(after the heaviness of yesterday's blog, I needed something fun)
Merriam Webster defines Monogamy as : the state or custom of being married to one person at a time. This blog has nothing to do about sexual relationships or open marriages. I have three husbands and I wouldn't have it any other way. Delusional? Possibly but important none the less. There are three men in my life, one way or another, and they all serve a different purpose. They are not all of equal importance but they all do something important for me. The best way is to start off talking about them in order of importance.
1. Legal Husband This is the man I am legit married to.... wore the white dress exchanged vows, twice and have a child with. He is um, AMAZING. I could go on about all the wonderful things he does for me but if you follow the blog consistently, you know how great he is. Do we have a perfect marriage? No, but it's pretty fucking close. He loves me unconditionally. I'm going through a rough patch in my life and he still comes home to me everyday. In his own words he's said, "It's my job to take care of you." That's exactly what he does. I complain more than I should about the hours he works but really, it's because I miss him. I want him home with my daughter and I. Sunday is my favorite day of the week because we are together as a family. It reminds me of MY childhood. And now that football is coming to an end (as Melissa Gorga says, "Thank you Jesus.") there will be more fun times. He started out as a boyfriend, became a husband and now is a best friend. I can't imagine my life without him. Not many people would put up with my shit and he does--- more than anyone. Not only that, but he does it with a smile on his face. His positive attitude and love of life motivates me to be a better person-- even though he doesn't know it. I still get excited when I heard the garage door open every night. And nothing melts my heart more than when I see my daughter run into his arms saying "Daddy!!!!!" It's moments like those that I'll treasure for the rest of my life. Aside from the Anorexia there is just so much shit he deals with.... My constant anxiety. My obsession with Donnie Wahlberg. My need to own fucking fantastic shoes (FYI, in case anyone is interested, he created that obsession although it takes much goading to get him to admit it). I tease him a lot--- he's not a very emotional person. Didn't cry when he proposed, when we got married, when I told him I was pregnant, when his mother died or when our child was born. He does cry at Rudy but apparently I'm told that's normal. ....this crying thing is going somewhere, I promise. It illustrates again what an amazing man I married. It's no secret that I have had the shittiest fucking year of my life. I never really look forward to Christmas and the holidays but I try hard (despite what he says). Yet, he made this the best Christmas ever. Christmas morning he handed me a small tie box saying, "here's a gag gift." I open it only to find a picture of me and Will. In the picture, there is a cartoon balloon next to Will's face saying, "Merry Christmas." Underneath the photo was an itinerary..... He flew my gay husband out for a week as my Christmas present. Not many men fly another man to spend the week with their wives.... I of course began sobbing-- tears of joy for a change only to notice, he was crying too. I think at that moment I fell madly in love with him all over again.....
2.Will: Perfect segue into husband number 2. We were Will and Grace before there ever was a Will and Grace. Call me a hag, call me a beard, call me whatever you want but in the end I am Grace. I am the Grace and he is the only Will. Will and I go back.... um..... fuck! 18 years. Holy shit. That's a long ass time. Will has been there for me through the death of my father, my graduation from college, law school, my first real breakup, my marriage and the birth of my child. Through it all he's been honest and supportive. Given the fact that he is gay, there are certain voids he fills that my husband doesn't fill. Sounds silly, but being able to quote movie lines from "Mommie Dearest," as cliche as it may sound, is part of our bond. Will and I lived together for nearly three years. I remember a lot of laughs. He ironed my clothes and kept the bathroom bleached -- which was the extent of any stereotypical gay tendencies he may have. He's not an interior designer and although he has great style, he still looks to me for my opinion. Will is funny. Plain and simple, he's hilarious but other than me, not to many people find his jokes amusing. I still laugh at the same stories, the same jokes, the same pitfalls he's been into for years. He's the only person I know that can sit and watch as much mindless reality TV as I can. I don't mean, good reality shows like Intervention or RHOBH but trash like, Strange Sex or I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. Good shit like that. We are mesmerized by them.... shocked and ultimately hysterical at the nonsense. Um, hello? My Strange Addiction. There's more to Will's contribution to me than reality TV. Even though we have up and downs like most married couples, I can't imagine life without him. He serves a purpose in my life, as I do him. We may not have a piece of paper saying we're married but we have definitely made a verbal declaration of our love and have promised to spend our remaining years at PRC. Most importantly, Will has the daunting and important task to spread my ashes at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I trust him whole heartedly-- even though I can foresee SOMETHING going wrong since everything always does.... Dances with Dark Clouds. He is proof that you can have love and marriage to someone without a sexual relationship. He's not just a best friend and brother never seemed to fit to describe him. He's my gay husband. It's the only the only way I can see him. He's just as irreplaceable as my legal husband.
3.Donnie Wahlberg : Ok. I know what you're thinking. He's NOT my husband. Not even close. I may even sound delusional. Although, let's not forget we've kissed, somewhat passionately, and snuggled on the couch while watching Blue Bloods together so in my mind, that accounts for something. I like to think of him as my imaginary husband, you know, like we're friends in my head. He recognizes me and no, it's not in the "I'm scared. Security!" way but more of the "Now, we've met before haven't we?" Let's face it, the man told me he is in awe of me. It's a line but I'll fucking take what I can get. No doubt. So I'm sure the question is, since he really ISN'T part of my life, what does he do for me that a husband would do? Ok, not much on a personal basis but his D-Dub persona is filled with nothing but unconditional love for all of his fans no matter color, size, ethnic background.... People can say he gets paid to do it but once you're in his company, you feel the energy and the love. It's not something you can believe unless you feel it. He allows me to retreat to a time when I was 14 and I wasn't anyone's mom or wife or employee and life was about having fun. Dancing with your girlfriends. Screaming at concerts. Pure bliss. It's not even his D-Dub persona--- it's Donnie himself. Watching Blue Bloods or his occasional appearance on a talk show makes me giddy. He's hot too (notice how long it's taken me to add that). He's a crush and has been for nearly 23 years--- which honestly, is longer than I've loved my husband. I enjoy him-- whether he's acting, singing, dancing or just present. He's my fantasy football. Both Will and my husband bring me joy but there are times when even they can't but hearing "Single" puts a smile on my face and my mind clears-- even for just three minutes. Oh, and he loves me. I know because he's told me so.....
There they are. The men in my life. I cherish them all. They are all there to celebrate the good times (whether physically or just at arms reach) and they all cheer me up in my own way when I'm sad. Every girl needs each of these. It will complete her.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Anorexic Voice
Most likely I have admitted this before, but I'm stuck in a hole and can't get out. ....don't want to get out really. The past six weeks I've been trying to battle this anorexia on my own, but it has been wildly unsuccessful. I knew the next option they (husband, therapists, doctors) were going to put in front of me. In patient residential treatment. For lack of a better term, rehab. The topic of rehab has monopolized just about every therapy session, conversation and thought in my mind for weeks. Sadly for me, it only increases my anxiety which leads me to restrict food even more. I'm having a difficult time separating out whether or not I'm afraid to go or if it's just I don't want to go. There is still time to decide but from what I'm told, not much time.
There are now two parts of me. There's the general internal monologue that everyone has and now there is the anorexic voice. The anorexic voice is beginning to scream louder than my internal monologue. It's hard not to obsess about food when it's the only voice I hear. I look forward to the nights I know I'm alone and don't have to eat dinner in order to placate those around me. The work week is my best friend right now--- no one is here to watch me (aside from those who silently watch and gossip) to make sure I eat. It's become my freedom. My safe place.
By going to rehab, I'll lose this anorexic voice which is has become my crutch, my safety blanket, my friend. It's scary to think about giving it up. I've lost all sense of who I am because I've learned to live my life in secret and rely on this voice. There are very few who are near and dear to me that know of this addiction. I live in secret. There is speculation, whispering, and gossip all around me. The only positive I can draw on is, I've learned who my REAL friends are. The disappointment of some of the rest of these friends isn't really shocking but mostly sad. We're not kids and hearing "some people don't know how to deal with this" is a fucking cop out. They just don't give a shit. To think anorexia is attention seeking behavior is weak. It's ignorant and it makes me angry. I'm very approachable and if someone, anyone were to come to me and ask a question or even to talk to me about being anorexic I will. I would. At times, I wish I was more private. Then maybe I'd feel safer from my own secrets.
The pressure of being the best is getting to me. I've always struggled with having to be number one. I'm OCD-- I admit it. The anorexia has lost the mystique of being a badge of honor and turned more into a badge of shame. I spend hours trying to hide it with perfect hair, perfect make up, expensive clothes or expensive shoes. Shopping is a tool I use to fill a void in my life. The void being food. No matter how I try to mask it, I still look sick. I still look skinny. I'm still anorexic.
I know where the triggers come from.... I haven't been the same since my mom got sick. I've never accepted my father's death. I don't like the long hours my husband works. I was raped and pretended it never happened and at times I just blame myself for it. And of course, we can't forget the grand finale of triggers: my grandmother. I thank her for instilling in me at the age of 5 that in order to be beautiful you had to be thin. I have a terrible body image and don't think I'll ever be comfortable in my own skin. I'll never see how pretty people tell me I am. I never met her standards with my appearance. She always made it clear to me that it was a shame I was overweight because I had such a pretty face. Who recovers from that? Can you recover from it?
The new plan has been my husband brings me breakfast and dinner and hopes I am "a big girl" by choosing to eat lunch. I don't fault him and I appreciate his efforts but now, I don't feel like he's my husband but more my father. He's done anything and everything he possibly can. We've spent hours discussing this eating disorder. I'm tired. He's tired. I'm not the wife I once was--- he's told me this and it breaks my heart. I want to be her. I really do but I truly have no control anymore. The contempt I feel for my body has affected our sex life. I can't possibly feel comfortable having sex when I hate my body so much. At times, I hate the fact that I can see bones protruding and other times I feel bigger than big. There is no middle ground and it's extremely unfair to him. What is even more sad is aside from my mom, he is the first one to finally love me for who or what I am. He shouldn't have to take this problem on and honestly, I feel like a bitch for putting him through this.
Secrets such as this can only make your general mood worse. There are days I just want to announce to the world that I'm anorexic. I need to admit I have a problem because I am so tired of living a lie. Every day is a challenge to get dressed. If something doesn't fit, whether its too small or too big, it dictates the mood of my whole day. I'm a walking contradiction. I hate that I'm so thin but I don't want to gain weight. I'm sure it's the addiction or disease-- however you define it. In the end, I'm so tired of all the noise in my head. I want to get better, I truly do but I don't want to have to go away to do it. The two voices in my head fight all day long--- the anorexic voice says don't go, stay thin and the realistic voice tells me to try harder to beat this, eat because that doesn't mean I'll get fat, it just means I'll be healthy.
What I find the most interesting is the lack of tears. I don't cry about it. It's almost as if I can't cry. The best way to describe how I feel right now is like I'm isolated on an island all by myself. I know my husband is tired of talking about it. I can only imagine my friends are tired of hearing about it. My therapist is probably tired of hearing about it too. They know I need to get better and it must be frustrating to watch this.... I've begun to feel as though I have no one to talk to about it anymore. My friends/family have reached the point of exhaustion with this. They try to hide it but I can tell. ....and I don't blame them. Who wants to hear about it? Everyone has their own shit to deal with and no one wants to hear about how I can't eat. Even I think it sounds ridiculous.
What I'm doing to myself doesn't make me feel good. Not at all. The power only lies with me though. I have the tools, the support, the knowledge. I should just be able to do it. I really don't know what's stopping me. There are times I am hungry but I truly don't know why I won't eat. The anorexic voice convinces me I don't have to eat. This voice gives you a false sense of control and power. The reality is, the anorexia has all the control. The voice has all the power.
There are now two parts of me. There's the general internal monologue that everyone has and now there is the anorexic voice. The anorexic voice is beginning to scream louder than my internal monologue. It's hard not to obsess about food when it's the only voice I hear. I look forward to the nights I know I'm alone and don't have to eat dinner in order to placate those around me. The work week is my best friend right now--- no one is here to watch me (aside from those who silently watch and gossip) to make sure I eat. It's become my freedom. My safe place.
By going to rehab, I'll lose this anorexic voice which is has become my crutch, my safety blanket, my friend. It's scary to think about giving it up. I've lost all sense of who I am because I've learned to live my life in secret and rely on this voice. There are very few who are near and dear to me that know of this addiction. I live in secret. There is speculation, whispering, and gossip all around me. The only positive I can draw on is, I've learned who my REAL friends are. The disappointment of some of the rest of these friends isn't really shocking but mostly sad. We're not kids and hearing "some people don't know how to deal with this" is a fucking cop out. They just don't give a shit. To think anorexia is attention seeking behavior is weak. It's ignorant and it makes me angry. I'm very approachable and if someone, anyone were to come to me and ask a question or even to talk to me about being anorexic I will. I would. At times, I wish I was more private. Then maybe I'd feel safer from my own secrets.
The pressure of being the best is getting to me. I've always struggled with having to be number one. I'm OCD-- I admit it. The anorexia has lost the mystique of being a badge of honor and turned more into a badge of shame. I spend hours trying to hide it with perfect hair, perfect make up, expensive clothes or expensive shoes. Shopping is a tool I use to fill a void in my life. The void being food. No matter how I try to mask it, I still look sick. I still look skinny. I'm still anorexic.
I know where the triggers come from.... I haven't been the same since my mom got sick. I've never accepted my father's death. I don't like the long hours my husband works. I was raped and pretended it never happened and at times I just blame myself for it. And of course, we can't forget the grand finale of triggers: my grandmother. I thank her for instilling in me at the age of 5 that in order to be beautiful you had to be thin. I have a terrible body image and don't think I'll ever be comfortable in my own skin. I'll never see how pretty people tell me I am. I never met her standards with my appearance. She always made it clear to me that it was a shame I was overweight because I had such a pretty face. Who recovers from that? Can you recover from it?
The new plan has been my husband brings me breakfast and dinner and hopes I am "a big girl" by choosing to eat lunch. I don't fault him and I appreciate his efforts but now, I don't feel like he's my husband but more my father. He's done anything and everything he possibly can. We've spent hours discussing this eating disorder. I'm tired. He's tired. I'm not the wife I once was--- he's told me this and it breaks my heart. I want to be her. I really do but I truly have no control anymore. The contempt I feel for my body has affected our sex life. I can't possibly feel comfortable having sex when I hate my body so much. At times, I hate the fact that I can see bones protruding and other times I feel bigger than big. There is no middle ground and it's extremely unfair to him. What is even more sad is aside from my mom, he is the first one to finally love me for who or what I am. He shouldn't have to take this problem on and honestly, I feel like a bitch for putting him through this.
Secrets such as this can only make your general mood worse. There are days I just want to announce to the world that I'm anorexic. I need to admit I have a problem because I am so tired of living a lie. Every day is a challenge to get dressed. If something doesn't fit, whether its too small or too big, it dictates the mood of my whole day. I'm a walking contradiction. I hate that I'm so thin but I don't want to gain weight. I'm sure it's the addiction or disease-- however you define it. In the end, I'm so tired of all the noise in my head. I want to get better, I truly do but I don't want to have to go away to do it. The two voices in my head fight all day long--- the anorexic voice says don't go, stay thin and the realistic voice tells me to try harder to beat this, eat because that doesn't mean I'll get fat, it just means I'll be healthy.
What I find the most interesting is the lack of tears. I don't cry about it. It's almost as if I can't cry. The best way to describe how I feel right now is like I'm isolated on an island all by myself. I know my husband is tired of talking about it. I can only imagine my friends are tired of hearing about it. My therapist is probably tired of hearing about it too. They know I need to get better and it must be frustrating to watch this.... I've begun to feel as though I have no one to talk to about it anymore. My friends/family have reached the point of exhaustion with this. They try to hide it but I can tell. ....and I don't blame them. Who wants to hear about it? Everyone has their own shit to deal with and no one wants to hear about how I can't eat. Even I think it sounds ridiculous.
What I'm doing to myself doesn't make me feel good. Not at all. The power only lies with me though. I have the tools, the support, the knowledge. I should just be able to do it. I really don't know what's stopping me. There are times I am hungry but I truly don't know why I won't eat. The anorexic voice convinces me I don't have to eat. This voice gives you a false sense of control and power. The reality is, the anorexia has all the control. The voice has all the power.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
When We Last Left Our Princess.....
It's hard to believe that I haven't written anything in nearly two and a half months. I wish I could come up with a better excuse than I have been busy but thinking about it, honestly, I have gone through another stint of avoidance.
I wish I could report back and say things have been better but they haven't. Mom has been in and out of the hospital (still cancer free :)) but now experiencing unknown medical problems which may or may not be complications of her surgery. The positive is I have practiced some of the skills I learned in my first outpatient program and remained calm. It wasn't until they decided to do a catscan of her brain that I lost my mind. Thankfully, that came back clean. Where do we stand now? Well, I wish I had the answers. Her doctor's words were "I'm baffled." I guess you could say that it's time for a second opinion? I don't know. I have resigned myself to the fact that she is being taken care of and isn't alone. There is nothing I can do and this is completely out of my hands.
I guess the biggest struggle has been the EDNOS (I still prefer anorexic but who am I to fight with the DSM IV). I was ok for a bit. Maybe the first month out of treatment but things have taken a huge backslide. Alarms on my cell phone go off to remind me to eat and I don't... I skip meals intentionally and completely survive on coffee/lattes with an extra shot of espresso. I can only imagine that my stomach is screaming for help at this point but I don't hear the noise.
My husband and I made a deal when I started the EDP (eating disorders program). He would take BOTH of my scales and hide them. I promised not to look for them and when he and my therapist decided I could have them back, they would be returned to me. Fortunately (or unfortunately) depending on how you look at the situation, I found them. It was all very innocent. I was looking for slippers under the bed and there they were. He admits that he moves them from time to time but now I know where they are. For days it was all I could think about.... I shared it with my therapist-- which as much as I adore her, I regret since she threw me under the bus by telling my husband I found them.
.....it was almost like the gravitational pull the moon has on the ocean waves. Knowing they were there. Easily accessible..... I broke down. I haven't weighed myself since August 2, 2011 until one morning when I couldn't take it anymore..... I just had to do it. I always had strict rules-- I wouldn't weigh myself unless it was after the first pee in the morning, completely naked (including no jewelry), the scale needed to be placed on the same exact bathroom tile and I could not have my period. You would think having my period that day would have stopped me but it didn't.
I carefully removed the scale from under the bed, making sure I knew the exact position so when I placed it back, no one would be the wiser. I brought the scale to my trusty bathroom tile, disrobed and stood on it only to be scared, ashamed and guilty of what I had done. Prior to being admitted to the EDP I had a goal weight.... I never hit it. But now, here I was nearly 3 months out of the program, below my goal weight. I actually weighed less then I did before I sought help.
I just opened a Pandora's box of emotions. I felt guilty. Not only had I lied to myself, but I betrayed the trust of some of the most important supporters, especially my husband. In my EDA (eating disorders anonymous) group, i shared this but right now I am writing/saying it out loud for the first time. I'm sick to my stomach over it but it's done-- and I have to move on and I fear I will lose my scale as a result of this blog but I can't live with the guilt anymore.
In the fairy tales I read to my daughter, the princess always lives happily ever after.... but not this princess. A wise member of my EDA group told me to sit down, write about my daughter and all of the reasons I love her and then think about how I would feel if another woman raised her. It would kill me. Instead I am intentionally killing myself but I don't know how to stop.
My fairytale would end like this: ".....and one day the princess began eating again. She learned to love what she saw in her mirror. No magic, no tricks, just her own inner and outer beauty. The princess realized that the numbers meant nothing. She realized she had no control. Control is an excuse for out of control behavior. It's something she told herself to feel better. Yet, she finally realized how important it was to be happy, healthy and eating and being a size 0 is nothing to be proud of, but ashamed of and then, and only then did she live happily ever after."
I wish I could report back and say things have been better but they haven't. Mom has been in and out of the hospital (still cancer free :)) but now experiencing unknown medical problems which may or may not be complications of her surgery. The positive is I have practiced some of the skills I learned in my first outpatient program and remained calm. It wasn't until they decided to do a catscan of her brain that I lost my mind. Thankfully, that came back clean. Where do we stand now? Well, I wish I had the answers. Her doctor's words were "I'm baffled." I guess you could say that it's time for a second opinion? I don't know. I have resigned myself to the fact that she is being taken care of and isn't alone. There is nothing I can do and this is completely out of my hands.
I guess the biggest struggle has been the EDNOS (I still prefer anorexic but who am I to fight with the DSM IV). I was ok for a bit. Maybe the first month out of treatment but things have taken a huge backslide. Alarms on my cell phone go off to remind me to eat and I don't... I skip meals intentionally and completely survive on coffee/lattes with an extra shot of espresso. I can only imagine that my stomach is screaming for help at this point but I don't hear the noise.
My husband and I made a deal when I started the EDP (eating disorders program). He would take BOTH of my scales and hide them. I promised not to look for them and when he and my therapist decided I could have them back, they would be returned to me. Fortunately (or unfortunately) depending on how you look at the situation, I found them. It was all very innocent. I was looking for slippers under the bed and there they were. He admits that he moves them from time to time but now I know where they are. For days it was all I could think about.... I shared it with my therapist-- which as much as I adore her, I regret since she threw me under the bus by telling my husband I found them.
.....it was almost like the gravitational pull the moon has on the ocean waves. Knowing they were there. Easily accessible..... I broke down. I haven't weighed myself since August 2, 2011 until one morning when I couldn't take it anymore..... I just had to do it. I always had strict rules-- I wouldn't weigh myself unless it was after the first pee in the morning, completely naked (including no jewelry), the scale needed to be placed on the same exact bathroom tile and I could not have my period. You would think having my period that day would have stopped me but it didn't.
I carefully removed the scale from under the bed, making sure I knew the exact position so when I placed it back, no one would be the wiser. I brought the scale to my trusty bathroom tile, disrobed and stood on it only to be scared, ashamed and guilty of what I had done. Prior to being admitted to the EDP I had a goal weight.... I never hit it. But now, here I was nearly 3 months out of the program, below my goal weight. I actually weighed less then I did before I sought help.
I just opened a Pandora's box of emotions. I felt guilty. Not only had I lied to myself, but I betrayed the trust of some of the most important supporters, especially my husband. In my EDA (eating disorders anonymous) group, i shared this but right now I am writing/saying it out loud for the first time. I'm sick to my stomach over it but it's done-- and I have to move on and I fear I will lose my scale as a result of this blog but I can't live with the guilt anymore.
In the fairy tales I read to my daughter, the princess always lives happily ever after.... but not this princess. A wise member of my EDA group told me to sit down, write about my daughter and all of the reasons I love her and then think about how I would feel if another woman raised her. It would kill me. Instead I am intentionally killing myself but I don't know how to stop.
My fairytale would end like this: ".....and one day the princess began eating again. She learned to love what she saw in her mirror. No magic, no tricks, just her own inner and outer beauty. The princess realized that the numbers meant nothing. She realized she had no control. Control is an excuse for out of control behavior. It's something she told herself to feel better. Yet, she finally realized how important it was to be happy, healthy and eating and being a size 0 is nothing to be proud of, but ashamed of and then, and only then did she live happily ever after."
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Ocean Mist
For years I've been keeping a secret to myself that I finally needed to reveal. In order for me to write what I hope will be the next great American novel, there is something that needs to come out first. It's not only a secret but it also will come to a shock to many people who thought they knew everything about me. This is probably one of the hardest blogs that I've ever written but I need to get it out there.... and after several glasses of liquid courage, I'm ready. At least I think so. I know I have the support out there but again, even some of my closest friends have no idea about what they are going to ready---let alone the small amount of family-- who will read this. What scares me are the friends/family who are law enforcement who are going to see this for the first time. I know how it will turn their stomach. I spent a long time in therapy talking about this today and it has been overwhelmingly determined this one event in my life is directly related/connected/controlling my anorexia (to an extent).
In August 2001, I was raped.
It's a sentence that stands alone. It needs no further explanation in my mind but in order to be honest with myself and who I am, I need to finally open about it. I remember the night clearly. I was living in down by the beach after I took the Bar exam and was planning an average night out at the local popular bar. I didn't go alone. I went with someone who I thought was a good friend (clearly she and I no longer speak as I truly learned what a good friend is). We were going to meet a group of people from our Bar Review class. People we had spent hours with over the last two moths. People I trusted.
At the time I was in a self destructive phase. I was convinced I failed the bar (which I did), convinced I lost the man that I loved (which I did) and was out of control with partying. Alcohol has always been my drug of choice because at 5'1" it was an inexpensive way to numb myself from the reality. After a night of downing shots and mixed drinks, I had noticed that my girlfriend was into a guy who was a friend with one of our Bar review class "buddies" so I invited him and his friend back to where we were staying. Our friend, who I'll refer to as the rapist, was someone we had hung out with before. I knew him. I felt safe. I mean, honestly, I always thought whores got raped right? I saw the Accused-- this wasn't like that. How could this possibly happen to me?
Once we got back to the condo, all the drinking hit me hard and I was ready to pass out. I quietly snuck up to a bedroom only to be followed by the rapist moments later. There I was, practically passed out on the bed and he walks in-- asking to "snuggle." Yeah- whatever., Knock yourself out. I'd been alone with him before so what the fuck was the big deal. Clearly I was not prepared for what was about to happen.
There I was, lying on the bed with the Golden Girls playing on Lifetime in the background when he walked in..... Did I know he liked me? Yup. Did I think he'd act on it? No. I was "dating" one of our mutual friends at so the why would he ever put a move on me. Naive = Me. I was lying there next to him, moments from passing out when he rolled on top of me and started to kiss me. I kissed him back thinking, how far can this go? He's annihilated. A kiss may be enough and may just show him how uninterested I was in him. Besides he seemed sweet enough and wasn't very aggressive in pursuing this crush that he had. I was so fucking wrong,
Next thing I knew, he was holding back my arms with one hand and trying to unbutton my jeans with the other hand. It was surreal. An out of body experience. Almost as though I was floating in the air and looking down. I struggled and said no. His response? "It's ok because I really like you and I know you like me too." Yeah, I did like him.... as a friend. I really didn't want to have sex with him. It was not what I wanted and I keep saying no, please stop. The only response I remember from him was, "No, really, it's ok, I like you."
At this point my law school background came into play. After what seemed like an hour of struggling (which was probably more like 5 minutes), I asked him to at least wear a condom. At that point I knew I was fucked both literally and figuratively. Instantly a case popped into my head where I read a man was acquitted of rape charges because the victim asked him to wear a condom which meant she had enough time to try and stop him..... or fight harder. But I'm 5'1"...... and I was so drunk.... and he was so strong...... so, I just laid there. I decided that I no longer had a choice. I had no strength or energy to fight him off.
In the back of my head, I decided that I clearly deserved this considering I let him back to my house, drunk, knowing he liked me and then allowed him to kiss me. If I had time to ask him to where a condom, then obviously I had the ability to fight him off. But, I didn't. I remember lying there, his body on top of me, pumping away until he was satisfied. I put on what was left of my torn panties and went downstairs to get my girlfriend. I told her, "X just raped me. They need to go." Within second he and his friend had been kicked out --- not knowing why and acting confused like I had just lost MY mind. What the fuck? You just fucking forced me to have sex and you DON"T KNOW WHY I AM KICKING YOU GUYS OUT???????
There was no I'm sorry, From anyone. My girlfriend and I stayed up a few hours..... talking about what happened and decided we needed to call our friend who was a prosecutor before we made another move. Secretly, we both knew from a legal stand point I was screwed. I was drunk, allowed him back to the house and stopped him long enough to put on a condom. The jury was going to see I had an opportunity to protect myself.... but FUCK them because unless you've been in that situation you have no fucking idea. I'm all about equality between men and women but the reality is, men are stronger than women--- especially when the woman is only 5'1".
After talking to my friend, I knew I was fucked. I would be crucified. So, in what I consider to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life, I didn't press charges. There are times I wonder if he did it again-- to another girl. If so, I can't help but blame myself. I may have been able to prevent it. Instead, he is practicing law and is an unregistered sex offender and will never have to admit to the mistake he made. Sadly, he's still alive. Sadly, I'm still living it.
I've pushed this secret deep into the dark bowels of my soul so why write about it now? Well, I need to move past my past. I need to move past my anorexia. All of these moments are directly tied to my self worth, self esteem and ability to move forward. I need to purge these thoughts and stop hiding behind them. Set myself free from the incarceration of this secret. There are people who are so close to me and have been friends of mind for years and will be reading about this for the first time but it's a chapter in my life I need to close in order to bring me closer to regaining the self esteem and self worth I lost 10 years ago this month.
I don't know if this accomplished much but it's out there. I can't take it back--- but I don't want to because I want to get better, For years I blamed myself for what happened to me.... maybe I sent the wrong signals.... maybe I was a promiscuous whore.... maybe I should have been more alert and sober.... the maybes could go on forever. At the end of the day, I was raped. By someone I thought was a friend. Nothing will ever change and along with the anorexia, it will be something I need to work on because I refuse to stuff these feelings down for another 10 years. It's time. Time to deal with the trauma I ignored for so long.
It's the year of me..... and the biggest part of this year leaving my past where it belongs.
In August 2001, I was raped.
It's a sentence that stands alone. It needs no further explanation in my mind but in order to be honest with myself and who I am, I need to finally open about it. I remember the night clearly. I was living in down by the beach after I took the Bar exam and was planning an average night out at the local popular bar. I didn't go alone. I went with someone who I thought was a good friend (clearly she and I no longer speak as I truly learned what a good friend is). We were going to meet a group of people from our Bar Review class. People we had spent hours with over the last two moths. People I trusted.
At the time I was in a self destructive phase. I was convinced I failed the bar (which I did), convinced I lost the man that I loved (which I did) and was out of control with partying. Alcohol has always been my drug of choice because at 5'1" it was an inexpensive way to numb myself from the reality. After a night of downing shots and mixed drinks, I had noticed that my girlfriend was into a guy who was a friend with one of our Bar review class "buddies" so I invited him and his friend back to where we were staying. Our friend, who I'll refer to as the rapist, was someone we had hung out with before. I knew him. I felt safe. I mean, honestly, I always thought whores got raped right? I saw the Accused-- this wasn't like that. How could this possibly happen to me?
Once we got back to the condo, all the drinking hit me hard and I was ready to pass out. I quietly snuck up to a bedroom only to be followed by the rapist moments later. There I was, practically passed out on the bed and he walks in-- asking to "snuggle." Yeah- whatever., Knock yourself out. I'd been alone with him before so what the fuck was the big deal. Clearly I was not prepared for what was about to happen.
There I was, lying on the bed with the Golden Girls playing on Lifetime in the background when he walked in..... Did I know he liked me? Yup. Did I think he'd act on it? No. I was "dating" one of our mutual friends at so the why would he ever put a move on me. Naive = Me. I was lying there next to him, moments from passing out when he rolled on top of me and started to kiss me. I kissed him back thinking, how far can this go? He's annihilated. A kiss may be enough and may just show him how uninterested I was in him. Besides he seemed sweet enough and wasn't very aggressive in pursuing this crush that he had. I was so fucking wrong,
Next thing I knew, he was holding back my arms with one hand and trying to unbutton my jeans with the other hand. It was surreal. An out of body experience. Almost as though I was floating in the air and looking down. I struggled and said no. His response? "It's ok because I really like you and I know you like me too." Yeah, I did like him.... as a friend. I really didn't want to have sex with him. It was not what I wanted and I keep saying no, please stop. The only response I remember from him was, "No, really, it's ok, I like you."
At this point my law school background came into play. After what seemed like an hour of struggling (which was probably more like 5 minutes), I asked him to at least wear a condom. At that point I knew I was fucked both literally and figuratively. Instantly a case popped into my head where I read a man was acquitted of rape charges because the victim asked him to wear a condom which meant she had enough time to try and stop him..... or fight harder. But I'm 5'1"...... and I was so drunk.... and he was so strong...... so, I just laid there. I decided that I no longer had a choice. I had no strength or energy to fight him off.
In the back of my head, I decided that I clearly deserved this considering I let him back to my house, drunk, knowing he liked me and then allowed him to kiss me. If I had time to ask him to where a condom, then obviously I had the ability to fight him off. But, I didn't. I remember lying there, his body on top of me, pumping away until he was satisfied. I put on what was left of my torn panties and went downstairs to get my girlfriend. I told her, "X just raped me. They need to go." Within second he and his friend had been kicked out --- not knowing why and acting confused like I had just lost MY mind. What the fuck? You just fucking forced me to have sex and you DON"T KNOW WHY I AM KICKING YOU GUYS OUT???????
There was no I'm sorry, From anyone. My girlfriend and I stayed up a few hours..... talking about what happened and decided we needed to call our friend who was a prosecutor before we made another move. Secretly, we both knew from a legal stand point I was screwed. I was drunk, allowed him back to the house and stopped him long enough to put on a condom. The jury was going to see I had an opportunity to protect myself.... but FUCK them because unless you've been in that situation you have no fucking idea. I'm all about equality between men and women but the reality is, men are stronger than women--- especially when the woman is only 5'1".
After talking to my friend, I knew I was fucked. I would be crucified. So, in what I consider to be one of the biggest mistakes of my life, I didn't press charges. There are times I wonder if he did it again-- to another girl. If so, I can't help but blame myself. I may have been able to prevent it. Instead, he is practicing law and is an unregistered sex offender and will never have to admit to the mistake he made. Sadly, he's still alive. Sadly, I'm still living it.
I've pushed this secret deep into the dark bowels of my soul so why write about it now? Well, I need to move past my past. I need to move past my anorexia. All of these moments are directly tied to my self worth, self esteem and ability to move forward. I need to purge these thoughts and stop hiding behind them. Set myself free from the incarceration of this secret. There are people who are so close to me and have been friends of mind for years and will be reading about this for the first time but it's a chapter in my life I need to close in order to bring me closer to regaining the self esteem and self worth I lost 10 years ago this month.
I don't know if this accomplished much but it's out there. I can't take it back--- but I don't want to because I want to get better, For years I blamed myself for what happened to me.... maybe I sent the wrong signals.... maybe I was a promiscuous whore.... maybe I should have been more alert and sober.... the maybes could go on forever. At the end of the day, I was raped. By someone I thought was a friend. Nothing will ever change and along with the anorexia, it will be something I need to work on because I refuse to stuff these feelings down for another 10 years. It's time. Time to deal with the trauma I ignored for so long.
It's the year of me..... and the biggest part of this year leaving my past where it belongs.
Friday, August 19, 2011
One Bite At A Time
When we last saw the princess, it was a dark and stormy night..... She was seeking shelter in an old run down castle deep into the forest.... As she opened the creaky wooden doors, she saw a bright light. She hoped that bright light was the treasure she had been searching for this whole time. The princess lightly crept towards the glistening sparkle with trepidation but as she came closer, she realized it truly was what she had been seeking. ....and she lived happily ever after.
BULLSHIT. Life is not a fairy tale. Life sucks. I put on my big girl panties and went off to treatment for my "disease" only to learn..... NOTHING. I'm still being classified as EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified) because I'm not quite there yet to be considered anorexic. Okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I'll still with anorexic because it's easier to explain..... I didn't want to go and I cried in the car all the way there. This was now my second venture into a psychiatric outpatient treatment program in 3 months. How the fuck did I get here? How was it that I was truly an anorexic and getting treatment? Was I really going into fucking rehab? Yup.
I fully expected this trip to be as easy peasy as the first one but 15 minutes into the morning I knew I was settling in to Gitmo on Guantanamo Bay. I avoided writing anything about my time there because I wasn't ready. I didn't want to think about that place while I was away from it. I still don't like thinking about it. The women in the group were great-- supportive and understanding. The rest? Well, no. Most of them sucked. I essentially went someplace every day to have someone babysit me while I ate. I may have learned a little about nutrition but I learned nothing about the affects of this disease on my body, how to counteract a negative thought and/or body image, how get through each day trying to eat... The list could go on and on about what I didn't learn.
Everyone else seems happy because I continue to eat but I can see the relapse. It within my reach. Something that would have been helpful to learn? Not wanting to make that reach. I still have absolutely no desire to eat. Now that I'm on my own doing this, I have resorted to setting an alarm on my cell phone to remind me to eat (it's gone off 4 times since I've been writing and I keep pressing snooze-- clearly that's not helping either). I am eating 3 meals a day but my portions are getting smaller and smaller. It really is only a matter of time for me to get back to where I was.... but, my fear of residential treatment is keeping me from skipping meals. If I get back on the train, the next stop is Renfrew and I don't want to go there.
I'm trying to put on a brave face. There are people in my life who are bursting with love and support. They are beyond proud of me. It's great. I'm lucky to have support because I met so many women that didn't have any support at all. My biggest supporter is/was/will be my husband but LiLi is there for me emotionally in a way he can't be. I have the best of both worlds. I truly do. But..... I don't want to eat. I still really honestly don't have the desire.
I know it's lunch time but no one is here.... no one is watching me.... I had breakfast.... I could skip lunch and no one would know. Not a soul. It's so tempting. My first weekend in treatment, I was home about to eat my first breakfast without supervision. I measured everything out and started to cry. I sat on the floor, crying, looking at the GINORMOUS bowl of Cheerios I had to eat. How was I going to do it? My husband came in the house and found me on the floor. He picked me up, sat me down, put the food in front of me and started a conversation about something else entirely. So that's how I did it, one bite at a time.
Sitting here alone while my daughter naps, and my alarm keeps going off, I have an inner struggle and debate on what I should do. Soon, she'll wake up and my focus and attention will be on her and I won't eat. I have a small window to make the right decision but it's so hard. I still cannot get the food down when I'm alone. It was definitely easier eating with a group of women battling eating disorders. I miss them.... but I sure as hell don't miss the escorted trips to the bathroom, being confined to one room all day, not being allowed to leave the room for any reason except to go to the bathroom. I don't know.... sounds like prison to me,
My struggle is getting worse. I have to eat, I know I do. But when you aren't hungry, it's so hard to find something to eat. While I was in rehab, we did meal planning everyday off of a menu. That was easy but now, I need to think about what I am going to eat and it all makes me so tired. I am so fucking tired of thinking about food. I wish people would stop telling me how great I look too..... what does that mean? I look great because I put on weight? is that it? I have no idea what I weigh. There are no scales in my house and I have convinced myself that I've gained 10 pounds, if not more. I guess that's an "irrational thought." Um, ok. Fuck you then.
I'm glad I went because it made everyone happy but I don't feel better. If I was better, I would have stopped typing when the alarm went off to eat, but I didn't. I just want to sit here and cry because I'm so not hungry. The thought of eating actually makes me physically ill. I honestly just don't give a fuck anymore--- but the perfectionist in me is telling me to eat--- to finish what I started--- DON'T BE A QUITTER.
So what does that mean? It means I'm going to go and have lunch. FML.
BULLSHIT. Life is not a fairy tale. Life sucks. I put on my big girl panties and went off to treatment for my "disease" only to learn..... NOTHING. I'm still being classified as EDNOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified) because I'm not quite there yet to be considered anorexic. Okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I'll still with anorexic because it's easier to explain..... I didn't want to go and I cried in the car all the way there. This was now my second venture into a psychiatric outpatient treatment program in 3 months. How the fuck did I get here? How was it that I was truly an anorexic and getting treatment? Was I really going into fucking rehab? Yup.
I fully expected this trip to be as easy peasy as the first one but 15 minutes into the morning I knew I was settling in to Gitmo on Guantanamo Bay. I avoided writing anything about my time there because I wasn't ready. I didn't want to think about that place while I was away from it. I still don't like thinking about it. The women in the group were great-- supportive and understanding. The rest? Well, no. Most of them sucked. I essentially went someplace every day to have someone babysit me while I ate. I may have learned a little about nutrition but I learned nothing about the affects of this disease on my body, how to counteract a negative thought and/or body image, how get through each day trying to eat... The list could go on and on about what I didn't learn.
Everyone else seems happy because I continue to eat but I can see the relapse. It within my reach. Something that would have been helpful to learn? Not wanting to make that reach. I still have absolutely no desire to eat. Now that I'm on my own doing this, I have resorted to setting an alarm on my cell phone to remind me to eat (it's gone off 4 times since I've been writing and I keep pressing snooze-- clearly that's not helping either). I am eating 3 meals a day but my portions are getting smaller and smaller. It really is only a matter of time for me to get back to where I was.... but, my fear of residential treatment is keeping me from skipping meals. If I get back on the train, the next stop is Renfrew and I don't want to go there.
I'm trying to put on a brave face. There are people in my life who are bursting with love and support. They are beyond proud of me. It's great. I'm lucky to have support because I met so many women that didn't have any support at all. My biggest supporter is/was/will be my husband but LiLi is there for me emotionally in a way he can't be. I have the best of both worlds. I truly do. But..... I don't want to eat. I still really honestly don't have the desire.
I know it's lunch time but no one is here.... no one is watching me.... I had breakfast.... I could skip lunch and no one would know. Not a soul. It's so tempting. My first weekend in treatment, I was home about to eat my first breakfast without supervision. I measured everything out and started to cry. I sat on the floor, crying, looking at the GINORMOUS bowl of Cheerios I had to eat. How was I going to do it? My husband came in the house and found me on the floor. He picked me up, sat me down, put the food in front of me and started a conversation about something else entirely. So that's how I did it, one bite at a time.
Sitting here alone while my daughter naps, and my alarm keeps going off, I have an inner struggle and debate on what I should do. Soon, she'll wake up and my focus and attention will be on her and I won't eat. I have a small window to make the right decision but it's so hard. I still cannot get the food down when I'm alone. It was definitely easier eating with a group of women battling eating disorders. I miss them.... but I sure as hell don't miss the escorted trips to the bathroom, being confined to one room all day, not being allowed to leave the room for any reason except to go to the bathroom. I don't know.... sounds like prison to me,
My struggle is getting worse. I have to eat, I know I do. But when you aren't hungry, it's so hard to find something to eat. While I was in rehab, we did meal planning everyday off of a menu. That was easy but now, I need to think about what I am going to eat and it all makes me so tired. I am so fucking tired of thinking about food. I wish people would stop telling me how great I look too..... what does that mean? I look great because I put on weight? is that it? I have no idea what I weigh. There are no scales in my house and I have convinced myself that I've gained 10 pounds, if not more. I guess that's an "irrational thought." Um, ok. Fuck you then.
I'm glad I went because it made everyone happy but I don't feel better. If I was better, I would have stopped typing when the alarm went off to eat, but I didn't. I just want to sit here and cry because I'm so not hungry. The thought of eating actually makes me physically ill. I honestly just don't give a fuck anymore--- but the perfectionist in me is telling me to eat--- to finish what I started--- DON'T BE A QUITTER.
So what does that mean? It means I'm going to go and have lunch. FML.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Mission Accomplished
The love of a best friend can be truly powerful. When I use the term "best friend" it's something I take extremely seriously. This isn't a person I hear from once in a while or see on occasion or have know for a few years. It's someone that has been a part of my life for not years, but decades. Someone who really knows me-- for all the good and the bad. It's a person who has celebrated my achievements but also has pulled me out of the deepest of holes. I remember when Oprah once described Gayle, she said, "Gayle is the friend everyone deserves to have." I disagree. Lilijohnson is the friend everyone deserves to have. She is my Gayle..... She is the Ethel to my Lucy.... She's the Monica to my Rachel. Most importantly, she's the sister I never had as an only child.
I can count on LiLi to be honest with me, without hurting my feelings. She knows how to navigate me through tough waters. Once again, she's pulled me out of drowning waters. After a brief visit, she has made me see what no one else has even come close to showing me. My behavior isn't just hurting me, but it's hurting others around me. Very Intervention (ie- "your behavior affects me negatively in the following ways....). She has researched anorexia and continued to educate herself, even though she has been down this path with me once before. Sitting across from your best friend, with tears streaming down her face, saying "I can't do this [life] without you. You're all I have and I can't lose you" bring everything to a new perspective.
Considering I'm well schooled in guilt, that's not what this was. It was genuine concern and fright for my well being. That's when it hit me. Someone would really miss me to the point that I don't think she'd ever be the same if I were gone. I guess my husband always thought these were implied feelings on his part but it was nice to hear.... almost what I needed to hear. I had a sudden flash of myself gone and leaving behind all these people who care about me for what? To be thin? Well, that's pretty selfish and self destructive. All it once, like running into a brick wall, it hit me--- I need to get better. This has got to stop. It's just got to stop.
That said, I've decided to enter an outpatient eating disorders program. I'm sure work will be thrilled when the time comes but given that I STILL hear whispers behind my back about my eating, it shouldn't come as a surprise. One day, I'll have to do an Anorexia 101 seminar in the conference room for everyone on my floor.... Rule Number 1: Whispering about the anorexic girls eating habits while she is in earshot can be negative and triggering. *sigh*
Ok, so now what right? I've made this decision but when am I going? That's the million dollar question. There's no convenient time. I totally sound like someone on Intervention, "Oh I can't go today. No, no, no. I've got to take care of my dog/bills/court date/etc." Fear is keeping me from making a solid decision. Fear of upsetting my job, fear of putting on weight, fear of treatment AGAIN, fear of eating.... All of it makes me sick to my stomach but at the same time, I'm tired of feeling tired and weak.
I'm going though, I am. I'm 99.9% ready to go. But I've made a huge decision because this wasn't even on the radar. There was no possibility I was going. I had set a goal weight, once I reached it I was going to stop. Clearly I'm the only asshole who believed THAT theory. It's a big step and I'm scared. More scared than I have ever been about anything in my life. But, I have Lilijohnson. She's there for me. I have my husband. He's here for me. So, I know I'm going to be ok.
I am forever indebted to Lili. Whether this works, or doesn't work, it doesn't matter. She got me to see something I wasn't seeing. The love and concern in her voice was so overwhelming that night, I literally thought my heart was going to explode. I didn't know how to handle it. When she poured her feelings out, it took everything in my power not to cry--- especially when I put myself in her shoes and thought, Oh My God, what the FUCK would I do without her? It actually took my breathe away.
so here I am about to start on this new adventure.... very soon.... and of course, Lilijohnson's response, "This is going to make for great blog material." She's right. ....once again.
I can count on LiLi to be honest with me, without hurting my feelings. She knows how to navigate me through tough waters. Once again, she's pulled me out of drowning waters. After a brief visit, she has made me see what no one else has even come close to showing me. My behavior isn't just hurting me, but it's hurting others around me. Very Intervention (ie- "your behavior affects me negatively in the following ways....). She has researched anorexia and continued to educate herself, even though she has been down this path with me once before. Sitting across from your best friend, with tears streaming down her face, saying "I can't do this [life] without you. You're all I have and I can't lose you" bring everything to a new perspective.
Considering I'm well schooled in guilt, that's not what this was. It was genuine concern and fright for my well being. That's when it hit me. Someone would really miss me to the point that I don't think she'd ever be the same if I were gone. I guess my husband always thought these were implied feelings on his part but it was nice to hear.... almost what I needed to hear. I had a sudden flash of myself gone and leaving behind all these people who care about me for what? To be thin? Well, that's pretty selfish and self destructive. All it once, like running into a brick wall, it hit me--- I need to get better. This has got to stop. It's just got to stop.
That said, I've decided to enter an outpatient eating disorders program. I'm sure work will be thrilled when the time comes but given that I STILL hear whispers behind my back about my eating, it shouldn't come as a surprise. One day, I'll have to do an Anorexia 101 seminar in the conference room for everyone on my floor.... Rule Number 1: Whispering about the anorexic girls eating habits while she is in earshot can be negative and triggering. *sigh*
Ok, so now what right? I've made this decision but when am I going? That's the million dollar question. There's no convenient time. I totally sound like someone on Intervention, "Oh I can't go today. No, no, no. I've got to take care of my dog/bills/court date/etc." Fear is keeping me from making a solid decision. Fear of upsetting my job, fear of putting on weight, fear of treatment AGAIN, fear of eating.... All of it makes me sick to my stomach but at the same time, I'm tired of feeling tired and weak.
I'm going though, I am. I'm 99.9% ready to go. But I've made a huge decision because this wasn't even on the radar. There was no possibility I was going. I had set a goal weight, once I reached it I was going to stop. Clearly I'm the only asshole who believed THAT theory. It's a big step and I'm scared. More scared than I have ever been about anything in my life. But, I have Lilijohnson. She's there for me. I have my husband. He's here for me. So, I know I'm going to be ok.
I am forever indebted to Lili. Whether this works, or doesn't work, it doesn't matter. She got me to see something I wasn't seeing. The love and concern in her voice was so overwhelming that night, I literally thought my heart was going to explode. I didn't know how to handle it. When she poured her feelings out, it took everything in my power not to cry--- especially when I put myself in her shoes and thought, Oh My God, what the FUCK would I do without her? It actually took my breathe away.
so here I am about to start on this new adventure.... very soon.... and of course, Lilijohnson's response, "This is going to make for great blog material." She's right. ....once again.
Monday, July 18, 2011
What happens when you pass bottom?
For months I've been talking about hitting rock bottom.... Everytime I hit what I think is rock bottom, it's clearly not because I continue on a path of self destruction. It's been a few weeks since I have written and not because of lack of time, but more because of shame. I once believed I had control over this eating disorder but now, I realize it has complete control over me. For example: ordering off a menu has become difficult. I can't do it. My husband either cooks or brings dinner home and put it in front of me because I have no desire to eat so when I'm asked "what would you like for breakfast/lunch/dinner?" I can't answer-- because I don't want anything.
In the time I've been back to work, which is about 5 weeks now, I've lost an additional 7 lbs. I know that's fucked up. I can hear the whispers behind my back at my job so I kow that they've noticed too. My husband has been very supportive and suggested I Netflix a documentary so he could learn more--- which turned out to be a ploy. He wanted me to watch it as an eye opener. So, this weekend we watched it. And it scared the shit out of me. I was emotionally drained, scared, confused, ashamed and sad all at the same time. But, I still said to him, "I'm not as bad as those girls though, right?" He couldn't believe that I still don't see that I am-- but they were getting ont he scales weighing 82 pounds, 90 pounds, 79 pounds, etc. I'm still way above all that. I guess what people see, which I don't see is I am on the same exact path as these women.
Watching the documentary made me curious about how long and how intense this eating disorder has been for me throughout my life. I've kept a journal which goes all the way back to my freshman year of college and so yesterday, I sat and read and cried for the girl who wrote about her pain. The girl who could have been in that documentary. The girl that was me. I hid this from some people for so long. I honestly don't think anyone had a clue except for the handful of roommates I've had. My anxiety has been off the charts and I'm trying to work through it. But..... ya know what? I STILL have a goal weight. It pains me to even type that but I do.
Everyone around me wants me to get help. Sadly-- I have a ton of excuses why I shouldn't go. But watching this documentary, I realized what my biggest fear is. I don't wnat to put weight on. I want to be thin. I really do. I don't want to give up the control. Yet, at the same time, I'm so tired. It consumes me.... I think about it all the time. There is a really small part of me that wants to go.... but it's very small.
I feel like shit. Every single day I feel like shit. My stomach hurts and I'm nauseaus. I live on Turbo Dunkin Donuts coffee which means my stomach has to be a mess. I fear the damage I have done or doing to myself. And at the same time, I still don't wnat to go. I wish I knew what was going on with me and why I relapsed. I have no idea and I don't think anyone can fix me. There are nights I go to bed and wonder if I'm going to wake up. Is my heart going to stop beating in the middle of the night? One would think this would definitlete make me want to go but it doesn't.
Surprisingly I'm not depressed. I'm overall pretty happy with most of my life--- I see more good in it now than I did before I was in the hospital. I just don't know how much further it's got to go before I get help. I say I'm going to voluntariliy admit myself but, honestly, I don't think I'm going to. This week, I'm going to NewYork where my best friend lives. For some reason, I think she's going to have all the answers for me--- but she won't. She'll be able to guide me and she'll be honest with me (which everyone, except my mom who is in denial, has been).
Being anorexic at 22 is much different than being anorexic at 36. My body can't handle this anymore. I just don't have the motivation I need to go. I wish I did. I wish I wanted to go and get help, but honestly, deep down, I don't. I just want to be thin. I want to stay thin forever. I like what I see in the mirror.... but again, I don't see what everyone else is seeing. I know I'm sick. But what's the bottom for me? Death?
In the time I've been back to work, which is about 5 weeks now, I've lost an additional 7 lbs. I know that's fucked up. I can hear the whispers behind my back at my job so I kow that they've noticed too. My husband has been very supportive and suggested I Netflix a documentary so he could learn more--- which turned out to be a ploy. He wanted me to watch it as an eye opener. So, this weekend we watched it. And it scared the shit out of me. I was emotionally drained, scared, confused, ashamed and sad all at the same time. But, I still said to him, "I'm not as bad as those girls though, right?" He couldn't believe that I still don't see that I am-- but they were getting ont he scales weighing 82 pounds, 90 pounds, 79 pounds, etc. I'm still way above all that. I guess what people see, which I don't see is I am on the same exact path as these women.
Watching the documentary made me curious about how long and how intense this eating disorder has been for me throughout my life. I've kept a journal which goes all the way back to my freshman year of college and so yesterday, I sat and read and cried for the girl who wrote about her pain. The girl who could have been in that documentary. The girl that was me. I hid this from some people for so long. I honestly don't think anyone had a clue except for the handful of roommates I've had. My anxiety has been off the charts and I'm trying to work through it. But..... ya know what? I STILL have a goal weight. It pains me to even type that but I do.
Everyone around me wants me to get help. Sadly-- I have a ton of excuses why I shouldn't go. But watching this documentary, I realized what my biggest fear is. I don't wnat to put weight on. I want to be thin. I really do. I don't want to give up the control. Yet, at the same time, I'm so tired. It consumes me.... I think about it all the time. There is a really small part of me that wants to go.... but it's very small.
I feel like shit. Every single day I feel like shit. My stomach hurts and I'm nauseaus. I live on Turbo Dunkin Donuts coffee which means my stomach has to be a mess. I fear the damage I have done or doing to myself. And at the same time, I still don't wnat to go. I wish I knew what was going on with me and why I relapsed. I have no idea and I don't think anyone can fix me. There are nights I go to bed and wonder if I'm going to wake up. Is my heart going to stop beating in the middle of the night? One would think this would definitlete make me want to go but it doesn't.
Surprisingly I'm not depressed. I'm overall pretty happy with most of my life--- I see more good in it now than I did before I was in the hospital. I just don't know how much further it's got to go before I get help. I say I'm going to voluntariliy admit myself but, honestly, I don't think I'm going to. This week, I'm going to NewYork where my best friend lives. For some reason, I think she's going to have all the answers for me--- but she won't. She'll be able to guide me and she'll be honest with me (which everyone, except my mom who is in denial, has been).
Being anorexic at 22 is much different than being anorexic at 36. My body can't handle this anymore. I just don't have the motivation I need to go. I wish I did. I wish I wanted to go and get help, but honestly, deep down, I don't. I just want to be thin. I want to stay thin forever. I like what I see in the mirror.... but again, I don't see what everyone else is seeing. I know I'm sick. But what's the bottom for me? Death?
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