You know those bumper stickers that say, "I'd rather be golfing" or "I'd rather be fishing"? Mine would definitely say "I'd rather be shopping." Anyone who know me, even just as an acquaintance knows how much I love to shop. Well, today shopping officially turned into a nightmare for me. A complete nightmare.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
I Think I Can
Imagine yourself on a train.... not as a passenger but as the train operator. You are carrying precious cargo and need to guide the train to safety. The mission is yours not for the money, not because it is your job but because people are counting on you to get there. Aside from the safety of the train, the precious cargo you carry with you are your mom, your husband, your child, your best friend of 28 years, your Will yet this immediate inner circle extends beyond them. It goes without saying they would be considered precious cargo, but they aren't the only ones on the train...
Your cousins are there--- the two who have been like a brother and sister to you and have been by your side since the day you were born. A beautiful neice and nephew play on the train with your daughter. The same neice and nephew who are auspicious reminders of you and your two cousins playing togheter at that age. Watching the three of them together brings back memories and you can only wonder if they will be as close as you three are. Your godparents are on the train, the ones who promised to take care of YOU if something ever happened to your parents. Your step-father, the man who never tried to fill your father's shoes but loves you, your husband and your child like his own but most importantly, has loved your mother more than the own air he breathes. Lastly, there are friends. There are those who shared your Donnie moments from when you were 14 or older (cruise 2012 here we come) or the college roommates who loved you enough to hold your hair back. Even the one friend, whom you count on having a good time with no matter where you because, she is a walking party. There are even your law school friends who know if you could survive law school, you could survive anything.
Although these friends have been around for decades there are ones that also showed up in your life when you were an adult and thought, I don't have anymore room for friends, I'm all set now. Yet, one day you met someone who knows all the same movie lines and watched the same reality shows which have you both screaming with laughter and gossiping like 12 years olds. The ones who have had trauma and sadness of their own but have persevered through the odds and even though they may not know it, inspire you to be a stronger person. Your train carries military heroes and everyday heroes, like teachers and police officers. Most importantly this train carries the memories and laughs you have shared with all these people.
The train is filled. I challenge you to sit down and write the names of all the people who you love and who love you unconditionally back. The ones that you can still laugh to the point of tears with over the good memories. I have always said people come in and out of your life for a reason. Once they are out, they're gone. They're a memory- good or bad but most importantly, that person is just a memory and no longer play a role in the story of your life.
With a full train, your destination is up ahead, but you are sitting at a crossroads. There is a loud noise from the warning lights on the track that a train is coming. You can choose path A which is dangerous but shorter, faster and easier. Then there is path B which is 1000% safe. It's longer, more arduous and even a bit intimidating at times, even though you know it's safe. Path B will get this train and all the precious cargo on it to the destination without a hiccup. Not only are you trying to choose the path, but you are running out of time FAST. Your anxiety explodes. If you don't move soon, another train is going to come and there will be an accident. You will may be able to get all your passengers safely off in time but the train will be destroyed and you, the engineer may not make it out alive. Yet, you sit here at the crossroads and you don't know what to do.
Destroying this train and the life of the conductor will ruin the lives of each and every person who are passengers. Although they will always remember you and you will have an invisible string tied around their hearts, this cargo you deem so precious will be left to mourn the death of someone they love all because you chose easy Path A. Everyone on this train may not have signed up for either path but they love you and given the choice, even though it is longer and harder, they want you to choose Path B. Not for them, but for yourself. For you happiness.
Right now- this is the best way to describe how torn I feel about treatment again. Yes, again. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and finally beginning to see an image of my former self. It's been nearly 18 months of full on war but I've been battling this eating disorder for 18 years. Now I realize it is like any other addiction. It will be something I live with every day. I see a tired, pale, thin woman who can no longer wear her wedding rings without the fear they will fall off. Path A may get me somewhere but it's no where safe and the road is most likely never ending. Maybe this time, Path B will work. It will set the spark in me I need to recover and say no to this roller coaster of emotions. This time I hope I can find the reason to eat and maybe even find the reasons why I don't want to eat.
I am going to do this. Not one day at a time... but one bite at a time.
Your cousins are there--- the two who have been like a brother and sister to you and have been by your side since the day you were born. A beautiful neice and nephew play on the train with your daughter. The same neice and nephew who are auspicious reminders of you and your two cousins playing togheter at that age. Watching the three of them together brings back memories and you can only wonder if they will be as close as you three are. Your godparents are on the train, the ones who promised to take care of YOU if something ever happened to your parents. Your step-father, the man who never tried to fill your father's shoes but loves you, your husband and your child like his own but most importantly, has loved your mother more than the own air he breathes. Lastly, there are friends. There are those who shared your Donnie moments from when you were 14 or older (cruise 2012 here we come) or the college roommates who loved you enough to hold your hair back. Even the one friend, whom you count on having a good time with no matter where you because, she is a walking party. There are even your law school friends who know if you could survive law school, you could survive anything.
Although these friends have been around for decades there are ones that also showed up in your life when you were an adult and thought, I don't have anymore room for friends, I'm all set now. Yet, one day you met someone who knows all the same movie lines and watched the same reality shows which have you both screaming with laughter and gossiping like 12 years olds. The ones who have had trauma and sadness of their own but have persevered through the odds and even though they may not know it, inspire you to be a stronger person. Your train carries military heroes and everyday heroes, like teachers and police officers. Most importantly this train carries the memories and laughs you have shared with all these people.
The train is filled. I challenge you to sit down and write the names of all the people who you love and who love you unconditionally back. The ones that you can still laugh to the point of tears with over the good memories. I have always said people come in and out of your life for a reason. Once they are out, they're gone. They're a memory- good or bad but most importantly, that person is just a memory and no longer play a role in the story of your life.
With a full train, your destination is up ahead, but you are sitting at a crossroads. There is a loud noise from the warning lights on the track that a train is coming. You can choose path A which is dangerous but shorter, faster and easier. Then there is path B which is 1000% safe. It's longer, more arduous and even a bit intimidating at times, even though you know it's safe. Path B will get this train and all the precious cargo on it to the destination without a hiccup. Not only are you trying to choose the path, but you are running out of time FAST. Your anxiety explodes. If you don't move soon, another train is going to come and there will be an accident. You will may be able to get all your passengers safely off in time but the train will be destroyed and you, the engineer may not make it out alive. Yet, you sit here at the crossroads and you don't know what to do.
Destroying this train and the life of the conductor will ruin the lives of each and every person who are passengers. Although they will always remember you and you will have an invisible string tied around their hearts, this cargo you deem so precious will be left to mourn the death of someone they love all because you chose easy Path A. Everyone on this train may not have signed up for either path but they love you and given the choice, even though it is longer and harder, they want you to choose Path B. Not for them, but for yourself. For you happiness.
Right now- this is the best way to describe how torn I feel about treatment again. Yes, again. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and finally beginning to see an image of my former self. It's been nearly 18 months of full on war but I've been battling this eating disorder for 18 years. Now I realize it is like any other addiction. It will be something I live with every day. I see a tired, pale, thin woman who can no longer wear her wedding rings without the fear they will fall off. Path A may get me somewhere but it's no where safe and the road is most likely never ending. Maybe this time, Path B will work. It will set the spark in me I need to recover and say no to this roller coaster of emotions. This time I hope I can find the reason to eat and maybe even find the reasons why I don't want to eat.
I am going to do this. Not one day at a time... but one bite at a time.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Monogamy is Overrated
(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.
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.
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.
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