Please let me repeat myself

I can not tell you enough that living with my aging parents is delightful.  However, I  can tell you that there are somethings that if I don't laugh at I think I might just kill all three of us.

 I have told my father over and over and over. Please, for the love of all that is holy do not, I mean do not touch my clothes while they are in the laundry process.  I must be talking to a brick wall. Yes I know that I have a particular way of washing my clothes. I know that they are not his way of washing clothes. I hate coming home after a long day of doctor's appointments, MRI's, poking and prodding to my favorite shirts. shrunk down to a toddler size that I could no more squeeze my foot into then my big ass belly. Then as I try to vent my frustrations to them and try once to convey that my nice clothes that cost me a bunch can not be dried in the dryer. That bras can not be dried on the highest cotton setting. I get a lecture that reminds me that my dear old dad was trying to help his poor sick daughter. Lighten her load so to say.  Well, pop if you would listen in the first place we could stop having this convo. I mean really how hard is it to just leave it alone.  

Yes, I have OCD. YES I am a basket case. Yes, I am in some pretty severe need of help. NOT with my laundry though. I got that. I don't mind carrying your 25, 50 pound buckets of 30 year old food storage ( sorry Mormon reference ) out of the basement. Even though my sweet ednos, and POT syndrome, and my super fun pain that I can't handle, has me pretty much crawling on the floor. I smiled and said you're welcome. I will say it again Please leave my laundry alone.

Coming Back..... warning Trigger possible

 So this is a recent email to S we were having a discussion about truly being happy or "faking"  I am not a supporter of the fake it until you make it theory. I don't believe it happens that way at all. I believe that faking only produces more faking. I want to be real.  Anyway I am coming back to blogging after a hiatus. Mostly because I have been unsure of what I want this blog to be. I also have been pretty ill.  I want to share my experiences clearly and fully so here is my first entry on the journey. Where to ? I'm not entirely sure.


 I'm hesitant to share this because, I don't want to take away from the skill use and mastery that I have achieved. I'm afraid not just of happiness. I'm terrified that while I look and can act appropriate, that my ineffectiveness will be over looked.  I can always laugh and make jokes. I'm full of interesting tidbits.  Mostly it is all bull shit that I have learned over a lifetime.  I have learned to smile through insurmountable pain. I have learned to laugh and lie all while hating who and what I am. I have learned to cover scars, cuts, burns and bruises. Because that is not what people like to hear. I have always been what other people wanted or needed.  I learned at a very young age that no matter what the pain you stand up brush it off and go on. Because there is always ALWAYS someone worse off than you.  I was taught that I am not just insignificant. But that I will always be unheard. That crying out only brings more pain. That talking about the darkness can bring death. I was groomed and taught to put on a smile because this world doesn't give a shit about what has happened to you. It only cares what you can do for it. I was taught that selfishness is an ultimate sin. Everything I do I do to keep my selfishness in check.  Even in the most desperate of times be it cancer,coma, rape, or flashback.  Anyone can get me to smile. Because I have learned my lesson well. I understand and I can even take into my heart that I have made some progress that I'm feel like I'm coping a bit better.  I will continue to work not because my past or present tells me it gets better ( because for me it tends to get worse) But because my belief is that one day I will get to rest. That somewhere somehow this pain will leave me in peace. I do not believe in "fake it  til you make it". I think that is a fallacy. Because I am fake, and all I have accomplished is fake. That I am still a little girl laying gang raped and alone on a floor. Because people always tell me. Brush it off, smile, your life is not hard, it could be worse you could have been born in Africa, lymphoma isn't that bad. You could have breast cancer.  Hey being sexually abused happens to lots of people and they're happy.  What's wrong with you??  I am so fake that I say all of it to myself. Then I tell it to everyone. All I have made is a mess.  I don't understand how people can say to me that I have all the reasons to be happy.  I am nothing. I am no one. I don't even recognize my own face. I can be happy because there is not even a me. I know that makes no sense.  I wish I could explain it.  Please help me not to give up on me.  I don't know where I lost my soul. I hope that I can find it. I hope that this is what this journey is about. I have to find out. I have to try.  I'm learning slowly that I can use skills to make living easier. That does make me happy. I am learning that this body is really mine not something for the world to use. I hate it. I hate that it is diseased, and disgusting. I hate that I can't abuse it in to submission. No matter how I try. I hate that starving, purging, cutting, and destroying makes me feel so good. Yes, I want to change all of this. I want to accept that being abused over and over is not my fault. I don't really see that because I'm pretty much the only common factor.. But oh well. Sorry I don't really know when this became a novel. It's just how I feel. 
Clarissa

Coming back...

I want so much to come back. Back to where I was better. Where I happier. I don’t think I have ever truly been HAPPY. I have been happyish though, I think.  I was doing ok. I was talking, learning to trust, other people and myself, then smack, chronic illness, again.  I have never, that I can remember a super healthy person. I am usually battling one virus or bacteria,or some kind of infection. I also battle my mind which often goes rouge.  I think this blog helps I am not really very good at it. I hope with some practice I can get better at it.  So I am coming back. I hope it is the first step back from where I have been. Where I dove head first after Edog left.  I want to come back. I hope I can someday.

Totally fine

 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

hey, i got sumthin to say

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.

dietary-DIEtary

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.

I Am Sorry

I am sorry, sorry,sorry.  I hate that I can’t control my emotions. I don’t know how to be the person anyone wants to have around. I know how to be needed. I know how to make them all disappear. I don’t know how to be strong. I don’t know how to be honest. I don’t know how to ask. I am sorry. I am so confused. I am so lonely. I want to be forgiven. I want to be good. I want to disapper. I want to be real. I am sorry.  I don’t mean to make it worse. I don’t mean to ineffective.  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.  I am a coward. I am wrong. I am sorry

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

Unbreakable

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.

nothing

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.

Possible ?.....

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.

Realizations

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.

Customize a free digital collage

BE QUIET, SHUT UP YOUR SO LOUD

I have been told I am too loud. I have been told my voice is too loud. People have told me to stop screaming, yelling, crying,  arguing and laughing. I have been asked if I always talk so loud.  I get it people. I make your ears hurt. Maybe I make you all uncomfortable. I get that too.  Here is the truth I don't want to be quiet. I want to scream, yell, argue, and laugh. I even want to fart really loud.  My new T Wilkie  asked me why people in my life tell me to shush. I told her I don't know.  I honestly don't know. It could be that I know a lot and they don't want to hear it. (hmm, no probably not.) Maybe they have very sensitive ears. (again, unlikely.) Perhaps it is because I feel like nobody listens. ( ding, ding, ding.) I hate feeling like this truly I do. I do not always want to listen sometimes I want to be heard.

Mania hits

Hey diddily do all of you,
Sorry super weird mood everyone. Okay so i am feeling out of sorts. I am relapsing I will say it again RELAPSING. Hoo fucking ray.  So we all know that the holidays are hard for us ED girls and guys. I am no different. I am also going through a therapist change and have no one to talk to about it.  I am back to purging purging purging. I don't care either. In fact I love it it makes me feel so empowered. I know that most likely has to do with trauma therapy stopping and not finishing it.  Thanks E-dog.  Woo hoo this is crazy time so pro Ana today and a bit manic sorry

roomie troubles

I have a problem. All right admittedly, I have more than one but this problem is tops on my list for this week. Before I begin I just have to say I am in love with the show new girl I absolutely L O V E it.  So, back to the problem. My beloved roomie Tree, wrecked her car. Now it was not her fault at all in fact she is lucky to make it out. However, now my car is the only vehicle or so it seems... My dad does not emphatically does not want her driving my car. She knows this and she continually relies on my need for acceptance and my continual reluctant doormat status to use it.  After she has seen me as an emotional wreck. I don't get it. I do not know what to do.

Rant, rant rant

Okay, so here's the thing.  I absolutely absolutely can NOT stand mean people. I don't care if your meanieness is directed at me, someone I love, or someone I hate.  I have had enough hate and contempt in my life to last 45 lifetimes.  I have decided that if some folks feel that they can spread their disillusioned selves through hateful words violence or just plain looks then I have something to say.  First to the douchebag of a pastor who told the entire world that LDS people are not christians I say that I hope to holy batman you never find yourself in need of the power of the priesthood which followers of "mormonism" hold. I absolutely Know That as a follower of christ that you are spreading hate simply because your definition of christianity is very narrow.  Second, for  the bullies of the world FUCK YOU. I understand that you have horrid self image, that you have suffered great abuse and trauma yourselves. this being said grow up we all have to live here and if you think that you deserve more air because you hit harder, yell louder, and get more angry. You are seriously mistakin. If you are a child then I hope someone comes to love you enough to right your behavior.  To all of you who discriminate out of fear I am truly sorry that your mind is overcome by fear, you take it out on someone else. If however you are ignorent then WAKE UP, read a book, get an education. All right rant done. AND Scene

Biggest Loser Or ED

So, I want to know if The biggest loser triggers anyone else??? Don't get me wrong I love this show I mean who wouldn't. However If I lost 70 pounds in 3 weeks I would find myself in treatment so fast. Now I realize that this show is done under seriously controlled circumstances. I also know that I have an eating disorder. I am seriously wondering how many of these contestants develop one. I have to say that when I was exercising 6 hours a day and eating restricted calories I did lose a Shit load of weight.  I am wondering why for me it is an eating disorder and for these particular people it is healthy. I know what your going to say. "Well these people have a lot of weight to lose." Yes but so do I but, Granola would have my ass at the fat you up hotel soooo quick, It wouldn't matter how happy and successful I felt. That is all.

Aging?????

This past week I have felt my age in full force. Granted I am not old, but I feel for the first time all that I have lost. I am seeing for the first time how little I have to show for my 36 years. I have often felt very young. Sort of arrested, like my development stopped at a young age. I have certainly suffered from Peter Pan syndrome. Suddenly,however I am seeing very clear.  I grieve for the young girl I was. I also am at a loss as what to do. I wish that I had so many things so my plan is to go out and get them. I have no idea where to start. However I will begin with prayer.