“What does recovery mean to you?”
…this was the subject line on an email in my inbox today from… (drumroll)….
President Barack Obama. Yep. You heard right. During the campaign I was on a mailing list and received nearly daily emails from Barack and Michelle and the whole gang asking me to support them in various ways. HA -if only they knew how unable I was to support ANYone, including myself, this fall. So these emails keep coming as part of Prez’s plan to stay technosavvyconnectedawesome with his people. I didn’t even open the email, knowing it would spoil the illusion that MY PRESIDENT is so in touch with me and my needs that he wants to know how my ED recovery is going. So, B., I’ll tell you:
Recovery means:
I have much more time on my hands to make things and pet my dog and free-read for hours at Barnes and Noble. Sometimes this time makes me feel edgy and anxious. Other times lonely or sad. I am getting better at tolerating these feelings without my infamous “maladaptive coping strategies”.
My mother doesn’t call every day and ask how “my appetite is” and encourage me to drink Ensure if I “can’t keep solids down”. The phone rings less frequently than when I’m sick, but I’m more likely to answer it when it does.
I’ve begun the journey to figuring out who the real ME is, beneath the skin and bones and mountains of jiggly, soft flesh.
Ironically, I actually think LESS about my body and weight at my “healthy” weight than I do at my “sick” weights. When I catch myself in the mirror, I am, however, still mostly disappointed. Such is life. Things don’t change overnight.
I save water by flushing 75 fewer times per day.
The hopelessness has receded. I’m pretty sure on most days that I should be alive and that I may have things to contribute to the world.
I can eat most meals without acute distress. There is often regret and shame and self-loathing afterwards, but I don’t struggle to put fork to mouth or skip meals altogether.
I can choose not to go to the gym – if I’m tired or busy or want to take a long walk instead. The gym is not punishment for my last meal. But I have to go tonight because I didn’t go yesterday!
Looking skyward and whispering, “thank you” to whatever god, goddess, life force, quantum physics or nothingness has helped me make it this far. Pleading with it to stay near and keep helping.
Really really hoping that I never have to crawl out of the black pit of despair again.
Whoa!
That little motherfucker called bulimia tried to hijack my dinner. Whoa. Where did that come from? I’ve been doing so well lately and haven’t even really had the urge. Maybe a few thoughts here or there but nothing of significance. And then, wham! I get bodyslammed and jackhammered by the urge while I’m eating. I fought it off (am quite proud of that as fighting the urge once it arises is not a well-developed skill) but it was about a 45 minute wrestling match on this brown sofa. And then the restricting negotiator part jumped in to mediate a truce – “okay, you can keep dinner as long as you skip breakfast and lunch tomorrow.” Well, Howie Mandele, I say NO DEAL! I will keep this dinner and eat again tomorrow morning.
Here’s the thing: I’m very anxious. All this time on my hands and emptiness in my home and my heart feels unbearable. Like being a passenger on a hijacked 19 hour flight to who-knows-where-but-you-fear-it’s-not-gonna-be-a-tropical-paradise and you thoughtlessly wore an itchy wool sweater for the journey. Like my brain is thrashing around in my brain like an rhinoscerous with insomnia. Like my fingers took speed and just need to type and fidget and flip and pick and move and destroy and shake. OCD is back (thankfully it appears to be situational and thereby easier to understand and face than a full-blown personality disorder). The checking, the endless 837 mile per hour thoughts, the hooking repetitive impulses, the restlessness, the cleaning, the order, the feeling overtaken in my own body. It hasn’t been this noticable since summer of 2007, also the summer of bulimic dispair. First and foremost, the two do NOT have to go hand in hand. Sure, the OCD sets the stage but I cannot let the behaviors start again. I’d rather have Gmail take away my account for obsessive checking that hinders other traffic from accessing their site than be sick. So I can’t let it go down that road.
I know that these feelings deserve some therapeutic attention and some understanding on my part of where they come from and what they need. But individual therapy is cancelled the next two weeks (thank God for group) and I’m not sure how effective I am on my own with this stuff when I’m so blended with it.
So in the meantime, here’s what I know:
things that make it worse: endless several consecutive hours at home alone, the computer, the TV, big chunks of unscheduled time at work, social isolation
things that make it better: moving my body, time with my dog, reading (picked up a good novel at the recommendation of a good friend), talking on the phone, going out for coffee/tea, podcasts, music, sewing/crafting, blogging (which, unfortunately opens the laptop to other repetitive wastes of time)
I think I’ll leave early for group – there’s usually a couple of very good people early to chat with. Then home to read. Turning off the computer now. Like actually powering down for the night (my poor computer never gets time OFF, only SLEEP – frequently interrupted sleep). I think I can I think I can…right after I check my…NO I think I can I think I can.
I know better
I know that restricting does the following:
-fogs my thinking
-makes me anxious and irritable
-depresses me
-sets the stage for a perceived binge (chocolate covered almonds after dinner, for example)
-sets the stage for a purge (grrr)
-makes ANY morsel of food that enters my belly elicit bloating and discomfort
So why do I do it??!! Partly I’ve been restricting all week as an effort to stave off any purging (which it hasn’t entirely but has certainly decreased it). Partly it’s because of the emotional demands on me right now and the side effect of needing some sense of control (so ED cliche’ed but true). Partly the pain feels good. But I got some “bars” at the grocery today that feel like an acceptable breakfast/lunch or snack to give a whirl tomorrow. I know I can do it – it just requires talking myself down from that disordered place. Compromising with my parts.
I’m starting to visit friends here at home and to accept the phone calls that are incoming. My mom and I saw “Marley and Me” today and I got a perfect excuse to let some tears out in a safe space (no one but me had to know that it wasn’t because of the plot-line).
And, brace yourselves for a shocker, I got some good advice today from my mom. I fully expected her advice to be just to end my relationship. To give up and move on. As if it’s that easy. But she just told me that she thinks I should go back to Vermont and start living the life I want. If it fits with J’s, great. If he resents me taking time and energy for my own self-care, to make a social network, to seek out some sort of meaningful spiritual community or any host of other things I know I need in order to be healthy….then the relationship will naturally end. She thinks that I’m putting too much energy into talking about my needs rather than just living my life according to them. I know that this approach may sound totally negligent of my partner’s needs. But he has, to date, been unable to (1) understand the concept of needs – he even says that he doesn’t understand, (2) articulate any needs himself, (3) demonstrate any needs other than for me to have no needs of my own. I have to tend to agree with my mom’s advice – if only because the talking doesn’t seem to be getting me anywhere. Maybe this will be a more effective way of eliciting change in J than talking about it.
A huge loud part of me says that you shouldn’t want or need your partner to change. That love is about acceptance and compromise. But I’m being completely honest with myself that there are other parts that are speaking up that there are several things within our relationship that simply cannot continue. I’m trying to remember myself when I was healthy (including when I met J) and to begin a path back towards those values.
In my ongoing reading of the IFS relationship book, I was jolted into an upright and alert state by the following excerpt related to abandonment anxiety:
“Whenever we fall in love, the other person always appears rich with a superabundant life…extraordinarily beautiful and extraordinarily alive, an animal whose nature is not to be docile but rebellious, not weak but strong…which is free and liberating, but also unforeseeable and frightening. That is why the person who is more frightened imposes on the other a great many restrictions, a great many small sacrifices, all of which are basically intended to make her gentle, safe and innocuous. And the other person gradually accepts them. To avoid upsetting her lover, she imperceptibly eradicates everything that may have that effect. She makes many small renunciations , none of which is serious…gladly makes them because she wants her lover to be happy, and she tries to become what he wants her to be. Gradually, she becomes domestic, available, always ready, always grateful. In this way, the marvelous wild beast is reduced to a domestic pet; the tropical flower, plucked from its environment, droops in a little vase by the window. And the lover who asked her to become like this because he wanted to be reassured, because he was frightened by the new experience, winds up misisng in her what he had previously sought and found. The person who stands before him is not the same one he had fallen in love with….he asked her to moderl herself on his fears, and now he faces the result of those fears – her nothingness.”
-quoted in the IFS book from sociologist Francisco Alberoni
I want so fucking desperately to be rich with superabundant life. Not in a false way to make others feel good. I genuinely want to feel extraordinarily alive and strong. It doesn’t fit nicely into a measurable outcome but THAT is my supreme goal for 2009. Without descriptors of whether that is in a relationship with J or on my own.
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.
FRUSTRATION
Conflict with J is ongoing and immensely frustrating. It’s really stirring up my parts and resembling the dynamic between me and my father (which Bree asserts isn’t coincidence – apparently we have a tendency to partner with people to continue a familiar cycle). Luckily I had a therapy appointment at 1:30 today but the hour before was spent in conflict culminating in me weeping hopelessly on the couch. The drive to therapy was consumed by the following thoughts from my “firefighter”parts:
1. I want to kill myself
2. I never want to eat again as long as I live
3. I want to fly home right now
4. I want to rent a hotel room for the next week and not come out of it
5. purge purge purge
I rehashed parts of the conflict with Bree and got major reassurance that what I was saying to J was HEALTHY and marks progress for me. Laying down boundaries (I don’t want anyone I know to read my blog), asserting my needs (I need some space right now and don’t feel like cuddling), speaking for my parts (Part of me felt really abandoned and rejected last night when you slept from the time I got home to the time I went to bed).
She tried to deduce from what she knows of J what might contribute to his particular conflict style. But mainly she explained that what J fell in love with was a me who was obsessively nurturing and caretaking, asserted no needs or boundaries, appeared always happy and was “highly functional”. I was living from my manager and helper parts. As I’m gaining some Self, he’s feeling like he’s losing something (something every man would want….a woman who takes care of EVERYTHING without so much as a peep). But ultimately she reassured me that gaining Self is what I need to do – for me and for the long-term sustainability of any relationship I am in. I just hope J can hang in there through it and adjust to the new me. I hope that he can use his therapy time to work through some of this stuff. Unfortunately I’ve never felt like he gains much insight or clarity or perspective in his therapy – truly I don’t know what he talks about or works on. I wish we could be back in couples therapy so we could talk about this stuff. Maybe something to put back on the table as an option.
Weird ED moment of the day: during conflict trying hard to get a salad down before therapy but started crying and feeling really really emotional. So….right there in front of J I spit the chewed lettuce back on the plate and proceeded to swab by finger all over my mouth to remove all the food. Ugh – gross. But I could NOT swallow food at that moment. It was revolting to me. I finished the salad a few hours later after therapy. Don’t want to eat dinner at all but there I’ll sit in front of J’s entire family pushing food around on my plate. FUCK I hate this.
Anyhoo..it’s Christmas eve. We’re supposed to be at his family’s house in 25 minutes for dinner. J isn’t home yet from Christmas shopping. I’m irritated. I’ll put on my happy face for the next few hours, I suppose. Really I’d like to stay home and read…although that is really sad and pathetic on Christmas.
Hope Santa’s good to everyone. Merry Merry, as my mom says.
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?
A post about S-E-X.
Enticing, eh? Don’t hold your breath, you’ll pass out with anticipation. I’m not really feeling open to sharing details but J and I had a conversation about our sex life tonight. A life which has been dwindling for about 6 months and has dried to a meager sporadic trickle now. We’re not even married! Isn’t this supposed to happen around year 6 of matrimony? Not on your one year anniversary of dating?
I tried, really, with everything in me not to get too reactive, too inflammatory, too dramatic. To maintain a calm tone and speak for my parts instead of from them. But my LORD he makes it difficult. Everything is about him. Part of me feels it is utterly impossible to utter a single syllable about our relationship without him feeling judged, shamed, or altogether criticized. I attempted approximately 23 times to reframe or restate some of my feelings in a way that didn’t inflame his insecurities but then a feeling started creeping in that this was more than his self-esteem (perffect example – my use of the word “creeping” in this sentence would have elicited, “well, that is just really hurtful to me that you’re calling me a creep. no wonder I don’t want to have sex with you”). That somehow by getting so offended, he was controlling me. It is a not-so-subtle throw-back to the way my father reacts in conflict. Get so personally offended that the other part abandons their cause to try to care for you; tease out the caretaker part and make her apologize for any assertiveness or honesty she may have experienced, thereby negating her needs.
Well, fuck. Bree has said that my therapeutic work may be a bit slower because of my prime relationship mirroring some of my old ones and “stirring up” my parts. I didn’t at first want to admit that this was true, but tonight it started coming into focus. That recognition of being manipulated and feeling trapped by it. So what happens, class, when I feel trapped?? Everyone say it with me, “self-destruction”. That’s right. So first, as I fell asleep, I vowed to give up food forever (not even snacks) – just torture myself to death with a hunger strike. Then the desire to slice rivers of blood down my thighs (interesting if only because I’ve never cut before). Then came the suicidal ideation – at least it had some creativity this time – take a handful of Valium and go lay down in the snow in the middle of a field and die of hypothermia. I’ve heard that you go crazy first with giddiness from the cold and that sounds pretty appealling to me.
A part of me throughout this whole hour+ ordeal was screaming inside, “You had one hell of an emotional night. Now is just not the time to be getting into this with J.” Another part was shouting, “Fuck you, dude. Don’t ever say, “no wonder i don’t want to have sex with you” to me!!” And a third, “You are a narcissistic prick just like my father.” But I thought better than to speak for these parts.
No wonder it tastes so good…
Several of the blogs I read are of lovely ladies recovering and using their blogs to, amongst other things, document the scrumptious foods they eat. Well I was inspired to add some of these foods to my grocery cart today, including a tea made by Celestial Seasons called Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride – a holiday exclusive flavor. I had seen it on several blogs and thus was so motivated to find it that I ventured into three stores today. Let me tell you, I thought it was well worth it. I had two cups of that stuff to warm me up on a blizzardy Vermont day after shoveling the driveway. J came home and I showed it to him and proptly flipped to the ingredient list in search of the secret to its deliciousness. GLUTEN! Ack!!! Gluten in tea??!! Yep. Apparently to make it taste extra cookie-ish they add barley. You know what I have to say to that? Bah-fucking-humbug. No more delicious tea for me. And a bit of a yucky gut hangover from it. Moral of the story? Never stop checking labels. Even when you feel that you are a Celiac pro. Don’t get cocky. Just check the g.d. label.**
In other news. I had another successful day of eating, by which I mean that I feel really uncomfortable right now. I again had about 3 episodes of “urges” while eating but they passed. I swear starting the day with breakfast right off the bat is part of this key to success. I have always been one of those people who wakes up absolutely famished. And lately have been hop-skipping right through breakfast with only coffee in my belly. Not only does it start the day with my crankypants on, it definitely sets me up to eat more than I’m comfortable with or faster than feels okay later in the day. For anxiety’s sake I’ve been sticking with the same thing every morning. I can handle a little more flexibility and choice later in the day as long as I fuel my fire when I wake up. So a piece of toast with PB, or cashew butter or cream cheese and a small smoothie it is. Low volume, high nutrition (exactly the opposite of what women’s magazines tell you to do). I get what I need to start the day but don’t feel freaked out by the feeling of it in my tummy.
The thoughts are there to restrict tomorrow and it certainly is easier when I’m at work. But despite twinges of discomfort in this very moment, on the whole I felt physically, emotionally and mentally stronger this weekend. I snow-shoveled and went to the gym and ate healthy things. So I’m trying to reassure myself that I won’t have to exchange gifts for a size XXL anytime soon.
I had an interesting moment tonight while parusing a friend’s pictures on Facebook tonight. I worked with him at this fabulous summer camp for several years and the place is really the epitome of happiness and comfort in my own skin. It’s on the top of a mountain in my home state and is filled with the most authentic, energetic and loving people I’ve ever known. So this picture was taken what I believe to be the summer after I graduated from college. My senior year of college was the one time in my life when I actually gained some weight. Nothing unhealthy but it was probably the only year that anyone would not call me “petite” or “tiny” (words which I know realize I have incorporated deeply into my identity – how shallow. but true). Here is this picture of me and a friend, arms around each other , huge genuine smiles, skin glowing from suntans and peace. And all I could think about what how fat I looked. How I couldn’t believe I let myself get that way. How that’s the reason why I need my eating disorder. The strength of my visceral reaction of disgust at my own appearance makes me want to cry. I wish wish wish that I could see past the round cheeks and get joy from seeing my smile. I don’t judge others so harshly. I look at my yoga teachers with curves and think how they look healthy and confident. But I see myself with curves and it repulses me. Definitely need to talk to Bree about this. I want to know why my internalized image of myself is so thin and why it is so abhorrent to see myself any other way. It really rattled me and I’m glad I saw that picture a few hours after I’d eaten dinner.
**and yes, checking labels is something I wish I didn’t HAVE to do because it has a tendency to stir up some disordered parts who want me to restrict. but it’s just a necessary part of my existance. the whole eating disorder and celiac connection is so frustrating. for example – having an eating disorder often makes one paranoid that other people are watching what you eat, judging what you eat. well, in my case, they often are. At least when I eat around unfamiliar people (perhaps why I try not to do that so much). I got so “skilled” at restricting my food intake around the same time that I officially had to eliminate certain wonderful, delicious foods from my diet (bread, pasta, brownies, cookies, pancakes, rolls, pita pockets, crackers, etc…..). I became obsessed with food right around the time that I kind of had to for my health. Certainly I can’t be the only one in the universe with a similar experience of an ED exacerbated or triggered by Celiac or another dietary restriciton?!!
Soliciting medical advice from experts in the field…
no not the medical field. the eating disordered field. Alright, so this post is going to feel much different from my usual thoughts, feelings, daily goings on…
As I’m working on all the head games and emotional issues, one of the side effects has been a recurrence of my lovely “symptoms”. Restrict, eat (a perceived binge but not textbook classification), purge, cardio exercise 1-2 hours per day.
I usually don’t worry too much about the physical effects of my disordered behavior. However in the past week I’ve been increasingly concerned and am turning to those of you who’ve been through this for some advice…
I’ve had a few days of Celiac symptoms acting up – which means increased…well, bowel movements. I think that’s setting some of the stage for feeling physically like crap after purging. Usually when my Celiac gets flared up I don’t absorb my food as well because my gut is inflamed. So add to that repeated purging and I’m getting a little maternal towards this “temple” of my body.
The thing I’m really worried about are the electrolytes. I know, I know my dental enamel and esophagus are suffering too. But it’s collapse or heart issues that are scaring me right now. Should I be having my potassium levels monitored? How frequently? I’m purging 1-2x every day with occasional weekend days of 3-7x. Lately I’m feeling swirly and unsteady on my sea legs after my little bathroom olympics. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you have to be purging in the double digits every day to worry about electrolytes. But I need some reassurance here.
I’m asking you guys because I’ve heard all the horror stories about medical professionals not being, well, sensitive to the plight of the eating disordered. But everyone in group tonight was talking about their experiences and I realized I have NEVER been under any medical care for my ED – only therapy. Should I be under some sort of supervision?
Also, aside from the obvious cosmetic drawbacks, any real danger to the swollen salivary glands?
I ask not for permission to carry on my merry way on the road of self-harm. Rather so that I can be as “safe” as possible while I’m battling this fucker.
thanks in advance! -nb
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.
