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.

Fucking Hamster.

I feel like life is getting away from me and no matter how busy I am and how hard I seem to work nothing ever gets done. And I'm never getting anywhere while people get promotions, have kids, buy houses, travel.
 I feel like I'm working my ass off in treatment but there's nothing to show for it. I'm back on the same fucking page as the rest of you humans. The ones who don't have this issue, the ones who weren't slowly killing themselves. Ok now I can function in society. It took so much fucking work to get here and NOW NOW I have to work even more?
There's this huge looming reality of work and I will have to be back there in 16 fucking days. I hate my work environment. I hate the pay well lack thereof especially with my medical bills that are never ending. I hate how they treat me. It's a depressing. Anxiety provoking. Miserable fucking place and I don't want to go back. It's a big part of the reason why I'm back in treatment in the first place.
And where do I find the fucking time to try and find work when I'm in treatment full time now then I go back to work full time and on top of that do treatment after work?
And people say-I am one of those people-that it will all work out. But no, I am an exception to that rule. It works out for other people. I have been stuck in that place for 2.5 years almost. Not one promotion, no pay change, no position change, NOTHING. Everyone else has gone upgraded something. I have had boyfriends and friends who luck out with a friend who knows someone, a dad who is high up, craigslist miracle. No not me not ever. I have tried I always try I try so fucking hard and I never get a damn thing.
And no i don't want to count my blessings. I have an eating disorder. I have been suffering from anxiety, depression and a mix of bulimia anorexia for over 12 years. I have never had enough money. School never came easy to me. I have had issues with alcohol dependency. I have been abused. I have had other shit I don't want to tell you guys happen. I had a issues at home. I have had a hard fucking life and I want a fucking break because I feel I have never fucking gotten one. So there.
And yes I know it could be worse but it could be a lot of fucks better.
I've updated my stupid linked in so many times. I've talked to countless recruiters who i've had to follow up with. I've gotten opinions on my resume. I've craigslisted. I've networked. I've failed.
I've done nothing but fail. I feel so much anxiety and anger and I don't know what to do with it. I feel like i'm a hamster in that wheel thing or a cartoon character running in the air -- working hard getting nowhere. Helpless. Hopeless. I feel so trapped.

Pain binds us together in healing

I try to watch her without getting emotionally involved.

The teal armchair cannot contain her emotion. Her over sized, stuffed animal twists in her fists. She has no idea that she's even in this room.

She's with her mom. She's 10 again. She's hurt.

It goes something like, "Look at what I did in school."

No response.

Just dark.

Emptiness.

She may as well have been talking to the flowers in the wallpaper. It has more life.

She tries again, "I made up this new dance--want to see?"

Nothing.

Something in me stirs. 

No. I don't want to. Please. Not today. It has been a good day.

We're back in the present. 

Words smack against the walls. Words that haven't dare been spoken in 26 years.

"Just acknowledge me. Just tell me you love me. Mom just let me know you see me."

I crack.

This isn't fair.

My eyes tear from the girl in the teal chair to my left. I see my rock, my role model with tears streaming down her face.

Neither of these girls ever had a mother. No one there to love them. To tell them their art projects were good. To make them a lunch. To tell them they were ok.

I see myself in them.

I'm taken back.

I hear her words.

And I hear his silence.

I'm in the office, I'm 14, 12, 18, pick an age, I'm overcome with anger. I'm overcome with depression. With anxiety. With hate. 

I'm trying to put the words together. To tell the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally that I need help. That I don't know what's going on. That I'm not ok.

"You're so selfish."
"Stop talking about yourself."

"You're so self-centered."

"I have been dealing with you all your life, I can't do it anymore."

Next thing I know I'm next to the teal chair.
My hand is on the girl's, her's on mine. Another palm on my back. 

I'm heaving.
Each breath leaves me lighter.

I understand.

I have had the hardest time with knowing what it is I'm feeling.

I have had the hardest time with figuring out why it is I am so damn angry.

I have had the hardest time figuring out why I have always felt alone.

Until now.

Until this moment where these girls who are as 'broken' as me hold each other.

Pain binds us together in healing.

I have had this hole that was never filled, rather dug deeper-suppressed.
I was told I was wrong for having such emotions.

I was told I was a burden for feeling such ways.

I was told to get over it.

To go elsewhere.

To deal with it.

And since I did not know how, I turned to my eating disorder.

I ate my feelings.

I starved my feelings.
I numbed.
I suppressed.
I denied.

For so fucking long that it made me into what I'm unraveling today.

But in that moment huddled on the floor I understand. I get it. 

I have a bit of peace knowing why I am so angry, why that hole is still there, why I do not know how to deal with the day-to-day, because I was never taught how.

I look into the girl's eyes. There's an understanding there. A peace.

I feel a wholeness that I have never experienced.

I will be ok.

Not Normal

This is incredibly hard to write about as it feels that is should be shameful.

People don't really share when they do 'not normal' things and I'm constantly doing that here but this 'not normal' thing is not normal even for me.

I had a panicish attack this past Monday slash freak out.

My deep frustration and anger came out during my therapy session with only the slightest push from my therapist.

"What if you try and feel your anger."

Heart pounds
Jaw clenches
Chest heaves
Not here-not now
Leave me be

Emotion strobe lighting
Fast, violent, unrelenting
It claws from within me
My Resistance is caving

Involuntary shaking
I need something to calm me
There's nothing to tame me

Don't let it go
I can't do this
Mustn't lose control
There it goes
Here I go

Fingers find flesh
Grasping, sinking, scraping
Release with every tear
Pain calms me

I see me
I'm not me
Who is that shaking there?

Suddenly my breath finds me
Shuddering in and out
My heart slows
I catch up with myself

What was that?
It mustn't
It can't be
Was that me?

I was told by my therapist about two baby monkeys. One was put in a cage with a loving mother, the other given nothing. The one with the loving mother acted normally. The other slowly became frustrated. It did not know how to show its frustration so it began to pull out its hair, hit itself and act irrationally.

In this case, I am the one without the loving mother, without an outlet.

I'm slowly learning to love myself the way I needed so long ago.
I'm slowly learning how to show my anger the way I needed to so long ago.

Fuck You Itty Bitty Bikini

I'm so sick of fighting with myself.

I'm sick of the up and down and the "you're ok" "no you're not" "you're fat" "you do need to eat" "no you don't"...

My legs are sore from working out.

My feet hurt from standing and walking and running so much—but I can't bare to sit down because it makes me feel fat. I've convinced myself that I must stand to burn more calories.

I've been doing 45 minutes or more of cardio everyday for two weeks almost, but yesterday I took the entire day off because I was weak. I lost sight of my goal, which is to lose 5 pounds immediately.

I've given into my urges to eat bites of a cookie. To have an extra protein bar to try to not be so hungry later, but that never works, I'm always hungry.

As I sat on the bus today I felt my fat stick over the side of my shorts. I felt the elastic squeeze me tighter—that sensation wasn't there before. I am reminded of my failure.

My bra doesn’t fit right because I have boobs again—I missed them.

I run up the stairs to my studio and feel my ass jiggle. Another cue. I clench my teeth and begin to condemn myself for not trying hard enough for not being better at losing weight.

I am weak for giving up. I am weak for not being able to go meals without eating. For not wanting to throw up after one. For not saying no to cookies at work.

I hate others that are thin that eat whatever they want with no abandon. Skinny girls that walk around in their cute outfits drinking, not caring about the calories.

I try on countless outfits only to end up in my underwear with clothes littered around me. I am faced with just my reflection. I'm in my Victoria's Secret matching set. I look nothing like those models.

I look away to avoid crying.

After dinner and giving into eating more than I should I have to pack for a river floating trip.

I get everything done except my bikini. I put my game face on and grab the one I'm always comfortable in. The one with the bottoms that sometimes sag and make me feel ok. I pull them on, there is no sag, they are tight and I'm ballooning out of every inch of it. And no I'm not being sarcastic. They don't fit anymore and it looks like I'm trying to wear a fucking thong rather than bottoms.

I try on another pair, my cellulite is there for all to see. My imperfections standing loud and proud. Mocking me.

I try on one more and they are a little better. But as my eyes trace my thighs that touch and my dimpled skin and my curves I feel them coming, the tears, the hot white anger and the shame.
There's nowhere for me to go, to hide, to make things better, this here and now is who I am and I can't fucking stand it.

I'm torn between breaking down and ripping my body to shreds. Screaming, throwing, fighting, destroying whatever I can. Then I cry. I pull the bottoms off and hide in a blanket. Me and my pathetic self.

Did you know that I haven't worn a bathing suit all summer? Well now you do. Not once. You know what's sad to me is that I work out all the fucking time and I'm still not in good enough shape to be seen almost naked. And I'll go through this entire summer hiding. When will I be good enough?

And it upsets me that I feel this way. I really wish I didn't. I envy guys that can just pull on baggy board shorts and go. For girls it's not easy.  I wish I could remember what I just realized recently. I truly understand what they say about media's influence on us.

The only life I really know outside my own is what's on tv or what people chose to tell me. So all I've seen about norms with sex, relationships, success, body image has been learned through television. But when I go to the beach and see girls that are heavier than me pulling off bathing suits with more confidence than me, it puts me at ease. I see the truth I guess. But I don't ever remember this. Plus if the movie stars can look perfect then why not me?

Fuckers.

Sassy Pants

It's your attitude Kristin. I heard that so many times from my mom. My nickname was 'Tude or bitch (behind my back thank ya) during a season of club volleyball. I've heard once or twice "Oh she got SASS!" from a gentleman or two at the bar. So that word, attitude, has surrounded my life and I'm full of it. And it has inspired this INSPIRING blog post. It's all about attitude ladies and gentlemen. Every morning when I wake up I'm a crabby ass bitch. I glare, frown and give mean looks to everyone from old ladies in my way on the street to stupid stop lights that won't change for me. UNTIL someone who doesn't have an attitude problem wakes me up out of it. Lately, especially today, I was feeling sorry for myself. Everyone at work seems to be taking on bigger roles, training for things, and surpassing me while I'm over in my corner with my Most Improved Award. And actually I didn't get an AWARD, my lead just said that to me once. Fail. Now we all know what that means, you sucked and now you don't suck as much. So while moping to my sad little self I decided to drag my fat ass on a walk. I stomped my stress out. I came back rejuvenated and ready to take on my next event. Then I hear someone else is training for a new role, who started months after me. FUCKINGSHIT. I swear a little raincloud grew over my head when God said. HOLD UP. He reminded me to focus on me ONLY ME and what was happening right now. I had a 75 item event to write up. So I could either pout and be a brat or I can do my damn best. I owned that damn thing. I did a 75 item event in about an hour and 20. I remember back when that'd make me CRY (remember attitude problem). God has His plan for me. I'm not sure what it is, we can safely say it's not to be a really killer copywriter, but there are so many other options for me. I need to trust in Him that He knows best and if I keep striving to follow and do His word I'll be ok. Plus, I am improving (there's that damn word again) and well, I'm not fired. Someone please knock on wood. Another word I want to put into your head is perspective. This came into play was when I decided todance around in my room instead of going to the gym. I was dog tired but there's nothing like Hot n Fun by Boys Noize to get me going. As I was shaking it like Beyonce (remember it's all about your perception) I noticed that it didn't take much to get my thighs to jiggle. Not the good kind. WHOOSH CRASH BANG ANOREXIA!!! My head swirled with not nice words, plans of dieting, cursing the Reeses I had earlier and believing the world was out to get me. And this kids is my disgusting flabby white thigh, unedited I'm sorry to say, to prove my point.

So I went harder, did more lunges to the back of my room away from that damn mirror that spoke nothing but the truth. I turn around and WHOOSH CRASH BANG BOMB. "OH SHIT. I look good." Literally came out of my mouth. WTF MATE? I flexed my leg some more, bent one way, twisted another and got my sausage legs to turn sultry. TA DA!

Oh ok. I get it. It's all in how you look at it. Hating your situation, pouting, whining, all that annoying crap doesn't fix a damn thing. So focus on the positive, speak kindly to yourself and focus on what you have—because no one likes a grumpy pants. <3