Looking Back

This past year has led me on a journey I never thought I would have ever been on. There were immense highs and hellish lows.  I regret nothing.  Everything was a learning experience.

I miss my husband terribly.  I still love him with all my heart.  I whole heartedly wish that things would have turned out differently.  I’m still having a difficult time coming to terms with the reality of our relationship.  I have a hard time saying it out loud.

Another year has passed and I’m still just as entrenched in my eating disorder now  as I was 5 years ago.  Maybe some of the behaviors have lessened or changed, but the thoughts are just as intense.

I went back to school and that was the best thing I ever could have done.  I love every minute of it.  I have no doubt that school saved my life this semester.  And quite possibly the next one.

I’m looking forward to the new year.  I want to be able to let go of my past and move on and grow.

Advertisements

Not Doing Enough

I slept most of the day away, the weekend in fact.  And I’m still tired.

I really should have been reading.  I need to finish this book for my literature class.  And write a paper for Thursday.

I’m trying really hard not to feel guilty about sleeping.  My body obviously needed it, otherwise I wouldn’t have slept at all or for that long.  It’s just really hard not to feel guilty when I know I’m capable of doing so much more.

Yes, I work and go to school.  But it’s only two classes.  I should be able to handle this.  There are some people who work and take three or four classes.  Now, that’s stressful. I don’t even have a high stress job.

I should have been cleaning my apartment because my mom is coming to visit next weekend.  I’m sure she’ll find something to complain about the state of my apartment.  It’s just hard when I feel like I’m doing the best I can, but I know I can do better.  And this will just be reinforced by my mother.

I want to do more.  I need to do more.  Then I won’t be stuck in my head so much.

I need that escape.

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.

I Can Stand on my Own

When my husband and I first started dating, I was in a bad bulimic phase of my eating disorder.  (Not that there ever is a good bulimic phase.)  It was rough.  It wasn’t something that I could keep a secret for very long.  So I said something that I had only said from a therapist’s couch.  It started with, “I have an eating disorder,” and slowly grew to include all the self destructive things that I did.

He never outwardly judged me.  And was always willing to be there.  No, he didn’t like it when I used behaviors, but he always held me after.  I learned that I could count on him when I began feeling the urges.

I have been through a lot of therapy.  Both on my own and with him.   I feel that in the past 4 years, I have really grown and am not so entrenched in my eating disorder.  I learned I didn’t always have to go to him when I had an urge.  I was learning that I am more than the eating disorder.  I started school.  I started reading (fun and homework) again.  I was starting to enjoy myself.

That’s when everything shifted.

We started fighting constantly.  We each said hurtful things.  I cried.  He sulked.  And somewhere in between my intense summer schedule and him working late and coming home wreaking of whiskey, we stopped talking to each other.

During one fight, he admitted he didn’t know how to be in a relationship with me when I wasn’t so involved with the eating disorders.  In front of my therapist, he admitted to not knowing how to fix me now.

I am not broken.  I don’t need to be fixed.  I never did.  I just need love and support while I worked on healing myself.  I am not an object to be repaired.

He doesn’t quite get that I don’t need my hand held all the time.  I am quite capable of standing on my own.

And She Cries

I think I do a fairly good job of keeping up appearances when I’m not at home.  I am usually serious.  I am aware of my surroundings and I get where I need to get to.  Once there, I’ll let myself relax a little bit.  Not a lot, but some.  It’s only when I’m home where I feel I can really let the wall down and truly be myself.  But something has changed within the past couple of day.

I feel like I’ve gotten more emotional at work, with tears ready to overflow with barely any warning.  I was texting with my best friend about recent issues between my husband and me, and my eyes just filled up.  It’s not a new issue my husband and I are having.  But for some reason, discussing it this week, just made me cry.  I’m usually very good at holding it together when I need to, but I just feel like I’m losing it.

I’m going to partially blame the heatwave this week.  It’s supposed to let up by Sunday.  And I sure hope so.  My boss and I were punchy yesterday at work.  That made everything a lot more fun.  I think the heat’s just getting to me.  At least in these kind of instances.  When speaking about a particular play, I was able to make valid and coherent points.  But if I have to talk about work stuff, I’m a blubbering mess.

This weekend and week ahead are the actual busy times for work.  This means, I don’t really get a break until next weekend.  The work this weekend, won’t be strenuous at all.  I just won’t be able to read for my class.  I don’t like not having enough time.  But at least we’re going to be delving into World War I and I know I have a better understanding of that than the French Revolution.

I think my sleep and eating habits are also partially to blame for my over-emotionalness.  Since I’ve been working on my midterm, I’ve worked after I get home from my class.  I’ve been pretty good about stopping at 11pm.  But then I get sidetracked and distracted and don’t actually fall asleep until midnight.  That just hurts.  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that I need more sleep.  And I’m fine with that.  Part is I’m still winding down from a long day, part I’m still thinking about my class and what needs to get done the rest of the week, and part is punishment.  I have to stay up late because I don’t deserve to have a good night’s sleep.  I really don’t need the 8 hours I was getting it before.  I can lower it to 5 or 6.  I can do it.  I can push through.  Uh, yeah.  So not true.  But after years and years of obeying the rules, I just do it without question.

I am restricting.  And going to my class is helping with that.  I have what could be considered “half” of a dinner before class, and I fully intend to have another “half” when I get home.  But I don’t.  It’s too late to eat now.  You’ve missed your chance.  Now you have to wait until morning.  I know what I should do.  I know what needs to be done.  But, for some reason, there’s this big huge block in between the knowing and the doing.  I either want to go ahead and do what I need to do, or not even know and live in ignorance.

I’m just tired of the battle in my head.

She Said, He Does

She said, “I love you.”

He just nodded silently.

She said, “We should talk.”

He just rolled his eyes and sighed.

I ask what’s wrong.

Lies fall out of his mouth without a moment’s hesitation.

I get frustrated and angry.

He says something hurtful.

I say, “This isn’t right,” and start to cry.

Then he wants to talk.

And all I want to do is shut down.

 

On Edge

I had a panic attack this morning at Starbucks waiting for my coffee.  Not cool.

I had my digestive issues again today because I consciously didn’t take my meds.  Really not cool.

But at least I can eat a fairly normal lunch.  Not that I really did.  And not that I don’t feel guilty, because I do.  It was just nice to have the thought.

Once again, I am procrastinating writing my essay for my midterm.  Say it with me now, not cool.

I have half a mind to just go straight home today after work, instead of to class.  With my full intention being to work on my midterm, but I know I would just procrastinate then go to bed early.

I should have stayed home from work today.  I felt the anxiety creeping in, but I felt I could push myself through it.

I didn’t sleep as much as I should have last night.  I was up (punishing myself) procrastinating.

I don’t want to be here at work right now.  There’s nothing for me to do.  Well, no actual work anyway.

Yesterday, therapy probably touched on a few issues I would rather not have it touch.  I was fairly honest with her.  I still could have said more.

I get really peeved when my husband says “we”, but it’s really an “I.”  Like me.  Not him.  I would still get irritated, but not quite as much, or in the same way.

I just want to go to sleep.  Or escape for a while.  With no phone, no computer, nothing.