And then it occurred to me
**warning: my space bar is reallyfeeling sticky and not cooperating. apologies.
Iwas putteringalong inthis newlife prettywell with a hefty doseof avoidance ofthe whole “relationship” challengesthatI face.Laughingly callingmyself a “trainwreck in relationships” (self-deprecating humor issuch a thin veilfor self-consciousnessorself-loathing). I wasenjoying my “single time” – afirst forme. I hadn’t joined a monestary and enjoyed eye candy as much asthenext girlbut I’djust put the wholethought ofdating onthe back burner.
Untilthis weekend.When Iwent tothe beachtovisit mychilhood bestfriend, her baby and her husband. She informed me that another girlfriend wouldbethere but I hadno idea untilI approachedherhusband atthebeachupon arrivalto give him a bighug that also joining us would be a guy thatIhave known through mutualfriends foreverandwho I hooked up with last December (J wasin the picture butwe hadn’teven kissedyet).So I almost swallowed my tongue whenC. turned aroundnext to my friend’s husband – shirtlessand holding a fishingpole. Gulp. “oh hey, what’s up?” That soundedcasual, right?
Fast forwardthrough aday of group activiteies and anevening of sexual tension and multiple drinksand finally some extendedalone time and conversationsaboutboth ofus having been engaged- and what thehellhappened last December (Imay have un-friended him on Facebook afterour encounter) (andavoided histexts)(andignoredhisphone call)- and where are you sleeping tonight and suddenly the bedroomdoor is closedandsex.sex happened.multipletimes. and itwas reallyquitegood.granted I’mout of practice and there’s always the initial awkwardnessandthe what do youlike andno, what do youlike and the getting usedto someone’s faces and noises.But Iwasbeaming whenIdrove away the next day afterasweetgoodbye kissandre-exchange ofnumbers (funny,I don’tremember deletinghimfrommy phone).
And the beaminglastedapproximately 3/4 of a mile of my 4 hour drive home. The rest was consumed withcrazy brain:
-would he make a good father
-whatifI got pregnant andwe had to get married
-howlong would Ihave to date him beforehe’d propose
-wouldI move to raleigh for thisguy?
-wouldhe move to charlotte?
-whatdoeshe do for christmas?
-whatwould meetinghisfamily be like?
-would my brother likehim?
-whatsortof house wouldwe live in together?
-whowouldgive me away at the wedding
And so on….soembarrassing toactuallytype those things ontothescreenasthey are indeed a reflection of how insanely obsessive and,well,crazy I get whena man enters mylife (even for 24 hours).
Ihad therapy on the phone withB. againtoday (didthatlast Tuesday as wellbecause I’veyetto find a therapisthere that willwork forme) and whilethe partsthatwe worked with are not theprimary players in this “anchoryourselfto a man asfast asyou can-craziness”, afterwordIhada moment ofrevelation. After spending the bulk of thesession working with a very young, very bruised andhurt andskittish childpartwho wants someonetocomfortherbut is terrified of it,I realizedhow fucking terrified I am of love. Loveisn’t something that canbetrusted.I loved my ownparentsandthey hurtthe fuck out of me.I often wonder now if I would bea happier healthier person if I hadn’t had my father in my life because of the boatload of hurt hegave me for years and years.So afterlookingat this partwhodesperately wants love butfeels that love is what hurther I wondered…
What ifallthe obsessive thoughts and the planning far far into the future and pushing things fasterthan they are ready to go…what if it’s a protective mechanism to avoid actually falling inlove. Love = hurt.Lonliness = hurt. Therefore,find a way to not be lonely while also not feeling real (dangerous, terrifying, powerful) love.
Just a thought. But it resonated.
i’m drunk and punctuation is complicated
the weekend will have to take a back burner tonight it was fun and all nothing momentous but as i dashed out to catchmy ride to the airport the four-year-old part of me grabbed the mail and stashed a small package with familiar scratchy handwritinginto the outside pocket of my carryon backage. return address from “Gost Von Hooten” – googled it tonight but no literary connection as i hypothesized.no just some name he made up to get me to open what i already knew was a package from him. the address, the handwriting gave it away – or perhaps it was the email 10 days ago announcing with fanfare that he was sending me something.
that something was a mix CD and a long typed letter (3 pages with a chickenscratch signature at the end.
“my dear dearest daughter,” blah blah blah i listened to 2 tracks on the mix CD last night but was confused about whether the songs were included because they had the word ‘father’ or ‘cancer’ or because it’s a lovesong. that’s sick but it’s true and i got feeling all swirly weird inside so i switched back to NPR.
and today a little bird delivered an email to my inbox – a ranting, angry, hissing email announcing defeat and depression and desperation and what does he have to lose by showing up on my doorstep and havinghim yell i hate him. and that made me scared.
and then the panick attack and then the wine and call my mom. and talked rationally and calmly out of it. out of the experience and into dissociation. drunken dissociation. “you can control your feelings and your response to this”.
and now the numbness. before it was the i had a daddy who doesn’t love me because he cannot love another human being and the ow in my chest and the regression to a sobbing toddler wanting to suck my thumb and dig my teddy bear out of the attic. but now just the numbing numbness.
a disjointed little post
I’ve been really sleepy the past few days. Like hardly holding my eyes open at 6 pm. Now, I’m doing a lot of things right – like, uh, eating. Plenty. Not purging (holy cow this is a major streak I’m on – and my OCD perfectionist personality luh-huvs a good streak). Normal amounts of exercise – 1 hour of dogwalking per day plus a “normal person” gym workout. Is this emotional fatigue? Is this exhaustion from the swirly whirly thoughts in my head?
When my brain is pathologically repetitive (obsessive.compulsive.yuckness.disorder), I call it “hooking”. I get hooking thoughts that snag my brain as if with a barb and then they start looping. And the looping recurrences of these thoughts starts to speed up – which I refer to as “the hamster wheel”. Quite often there will be 2 or 3 hooking thoughts fueling the hamster wheel to spin faster and faster and faster. No work can get done. No meaningful interaction can take place. Only festering and manic hamster cardio can take place. Any time the hamster tries to get off the wheel, or if I successfully lure him off, the moment four paws are on solid ground he remembers, “oh shit – my wheel!” and hops back on and gets busy spinning. Damn hamster. I want to shoot him. Except that he lives in my head and that could be a little messy.
I “stole” a fitness magazine from the gym tonight. Lovely – should we be adding klepto to my list of crazy disorders? Maybe I’ll bring it back later in the week so that it was only borrowed. But it had lots of delicious eye candy and weight loss articles. Why am I gravitating back to that and trying to fuel that awful fire? Because I’m not happy with the events of the week and my brain and it’s rodent inhabitants are driving me bonkers. The cover model was this girl who grew up near me and who’s dad and step-mom were my mom’s neighbors for years. Don’t get all excited, I’ve never met her (but I’ve heard she’s a slutty bitch which makes me smugly satisfied – fame and fortune and slender thighs can’t make you pretty on the inside). But there’s a little sidebar in the article about her “battle with bulimia”. Apparently all she had to do was hire a trainer to help her shed weight “the healthy way” (from her perfectly healthy 118 pound frame, might I add) and she was cured. Perfect. What a sweet little story that perfectly reflects to SHAPE readers what an actual eating disorder is like. Bah fucking humbug. I want to write a letter to the editor – leave a comment on whether you think this is a good idea.
I’m grouchy. I’m lonely. I’m tired. I need therapy tomorrow big time.
anatomy of a purge
I admit: I’ve gotten swept up in the tidal wave that is New Year’s Resolutions and self-improvement. Unfortunately, I’m caught in the frothy surface of the swell and not the thrashing, bubbling well of momentum and overpowering change that is below. I’ve put down the cigarettes, taken up twice daily walks with the dog, aimed to drink more water, lifted weights, eat more fruit and basically anything else seemingly good for you that you can think of to set a really arbitrary quantitative goal around and track using spreadsheets or bar graphs. Or sparkpeople.com. Doh!
Sparkpeople may have just been the straw that broke this saucy young camel’s back – turning my recently domesticated pet of an eating disorder into fiery beast stamping and spitting aggression. It senses competition. The presence of a new step-sibling – “the good one” who gets to have all the fun. All the data entry and goal setting and internet searches for tips and motivation. It feels its remarkable skills in these areas are underappreciated. Someone else has been assigned the lead role in the school play – a role it was born and groomed to do. And so it decided to make a little stink about it.
And further fueling that stink yesterday was a work day filled with hours of nothingness. I chewed through my to-do list by 12 noon, hungry for more. But I floundered – couldn’t settle on anything that really sparked my attention. Well, that is unless you count internet searching, sparkpeople data entry, and google searches for health tips while chugging 24 ounces of water in under 15 minutes (peeing every 12 minutes doesn’t do much for the attention span either). Left without tasks, my mind becomes a bored bovine chewing its cud and instinctively swatting its tail. I ruminate. I obsess. I get stuck on something and it just resurfaces over and over and over. Just when I thought I’d broken free with a People magazine and some Chamomile tea I was pulled back in, scheduling work-out sessions and walks in my planner and adding new foods to “my favorites” on sparkpeople.
Which leads me to now – 4 in the morning – without even an eyelash that’s sleepy. Churning. Plotting. Angry at myself for the plotting. Trying to supervise the internal sibling rivalry which has exploded into toy-throwing and biting. It seems that if my parts can’t play nicely with sparkpeople.com, I’ll have to take it away like an exasperated mother. At least until they grow up a bit.
Impulsivity and Regret
Mental note: must research the difference between impulsivity and compulsivity.
I remember my Aunt Julie used to have these fabulous easter toys – all Chinese imports with poisonous paint, I’m sure. Among them were these suction cup bunnies with springs. You’d stick them to the table (only after licking them for added suction – and added saliva hickeys on the coffeetable) and wait and wait until the suction gave out and they went boinging skyward. That tension, the palpable anticipatory stress intended to bring joy and excitement was painful for me. Excruciating. It made me want to squirm and squeeze the nearest hand until metacarpals fractured. It made me feel teary-eyed and an urgent need to pee.
And now, that feeling is back. So all this pressure building up, is it self-inflicted? Am I anxious because I’m lonely and bored or because I fill that void with endless possibilities? I could move. I could stay and buy a condo. I could take a job at the hospital (where I have an appointment to shadow the therapist there tomorrow). I could take a travel position and live anywhere. I could stay put. I could downsize to a cheaper apartment. I could stay here and pinch pennies. But all THAT uncertainty is self-generated. I don’t really have any decisions to make, why do I create them?
So I’ve made some imulsive decisions lately, none with grave consequences but I’m feeling regretful and a bit embarrassed by them or at least ashamed of them despite no one else really knowing. Here are several of these impulsive actions: I emailed about a job opening at a pediatric clinic in Charlotte, NC (haven’t heard any response in the 24 hours since I sent it but I’m check check checking until I do). I posted an ad on Craigslist for my apartment. I’ve emailed other people about their available apartments. I set up this appointment to shadow at the hospital (well, technically that was set up a few weeks ago). I’m embarrassed because these decisions, while reflecting my thoughts at that moment, were not well-thought out and put me in awkward positions. A couple looked at my apartment tonight despite the fact that I haven’t commited to move. Why didn’t I just tell them it’s not available when they called? Why can’t I have the nerve to undo a minor impulsive mistake. Why do I feel so ashamed of the situations I get myself into when I’m spinning my wheels so quickly like I am now. What drives me to act so quickly and without taking the time to think things through? Is this the same tendency that gets me into trouble in relationships? I am so fucking uncomfortable just thinking about something – sitting with it – pondering it – letting it simmer in my brain. I just want to commit. Just so it’ll stop rattling around in this noggin of mine. I want an answer. Because the situation is no longer black, I want to paint it stark white right now, even if it takes eleven coats of paint (which it wouldn’t if I’d taken the time to purchase and apply a primer but that feels like it delays the gratification so I skipped that step). I am swimming in a sea of gray right now and it feels like shark-infested waters. I want out out out. But the only way out is to stay here and relax, stop fighting, and realize that the shark fins are a figment of my anxious, uncomfortable imagination.
The highlight reel
Life has been moving at too fast a pace recently and the emotional rollercoaster in constant acceleration and descent that I can’t even begin to imagine how to post about it. Here it is in a nutshell:
Wednesday night – J came home, we ventured to his family’s for Xmas Eve dinner. On the way he threatened to take me back home and leave me home alone because I was being too “mopey” (a.k.a. numb, dissociative, exhausted). I convinced him that I could pull it together and “fake it” for his family – which I did impeccably. And I actually felt a bit closer to him during the process.
Wednesday late night – Came home, snuggled, started to “repair” in the aftermath of conflict. He apologized for being so extreme and threatening to abandon me on Christmas eve. We talked about some of the pertinent issues in a calm way. Suddenly he gets up to leave the conversation because “you’re being so hurtful to me”. (I don’t doubt that he felt hurt. But the implication that it was intentional or my fault is not fair. I was merely talking about my need for boundaries – calm, thoughtful, not irrational or overly emotional. He was very hurt, ended the conversation by telling me he didn’t want me to come to Christmas at his family’s the next morning. He slept on the couch for the second night in a row.
Thursday a.m. – early morning discussion of plans resulted in him saying he really wanted me to come to Christmas morning at his family’s so that everyone would feel comfortable and because he would feel embarrassed if I didn’t. I did. On the drive over I requested we not talk about the conflict (he was trying to get back into it) and he responded by another threat to take me home. We made it through the morning at his family’s but with much more distance and tension than the night before.
Thursday afternoon – not really speaking post-Christmas morning. I went straight to bed for a 5 hour nap (avoidance? most definitely!). No food all day. Wanted very badly to self-destruct. Realized that I needed a safe place for the weekend and some respite from the emotional torture of our cycling conflict. Made last-minute flight arrangements to NC to be with my mom.
Thursday night – attempted to sit J down and explain WHY I needed to go to NC so that he didnt’ misinterpret it. He refused. He said that if I went to NC it was over and he’d begin to move his stuff out. He said he wanted to break up now because he feared it would happen anyway and he didn’t want to be hurt worse. I retreated to my cousin’s house for some support and called Bree for reassurance that my going to NC was well-intentioned and not negligent of my relationship. She said it sounded like self-protection and a very Self-guided decision.
Thursday late night – J wrote me an email apologizing for the threat to quit but explaining that he feels powerless over me. That everyone else in my life has influence except him. We had a good convesation about how I am starting to gain influence over my OWN life and decisions and that it probably felt yucky to him but was good for me. Talked at great length. No escalation. Slept in the same bed.
Friday 4 a.m. – awake and at the airport. Flew home. Currently typing on my step-dad’s computer.
Whew! I know, I know, it’s a bit crazy. I’m glad I made the decision, even though the conflict appeared to have relaxed a bit last night. There is really no predicting when or how or why it will escalate. I can only say this here in the relative security of the blog but I fear that I am in a doomed relationship. If it was just this conflict or our communication style I may feel differently. But I was reading an IFS book about relationships today on the plane and I can so clearly identify that in the beginnings of ALL relationships (not just J) I sublimate myself. It’s almost (in hindsight) as if I have no voice of reason. Then around month 6 the Self starts to creep in and say…is this really okay for you? Can you do this over the long-haul? But my parts answer “YES! We can do anything. That’s what love is. Putting up with whatever your partner hands you.” Then in the 12-14 month range I get exhausted. I cannot do this. I cannot commit to it. There are so many issues with our relationship that I don’t know where to begin.
Parts of me are so terrified to quit that I want to keep trying for a few more months. Parts of me fear shame and embarrassment if I call off an ENGAGEMENT. Parts of me are terrified of being alone. But all along, I’ve thought “If J and I didn’t work out, I’d kill myself.” And for the first time, I’m realizing that I wouldn’t. I’d carry on. I’d be okay. Sad, lonely, scared, empty, hurt. But I can survive on my own. Just that realization tugs at the deep down part of me that think I KNOW what to do. I just don’t want to do it, nor do I feel ready to. Especially not on the tails of so much conflict and drama. I need some space to sort it out. Luckily, for the next 3 days I have the entire eastern seaboard of space between us.
This has to go down in history as the hardest Christmas ever for me. Luckily I’m realizing that I have people I can turn to. I’m not trapped. I’m not stuck.
I have restricted severely over the past 48 hours and hope that I can start fresh tomorrow with healthy eating. Ugh. It feels like such a chore right now. Almost intolerable. The hunger feels good. But it will start to affect my mood and clarity of thinking. And if there is anything I trust right now, it’s that I’m having some clarity and perspective. I don’t want to jeoperadize that even if it means force feeding a bit.
merry day after Christmas to all. hope yours was better than mine.
quiet night at the Moseberg’s
J has been sleeping since I got home from work at 5:30. It is now nearly 10 p.m. and I’m wrapping up my day and about to go to bed for the night. I can’t help but think that his slumber is fueled by avoidance and passive aggressiveness. It’s making me feel really really pissed off.
I purged my dinner. Fuck. I have grandiose schemes in my head of serious restricting over the holidays. Double fuck. Yesterday may have been a bit much for my system to handle without flaring up my ED/protector parts. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. Dinner wasn’t anything more than I’ve eaten over the past few days without purging so I feel like that is a nice bit of empirical data that tells me so much of it has to do with emotions (wait, but I already knew that). Days like these I just want to run away from my life. Parts of me don’t want to marry this man. Parts of me don’t want to join his name and mine on a mortgage. Parts of me get hopeless and start thinking suicidal thoughts. Parts of me imagine planning a trip to NC to see my mom and just not returning. But those are just parts. They have their reasons.
Where did my Self go?
Desperately seeking therapy
So much has shifted since last Thursday morning’s therapy appointment. Perhaps I should use a different word than shifted – which to me connotes positive movement, improvement, progress. So much has gone down the shitter since last Thursday. So much has spiraled out of control. Has overtaken me. Possessed me.
I don’t even know what to say tomorrow morning to Bree. Even me – therapy-loving, IFS-believing me puts up some initial boundaries and it takes at least 20 minutes of “work” before I ever feel like I’m being fully open. I wish I could just plop down on her cream-colored couch, pull a blanket up around me in the fetal position and cry. Really wail and sputter and gasp – the way I do with J sometimes. Respond to her “how are you?” not with a courteous “been better”, “not so great” or “hanging in there”, but with primal gutteral screams and full body convulsions. I am so far from “hanging in there” right now. I’ve had about three days in a row of dinstinct “fuck hanging in there” mentality. Wherever “there” is…I ain’t anywhere close to it and am catching the next bus to as far away from it as I can get on my limited savings.
J’s expressing some frustration again with ED. That he feels disconnected and like I have this thing that is mine and that I don’t let him in on. He brought up the blog thing again – “you won’t even let me read your blog”. Yes, dear but it doesn’t seem to have stopped you now, did it? Of course this beast is mine and he can’t have it – even a little piece of it. That’s probably one of the main reasons why it is here in my life. Because nothing else feels like my own – safe from the greedy paws of others. I mean I’m having freaking visual hallucinations of my father harvesting my organs – clearly I have some boundary issues. I am just so angry and admittedly hopeless. It’s one of those days (or two or three) where I don’t want to get married, know that there’s no possible way I could handle having a kid (let alone two or three), and generally want to retreat away to a cabin in the woods and puke and starve all the rest of the days of my life. Clearly, ED is speaking for me today.
I feel a little frustrated that I’m not able to post bright, shiny, sparkly thoughts today. Usually I don’t feel that way or feel the need to apologize for my negativity. I aim not to write for an audience but to write honestly what I’m feeling - but for some reason tonight I’m thinking of how regular readers might feel disppointed or not want to read more of the hopelessness and sickness and general depths of darkness. Then again, that’s what keeps me reading at least a third of my blogroll.
J just woke up and plopped on the couch and started trying to snuggle and ramble on about tell me about some dream he just had. For fuck’s sake, can I not even blog in peace at 4:30 in the morning??!! I didn’t post last evening because we were engaged in this talk about his feelings and my disorder and blah blah blah and I didn’t want to then throw it in his face by going and “confiding” in my not-so-secret blog. But here I sit, crack of dawn in a dark house, sipping my tea and typing away only to feel interrupted, pulled away from it, like I’m not being a good partner because all I really want to do right now is blog.
And on that note, it seems about time to try to muster a few more hours of restless, hungry sleep before hitting the gym. Here’s hoping that therapy will help.
oh the demons
they raise their voices in harmony. they drown out all the individual whispers of motivation. each tiny success, each step toward health and recovery raises the volume of the self-destructors. i think there may just be enough of the positive voices. why can’t they unify? they need a leader to orchestrate their efforts.
oh, don’t look at me. i know it’s the obvious answer to the division dilemma. i know my dear therapist would use the IFS framework to remind me that my self-energy can fill that role. but somehow that energy is drained. where did my self go?
Frustration is
-wanting to not eat a damn thing tomorrow, feeling hunger envelop me like a staticky, scratchy wool blanket on a cold night
-tears flowing in shavasana tonight at the end of group
-J having a horrible day of depression and shuffling around the house like an empty shell of the man I love
-not having the energy to fight today
-feeling alone no matter how many people are in the room
-realizing that relapse, recovery, sickness, relative health, quiet, noise, company of others, solitude all feel uncomfortable on some level
-losing hope that there is a comfortable place in the near future and if there is not having faith that I’m able to find it
-two more excruciating days until therapy when I really need it about 2x per day right now
-losing sight of the want to want to get better
-the up and down of it all, the cycles. the not being able to hold tight to an ounce of motivation and positivity for more than a few hours before it slips out of my hands like a flailing wet fish. the not being able to hold tight to the hopelessness and negativity either because the road keeps curving back to motivation.
blech. today was a void. December 15 was just a day on the calendar, empty of content. Like a place someone set for me at the table of a dinnerparty I just couldn’t bring myself to attend.
