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.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
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?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Top of the All Set List
Everyone has that one person in their family known as "the shit stirrer." These delightful family members are the ones who love to spread gossip, maliciously whether true or not. Most of the time it is exaggerated in order to drum up unnecessary drama and conflict. I used to have a similar family member which we all tolerated. Unfortunately, they are also a source of useful information. Although they may slightly embellish the story to give it more oomph, they have the basic facts and surrounding circumstances pretty accurate.
Being Italian, there are two things I look for in friends (as well as when I was looking to meet the right guy): loyalty and respect. Sadly, as important as these attributes may be to me, it is not always a guarantee that you are going to gain in laws with such admirable traits. Obviously, if I am writing about it- I ended up with some shitty fucking in laws.
My husband comes from a very large and interestingly diverse family. For the most part, I adore his parents and even the majority of his siblings but there always ends up being one rotten apple in the bunch. It was very recently brought to my attention that one of his siblings called me a cunt. (This was said to the shit stirrer and has circulated through a semi gossip mill.) Yup, you heard me right. A cunt. Its not a pretty word to type or even a pretty word to read. Now, I freely admit there is no love there..... This family member, their spouse and I have never seen eye to eye on many things: morals, responsibility or even the qualities of a good human being. Essentially, they go against any and all semblance of what a basically good person is. Over the years, in addition to this colorful description, I have been accused of breaking down the relationship my husband has with them. Um, ok.... it has nothing to do with the fact that you are a complete douchebag but everything to do with the plotting and scheming i stay up into the wee hours planning to tear these two apart. Give me a fucking break.
Now, I have this information but have given my word to not confront the sibling at hand. Yet, what do I do with this information? ....nothing. I wait until the perfect moment. Everything comes full circle in life and like Oprah, I don't believe in coincidences. I believe there is a divine "intervention." I hate to use that term in quotes because I'm not especially religious. This will come back, and smack them in the face like a brick. It may not be what they said, it may just be karma, but I know they'll get theirs. I know the underlying element is their insane jealousy for what seems to be the perfect life that my husband and I live. I've said this before, the walls on the inside have been cracking--- we just have chose to keep it private (aside from the public blog that is). Not that they would give a shit- believe me. They are the type to revel in our misery.... and would enjoy the suffering of my restrictive eating.... because again, they are not good human beings. Let's say the concept of paying it forward isn't their mantra. Theirs is more--- how much can I sponge off of this person emotionally and financially.
An event is rapidly approaching where most of the siblings will be together--- at my house. This summer BBQ is causing anxiety for several reasons: an abundance of food, seeing family that I haven't seen anywhere from 6-9 months who will notice I am 25 lbs lighter than the last time they saw me and now, in addition to that, I am welcoming people into my home who believe I am a CUNT. This is being downplayed by my husband, and others, as it's all hearsay. I don't give a fuck what it is--- all I can be sure of is this is a possibility which is enough to cause anxiety levels to rise to the point of restricting food (I am still a work in progress).
I refuse to be uncomfortable in my own home and have decided, in the most Italian way possible, these people are dead to me. I refuse to lose another moment's happiness over them. It's been a long 7 years of me taking the high road for the sake of the rest of my in laws. I will not and should not do it anymore. I am in control of me. I have the power. No one can fight my battles for me and I need to face this head on... I am in a new place in my life and there is no room for them (literally and figuratively). They are not a good influence on my child, nor do they emanate positive energy to be around. My husband, as much as he loves to hear about the drama, refuses to take part in it so I am on my own in the way of defending myself. Again, the power lies within me to take control of how I want this to go. The concept of respect and loyalty is downplayed in his mind. For him, it's all about just ignoring it and letting it go. So, I will....
Essentially this means no more contact. I won't make my husband choose--- he can continue to maintain a relationship but I will not attend a birthday, a holiday or special occasion ever again. Although I rather my daughter not either, i don't feel it fair to make that decision myself. As she gets older, she will eventually see these people for who they really are and I have full confidence she won't want to be around them either.... In all honesty, my husband doesn't really want to be around them either but he does because, well, it's family...... at least I guess that's why. Nothing else makes sense to me.
It feels good to get it off my chest and until there is a reason to let these people back into my circle of trust, it feels good to let go.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Being Italian, there are two things I look for in friends (as well as when I was looking to meet the right guy): loyalty and respect. Sadly, as important as these attributes may be to me, it is not always a guarantee that you are going to gain in laws with such admirable traits. Obviously, if I am writing about it- I ended up with some shitty fucking in laws.
My husband comes from a very large and interestingly diverse family. For the most part, I adore his parents and even the majority of his siblings but there always ends up being one rotten apple in the bunch. It was very recently brought to my attention that one of his siblings called me a cunt. (This was said to the shit stirrer and has circulated through a semi gossip mill.) Yup, you heard me right. A cunt. Its not a pretty word to type or even a pretty word to read. Now, I freely admit there is no love there..... This family member, their spouse and I have never seen eye to eye on many things: morals, responsibility or even the qualities of a good human being. Essentially, they go against any and all semblance of what a basically good person is. Over the years, in addition to this colorful description, I have been accused of breaking down the relationship my husband has with them. Um, ok.... it has nothing to do with the fact that you are a complete douchebag but everything to do with the plotting and scheming i stay up into the wee hours planning to tear these two apart. Give me a fucking break.
Now, I have this information but have given my word to not confront the sibling at hand. Yet, what do I do with this information? ....nothing. I wait until the perfect moment. Everything comes full circle in life and like Oprah, I don't believe in coincidences. I believe there is a divine "intervention." I hate to use that term in quotes because I'm not especially religious. This will come back, and smack them in the face like a brick. It may not be what they said, it may just be karma, but I know they'll get theirs. I know the underlying element is their insane jealousy for what seems to be the perfect life that my husband and I live. I've said this before, the walls on the inside have been cracking--- we just have chose to keep it private (aside from the public blog that is). Not that they would give a shit- believe me. They are the type to revel in our misery.... and would enjoy the suffering of my restrictive eating.... because again, they are not good human beings. Let's say the concept of paying it forward isn't their mantra. Theirs is more--- how much can I sponge off of this person emotionally and financially.
An event is rapidly approaching where most of the siblings will be together--- at my house. This summer BBQ is causing anxiety for several reasons: an abundance of food, seeing family that I haven't seen anywhere from 6-9 months who will notice I am 25 lbs lighter than the last time they saw me and now, in addition to that, I am welcoming people into my home who believe I am a CUNT. This is being downplayed by my husband, and others, as it's all hearsay. I don't give a fuck what it is--- all I can be sure of is this is a possibility which is enough to cause anxiety levels to rise to the point of restricting food (I am still a work in progress).
I refuse to be uncomfortable in my own home and have decided, in the most Italian way possible, these people are dead to me. I refuse to lose another moment's happiness over them. It's been a long 7 years of me taking the high road for the sake of the rest of my in laws. I will not and should not do it anymore. I am in control of me. I have the power. No one can fight my battles for me and I need to face this head on... I am in a new place in my life and there is no room for them (literally and figuratively). They are not a good influence on my child, nor do they emanate positive energy to be around. My husband, as much as he loves to hear about the drama, refuses to take part in it so I am on my own in the way of defending myself. Again, the power lies within me to take control of how I want this to go. The concept of respect and loyalty is downplayed in his mind. For him, it's all about just ignoring it and letting it go. So, I will....
Essentially this means no more contact. I won't make my husband choose--- he can continue to maintain a relationship but I will not attend a birthday, a holiday or special occasion ever again. Although I rather my daughter not either, i don't feel it fair to make that decision myself. As she gets older, she will eventually see these people for who they really are and I have full confidence she won't want to be around them either.... In all honesty, my husband doesn't really want to be around them either but he does because, well, it's family...... at least I guess that's why. Nothing else makes sense to me.
It feels good to get it off my chest and until there is a reason to let these people back into my circle of trust, it feels good to let go.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, June 27, 2011
Can Someone Stop This Ride So I Can Get Off
This blog initially started as a way to write about dealing with the struggles I faced while dealing with my mom's illness and recovery. Instead it's became a literary journey of how I am beginning to change as a person and finally face my struggles head on. I've lost sight of the original purpose--- but with good reason.
I've received many inquiries about how my mom is doing. It's a difficult question to answer.... Very difficult. Now I am at the point that i don't want to jinx anything so I may stop answering the question forever. I was most recently asked over the weekend by a good friend and told her that my mom was doing amazing. She's become more active and seems to be regaining strength every day. But, after seeing her yesterday, it's not true. She may have taken one step forward but she has taken 3 steps back.
Over the past few weeks, she was going out more-- even dining out which was amazing. Father's Day she attended brunch with my stepfather, husband, daughter and me. It was the first time the five of us had been in a restaurant together in well over a year. It was a great day. To be honest, it was indescribable. She looked beautiful and full of life. Throughout the week when I spoke with her, she sounded good. She was excited to be going to dinner for her anniversary to one of her favorite places.... I started to feel like I could really breathe again. It's been almost a year since the Cancer diagnosis and about 9 months since she's been Cancer free. I was convinced things were getting better.
Yesterday, my daughter and I visited her. My mom looked terrible. Just terrible. I was uncomfortable the entire time I was there. I spoke with her a few times over the week and as the weekend approached, I didn't hear from her much but assumed (wrongly) that she was out but that we'd catch up on Sunday. Sunday afternoon I called her and asked how she was and if she was up for a visit (my 2 year old wears ME out so I can only imagine what she does to my mom who doesn't have all her stamina back yet). Although she said yes, I sensed differently but went against my better judgment because I wanted her to see my daughter. Sometimes I feel that she is the only reason that she finds to live. I also wanted to see my mom--- it's no secret that she and I are close.
But it's getting harder and harder to watch. I become angry then guilty for feeling such anger. Not surprisingly, since yesterday my appetite has waned even more. I've decided for my own mental health, I really need to stop going to there until she gets her shit together and feels good. Clearly she isn't going to be honest about it. I suppose I can go back to just called my step father on the sly--- find out what the deal is and then make a decision from there. I don't know.... Being in my partial program has taught me to that I should remove myself from an uncomfortable situation. Why create extra anxiety? Why worry about the what ifs? Clearly that gets me fucking no where.
In the meantime, when someone asks how she's doing, my response is going to be a generic "fine" and leave it at that. I love her so much and I have had more glimpses into the mom I remember than the mom she was becoming, so that's a positive. This journey seems to be getting longer and longer. I can't help but think she pushes herself to hard to get better and it backfires. Yesterday was miserable. I felt unwelcome in my mom's house.... MY house for the first time ever. I couldn't wait to leave. There was this overwhelming feeling that she really wanted to be left alone to rest--- which is fine. I just wish she would tell me.
Protecting me for fear of the consequences doesn't help. I'm still restricting food (yet not losing weight-- ugh) so being clandestine about how she physically feels isn't really helping anyone. She's sure as hell not protecting me at this point. While I still care, I can't get caught up in it and it's an inner power struggle that I try to manage.... I thought I was doing really well, but I guess like my mom, I'm doing fine.
I've received many inquiries about how my mom is doing. It's a difficult question to answer.... Very difficult. Now I am at the point that i don't want to jinx anything so I may stop answering the question forever. I was most recently asked over the weekend by a good friend and told her that my mom was doing amazing. She's become more active and seems to be regaining strength every day. But, after seeing her yesterday, it's not true. She may have taken one step forward but she has taken 3 steps back.
Over the past few weeks, she was going out more-- even dining out which was amazing. Father's Day she attended brunch with my stepfather, husband, daughter and me. It was the first time the five of us had been in a restaurant together in well over a year. It was a great day. To be honest, it was indescribable. She looked beautiful and full of life. Throughout the week when I spoke with her, she sounded good. She was excited to be going to dinner for her anniversary to one of her favorite places.... I started to feel like I could really breathe again. It's been almost a year since the Cancer diagnosis and about 9 months since she's been Cancer free. I was convinced things were getting better.
Yesterday, my daughter and I visited her. My mom looked terrible. Just terrible. I was uncomfortable the entire time I was there. I spoke with her a few times over the week and as the weekend approached, I didn't hear from her much but assumed (wrongly) that she was out but that we'd catch up on Sunday. Sunday afternoon I called her and asked how she was and if she was up for a visit (my 2 year old wears ME out so I can only imagine what she does to my mom who doesn't have all her stamina back yet). Although she said yes, I sensed differently but went against my better judgment because I wanted her to see my daughter. Sometimes I feel that she is the only reason that she finds to live. I also wanted to see my mom--- it's no secret that she and I are close.
But it's getting harder and harder to watch. I become angry then guilty for feeling such anger. Not surprisingly, since yesterday my appetite has waned even more. I've decided for my own mental health, I really need to stop going to there until she gets her shit together and feels good. Clearly she isn't going to be honest about it. I suppose I can go back to just called my step father on the sly--- find out what the deal is and then make a decision from there. I don't know.... Being in my partial program has taught me to that I should remove myself from an uncomfortable situation. Why create extra anxiety? Why worry about the what ifs? Clearly that gets me fucking no where.
In the meantime, when someone asks how she's doing, my response is going to be a generic "fine" and leave it at that. I love her so much and I have had more glimpses into the mom I remember than the mom she was becoming, so that's a positive. This journey seems to be getting longer and longer. I can't help but think she pushes herself to hard to get better and it backfires. Yesterday was miserable. I felt unwelcome in my mom's house.... MY house for the first time ever. I couldn't wait to leave. There was this overwhelming feeling that she really wanted to be left alone to rest--- which is fine. I just wish she would tell me.
Protecting me for fear of the consequences doesn't help. I'm still restricting food (yet not losing weight-- ugh) so being clandestine about how she physically feels isn't really helping anyone. She's sure as hell not protecting me at this point. While I still care, I can't get caught up in it and it's an inner power struggle that I try to manage.... I thought I was doing really well, but I guess like my mom, I'm doing fine.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Dream Dictionary Would Be Helpful
Ugh, against my better judgment, I have decided to write about DB (see previous posts). There has been a trending problem since our friendship dissolved-- the nightmares. I really, really hate to even write about him but this blog has become so cathartic for me that perhaps a short blog on this will help me since last night I had a pretty disturbing nightmare. Brief recap: DB and I met when we were 13, instant best friends for years, dated about 2 years in our twenties, broke up, but remained friends until it became impossible. We're both now married, with children and out of each other's life for good. There was a mutual agreement to that about 8 years ago.
All that being said, since the split, from time to time I have had horrible nightmares. They all basically consist of the same premise: in the dream he and I know we aren't friends and time has passed since we've seen each other last. What does change from time to time is our interaction. Sometimes we reconcile and have a love fest of how much we missed each other and glad that we are back in one another's life. Or, as in last night's case, we fight like cats and dogs the same way we did when the friendship was hanging on by a thread. In each case, the dream wakes me up, startled and in tears. Last night was no different.
These dreams bother me on so many levels that I don't even know where to begin. First, I hate that he's still on my mind because I know that I'm not on his. Clearly I need closure here, even though I thought I had it. When we mutually agreed to never speak again, it was a calm conversation while sitting at my kitchen table. We hugged and kissed good bye. Wished each other well and that was it. Um, looks like closure to me, right? Starting to think no.
Second, I am disturbed to the point of nausea that I may actually still miss him in my life. I tell myself that I miss the times we had and the person he was but that's it-- right? I know for a fact, he and my husband would not get along. My husband would HATE him. Of course, he would be bias due to all the stories I've told him but I know there would be a strong personality clash. I never share good stories with my husband, even though there are many. Mostly because we did date and it's just weird. It's funny because I am "friends" with some exes, and my husband knows that and is perfectly ok with it. But, if DB and I reconnected, there would be problems. I know there would.
I know that in the relationship aspect, I'm over him. He would deny it and never believe it- but that's his ego. His ego is SUPER big. Sometimes, there wasn't enough space for him, his ego and me in the same room. Sadly, from what I her from mutual acquaintances (yes, we have mutual friends but never see each other), that hasn't changed. Did we have good time as a couple? Sure but we had better times as best friends. Those are what I miss. The dreams never relate to a romantic relationship but more of the friendship we once had. I trusted him implicitly and he broke my heart. I haven't been able to trust since we disconnected. So, in essence: pre-DB friends are ok, post DB friends are always on the fringe and can be cut at anytime. I guess I can thank him for that.... so, DB, if you see this, thanks for fucking me up more than you already did.
As I said, I hate to even give this asshole any attention but last night's dream was disturbing and woke me up in tears. I don't know why it continues to happen. It's not frequent but, once I have one, I have them for a few nights in a row. Makes sense because he's on my mind so why wouldn't I dream about him. Ugh.Makes me so angry. I just know he has hasn't looked back once and it bothers me that I have. I wish I knew why I cared so much about what he thinks and if I've crossed his mind.... but maybe there was no closure.
Our paths have crossed several times since that day we wished one another luck in their future. Do you know how he handles it? By ignoring me and pretending not to see me. After 14 years of friendship, he pretends NOT to see me. Fucker. That shit really irritates me. Beyond any explanation. He may not want to be friends but I'm still a human being, and if he is as nice and as changed a person as he claims to be (from what I've been told), he would be a tad more magnanimous when we see one other. I suppose I could break the ice and say hi, but I always feel as though if I do, I'm setting myself up for disappointment.
A dear friend of mine once posted an anonymous quote:
"There comes a a point in your life when you realize who matters, who
never did, who won't anymore and who always will. So don't worry
about people from your past, there's a reason why they didn't make
your future."
I think of this quote often when DB comes to mind.... I also share it with those who are experiencing conflicts with a loved on in their life. I try to convince them of how true this is, but I haven't been able to convince myself. Perhaps one day......
All that being said, since the split, from time to time I have had horrible nightmares. They all basically consist of the same premise: in the dream he and I know we aren't friends and time has passed since we've seen each other last. What does change from time to time is our interaction. Sometimes we reconcile and have a love fest of how much we missed each other and glad that we are back in one another's life. Or, as in last night's case, we fight like cats and dogs the same way we did when the friendship was hanging on by a thread. In each case, the dream wakes me up, startled and in tears. Last night was no different.
These dreams bother me on so many levels that I don't even know where to begin. First, I hate that he's still on my mind because I know that I'm not on his. Clearly I need closure here, even though I thought I had it. When we mutually agreed to never speak again, it was a calm conversation while sitting at my kitchen table. We hugged and kissed good bye. Wished each other well and that was it. Um, looks like closure to me, right? Starting to think no.
Second, I am disturbed to the point of nausea that I may actually still miss him in my life. I tell myself that I miss the times we had and the person he was but that's it-- right? I know for a fact, he and my husband would not get along. My husband would HATE him. Of course, he would be bias due to all the stories I've told him but I know there would be a strong personality clash. I never share good stories with my husband, even though there are many. Mostly because we did date and it's just weird. It's funny because I am "friends" with some exes, and my husband knows that and is perfectly ok with it. But, if DB and I reconnected, there would be problems. I know there would.
I know that in the relationship aspect, I'm over him. He would deny it and never believe it- but that's his ego. His ego is SUPER big. Sometimes, there wasn't enough space for him, his ego and me in the same room. Sadly, from what I her from mutual acquaintances (yes, we have mutual friends but never see each other), that hasn't changed. Did we have good time as a couple? Sure but we had better times as best friends. Those are what I miss. The dreams never relate to a romantic relationship but more of the friendship we once had. I trusted him implicitly and he broke my heart. I haven't been able to trust since we disconnected. So, in essence: pre-DB friends are ok, post DB friends are always on the fringe and can be cut at anytime. I guess I can thank him for that.... so, DB, if you see this, thanks for fucking me up more than you already did.
As I said, I hate to even give this asshole any attention but last night's dream was disturbing and woke me up in tears. I don't know why it continues to happen. It's not frequent but, once I have one, I have them for a few nights in a row. Makes sense because he's on my mind so why wouldn't I dream about him. Ugh.Makes me so angry. I just know he has hasn't looked back once and it bothers me that I have. I wish I knew why I cared so much about what he thinks and if I've crossed his mind.... but maybe there was no closure.
Our paths have crossed several times since that day we wished one another luck in their future. Do you know how he handles it? By ignoring me and pretending not to see me. After 14 years of friendship, he pretends NOT to see me. Fucker. That shit really irritates me. Beyond any explanation. He may not want to be friends but I'm still a human being, and if he is as nice and as changed a person as he claims to be (from what I've been told), he would be a tad more magnanimous when we see one other. I suppose I could break the ice and say hi, but I always feel as though if I do, I'm setting myself up for disappointment.
A dear friend of mine once posted an anonymous quote:
"There comes a a point in your life when you realize who matters, who
never did, who won't anymore and who always will. So don't worry
about people from your past, there's a reason why they didn't make
your future."
I think of this quote often when DB comes to mind.... I also share it with those who are experiencing conflicts with a loved on in their life. I try to convince them of how true this is, but I haven't been able to convince myself. Perhaps one day......
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