Seeds of doubt

 So here we are again.  Friday. I hate Friday. I'm usually alone. I'm remembering. I hate feelings. I hate memories. I tried so hard to forget. They refuse to stay buried. 

      I had an experience this last month with members of my family telling me that my mind is playing tricks on me. I hope. It would be so nice to be able to say I made this all up. That I do not remember being raped. I don't remember being tied down and violated. I made it all up. That my family was there at all times protecting me. I am so relieved to know that I was safe. I'm super grateful that the feelings of self hate, disgust and shame are all pretend. That all the times I was cut myself up. That whenever I shove my fingers down my gullet, or fast for days on end. That really that was all in vain. What a crock of shit. They were not there.  They did not come when I screamed. They did not protect me. I do Hate myself. I feel disgust and shame. Huge amounts of it. The physical scars, not just my self inflicted ones. They are real. I taught myself to forget. I taught myself to be nothing.  Nothing. 

   I want to disappear. I want to fade away. 

 I am discovering that I never really grew up.

I just grew layers of shame.  I grew inches of solid black around my heart. I locked up my childhood in a prison of filth. I forced that small child to carry all of her pain in silence. I hated her too. She never ran fast enough. She was never quiet enough. I am still doing it. I'm supposed to be an adult. I would never hurt a child. I would never force a little girl to carry a heart full of pain and abuse alone. I would never starve a child.  How could they make me. Why didn't they see? Where were they? They still want me to carry it alone. How? How do I carry something that almost killed me the first time? I'm so full of doubt. I'm still here somewhere right?????

Free to choose ???????

Wilkie said something that so many people say to me.  " Riss, it seems to me that you fight so hard to keep your body alive." This came after a very long discussion about how I do not identify with this ugly, fat, sick, vessel that my mind and spirit calls home.  I have told her how disconcerting it is to stand in front of a mirror and not recognize who the hell is staring back.  So, I wondered if I should tell the truth about the physical part. I have never, not once told anyone why I am willing to treat the body when it is ill, or in pain. Granted, if I focus on the pain that is caused by living in a diseased body it is so much easier. Easier to admit that I have no fucking clue why my spirit is so ill. I don't have to admit that my mind is ill and torturing me.  Underneath all of that is another reason. One that I said out loud for the first time. I believe that the body god gave me was destroyed. Beaten, raped, and finally deemed used up.   Because even though my mind and soul screamed for relief.  My body refused to obey.  I went back. I didn't run fast enough. I couldn't scream loud enough.  Most of all I could not tell.
I do not know what memories I have made up, exaggerated, or happened to someone else. All I know is that there are huge empty spots of things I should remember. I also know that deep inside me is a small child that stands in a corner of my mind with her eyes screwed shut and her ears clapped hared over her ears, Her mouth open in a scream that only I can hear.  Is she me ? Is she made up ? I don't know. I don't know if it matters.

       So, I told her.  I feel like I earned the right to destroy this body. I feel like in every way conceivable, this body has betrayed me. It remains to do so to this day. In my mind it is comparable to the worst kind of criminal. I feel that I have earned the right to return the favor in kind. It betrayed me it has teased and tormented me, into believing that I might heal, physically, mentally, and even emotionally. Only to be forced to give up dreams, passions, desires, and needs. Now I am at war with myself. I will beat, starve, purge, medicate, and exhaust it.  Because it is my tormentor. Cancer, Pneumonia, coma, hypothyroid, POTS,  those are its weapons. I can only fight with what I know.
     
      The only problem with all of this is my spirituality. My belief in god. I know that somewhere stands beside me a guardian angel. He has done a damn good job of reminding me that my values do not mesh with any of this. That I believe that one day there will be peace.  That if I can get through one more day  I will learn. I will find all of the dreams, the passions, and my deepest desires will be found. So today is one more day that I made it through the pain. Yes I did it with restricting, isolating, and ineffective behaviors. Today I chose another day in hell.  I hope one day I don't

TOO....

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

Failure heaping failure

How is it possible that I can fail any more. My life is in the toilet. How can I get any worse I purged my dinner because I can't deal with the joy of all the people in my life. 1 she has such a perfect family I am just poor fat Clarissa. I walk away and no one says good-bye no one says hello how is it that I am so invisible. Well I can do that I can not eat I can purge when they make me. I can become so invisible they won't see me.

I wonder how long it will take to die