward to a new life. The life I was always meant to have.
Merry Krismas kids."
And I write to you now sobbing and snotting and with total fucking pride that what I wanted and what I looked forward to is exactly what I'm doing.
And recovery is more than wanting to eat, and quieted thoughts.
It's wanting to live. It's wanting to be me. It's having the clarity to carry on a conversation. It's being honest. It's being able to breathe. It's having the peace of mind to think of others. To live in the moment. To remember. To show up for people. To live.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
It's Clear Now.
Today I learned that a girl I spent my junior high, high school and some time in college with took her life.
We have the same name, spelled the same way.
There's a funny bond with that.
Something you can default to when there's nothing else to laugh about.
But that's not all we had.
We had hours of soccer together and school, but not in the way that we were good friends more like good acquaintances. But it's those short interactions I had during those years that matter. Those minutes and moments that I did have with her are so clear in my mind because she was always seemingly herself.
I remember being rather resistant to her because of her strong personality. Her confidence. Not sure what to make of this light in my junior high and early high school days.
When I think of her now I see her bright blue eyes and hear her laugh clearly. I see her tenacity on the field. And then come the foggy random memories at parties and in the dorms.
But then there are the ones more recently when I wasn't so insecure and when I was in recovery. When I could appreciate her for who she was, not envy but admire and be inspired by her.
And now I am so sad and heartbroken over what the world has lost, and I barely even got to know her.
I remember us talking about her backpacking exploits and marveling at her dreads and how she was living--she was doing IT. Just going and doing and being. And she still had that smile and that laugh.
She didn't talk to me long last time I saw her, I feel like she was always so busy and social. But it was enough for me to see HER.
I want to be like that some day. To stand with someone briefly and when I leave leave a presence of me. Have my self awareness, my confidence and aura just radiate from me without doing anything but just being.
During times like these there are a lot of emotions and one that I'm feeling strongly is a sense of direction. Of calm.
Life now seems more simple.
And clear.
What I thought mattered doesn't as much.
What I thought was confusing, and hard is now curious and beautiful.
My struggles are now my strengths.
We have the same name, spelled the same way.
There's a funny bond with that.
Something you can default to when there's nothing else to laugh about.
But that's not all we had.
We had hours of soccer together and school, but not in the way that we were good friends more like good acquaintances. But it's those short interactions I had during those years that matter. Those minutes and moments that I did have with her are so clear in my mind because she was always seemingly herself.
I remember being rather resistant to her because of her strong personality. Her confidence. Not sure what to make of this light in my junior high and early high school days.
When I think of her now I see her bright blue eyes and hear her laugh clearly. I see her tenacity on the field. And then come the foggy random memories at parties and in the dorms.
But then there are the ones more recently when I wasn't so insecure and when I was in recovery. When I could appreciate her for who she was, not envy but admire and be inspired by her.
And now I am so sad and heartbroken over what the world has lost, and I barely even got to know her.
I remember us talking about her backpacking exploits and marveling at her dreads and how she was living--she was doing IT. Just going and doing and being. And she still had that smile and that laugh.
She didn't talk to me long last time I saw her, I feel like she was always so busy and social. But it was enough for me to see HER.
I want to be like that some day. To stand with someone briefly and when I leave leave a presence of me. Have my self awareness, my confidence and aura just radiate from me without doing anything but just being.
During times like these there are a lot of emotions and one that I'm feeling strongly is a sense of direction. Of calm.
Life now seems more simple.
And clear.
What I thought mattered doesn't as much.
What I thought was confusing, and hard is now curious and beautiful.
My struggles are now my strengths.
I Fucked Up. Plus Some Other Stuff.
I want to talk about doing things for the right reasons and values. And good shit like that.
I am going to write a little revision to my last post not because I want him to like me, or to stop people from having ill feelings towards him (because honestly he is wonderful and has made me happier than anyone I've ever been with) but because I truly feel that what I wrote yesterday didn't align with my values.
Which are:
acceptance
authenticity
respect
balance
connection
gratitude
I have written like 23 versions of this because I'm fighting between wanting to please my ex and have sensational readings and make myself sound cool (like I ever actually do that). So I'm finally fucking doing it. I'm just going to write with my authentic, self-respecting self:
Yesterday I meant what I was writing.
I was hurt and I was lonely and I was confused.
But I let my impulsiveness take over.
I wanted to hurt back, I didn't see it in that way at the time, but I do now.
I didn't even think beyond myself and that my ex has friends that could read this too.
Yesterday's post was just a piece of what we are going through.
I've made some very big mistakes as you can read in my previous posts and my ex was reacting to my actions in a way that I think most people would.
I feel terrible about losing my balance of authenticity and respect and acceptance but I'm learning.
I am learning to have boundaries as a form of learning to respect myself and others.
((that's a lot of learning))
And writing this is one way I feel I can build that up for myself and for my relationship however that ends up looking.
I think it takes guts to admit you made a mistake but it takes real courage to change your ways and that's really what I'm trying to do--or well doing.
I have been unsettled with how I can't seem to stand on my own two feet after all of this back and forth in my relationship.
How do you be independent while being in a relationship? I do not fucking know.
So I read an article.
And here's the highlights:
I am going to write a little revision to my last post not because I want him to like me, or to stop people from having ill feelings towards him (because honestly he is wonderful and has made me happier than anyone I've ever been with) but because I truly feel that what I wrote yesterday didn't align with my values.
Which are:
acceptance
authenticity
respect
balance
connection
gratitude
I have written like 23 versions of this because I'm fighting between wanting to please my ex and have sensational readings and make myself sound cool (like I ever actually do that). So I'm finally fucking doing it. I'm just going to write with my authentic, self-respecting self:
Yesterday I meant what I was writing.
I was hurt and I was lonely and I was confused.
But I let my impulsiveness take over.
I wanted to hurt back, I didn't see it in that way at the time, but I do now.
I didn't even think beyond myself and that my ex has friends that could read this too.
Yesterday's post was just a piece of what we are going through.
I've made some very big mistakes as you can read in my previous posts and my ex was reacting to my actions in a way that I think most people would.
I feel terrible about losing my balance of authenticity and respect and acceptance but I'm learning.
I am learning to have boundaries as a form of learning to respect myself and others.
((that's a lot of learning))
And writing this is one way I feel I can build that up for myself and for my relationship however that ends up looking.
I think it takes guts to admit you made a mistake but it takes real courage to change your ways and that's really what I'm trying to do--or well doing.
I have been unsettled with how I can't seem to stand on my own two feet after all of this back and forth in my relationship.
How do you be independent while being in a relationship? I do not fucking know.
So I read an article.
And here's the highlights:
- Find hobbies and what makes you happy separate from the relationship and do them.
- Be able to say "no" when you authentically do not want to do something without inflicting hurt feelings or guilt.
- There is no need to pour your heart out to them all of the time.
- Space is great. If you go a day without talking, texting, Skyping, seeing them that's ok. Distance makes the heart grow fonder.
- Your needs, approval and feelings come before theirs. (mind blown)
- Try to figure out your dreams and when you do strive for them, put them before the relationship. You honey bunny will follow suit if they are truly for you.
- Be yourself and love yourself for it, let them be them and love em for it.
This actually perfectly aligns with my values:
- Acceptance: who I am, who he is, where I'm at (in any given situation, feeling etc)
- Authenticity: listen to my heart, my dreams, be true to myself
- Balance: he time, me time, we time
- Connection: with myself and take that extra second to really see what's going on within me
- Respect: my feelings, my needs, wants and stand up for myself (because in my head I really don't do that)
- Gratitude: for who I am and who I'm becoming
Ready, set--LIFE CHANGE!
Monday, June 23, 2014
I Got Dumped. Again.
So I'm really feeling the whole poor me vibe right now.
Just fucking grooving on it.
Everything was clear and happy and fine when I got dumped last night (truly it was).
And then it slowly started to sink in and from midnight until now I feel like butt.
Lame, lost, lonely.
It makes sense that we aren't together. He was a dick and I was anxious all the time.
You can't force chemistry and trust and love.
I so truly believed that we were meant to be together that I didn't want to give up. That life without him didn't make sense. I did what I saw in the movies and read about in books, I just kept fighting. And in the end it wasn't the answer. I was wrong. I failed.
That's one thing that's bothering me. What I did, and what I put my heart into failed, like horribly. I'm trying to not feel stupid for trying because I thought that's what you were supposed to do when you loved someone. I had never been in love before. I didn't know what to do when I lost it. But in my heart I knew something was off...so I'm also mad I didn't listen to myself.
Lesson learned out of that one. Doesn't make the shame go away.
The other is how fucking fine he is without me.
It's like night and day.
Before I was contacting him, being sweet, trying to get a laugh, trying to find him again, get something--anything with no real response. It was like talking to a stranger. I took so much risk and put so much heart into everything these past two weeks to try to get him back and I was so strongly rejected. And now when he's done with me he's fucking fantastic.
Ouch.
I don't like feeling this whipped. Or is that just my pride getting in the way of the universe helping me work this out so seamlessly?
I mean I'm going to feel what I'm going to feel regardless of how I look at the situation, but it matters how I act on the situation. And honestly I haven't left my house all day because currently I'm scared to face the world. And I don't like that.
I mean where's my pride kick? And my I did this for me? It's not here. I got dumped. I'm not walking away I'm laying on the ground. And it's even more confusing because what we are doing now is actually working (well minus this strong aversion to how everything is happening that I'm having).
The guy I first had a crush on is back, he's funny, he's kind, he's actually fucking talking to me. And I feel like I can be myself around him again. And I'm hoping that we organically grow back together as we grow a part as people.
So I should be fucking happy but I feel like shit. I feel rejected. I feel less than. I feel lonely.
Last thing, man this is long, and most important thing I realized this morning while journaling is that this reminds me of my very lonely childhood-teen years.
After I was sexually abused things changed drastically for me. There was no more trust, no more love, I was alone. That's when the kids started to be mean in school. I didn't have many friends. And that's how confused and twisted and desperate my life was until I figured out that boyfriends could fill that void and they have ever since.
Now I'm in recovery and I don't know what being single and healthy looks like. And while I want it to be exciting and I want to have this passion for life and this drive to figure out who I am I also am just really demoralized, scared and sad.
Just fucking grooving on it.
Everything was clear and happy and fine when I got dumped last night (truly it was).
And then it slowly started to sink in and from midnight until now I feel like butt.
Lame, lost, lonely.
It makes sense that we aren't together. He was a dick and I was anxious all the time.
You can't force chemistry and trust and love.
I so truly believed that we were meant to be together that I didn't want to give up. That life without him didn't make sense. I did what I saw in the movies and read about in books, I just kept fighting. And in the end it wasn't the answer. I was wrong. I failed.
That's one thing that's bothering me. What I did, and what I put my heart into failed, like horribly. I'm trying to not feel stupid for trying because I thought that's what you were supposed to do when you loved someone. I had never been in love before. I didn't know what to do when I lost it. But in my heart I knew something was off...so I'm also mad I didn't listen to myself.
Lesson learned out of that one. Doesn't make the shame go away.
The other is how fucking fine he is without me.
It's like night and day.
Before I was contacting him, being sweet, trying to get a laugh, trying to find him again, get something--anything with no real response. It was like talking to a stranger. I took so much risk and put so much heart into everything these past two weeks to try to get him back and I was so strongly rejected. And now when he's done with me he's fucking fantastic.
Ouch.
I don't like feeling this whipped. Or is that just my pride getting in the way of the universe helping me work this out so seamlessly?
I mean I'm going to feel what I'm going to feel regardless of how I look at the situation, but it matters how I act on the situation. And honestly I haven't left my house all day because currently I'm scared to face the world. And I don't like that.
I mean where's my pride kick? And my I did this for me? It's not here. I got dumped. I'm not walking away I'm laying on the ground. And it's even more confusing because what we are doing now is actually working (well minus this strong aversion to how everything is happening that I'm having).
The guy I first had a crush on is back, he's funny, he's kind, he's actually fucking talking to me. And I feel like I can be myself around him again. And I'm hoping that we organically grow back together as we grow a part as people.
So I should be fucking happy but I feel like shit. I feel rejected. I feel less than. I feel lonely.
Last thing, man this is long, and most important thing I realized this morning while journaling is that this reminds me of my very lonely childhood-teen years.
After I was sexually abused things changed drastically for me. There was no more trust, no more love, I was alone. That's when the kids started to be mean in school. I didn't have many friends. And that's how confused and twisted and desperate my life was until I figured out that boyfriends could fill that void and they have ever since.
Now I'm in recovery and I don't know what being single and healthy looks like. And while I want it to be exciting and I want to have this passion for life and this drive to figure out who I am I also am just really demoralized, scared and sad.
Friday, June 20, 2014
I'm Enough.
Hollow.
Chills.
Bend over to protect myself.
Protect what.
Actual heart ache.
Every movement slower.
Breath shallow.
Trying to not make a wrong move.
No energy anyway.
Like ice on a bare chest.
Alive.
Anxiety.
Heart race.
Can't breathe.
I don't want to.
Numb the feeling.
Please just let me be.
Exhaustion.
I'm trying things again with my boyfriend but there's a lot of hurt.
I keep trying to find signs that say what I should do.
Actually what he will do.
I hate that my existence weighs on his every word.
Will I be happy that day or sad or mean to people.
Will I have energy to workout ? To be sarcastic? To be myself (who only seems to come out when he and I are ok)?
I can't seem to shake the hollow, alone, empty feeling that is left in me without him here.
He makes me whole.
And that's romantic and all that but that's a real fucking problem.
I'm working towards values and appreciating myself everyday and writing down what I like, to try and find me inside of me but it's lonely in here.
A dark, empty space, never ending.
I want to feel ok. I want my comfort back. I want what we had. Easy. Trust. Love.
It's gone and I'm left with pathetic memories and remember whens.
I'm holding all the pieces in my hands and forcing, coaxing, praying them together.
It doesn't seem to want to fit.
I can't give up.
I don't want to give up.
It can't be the end just like that.
With just a mistake--but it's not a mistake it is real and it fucking happened and shit changed.
I feel so demoralized and helpless.
I cannot do anything but keep working on myself and to fill this hollow space myself. And even as I type that I don't want to accept it and that's ok in this space I am not able to. And hope he comes back to me. And that is so scary to let go like that.
I wish I could just wake up out of this.
But that sounds like a bunch of bull shit.
Wishing never did anything for me.
I've got to do some serious work.
And I am doing that.
I know I'm capable of it.
After all the shit I've been through.
Come on now girl.
This feeling will pass, I'm feeling stronger with each word.
The only person who can get me through this is me.
And I'm enough.
Chills.
Bend over to protect myself.
Protect what.
Actual heart ache.
Every movement slower.
Breath shallow.
Trying to not make a wrong move.
No energy anyway.
Like ice on a bare chest.
Alive.
Anxiety.
Heart race.
Can't breathe.
I don't want to.
Numb the feeling.
Please just let me be.
Exhaustion.
I'm trying things again with my boyfriend but there's a lot of hurt.
I keep trying to find signs that say what I should do.
Actually what he will do.
I hate that my existence weighs on his every word.
Will I be happy that day or sad or mean to people.
Will I have energy to workout ? To be sarcastic? To be myself (who only seems to come out when he and I are ok)?
I can't seem to shake the hollow, alone, empty feeling that is left in me without him here.
He makes me whole.
And that's romantic and all that but that's a real fucking problem.
I'm working towards values and appreciating myself everyday and writing down what I like, to try and find me inside of me but it's lonely in here.
A dark, empty space, never ending.
I want to feel ok. I want my comfort back. I want what we had. Easy. Trust. Love.
It's gone and I'm left with pathetic memories and remember whens.
I'm holding all the pieces in my hands and forcing, coaxing, praying them together.
It doesn't seem to want to fit.
I can't give up.
I don't want to give up.
It can't be the end just like that.
With just a mistake--but it's not a mistake it is real and it fucking happened and shit changed.
I feel so demoralized and helpless.
I cannot do anything but keep working on myself and to fill this hollow space myself. And even as I type that I don't want to accept it and that's ok in this space I am not able to. And hope he comes back to me. And that is so scary to let go like that.
I wish I could just wake up out of this.
But that sounds like a bunch of bull shit.
Wishing never did anything for me.
I've got to do some serious work.
And I am doing that.
I know I'm capable of it.
After all the shit I've been through.
Come on now girl.
This feeling will pass, I'm feeling stronger with each word.
The only person who can get me through this is me.
And I'm enough.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Snotty Yoga.
I am so tired so I may use the wrong there and half of you honestly probably wouldn't notice but that's my disclaimer.
I write best when I'm in the shit so I want to get this out now.
In this case 'the shit' means my emotions.
Which are not shit mind you.
Listening to Florence The Machine - Shake It Out which I'm sure all of you know but play it if you want the full effect.
So I'm going through a major--I don't even know what you'd call it--of myself. I'm looking at me. The way I live, the choices I make, how I act, my values and I'm trying to figure which way is up and left from right all while going through the biggest breakup I've ever had. And I'm unemployed. I'm just a mess--or am I where I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be?
I pulled out one of my seemingly hundreds of journals after pissing off a friend and just wrote. Free flowing just my paper and my pen but mostly I just like to think of it being just me.
"I feel sad. The fear of returning to who I was is real. The anxiety works against me. It's all so overwhelming. All of this does. This life is too much. It's always been too much. No wonder I numb. No wonder I get confused and mixed up and frustrated. I'm working so hard to figure me out that I'm losing myself.
And I'm tired and lonely and listening to sad fucking music (this was before Florence came on). All of this, this life is the hardest thing. Fighting against myself. I feel a fleeting feeling. I'm losing the calm I've had these past days. The sad slow calm. Desperate. I need it back. Don't leave. I'll do anything. Force. Will. Think. Do. Come back. Peace. I want peace. I see myself doing and thinking and anxious and I feel like if I could do different I would This is the spiral. I'm spiraling. The hopeless. The confusion.
But if I want something different I have to do something different.
Enter Florence.
I'm just not sure what that is. Trying to remember coping skills. Something to numb in a healthy way.
No feel. Feel. Just feel it.
*Pause for yoga attempt while crying so much snot to head* And I feel it I feel the pain and the sadness and the loneliness and it doesn't kill me. And suddenly I can breathe again. And each movement gets easier and the music somehow gets clearer. And my heart gets lighter.
I finish and I write...
This peace I'm constantly seeking isn't not having emotions it's having peace with having emotions.
And then I get so excited and want to tell you guys and I do.
Gratitude list:
1. I ate the 'scary' sandwich at the M's game
2. I just fucking did that shit that I just did.
3. I did so much laundry today
4. I am not quitting.
5. Watching my impulsiveness
6. My friends. Oh my goodness they are so amazing.
I write best when I'm in the shit so I want to get this out now.
In this case 'the shit' means my emotions.
Which are not shit mind you.
Listening to Florence The Machine - Shake It Out which I'm sure all of you know but play it if you want the full effect.
So I'm going through a major--I don't even know what you'd call it--of myself. I'm looking at me. The way I live, the choices I make, how I act, my values and I'm trying to figure which way is up and left from right all while going through the biggest breakup I've ever had. And I'm unemployed. I'm just a mess--or am I where I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be?
I pulled out one of my seemingly hundreds of journals after pissing off a friend and just wrote. Free flowing just my paper and my pen but mostly I just like to think of it being just me.
"I feel sad. The fear of returning to who I was is real. The anxiety works against me. It's all so overwhelming. All of this does. This life is too much. It's always been too much. No wonder I numb. No wonder I get confused and mixed up and frustrated. I'm working so hard to figure me out that I'm losing myself.
And I'm tired and lonely and listening to sad fucking music (this was before Florence came on). All of this, this life is the hardest thing. Fighting against myself. I feel a fleeting feeling. I'm losing the calm I've had these past days. The sad slow calm. Desperate. I need it back. Don't leave. I'll do anything. Force. Will. Think. Do. Come back. Peace. I want peace. I see myself doing and thinking and anxious and I feel like if I could do different I would This is the spiral. I'm spiraling. The hopeless. The confusion.
But if I want something different I have to do something different.
Enter Florence.
I'm just not sure what that is. Trying to remember coping skills. Something to numb in a healthy way.
No feel. Feel. Just feel it.
*Pause for yoga attempt while crying so much snot to head* And I feel it I feel the pain and the sadness and the loneliness and it doesn't kill me. And suddenly I can breathe again. And each movement gets easier and the music somehow gets clearer. And my heart gets lighter.
I finish and I write...
This peace I'm constantly seeking isn't not having emotions it's having peace with having emotions.
And then I get so excited and want to tell you guys and I do.
Gratitude list:
1. I ate the 'scary' sandwich at the M's game
2. I just fucking did that shit that I just did.
3. I did so much laundry today
4. I am not quitting.
5. Watching my impulsiveness
6. My friends. Oh my goodness they are so amazing.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Getting Over You.
Last night I broke down around midnight asking my very recent ex
to talk to me tomorrow. Our first conversation since I told him everything.
He said he would.
I realized with a breathtaking flutter of my heart that if he had wanted to talk to me earlier, if he wanted me back he would have simply contacted me. And that yes this is actually over.
I started to gasp for air. I couldn't
breathe. I felt as though I couldn't physically take this reality.
My mind miraculously—no give myself credit—because
of my time in recovery my mind went back to my earliest treatment days. To the
I am a tree grounding technique.
I pictured myself at Paradiso (a
music festival here in the Pacific Northwest—my happy place).
My roots growing into the ground.
The sun on my face.
My arms wide.
Absorbing the energy.
Breathing freely.
And that helped put me to sleep.
This morning I wrote this while listening to Beat Organ (Original Mix) by 16 Bit Lolitas.
This is the first morning I actually wanted
to wake up.
“I am a tree.
My roots need soft soil with nutrients to grow.
I cannot force my roots to grow in a hard,
toxic, unhealthy environment or where they are not wanted.
There can be no conflicting energies deep
down in my roots.
They are made up of my values: peace,
love, unity and respect.
I pull from Mother Earth to strengthen my roots and give me
guidance.
My trunk is supported by my friends and family.
My trunk is supported by my friends and family.
They help keep me stable when the weather comes down hard and
appreciate the sunlight.
They are my forever supporters.
Because of my values and my support system I am able to reach tall
and wide and blossom.
My branches are extensions of my learnings, my failures and my
triumphs.
They open my heart wide for love and acceptance.
They create a beauty all their own.
I am a tree.”
Saturday, June 14, 2014
How PLUR Is Helping Me Find Me
I do not think I have ever hurt this much.
I have never been this far in recovery either.
I am determined to not numb out with food or booze or drugs or hurting myself.
I had him and I lost him.
I can barely breathe it hurts so badly.
My life changed in an instant.
It is hard to explain without re traumatizing myself.
I am so incredibly tired. Everything hurts. I wake up and my heart drops into my stomach. I'm cold. I shake. I reach out for him and he's not there. He will never be there again. I clutch the stuffed animal he gave me telling him how much I miss him and how sorry I am. I can barely get the tears out.I squeeze it harder trying to feel something other than this. Do I let go? Do I fight?
I let alcohol and my lack of self respect take away the love of my life.
In the moment I had no idea what would happen. I thought I was being brave and going out of my comfort zone. Being social and that these men were actually interested in ME. I made it clear I had a boyfriend. I made it clear I would go home after one drink. I made it clear I did not want to take those shots. It did not matter. And now it does not matter.
I am tempted to feel as though I am back to where I was with men. Feeling they will leave me when it is hard. That they cannot be trusted. I wince when they touch me. When they look at me. Or then there is a rage that comes out when I am called at. All of that work I did. All of the recovery. Gone in a night. In a night I do not remember. A night I did not consent to.
But that is not true. My years of work from my first incident to what occurred most recently is not gone. In fact if I keep working the way I have my recovery can be more reinforced. I am sacred, I am beautiful and I am me. I am not for you to do with what you please. And I can no longer look for my joy and my confidence and my self worth from you.
From you or him or them or likes or ass grabs and phone numbers and compliments. From jobs and raises and money. From clothing and area codes and cars.
Because I am finding out, from the hardest way possible that when you do not have any income, when you do not have a job and when you do not have a significant other that what you are left with is you.
And right now being left with just me is lonely. It's sad. It's empty. There is nothing to me it seems.
But this self destructive thinking will only get me back to wanting attention anywhere I can get it. And so I have been working on my values.
And I have gotten them from the EDM community.
Peace
Love
Unity
Respect
And I define them slightly differently for myself depending on what I'm working on that day. I've been writing them in a journal in the morning, writing out goals and checking in with them at night.
Peace in my mind and with others. I am not a bad person for what happened or mistakes I made. And I repeat that over and over again. And not all people are out to get me or will judge me for what I have done.
Love stands for acts and feelings of goodwill towards myself and others. Love for and from my friends right now especially during this time.
Unity with food and my body.
Respect means focusing on showing regard for the feelings of others through their actions and inaction. While also of course having respect for myself and my environment. Also in his wishes to leave him alone.
And it's scary to look at myself and I really just do not want to. I have not yet had the guts to say what I do like about myself because I feel after what happened that I am not deserving of praise or anything good. But my friends have been here every hour of every day bringing me up, and that must mean I'm worth something. I'm just not sure what that is yet.
I have never been this far in recovery either.
I am determined to not numb out with food or booze or drugs or hurting myself.
I had him and I lost him.
I can barely breathe it hurts so badly.
My life changed in an instant.
It is hard to explain without re traumatizing myself.
I am so incredibly tired. Everything hurts. I wake up and my heart drops into my stomach. I'm cold. I shake. I reach out for him and he's not there. He will never be there again. I clutch the stuffed animal he gave me telling him how much I miss him and how sorry I am. I can barely get the tears out.I squeeze it harder trying to feel something other than this. Do I let go? Do I fight?
I let alcohol and my lack of self respect take away the love of my life.
In the moment I had no idea what would happen. I thought I was being brave and going out of my comfort zone. Being social and that these men were actually interested in ME. I made it clear I had a boyfriend. I made it clear I would go home after one drink. I made it clear I did not want to take those shots. It did not matter. And now it does not matter.
I am tempted to feel as though I am back to where I was with men. Feeling they will leave me when it is hard. That they cannot be trusted. I wince when they touch me. When they look at me. Or then there is a rage that comes out when I am called at. All of that work I did. All of the recovery. Gone in a night. In a night I do not remember. A night I did not consent to.
But that is not true. My years of work from my first incident to what occurred most recently is not gone. In fact if I keep working the way I have my recovery can be more reinforced. I am sacred, I am beautiful and I am me. I am not for you to do with what you please. And I can no longer look for my joy and my confidence and my self worth from you.
From you or him or them or likes or ass grabs and phone numbers and compliments. From jobs and raises and money. From clothing and area codes and cars.
Because I am finding out, from the hardest way possible that when you do not have any income, when you do not have a job and when you do not have a significant other that what you are left with is you.
And right now being left with just me is lonely. It's sad. It's empty. There is nothing to me it seems.
But this self destructive thinking will only get me back to wanting attention anywhere I can get it. And so I have been working on my values.
And I have gotten them from the EDM community.
Peace
Love
Unity
Respect
And I define them slightly differently for myself depending on what I'm working on that day. I've been writing them in a journal in the morning, writing out goals and checking in with them at night.
Peace in my mind and with others. I am not a bad person for what happened or mistakes I made. And I repeat that over and over again. And not all people are out to get me or will judge me for what I have done.
Love stands for acts and feelings of goodwill towards myself and others. Love for and from my friends right now especially during this time.
Unity with food and my body.
Respect means focusing on showing regard for the feelings of others through their actions and inaction. While also of course having respect for myself and my environment. Also in his wishes to leave him alone.
And it's scary to look at myself and I really just do not want to. I have not yet had the guts to say what I do like about myself because I feel after what happened that I am not deserving of praise or anything good. But my friends have been here every hour of every day bringing me up, and that must mean I'm worth something. I'm just not sure what that is yet.
Friday, June 13, 2014
My demon is me.
It is mine.
It was not yours.
And you took it.
It was sacred.
And beautiful.
I worked so hard.
I built it up.
I nurtured it.
I believed in it.
I learned to love it.
And with a touch.
You tore it down.
It it ruined.
It is afraid of light.
It is afraid of love.
It is afraid of life.
She shies at glances.
At the light.
At a simple gesture.
Hardens in the night.
Crushed inside.
Unable to breathe
Each breath is a silent scream.
Arms clutch her figure.
Trying to hide. To hold.
Protect.
It's too late.
She's been seen.
He's here.
He never left.
She's bare.
Unable to hide her rage.
No where is safe.
My demon has taken away my innocence.
My love.
My home.
My family.
And what I'm left with is just me.
And who I have to face in the mirror is my demon.
And that demon is me.
It was not yours.
And you took it.
It was sacred.
And beautiful.
I worked so hard.
I built it up.
I nurtured it.
I believed in it.
I learned to love it.
And with a touch.
You tore it down.
It it ruined.
It is afraid of light.
It is afraid of love.
It is afraid of life.
She shies at glances.
At the light.
At a simple gesture.
Hardens in the night.
Crushed inside.
Unable to breathe
Each breath is a silent scream.
Arms clutch her figure.
Trying to hide. To hold.
Protect.
It's too late.
She's been seen.
He's here.
He never left.
She's bare.
Unable to hide her rage.
No where is safe.
My demon has taken away my innocence.
My love.
My home.
My family.
And what I'm left with is just me.
And who I have to face in the mirror is my demon.
And that demon is me.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
shame
Calm surface
Passive face
Head down
She moves
Her figure radiates energy
Teeth clenched
Sick stomach
It churns
Her hands shake ever so slightly
She's broken inside
But this pain isn't enough
She feels nothing
What did I do
Self hate destruction
No one to blame but her
If only she had a knife
If only she had the courage
There's nothing left to kill
What did I do
Passive face
Head down
She moves
Her figure radiates energy
Teeth clenched
Sick stomach
It churns
Her hands shake ever so slightly
She's broken inside
But this pain isn't enough
She feels nothing
What did I do
Self hate destruction
No one to blame but her
If only she had a knife
If only she had the courage
There's nothing left to kill
What did I do
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Some Stuff That I Wrote In My Blog
I met with my therapist this morning at 10 AM well it was like 10:07 AM because for those of you who know me, you know you can count on me to be late.
And I babbled and blubbered--ok that's not giving me the credit or the seriousness that I want this to go--I cried like no one was watching.
I tried explaining what it's like to be me. And how confused I am as to how I am so confused about life.
How is it that everything seems to be a fight for me?
My alarm goes off and for 10 dreamy seconds I'm ok then my heart drops. I remember who I am and what I have to do that day and what I didn't do yesterday. Anxiety controls my life now. ED too but now that that's subsiding more it's anxiety.
Now that I don't as much obsess over appearance and what did I eat what will I eat, and how much I hate my job, I'm now left with tasks. What to do, what didn't I do and I'm not present in my life. I am not happy.
I struggle to face the day. I have to force myself out of bed. I have to force myself to eat and then to not over eat. Then to go on my reflection walks then to stop going on my reflection walk. To start my task list for the day and to go on to the next task for the day.
It's just a fight. And I am just constantly, sad. It's like sad, negative is my stable place. My home.
I do not want it to be. I reach out. I reframe. I read positive quotes. I listen to positive music. I talk to my cat. I stop to smell the roses. But I feel like I keep pushing and willing myself to go on, to find a neutral ground that isn't depression.
I explained this in gross sobs to my therapist (like the ones where your mouth gets all sticky and you really need Chapstick and a tissue and water all at once). And she said it sounds like you feel "LIFE IS HAPPENING TO YOU."
Yes. Yes ma'am that's it.
NOW HOW DO I FUCKING STOP?!
So I'm practicing saying things like I get to do this, rather than I have to do this.
Trying to do less.
Be present and appreciate the things I do.
Then I talked to the man about all this. He doesn't ever have feelings--well that he tells me about. So it makes me feel more crazy since I'm a roller coaster of crazy. And the main thing he said that stuck out to me was that when he was depressed he hated being in that space so much that he did everything in his power to get out of there.
And well I hate being here and I guess I just have to keep working and moving and doing to get out of here. Like I actually CAN get out of this space. I just don't know HOW.
While also having room for being sad. I mean I'm in recovery, I lost my job, I don't know how I'm going to pay rent next month...that's kind of a fuck ton. So it's all legit. But ya. I am sick of being a victim of my life. I want to feel like I'm doing something, like I have a say, like I'm moving in the right direction.
I just don't know WHAT that is. That's probably the other huge reason for my depression. I am applying to anything and everything and nothing seems to be working. I have no direction. I like goals and I like answers and right now I don't have concrete ones.
Oh and the last thing that helped today was me meeting with a friend that just justified everything I was feeling. I generally feel very alone in my misery, confusion, depression and it just helps to know I'm not. Not that I want you people to be sad but I just for whatever reason feel less alone then.
I feel like I'm just blabbing now. Ok I'm done. Bye.
Oh wait and I haven't binged or purged in five days and that's great. And I have been cooking more which is amazing. Cooking to me is like people starting a new workout or getting the guts to talk to that cute girl -- I just make up as many excuses as possible and eat my same disordered dinner / lunch / whatever. So go me. Look at that progress!
And I babbled and blubbered--ok that's not giving me the credit or the seriousness that I want this to go--I cried like no one was watching.
I tried explaining what it's like to be me. And how confused I am as to how I am so confused about life.
How is it that everything seems to be a fight for me?
My alarm goes off and for 10 dreamy seconds I'm ok then my heart drops. I remember who I am and what I have to do that day and what I didn't do yesterday. Anxiety controls my life now. ED too but now that that's subsiding more it's anxiety.
Now that I don't as much obsess over appearance and what did I eat what will I eat, and how much I hate my job, I'm now left with tasks. What to do, what didn't I do and I'm not present in my life. I am not happy.
I struggle to face the day. I have to force myself out of bed. I have to force myself to eat and then to not over eat. Then to go on my reflection walks then to stop going on my reflection walk. To start my task list for the day and to go on to the next task for the day.
It's just a fight. And I am just constantly, sad. It's like sad, negative is my stable place. My home.
I do not want it to be. I reach out. I reframe. I read positive quotes. I listen to positive music. I talk to my cat. I stop to smell the roses. But I feel like I keep pushing and willing myself to go on, to find a neutral ground that isn't depression.
I explained this in gross sobs to my therapist (like the ones where your mouth gets all sticky and you really need Chapstick and a tissue and water all at once). And she said it sounds like you feel "LIFE IS HAPPENING TO YOU."
Yes. Yes ma'am that's it.
NOW HOW DO I FUCKING STOP?!
So I'm practicing saying things like I get to do this, rather than I have to do this.
Trying to do less.
Be present and appreciate the things I do.
Then I talked to the man about all this. He doesn't ever have feelings--well that he tells me about. So it makes me feel more crazy since I'm a roller coaster of crazy. And the main thing he said that stuck out to me was that when he was depressed he hated being in that space so much that he did everything in his power to get out of there.
And well I hate being here and I guess I just have to keep working and moving and doing to get out of here. Like I actually CAN get out of this space. I just don't know HOW.
While also having room for being sad. I mean I'm in recovery, I lost my job, I don't know how I'm going to pay rent next month...that's kind of a fuck ton. So it's all legit. But ya. I am sick of being a victim of my life. I want to feel like I'm doing something, like I have a say, like I'm moving in the right direction.
I just don't know WHAT that is. That's probably the other huge reason for my depression. I am applying to anything and everything and nothing seems to be working. I have no direction. I like goals and I like answers and right now I don't have concrete ones.
Oh and the last thing that helped today was me meeting with a friend that just justified everything I was feeling. I generally feel very alone in my misery, confusion, depression and it just helps to know I'm not. Not that I want you people to be sad but I just for whatever reason feel less alone then.
I feel like I'm just blabbing now. Ok I'm done. Bye.
Oh wait and I haven't binged or purged in five days and that's great. And I have been cooking more which is amazing. Cooking to me is like people starting a new workout or getting the guts to talk to that cute girl -- I just make up as many excuses as possible and eat my same disordered dinner / lunch / whatever. So go me. Look at that progress!
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