I absolutely love the classes I’m taking. They’re very basic classes–Intro to Sociology and Violence in Literature–but I love how they intertwine how the information in one class is relevant in the other. It’s just a great cohesion. We talk a lot about violence in my classes. Violence against a group of people and violence against an individual. Actions aren’t the only form of violence. Words can be violent too.
No one know everything that happened between my soon to be ex and me behind closed doors. I tend to find it easier to open up fairly anonymously than to my friends and family. There’s less judgement (hopefully) and I get a different perspective on things.
At the end of October, I told one of my friends almost everything that happened while I was married and it’s taken me this long to process and repeat what she said. She said he was emotionally abusive. And I have a hard time taking that to heart.
I’ve heard the stories and know the warning signs, but it’s not the same. He didn’t put me down (directly). He didn’t say I was stupid or worthless or good for nothing. He didn’t threaten me. He didn’t control me (again, directly). So because his behaviours didn’t fit exactly in the definition of emotional abuse, I’m having a hard time calling it emotional abuse.
But when I look at it, really look at it, I can see that it was.
- He called me names. Names that I don’t feel comfortable repeating. He would call me names when he thought I was sleeping. When I would confront him about it, he was apologetic and said he’d never do it again. But he did.
- He would say other hurtful things and after I was crying, he would say that he was joking and that I was being silly and over reacting or I was being too sensitive. He would also say that when I shared my emotions with him.
- He would “jokingly” threaten to beat me.
- He would say that my thoughts/morals/ideals were stupid and I was going to hell for having them.
- He would often say, “God is punishing you,” if I tripped, or something fell, or if something didn’t turn out the way I wanted.
I would get angry. I would be hurt. I would cry. I would wonder why he would say those things. I would wonder if he loved me.
I use school to escape my real life. I bury myself in school work so I don’t have to think about what’s really going on. And the rest of the time, I have the eating disorder blocking me of any real chance of dealing with anything. I don’t mind so much. But when the terminology starts to become applicable to real life situations, I tend to have a hard time accepting it. Those terms, those circumstances, belong to other people. Not me. But they do belong to me. I was a target of domestic violence.
That is really hard to admit and accept. And I’m not sure I do as of yet. But I can see it. Next I just have to say it.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to write something.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to convince myself that it’s okay to eat something.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to drink water, juice, something, anything.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to reach out and get support.
i’ve been sitting here struggling not to take laxatives.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to get my panic attacks under control.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to allow myself to take my meds to help calm me down.
i’ve been sitting here struggling to admit to myself that i need more support.
i’ve been sitting here struggling with the fact that i know what i need to do, but can’t seem to do it.
I am so bored right now that I started taking pictures at my desk. I feel too guilty reading the book for my literature class, so I just have it sitting there taunting me.
I’m so bored right now. But I’m going to take it and run with. It’s better than being anxious and on edge.
I ended up going and staying for my sociology class. I’m glad I did. I got to talk to classmates and really tried to concentrate. I did find myself zoning out a few times, but I’m okay with that. It’s not material I don’t already know and regardless, I think I was engaged about 75% of the time. I’m pretty proud of myself for that. Plus, my test god pushed back a week. That really helps because I was worried I was going to have to pull double duty with studying for the test and writing my lit paper for next week. Now I just have to concentrate on my paper. 🙂
I got home last night and was really agitated and frustrated and angry. I didn’t want to do anything or even really watch anything. I was unpacking a box my parents had sent and just started throwing stuff out of the box. I was just so angry. And I broke down. I didn’t want to cry. I had been holding it together fairly well. I had managed to stop any tears from falling earlier, but I just couldn’t stop last night. I eventually managed to pull myself together. I don’t like losing control when I haven’t scheduled it.
I have a book to finish by tomorrow (which isn’t happening, but I’m going to try), a paper that’s due next Thursday, and a test the Tuesday after that. Then I’m looking at Thanksgiving and then finals. I can’t break down until after finals. I just have to keep going until then. Just putting one foot in front of the other and getting through each day.
And this is the view from my desk. It’s always fun looking out at the cement wall of the building next door.
Yesterday and today have been icky panic attack wise. I got one on the way to work. I almost went back home when I got off to change trains. And on the way home, I got another one because the subway car was too crowded and got off to wait for an emptier train. As I was waiting I started to cry.
I was already tired and I’m sure that restricting at lunch didn’t really help, but I haven’t had two panic attacks in a day in five years.
I didn’t have one this morning. Well, not a full blown one. But I did have increased anxiety. I didn’t know if I’d be able to make it to the subway station so I called a car service. (Ugh. I know that sounds ridiculously selfish and spoiled. But it was either that or stay home from work. And that’s never the better option in these situations.)
I know I restricted more than normal yesterday, so I’m trying to eat better today. Breakfast went okay. It was easy to handle. Just slow and steady. And then came lunch. It started out rough and just got out of control. I debated for a while about getting lunch, but I finally ordered something comforting. I knew it would be stressful, but not like this.
I had gotten over the majority my mealtime guilt quite some time ago. This doesn’t mean I still didn’t feel any guilt, but it usually happened after meals. Today’s was during. I almost put the food down and started crying. Then it just got really difficult to swallow. And then the panic set in. And BOOM! Panic attack.
So incredibly not fun. Now I’m just trying to keep it together so I can go to class this evening. I don’t want to skip class, but I’m not 100% certain that I can make it through the whole lecture. But I really want to go to class. But I also just want to sleep.
Oh my goodness. It’s a little before 1:00pm here and I still haven’t finished my essay that’s due today at 6:00pm. This is the same essay that was due last week. I hadn’t finished it and told my instructor what had happened. She gave me an extension until this week to get it done. I’m really appreciative because she could have just said, “too bad,” and lowered my grade. But I’m still struggling with getting it finished. I have 2.5 pages out of 5 done. And it’s really bad writing. I’m so not happy with it. And I hate to say it, but at this point, I just don’t care. I just want the damn thing done.
I just want to be able to go home and take a nap. Right now. Please.
Or at least just lie in bed with my puppy.
I just need the weekend to come.
I felt like I have a firm grasp on the box labeled “emotions.” But now I feel like I’m starting to lose it. I’ll be fine one minute, then about ready to burst into tears the next. I’d really rather not come into work each day. Actually, I’d really rather not wake up so early each morning.
This morning, I woke up happy. Happy about the possibilities I have in my future. Happy with the current path I’m on. Well, almost happy with that one. I had a moment of… honesty… realization… I don’t know. I thought about maybe I should be completely honest with my therapist tomorrow and tell her everything. And I mean EVERYTHING.
She knows the food part. The majority of it. She knows some of the thoughts. But she doesn’t know about some of the behaviors. I’m embarrassed to tell her I binged (without purging). I’ve barely admitted to trying to purposefully trigger myself by going on some not so healthy websites and reading stories of others struggling. While part of it is positive (it helps me see how far I’ve come and feel less alone), there’s also a huge negative part to it. I become obsessive about reading all that I can. I still want to lose weight. I want to be thin again. And I haven’t been able to lose as much as I would have liked to by now.
I understand that restricting and bingeing and purging is not helping my metabolism at all. In fact, I’m sure it’s pretty much ruined. It makes me so angry that I’ve done this to myself, but I don’t know how else to be. Wait–I think I kind of do. I’ve been through programs, but they never really got through. They taught us how to eat properly, which I already knew. They taught us that behaviors are just the symptom, which I already knew. They taught us healthy coping mechanisms to use instead of behaviors, which added to my arsenal. But how do I get rid of the thoughts that propel my desire to lose weight? How do I go from just knowing what to do to actually doing it?
How do I not want the eating disorder when I was happier when I was thinner? When I was happy with how I looked? When I had more confidence? When I wasn’t afraid of taking chances? When that was when I actually believed in myself?