I have no idea why I say this so much. I often mean something completely different. I say fine because I don’t think many people want to know really how I am. I am sure I am not the only person to feel like this. So, you’re wondering why I’m whining ? I’m in the mood for being a whiner. So there is the reason. I made a huge stinkaroo this past week because I was feeling ignored. Ignored by my family, my friends, my therapist, and pretty much anyone who was breathing. The thing is, I think I overreacted a bit. If I am always telling people I’m fine, well what can I expect. What am I getting at ? What is the point ? The point is I can now see where all of my lying has got me. So, I am going to try. Try being the operative word. To tell the people who matter the truth. I really have no clue how I am going to do this. But for starters, I am going to ask for regular therapy from my so called therapist. Yeah, I know super tough
Here is my problem. I feel lonely. I feel ignored. I feel fat. Fat with emotions that I can't seem to handle, let alone control. I have so much to be grateful for. I have so much to love. Here is the thing. I have so much to say. I feel like I want to start screaming and never stop. I feel so completely alone. I think that is why I have relapsed. I need to quiet that screaming. I need to silence all the words, swirling in my mind.
What I want is to tell. To bitch and moan, I want to be mean and hateful. I want to be angry.
So since no one ever reads this blog I will say it here.
Stone, I am so mad that you think that that I am the one that needs to do everything to keep this friendship alive. I feel used and unsupported by you. I feel like you think that having a friends means the have to do every thing to support you with nothing in return.
Tree, What can I say. I feel used. I feel second citizen.
momma, I hate that you make me grovel. I hate that you think I have no needs. I can't stand that you can't put the fuck computer down and talk to me. You asked me to come over. I hate that I need you so much.
Daddy-o I am so sorry I was born and that I turned out to be such a failure. I hate myself enough for us both.E-dog I blame you for leaving me in such a mess. I am so sad.
That is enough for now. I feel so ashamed sorry everyone.
I know that Granola is trying to help, I get it, I do. The thing is that I don't know if I want her help. It feels so, so, so good to step on the scale, and see the number fall. I know that women and men everywhere agree with me. I also know that I am a bit obsessive. Just a bit. I tend to be extremist instead of moderate in behavior. Hence, DBT therapy. I wish that my mind could see my ineffective actions. I wish it would say, "slow down there, sparky. Slow it down." I can't, in fact I wouldn't even know where to start. So I have come to the conclusion that I will keep my team informed. I will try to be as honest about what I am thinking, feeling, sensing, and understanding. Try being the key word there. So, ana, Ed, and Ednos, buckle up. Life is about to get bumpy.
When I was in elementary school. I remember learning the grammatical differences , of the words two, too, and to. Ever since I struggled with my pencil on that cheap schoolhouse paper. (you know the kind that rips when you try to erase it.) I have been plagued by the word too. We all know that when using too in a sentence. It means more, bigger, and more than one. (Okay, I know that there are other instances for it and all.) This is the form I am talking about. Whenever I think about learning what it meant, and how it is used, I have images of my third grade teacher drawing on the black board. Two over sized OOs, I hear her say" always use two fat Os because this word means too much" I can see this day so clearly in my head, which for me is a big deal because there is so much that I can't remember from this time. Yes I am rambling, get over it. I remember thinking in my head "Oh, wow now I get it." I know. I know. Get what? you ask. Well I will tell you. My whole life has been. "Clar, you're being too loud." "Sweetie, you're laughing too much." "Riss, you're eating too much." "Clarissa, you're too fat." "You breathe too loud" We all know that junior high is hell. Every day I was too something. I was too dirty, too loud, too dramatic, too big, too whiny, too, too, too... On and on until I am cowed in a corner, silent.
Here is the thing, my personality is all of those things. I am loud, I am hungry, I am nosey, I am definitely whiny at times. Yet here I am in my thirties, and all someone has to say is that phrase. You're too... I wish I knew how to stop being. Too
So, I was perusing the web. I came across a photo project called Project Unbreakable. This young woman,[Grace] has taken it upon herself to give survivors of sexual assault/abuse back words. It can be words the perpetrator used against them (us), or words they (us) have used against themselves. I loved it. It is beautiful, empowering, and courageous. These women and men, are taking back so many words. I myself, have taken all those words that were used to, berate, degrade, humiliate, and ultimately destroy me. All of these words I turned inside. Using them as weapons to keep myself in line. I am not in a place where I can declare myself healed or even remotely able to declare I am strong. I hate myself. There I said it I hate, hate, hate myself. I wish all of these survivors peace, and power. I also want to say To this young woman. "You are an amazing, young woman, thanks.
Okay so today is not a good day. I can feel my anger and emotions bubbling, boiling inside of me. I have horrible anger. It seems to be a default emotion. I hate hate being trapped without some kind of outlet. I am e.d. triggered, and feeling horribly full, fat with negativity. How is it possible that a quiet week has turned into feeling bitter and rage filled. I will tell you how. Too much time to remember how much I hate myself. How much I wish I could disappear. How much being me bothers me. I do not want to become my grandmother and my mother. I hate that I come from a family of complete and utter emotional imbeciles. I hate just sitting in one spot day after day. I am afraid of becoming old of losing my mind. I wish that I could run.
How is it possible, that as of right now I am sitting with my calorie count at 737 and I am feeling so lost so guilty and so so so afraid? I don't know. I don't know, I have no fucking clue. I am, of course, hugely triggered. I am lying,(laying,) on the floor of my grand parents home. They have lived here all of my life. As well as all of my mother's life. The problem is that while I have always loved being here in this quiet home. I have never, never, felt uneasy as I do this time. Why? Well because my uncle who has always been huge, both physically and emotionally has shrunk. Shrunk due to the fact that he had a Gastric bypass 8 months ago. It feels so haunted here. As if there is a ghost of this fun loving smiling person, who had so much. So much gusto, for life for, food and for experience. Now he is gaunt, drawn, quiet. He is starving. Now I know that so many people have experienced this horror as they watch us,(you know us as in the worshipers of Ana, Mia, ED). I am watching this unfold. I have never thought of it before. Here is the rub. I hate it. I want to be the whose flesh is disappearing, who,s light is fading before all of those eyes. I want to turn and walk away with only the though of, "I am so thin" in my head. I am envious that a person (namely my uncle),can walk into a hospital have his stomach sewn shut and everyone in my family applauds the "hard work" "determination", and "great sacrifice". I on the other hand, restrict, count, subtract, purge, obsessively exercise, lose a shit load of body weight, but I am sick. I have to go to treatment. I have to be "brainwashed" by therapists, dietitians, and doctors. I have to stop. I am still obese, still heavy, still, still, still. Yes I am whining. Someone PLEASE explain this. How is this possible.
Another missed opportunity down the drain, My therapist suggested a possible career change free of charge. I like the fool that I can be, waited until after the close date. Admittedly I have been dealing with this whole shingles debacle. My hands still work though, bah oh well cest la vie, kay sera as they say. Let’s just say that this has not been my finest week. I have been near paralyzed by gripping fear that my waist, butt, arms, thighs and stomach, have been secretly sneaking ding dongs, while I sleep. Only to realize as I put my jeans on this morning that I have maybe, possibly, that my restricting is getting out of hand. This realization was fleeting though, because almost as instantaneously that sweet sweet voice told me “That feels good doesn’t it. Putting on your pants and having to roll them. I told you that food was poison”. Damn her, but alas she is right. So, the war continues. I will continue to restrict and suppress my intuitive self (ha, yeah right), okay, the intuitive self I was trying to foster. In the hopes that this time with help from Ana I might be able to find the identity that I lack.