It’s All About Time

Time passing.  Time looming.  Time standing still.

This time.  Next time.  All the time.  Not enough time.

I sit and I wait–trying to be present in the moment.  My thoughts race ahead of me, too fast to catch on.

I need more time with my grandmother.  I need to work on the power point presentation for work.  I need to make sure of my schedule for the fall semester.  I need to get a new notebook for work.  I need to look at keyboards and cases for my ipad.  I need to make too many truffles this weekend.  And I need to pick up more small boxes.  Why did I say I would do all that?  There’s no getting out of it now.  I’m so stupid for saying I would.  I don’t want to see my therapist again this week.  I already saw her once.  I don’t need to see her a second time.  I need to be an adult about this.  I need to get over this shit.  I can do thisonmyown.  Igotmyselfintothismessinthefirstplacesoit’suptometogetmyselfout.  IknowwhatIneedtodo.  Whycan’tIjustgetovermyselfandDOIT? WHYCAN’TIDOIT?

There’s more, but I can’t catch it.  My mind feels out of breath.  I need my head to slow down.

s l o w d o w n.

But I can’t.  I have to keep going.  The more I have going on outside, the quieter it gets on the inside.  I need it quiet in my head.  But it all gets to be too much.

 

 

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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.

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.

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.

My Mother and I

My mother arrived yesterday for a visit.  A two and a half week visit.  It wasn’t supposed to be this long.  It wasn’t even supposed to be her visiting.  I’m ready to pull my hair out already.

We really only started getting along last year and even so, I’ve only been able to handle her in small-ish doses.  I don’t know how this is going to go.

She just asks too many questions.  All about my soon to be ex and our relationship.  I’m done talking about him.  I’m tired of talking about him.  It just brings up all these feelings and I don’t want to feel them.  And I immediately start thinking of ways not to feel anything.

I really want to binge and purge.  I feel like I’ve eaten too much yesterday and today and I should take laxatives tonight and make sure to restrict the rest of the evening and tomorrow.  I just want everything out.

I want it all out.

I can’t stand being in my skin anymore.  I can’t stand my thoughts anymore.

I just want out.

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.

struggling

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.