And Still I Keep Going

It’s been quite some time since I’ve put words out there in the universe. It’s only when I see the words on the screen, or on paper, that they become real. I actually have to admit what’s really going on. And sometimes I don’t want to. I don’t want to deal with stuff. I’d rather avoid it. Because if I avoid it, then it doesn’t really exist, right? Right. But I can’t run from certain things anymore.

It’s been about a week and a half now since my grandmother passed away.  My heart aches so much. She was my beacon of light. My grandmother was the best person in my life. She taught me so many wonderful things. I don’t allow myself to think about her too much because I start to choke on my tears.  The pain of her not being in my life is too much.

Every once in a while I still get a piece a piece of mail with my ex’s name on it.  It throws me for a loop and back into the place where I blame myself for everything.

I figured out that I’m jealous of my best friend.  And my therapist.  Different reasons, same feelings inside.  I don’t like feeling jealous.

I don’t like feeling.

I just want to be numb.  I just want to binge and purge my way through my break from work and school.  I just want to sit and not feel anything.

But I can’t even do that because m mother is visiting.  She’s in my way.  Constantly wanting to know what I’m doing and if I’m okay.  I don’t like it when anyone invades my space like that.  It makes me want to shut down.

The only thing I’m looking forward to is school starting next semester.  Then I can be busy again.  Then I’ll know how to spend my evenings and weekends.

Until then, I’m just going to keep putting one foot in front of the other and maybe I’ll be able to breathe a bit easier one of these days.

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.

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.

Just Getting Through

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.

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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.

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And this is the view from my desk. It’s always fun looking out at the cement wall of the building next door.

Holding On

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.