And I’m Still Hurting

I want him out of my head. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I don’t want to see his face when I close my eyes.  I don’t want to want to feel his touch. I don’t want the good memories to make me smile and miss him even more than I already so. My lungs feel tight and my breaths are shallow. It just hurts.
I’m tired of feeling. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I can’t handle anymore pain. I just want to be numb.
Numb.
n u m b.
Strategically planning when I can be alone and what I want to have. There will be NO interruptions. I have the time to myself.
To stop the emotions from coming up, I block their way with chips and cake and rice and ice cream. I need these feeling stay down and out of the way. I can’t function when I feel like that.
I stop in the midst of shoveling food in my mouth and look and what I’ve done. Full of embarrassment and shame, I hang my head and try to think of a way out.
You said you’d never do this again. Now look at yourself. How can you even look at yourself. You’re so disgusting and vile. How can anyone stand to be around you? Well the damage has been done, but let’s make sure you really feel it.
Back to the kitchen I go to get the food that hurts. One handful on the way out. Two handfuls as I sit down. I can’t cram the food in fast enough.  But when I’ve deemed it’s been enough, I walk to the bathroom.
I dread the bathroom.
I love the bathroom.
The ritual starts.
Get everything out.  Geteverythingout.  GETEVERYTHINGOUTNOW!  It hurts because you’re horrible.  If you weren’t horrible, you wouldn’t be doing this to yourself…  your husband would have stayed…  you would have control.  Control.  Get everything out and never do this again.  You need to control yourself.
My heart has been cut up into a million pieces.
I try to put it back together, but can’t see through my tears.
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Being Quiet

I made this New Year’s resolution to talk more this year and not keep things so bottled up.  And I’m failing miserably with it.  I’ve been slowly telling certain people certain things, but not one of my friends has the whole story on what’s been going on.

My divorce is final.  I got the official papers a few weeks ago.  Besides my immediate family, only 4 friends know.  I know my friends love and support me.  And they would never judge me.  But in the same breath I can say that I’m embarrassed and slightly ashamed that something I thought was going to last, didn’t.  That the relationship was so hurtful, but I couldn’t see that until I got some distance from it.  That I still have moments where I find myself missing him and wanting to see him again.

I started therapy again.  It’s bringing up a lot of feelings that I’m not comfortable with.  And I’ve been dealing with them by using some not healthy behaviors.  I get in cycles of bingeing and restricting.  It’s the only thing that really makes me feel better.  Or better said, it’s the only thing that helps me not to feel; to be numb.  And I’d rather be numb.  Numb is always better.  Then I can’t hurt.  I won’t feel the pain.  I won’t need something else to distract me. I can just be and focus on what I need to do.

Standing on the Precipice

I’ve been trying to distract myself for the majority of the day.  I’ve really wanted to just binge and purge all day or, at the very least, just dig out my laxatives.  And I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.  I’ve tried to do homework, watching a movie, playing games on my phone and computer, taking a nap and the urges are still there and just as strong.

Last week, I had been thinking that it might be worth it to try to go through my insurance for a referral for a therapist.  I would love to continue to see the one I was seeing as she knows everything already, but I can’t afford her.  Even with her sliding scale.  The person I called was rude.  After I told her the symptom usage, she asked my weight.  I’m already embarrassed about my weight and it just kills me every time I have to say it out loud.  I lied and told her I weigh ten pounds less than I actually do.  She basically said I was fat.  Actually, she said, “Well, those symptoms haven’t made you thin.”  Yeah.  Ouch.

I’ve just been replaying that conversation over and over in my head.  Every time I go to eat something, I hear her words again.  I feel so guilty after eating, if I eat at all.  All I want to do is lose weight.  As much as I can, as quickly as I can.  I just want the food out.  I want to be empty.

On a good day, I can fight the urges and the thoughts with minimal usage.  Yes, I’m probably still technically engaging in behaviors, but you know what?  It’s better than completely consumed by the eating disorder.  Not really in recovery (but closer than I’ve been in a long time), but not completely consumed either.

I’m just too exhausted to fight it anymore.

When School and Real Life Collide

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.

Enough

The crying needs to stop. NOW. I don’t like being all teary eyed all day long. I don’t like it when I’m anxious and jittery that I can’t think about anything other than escaping. I don’t like that I haven’t been able to finish a meal without crying the past couple of days. I don’t like it that I’m slacking on my responsibilities but can’t find the energy to get them done properly (so why do them at all?)

I’m usually much better at handling my emotions. I’m really good at compartmentalizing everything. At least I used to be. Now, it’s like everything is bubbling and I can’t keep the lid down. I have no idea how I used to do it.

I tried writing in my journal over the weekend to help me process some of this stuff, but I got so incredibly angry that I started shaking and had to stop.

I don’t want anyone to think I can’t handle this because I can. But I’m sick and tired of people telling me that this is the best thing to happen and that I will be okay. Well, no shit. I will be okay because I have no other choice than to be okay. And it’s not that I want to talk about myself every single second of every single day, but it would be nice if someone other than my parents, 1 friend, and 1 acquaintance asked how I was doing. I just feel so alone. And sad. And angry.

I am having a hard time reaching out. I always have. I just feel like since everyone knows I’m normally strong and resilient, then I must be okay now. But it’s not true. I feel like I’m crumbling. (I can’t even afford therapy right now. I’m a mess.) All I want to do is hide away in bed.

This pity party needs to stop. I just need to pull myself up with my boot straps and dry my tears. I can be strong like everyone thinks I am. I can handle it.

No. Really. I can.

I just don’t want to.