April 30th

Yesterday was such a beautiful, warm and sunny day that I decided to plant some flowers. I love flowers but do not have a knack for keeping them alive. That only thing that thrives in my garden are weeds. Nevertheless, things can change and I chose some flowers that are appropriate for where I'm planting them. I can't tell the names of the flowers I planted because I just don't know. But here are some lovely pics.

This is the before picture. Hence, my lovely weeds.

And the flowers (alive before I get to them) from Lowe's.

And here is the finished product:

This is my fave.

And coming in 2nd:

This next one doesn't look as good but I'm still happy with it.

I also went to Trader Joe's last night and was SO disappointed. I thought it would be like a Whole Foods, but it was so small and had a very limited selection of produce and vegetarian products. However, I did come across a small find:

(Sorry for the grainy picture.) This "peanut butter" is to die for. It's smooth, creamy, and lower in fat than regular peanut butter. I heated some up with a muffin and yogurt this morning, along with strawberries and it was so yummy.

I'm trying to keep my recovery interesting and not so boring by trying new food products.

Question of the day: Is there a food product that you just go crazy for? Where do you like to grocery shop?

Pardon our dust...

a remodel is a must.

Blog under construction.

Be back soon.

Tinkering on the edge of sanity

As I was lying in bed waiting for the elusive sleep to descend upon me last night I was thinking about how I relate to food and how eating it makes me feel. It’s been staring me in the face all this time but it wasn’t until last night that I fully recognized that my struggle is not about the weight. It’s doesn’t matter what I weigh. My fight is not that I want to weigh X amount of pounds; it’s about how the abuse made me feel and my attempts to distance myself from it through restricting food.

The inner war is more about feeling clean and whole and I thought resisting food would do that for me. In truth, I need to find different ways to make myself clean, although it can be argued that I’m not dirty. What was dirty was the way we were treated and what people did to us. However, it is still hard to buy into the line of thinking that we weren’t to blame and we are clean.

Something made me so sad last night. One of the member’s of my system that has the eating disorder is afraid that if we conquer our preoccupation with food and weight she will no longer be needed. She has done her job well at keeping us distracted from the real issues. Her desire to be thin and symptomatic is to ensure that people and Therapist know that she is not okay. She is afraid if she lets go of her disordered thinking and disordered thoughts that no one will see her pain. Even though we know that the real issue is the abuse and not our weight, she still wants to lose. Just as cutting is a cry for help so is her eating disorder.

My heart breaks for her because she feels unwanted and disposable; like if we get better she will be unneeded and expendable. She has been vital to keeping us alive and “functioning,” for a lack of a better word. She will need a new job in our system. Even though we know this, it doesn’t make recovery better. As I write this she sends me memories that she harbors. The pain is overwhelming. We are still sad.

This is all bull sh*t. I hate myself.

Make way! New thoughts coming through

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about how much do I want to get better. I’ve been feeling that as much time as we’ve put in therapy we should be further along in the process than we are now. I’ve done fairly well at stopping some of those self-destructive behaviors that used to plague my existence. However, the eating disorder is what gets me stuck in time. I don’t understand how I could still be struggling with those behaviors based on how much inpatient, residential, and outpatient treatment we’ve had. But I’ve realized that one of the reasons recovery didn’t stick before was that I didn’t commit to it. I didn’t do everything I needed to in order to resist falling back into old, destructive coping habits.

An area that I can pinpoint is the way we think about ourselves.

When I first forayed into recovery, I did what my treatment team suggested. I gained weight. I followed a meal plan. I took my meds. By my actions it looked like I was in recovery, but in my head it was a different story. Not once did I stop to work on what I thought about myself. I thought I was fat, ugly, and repulsive. I didn’t even want to change my thinking. I wanted to hate myself. I felt better if I hated myself. If I liked myself then it was as if I was giving myself permission to love something worthless, defective, and damaged. In a sense, it was like I was protecting myself by letting myself think I was despicable. If I hated myself enough, if I called myself enough names, if I drank/cut/burned/purged/restricted enough maybe I would eventually change.

Don’t get me wrong. I am nowhere near to accepting myself, much less loving myself. When I look in the mirror I see flaws, not fierceness. But what’s changed is that now I’m open to the idea of not hating myself. I’m open to the idea of changing the way I think and view myself. I finally see that in order to truly recover this time we are going to have to start thinking of ourselves differently and start accepting us.

Thinking out loud: Motivation

I feel like I’m slipping. The quest for recovery and sanity remains eternal. During my career time as a mental health consumer, I’ve seen my fair share of good and bad days. There have been times when I was “recovered” (whatever the hell that means) and times when I relapsed. I’ve seen skinny days and heavy-set days. There have been moments when I cared about getting better and moments when I couldn’t give a crap. It’s this latter category I find myself in now. I just don’t care whether we get better or not.

When I went back to Therapist in September/October of last year I had made my mind over that I was going to commit a 150% to getting better. I felt determined and purposeful. I wanted to get better; I wanted relationships; I wanted a life. But now my motivation is gone and I don’t know how to get it back. More importantly, I don’t know how to make myself do something I don’t really want to.

Someone once said, “Do the right thing and let your heart catch up later.” I know I don’t have to want to talk about the painful experiences we’ve had in order to actually tell them to Therapist. I also know I don’t have to be gung-ho about eating my food in order to actually follow my meal plan. These are things I can do regardless of whether or not I want to. But it would make things so much easier if I wanted to.

I don’t know where my motivation for getting better has gone. I just know I don’t care like I used to. Maybe I’m just bored with my recovery. I know I get bored with my meal plan because there are a select number of foods I’ll allow myself to have. But how does one get bored with therapy? Therapist used to play cards and games with us and we’ve asked him to again, but each time he offers we chicken out. Maybe owning up to being scared and still actually playing a game with him will change things up a bit.

Still, I just can’t care enough to try. There’s something missing in me that makes me not care. The ED behavior came back just when we were working on something difficult in therapy. Maybe not caring and being unmotivated is just a symptom. Maybe it’s a defense, a very good defense, to keep me from talking about what we should.

Question of the post: How do you stay motivated when you’re tempted to “throw in the towel?” Are there times in your life when motivation ebbed and flowed? What did you do? What do you do to keep hope alive?

Disapeared

I’ve been thinking all day of what to write and I come up with nothing. So here are some bullet points to highlight where we are at this moment in time.
• Husband and I are out of town visiting his parents. While I love the in-laws and they are good to me, I’m really stressed out. I’m away from my home, my food scale and my gym. They help me feel safe.
• We’ve been real switch-y since we got here.
• Since I’m not at home, Husband and I got a one week pass to the local gym. Not as nice as our gym at home, but at least it’s a workout. I have to get my daily workout.
• There is an anger right now directed toward Therapist. Don’t ask me why or which part has the anger. But it’s there just seething. Since being out of town this week Therapist and I won’t have our usual sessions. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing. He’s a good therapist and hasn’t done anything wrong. I don’t know why we’re so angry with him. Hopefully it will go away this week.
• We bought a stained glass kit for our littles. It’s of a puppy dog with a bone in it’s mouth. I tried to engage the littles last night when I was making it but they weren’t responding. I ended up making it by myself. We also bought the littles a book that has 5 stories in it about the Berenstain Bears. We’ll read a story tonight. I get a feeling they are not comfortable coming out at this strange home. But then again, who is comfortable?

---------EDIT-------------
I’m very unsettled. I wrote the above earlier and then had dinner. Dinner always makes me edgy. It is the hardest meal I have to eat. It just changes me from like day to night. A switch gets flipped. It ruins me.
I’m sitting in the ruins.
Someone else is pushing to come forward. I’m disappearing.

Nobody's home anymore

Had another session with Dietician. Why do I let it torture me so? The session just sucks the wind out of my sails, sucks out the life and makes me a ghost.

I hate living in this body with everyone else.

I hate feeling dirty and unclean.

I hate that I can’t get off the effing exercise machine.

I hate how the number on the scale defines me.

I hate that food tortures me.

I try and tell myself that it’s just food. It can’t hurt me. It won’t jump off the plate and attack me. But my head doesn’t believe it and neither does my heart.

When I see me I see fat; I see a loser and a failure; I see someone nobody likes. I see damaged goods until I can’t see anymore.

I don’t know how I ever thought I could recover. I forgot why I started trying. I’ve lost my motivation. I don’t want to do this anymore.

All my freakin' parts

I’ve started this post a thousand times and have deleted every word that I typed. I just can’t formulate the right words or the right thought for that matter. There’s so much “quiet” noise inside my head that sanity gets drowned out. For two days I was feeling better. The switches were fewer; I didn’t have the bad headaches. I might have even felt calm for a second or two. I was really on a roll. But then there’s today. Rapid switches. Migraine headache. Pressure behind my eyes. Morning of lost time. Overwhelming anxiety.
I can’t really complain though. I’m afraid I’ll sabotage myself for saying this but Friday and Saturday were almost good days. I can’t ever recall a time when I felt something so close to happiness. I guess you take the good with the bad.
There is something that I’ve been ruminating over and wanted to write about, but I just haven’t known at what point we should get our feet wet. The topic is parts of a system. Not everyone in our system knows each other and it seems some of us may be more different than alike. Up to this point, all the parts I know are female, but it appears that one of the parts may be male.
Our first inkling of there being a male member was when we were journaling a while back. There was a switch in the system and when we searched out who it was the only information we received on the member was that the writing was that of a males. It’s even highlighted in the text what part was written by the male member. There have also been two very specific times in Therapist’s office when the presence of a male member was felt.
I guess I haven’t written about this yet because I didn’t want to believe it was true (still don’t.) I’m flat out scared to death by it. It is weird enough sharing a body with five year olds and ten year old and teenagers and college students; however, at least we’re the same gender. If it’s true that there is a male part in our system that would really freak me out because I don’t like men. Men are pigs. How the hell am I supposed to get along with a male member in this system?
So, what do you do? I know some people with DID have parts of different genders and some even have animal parts. How do you handle it?

I am beside myself. I'm at a real loss for words. I'm not going to turn this into a blog on eating disorders, but since it's so much a part of my recovery I have to include the topic as we document our journey and recovery.

Sometimes it takes my breath away. I was fine this evening, almost happy. I was enjoying the five tulips that are daring to grow among the many weeds in my yard. I started to prepare my dinner and the wave of fear came over me. Not fear but terror. I weighed and measured every morsel of food on my plate. I totaled the calories to make sure I was safe. Then I sat down to eat my salad, veggie burger, potato chips and yogurt.

I only have one specific fear food: peanut butter. Other than that, I can just about eat anything if it's small enough and in my meal plan. But there's one type of food that scares me more than anything and that's food that is white and creamy. Anything white and creamy turns me crazy. (this post is fucking with my mind and not coming out right)

So what I'm trying to say is that I saved my yogurt for last. I didn't look at it. I thought I had picked up the blueberry yogurt that is purple in color. When I pulled back the top, I saw it was stark white and creamy. I think to myself: I can do this. I've come this far with dinner; let me finish it like a good girl.

I take bite one of the white and creamy yogurt. It gives me an unexpected startle. I've "woken" someone up. I trudge on and take bite two. Flashback. One of my perps comes at me. I feel eleven years old and I can't breathe. I'm choking, choking, choking.

(damn this post. i don't know why it's being written.)

"It's always something."

I woke up to myself this morning. I felt unreal but more like my real self than I had in days. I quickly did a backwards inventory of Monday, Sunday, Saturday, and Friday. I couldn't find myself in any of those days. I scurried around the house looking for traces of my existence over the weekend. What I found were items that did not equal me. I found a newly purchased latch hook kit, a sun catcher, two tops, 3 bras, and 2 pair of shoes. That doesn't include the e-mails I received from various vendors stating they had received my order and it would ship shortly. And when I went to view your blogs and postings I saw I had comments unpublished. They led me to a post I don't recall writing.

Apparently I had an adventurous Fri-Mon. I am quite displeased. I got an e-mail from Therapist in response to an e-mail I apparently sent to him. No, we did not go to our appointment Monday. I haven't been this out of it in a long time and my thoughts wander to what set off my being left out of the loop.

The only thing I can think of is the meeting with Dietitian Thursday night. Seeing Dietitian was a mostly conjoined effort. The lack of eating, the guilt around eating, the over-exercising needed to be dealt with, so we met with Dietitian. Of course, the members that carry out the eating disorder behavior aren't too thrilled about being told when and what to eat and how much to exercise, so I'm guessing that the revolution beginning Friday was in part due to them. The trail of loot left behind is a strong clue that points to them as well.

I knew I was crazy before but now I know for sure. You see, while Friday through Monday there was all this bitching about not exercising and being off the meal plan, there has been more bitching today about being ON the meal plan. If that don't cross a grasshopper's eyes I don't know what will. We exercised today, we've been active, haven't laid around a lot, and adhered to our meal plan. So why should we feel guilty when we eat? Someone felt bad for being off the meal plan a few days ago and I feel bad now for being on the meal plan. It doesn't equate. I just ate dinner and maybe that's why I feel bad. I feel fat if I don't eat; I feel fat if I do.

It's just like Roseanne Roseannadanna would say on SNL, "It's always something." :)

Dead, bloated, and bad

Thank you to everyone for their comments. They are part of what's keeping me going right now.

This has been a bad weekend for us. It didn't start out bad on Friday, but something, I can't remember what now, kept us from working out. If I don't work out then my meal plan is screwed for the day; I ended up eating God knows what. Saturday was even worse. I got a call from Bitch, our bio-mom, and she wanted us to go with her and my god-daughters for some shoe and bra shopping. Not having a proper breakfast or my mid morning snack, I was doomed for failure. All I wanted to do was work out.

Don't get me wrong. I did have fun shopping with my god-daughters. C. is always up to try new things, but her sister is a different story. Always the same style, the same black bra, the same boring shoes. I let wear what she wants, even if she looks like a ragamuffin. It's her style; I let her own it.

But all this weekend I've been off exercise and off my meal plan. That makes me the fattest woman to be walking the earth. And dirty. As if I've been rolling in filth. I haven't left the house all day because I was embarrassed too many people would see me and see my contaminated beginnings. I want to die. I'm exhausted from being so thoroughly tainted. I'm dirty and I know it. I hate myself for it. I made it happen. I deserve the consequences.

I know it's important to see Therapist tomorrow but I don't want him to see me like this. I want to cancel the appointment. How can I show up in his office like such a failure? Other people can have a normal relationship with food. Why can't I? Why must I always eff it up by presuming my cleanliness on restricting or exercising?

Therapist can't see me like this. What's the worst that could happen? I won't feel in control. My emotions might come spilling out. I may give him in detail what happened this weekend and that is a strong no, no. Therapist will look at me like a failure and I'll feel less cared about by him because he will see my raw unadulterated badness. I will be humiliated by my failures. I am mortified that I am so bad.

Failure lurks around these pages.

That's right. I am a failure, a fat failure. I didn't follow the meal plan today that Dietician prescribed for me last night and I agreed to. I've skipped dinner and evening snack. I was hoping for a new start by seeing the Dietician but the eating disorder behavior really has a hold on my.

More to come later.

I've still got it, but I don't want it.

I purged tonight, and it was easy. Too easy. The last couple of times I purged it was difficult. I had to use all the little tricks I've learned along the way to make my food come up. It left my throat raw and my stomach burning and sensitive. This time I purged effortlessly. In fact, the food came up on its own, just like in the good ole' days when I was purging daily. I know I sound like I'm proud but really I'm not. I'm finding my behaviors very alarming but can't seem to stop myself.

This morning I was starving. I know my body needs more fuel than I'm giving it considering all the exercising I'm doing. But as I was eating this morning I felt out of control; I didn't know when I was full so I ended up bingeing. I didn't purge the food but it left to disordered eating through out the rest of the day. I couldn't get a handle on myself. I felt very dissociative and could 'feel' my members/parts swirling in my head, bothering me as if they were influencing my behavior. The headache and pressure behind my eyes was immense. I should have tried to journal with them, but I didn't. All I wanted to do was berate myself and think how I could reverse this morning's damage.

So this evening, after a gluttonous dinner of rice, the idea to purge it came into my head. I fed an excuse to Husband that I wanted to shower, walked into the bathroom, and the rest you know about. Dinner was flushed. I find it curious that once I purged my members retreated. Gone is the headache and pressure behind my eyes. I no longer feel bothered by them.

I'm not happy with myself. I'm even less happy with the content I've been looking at on the Internet. I've been looking up pro-ana pages and thinspiration pages like I was a teenager. This scares me. These are behaviors that I engaged in before when my ED was at its worst. I'm scared I'm heading back there. I'm scared I will cancel the appointment with Dietician out of fear I'm not thin enough or needy enough to see her. I'm just plain scared.

Before it wouldn't have mattered to me. I would be glad for purging. I wouldn't comply with Dietician. I wouldn't have been honest with Therapist about my recent behavior. But now it's different. I truly want to get better. I want to get better and I want my members to get better.

I don't know what else to say. 'sigh'

Forgive me while I wax melodramatic.

The struggle with food continues and, besides the people constantly pressing behind my eyes, I feel so alone. I'm trying so hard but it doesn't feel good or make me happy. I'm not purging and I'm eating three squares a day but I feel the old eating disorder creeping its way back into my life. Even though I'm eating, I'm sure it's not enough for the amount of exercise I'm doing. I'm killing myself on the cardio machines.

Each meal becomes a war between me and the others; even if I win and eat, they slay me with their thoughts. And their thoughts become my thoughts and I loathe myself for not being better than this or different.

Given the reoccurence of the eating disorder behaviors, I'm sure it's no coincidence that one of my perpetrators has set up shop in my mind. I keep getting memories of him, his cars, his house, even the memory of the breezy summer air smacks me dead in the face.

I really am trying to fight. I made an appt. with a dietician but I am suffering so much I just want to go to sleep and not wake up. I don't have the strength or the desire to fight anymore. I hate myself to pieces. I'm not suicidal but I wish I were dead. It shouldn't have to be this hard. To hell with it all.

Signed,
Nobody important

I'm a piece of sh*t.

I can't get happy. If I eat, I'm worthless. If I restrict, I'm worthless.

Spent over two hours in the gym today. Tried to leave after an hour but I just couldn't. I thought of all the calories I wouldn't be burning so I stayed.

I can't talk or think my way out of this. I try to tell myself it's just food; it can't hurt me or make me dirty. But it screams back a different message.

I'm afraid of where this is going. I'm such a piece of sh*t.

Having a bad day, a bad week, a bad month.

Can't get out of bed today.

I'm okay, I'm not okay

I'm disgusted with myself. I can't break the cycle of restrictive eating. I don't know if I even want to. Then today I committed a cardinal sin: I weighed myself. I thought I might have lost a little weight the way Husband has been talking and getting worried. But no. Not one ounce.

I can't account for it. And so I disgust myself. I can't even lose weight the right way. I'm a terminal loser.

Tonight was so painful. All I wanted to do was rest at home. I had a 2 hour workout at the gym and every muscle ached. I couldn't move another muscle. Unfortunately, I had promised my goddaughter I would take them to the mall. And for anyone trying to restrict, it's not a safe place to be. We first went to the food court because she was hungry. There must have been two hundred people there eating all the delicious food that I wanted but couldn't let myself have. As we walked by the vendors, the smells of the offerings was so tempting and it made me mad and rebellious. The first part was mad I couldn't eat any and the second part was rebellious because she didn't want any fucking food anyway and she wouldn't be weak that way.

Now I'm back at home after hard core browsing. I did buy my eleven year old alter some bangle bracelets. I had a discussion with her today while we were looking through a fashion magazine and she said she wanted bracelets. I'm trying to do more and more things for my alters, but to be honest, I can't bear to journal with them. There are other alters I need to talk to but I'm too scared to write to them. I'm scared of everything. Sometimes I just want to go to sleep.

There's more, but I'm too give out to continue.

Take care.

Lunatic sound off - BEWARE

Warning. You are about to enter a pity party with some profane language mixed in, self directed anger, and unapologetic repetition of content. If you don't want to get fucked up like we are and feel bad about yourself and hate yourself as much as we do, you might want to go where normal people blog about flowers, butterflies and blue skies. Blaahhh.

Yours truly,

MIS

I'm so over this. It's totally consuming me. I thought I would never be back here again. But it's gone by so fast. It didn't take long before each milestone was reached.

Don't get me wrong, the self-hatred was always there. The looking in the mirror and only seeing a fat whore has never gone away. But at least we could eat an apple without feeling like we've blown our diet and will wake up fat the next day. Now, we eat just enough to keep up the energy to workout. After the workout, we're blown and we have to rest. I can see the weight finally starting to come off and I'm elated, shamed, and angry. It shouldn't have to be like this. Therapist says there are other ways of dealing with our issues and I believe him, but nothing will ever make us feel clean again. We are soiled and dirty and the abstinence of food creates the illusion that we aren't contaminated and sullied. We watched Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs for our eleven year old alter who has the eating disorder. Watching a fucking movie didn't help her. True, she was able to laugh and feel like a kid again. But the instruments are still in place and the decree to restrict has not expired.

Damn, damn, damn. I never wanted to be back here. It is like a snowball rolling down a snow covered hill, gaining speed and snow everywhere it rolls ready to plow right over me. Maybe it's over dramatization. I just fucking hate feeling this way. Every thought is consumed by food and how to stay away from it. This is not supposed to be happening. I'll say it once, I'll say it twice, I'll say it as long as I fucking need to say it.

We've been here before. No one in the system can deny that they don't know where this is headed. Sure, she claims. She'll stop once she reaches a certain weight. Bull shit. She won't stop. It will go lower and lower and lower. She can't stop. It's not a matter of wanting to anymore. It's a matter of physically picking up the food to eat it. Everything creates guilt.

And what do we do about our other members who are caught in the crossfire. They don't deserve this. The littles want their Princess graham crackers back, but we won't let them because of the calorie content. Go ahead. Call child services.

Most members have a breakdown at some point. I find it interesting that all our relapses and journeys into hell happen between February and April. There's just something about those months. I don't know the connection, but I have a very vivid memory of someone walking through the house of our birth parents just as Spring was springing and feeling very depressed, overwhelmed, and feeling fat.

I'm angry at us. We know better than this. How the fuck did we get into this and how the fuck do we stop this? To say "Eat" is ridiculous. We've already told ourselves that. We are too far gone. We don't want a fucking intervention. We want to do this on our own with Therapist's help. But what can he really help us do? The switch has been turned on and hidden so we don't know how to disarm the behavior.

I know who this is and I feel so sorry for her. She didn't have a childhood. She abstained from food because she felt it made her feel dirty. Will self talk help? Will a million showers help? What can I do to help a damaged, broken, suffering eleven year old alter better? What can we do besides food that will make her feel good about herself, make her feel happy and worthy and clean, and not have to turn to food? We tell her the bad stuff wasn't her fault but it doesn't help. She's internalized blame for years and it's hard to undo those tapes.

But then, this is all bull shit. We aren't that bad off. Sure, we skip some meals, workout excessively, but our weight is still fine and no reason for concern. Do we want concern? Hell to the NO!! Notice how back and forth we go. I'm okay, your okay, we're all okay.

There are so many talking and contributing it's hard to keep track. The push/pull is in place. I expected it to be. History predicted it. It's always been like this. We hate ourselves for doing this but just can't stop.

We AREN'T suicidal. Not by any means. But we always knew we would die of this. There is no helping us. This is no cure for us. We've been in the game too long and we're too old, tired, and exhausted to play it again. One day, we'll bow out gracefully.

End of pity party.

Cloudy with a Chance of Hatefullness

I don't know what to say, but my heart is so heavy I feel like I must say something, anything. We had a session with Therapist today. They seem to get harder each time. An impression of sadness has followed us around our portion of the world since we left his office. The eleven year old with the eating disorder was listening in on the session and her heartbreak was palpable. Getting through the afternoon and evening has been difficult. The pandemonium in the head has not subsided and we crave sleep, eight hours of medicated sleep, if only to give our mind a chance to rest from the marathon of switches today.

We restricted today. We tried to think of Therapist's words about coping strategies that we could utilize instead of using eating disorder behavior. We got our eleven year old a movie, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, but have been too ill to watch it. We skipped lunch, an easy thing to do when therapy is right at noon. There's so much trepidation inside. One minute, we collectively agree to try new things for her, the next minute we take it back out of our own fear.

She's not the only one who benefits from restricting. While I don't know who else capitalizes on the hunger, I know the edict has gone out from others to lose weight. We aren't safe as we are.

As a whole we hate ourselves. We are worthless, talentless, weak, despicable, fat, loser, whore, dirty, sickening, abysmal. Our badness is immeasurable and incurable.

I'm sad because I don't think we can change. I'm sad because we hate ourselves. I'm sad because it just feels right.

Home of the apathetic and tired

I'm tired. It's more than not getting enough sleep or the tired you feel after a long day of work. I'm tired to the core of my being. I think my brain has stopped working. My body is lethargic and craves rest.

I feel so negative. Every time I write it's always about some crisis or negative feeling I'm dealing with. I know that was and is the purpose of this blog: to document the journey from being completely fractured to finally whole. Maybe one day I'll have something positive to say.

For now, all I can say is that I hate therapy. I'm tired of it. I don't feel we're getting anything out of it. Maybe it's all because we're mad at Therapist. Yesterday we read an extremely difficult writing from our journal regarding, among other things, certain boundaries that we let be crossed by Husband and all Therapist could say was what a good wife we are for having such compassion since Husband doesn't feel good and is still depressed. That didn't sit too well with us. How could he compliment us when all we did was sacrifice ourselves to the wishes of Husband just so he'd feel better. What about our feelings?

Plus, we just have nothing to talk about in therapy anymore. We've been in therapy eighteen years. Enough is enough. There's nothing left to share. There are no memories of the abuse to process. What's left to discuss?

Life is just so difficult right now.

And the beast is still out. She is really devouring me and there's nothing we can do to stop it. I wonder how this member with the eating disorder behavior has so much control over the rest of us. Like today, we were at the gym for 2 1/2 hours. I didn't want to be there that long. I felt guilty for it, but I felt compelled to stay. This member is young. I don't think anyone can win against her. Our focus is on restricting, working out, and losing weight. I can understand how friends and family would say to someone with eating disorder behaviors to just pick up the food and eat. It should be that simple and easy. Just EAT!! But it's not that simple at all. There are consequences to eating. Getting fat is one of them.

The thing is, I think this member wants a way out. I think she's miserable with and without the behaviors. This member was out for our 6th grade year in school and she was picked on and made fun of a lot. She is consumed with self-loathing, courtesy of children and adults. For her, being thin is her only salvation.

I don't want to eat. Then I'll be a failure. If I can't lose weight I won't be comfortable with myself and I won't feel okay with myself. This is the way to erase all the wrongs that happened.

I don't know how to help her. I don't know how to help myself. Therapist said things that he wishes for us and someone said all the wishes in the world wont' make it happen. It seems the steps necessary to take to get better are out of our reach. Today, we are just too tired. Everything seems overwhelming. We are exhausted. It doesn't seem to matter anymore. We are an empty vessel.

I feel like there's so much more to say, but it's not coming forward. I sense many members writing today and I know I won't remember the content of this blog. Such is our life.

The beast

On a housekeeping note, I want to thank Paul, cbtish, Shades of Ivory, and Grace for their comments. I know I haven't responded to them and for that I'm sorry. Your support and insight means a lot.

It's been a long, hard, bad day. I am restless and feel like I'm going out of my mind. I don't know why I'm about to write this shit. I am not in my right mind.

The beast is awake again and I can do nothing about it. It's the eating disorder behavior. I've always been one to exercise. I started when I was sixteen, almost twenty years ago. I have never been moderate about exercise. It's always been nothing or too much. Though some would argue I was average size, the past few months I didn't exercise because I felt I was fat and didn't want to feel my body moving through space. It sickened me. But then I lost a few pounds and that got the ball rolling and woke the angry eating disorder. Now, I exercise a lot.

My thoughts have become obsessive. I am constantly worrying about food and questioning what I've eaten. Should I have eaten the veggie burger? Did I pour too much cereal? Will I be fatter after I ate that one cookie?

I realize why the beast is awake again. In therapy we are talking about some pretty difficult subjects and its given rise to the parts of me that hold the eating disorder. They think we're fat, unsafe, and vulnerable. She wants to starve me until I'm invisible. They want to starve the pain out. They want to be and feel empty so they can feel nothing.

I don't want to tell Therapist about these things. First of all, I don't want people asking me about my food or exercise. It's nobody's effing business. We want to be left alone to do what we need to do in order to be safe.

That gets said but then there is a strong part of me that doesn't want to go down the self destructive road we've been on before. We can't keep silent over what we're doing to ourselves. We need to not keep it secret about our obsessive thoughts and over-exercising.

But then there's the voice that says "Fuck that. We'll do whatever the hell we want."

I'm not strong enough for this.

It didn't take long for the beast to wake up. Previously, my slides into the eating disorder behavior had been slow. But this time the beast went from 0 to 60 before I knew what was happening. Now I'm conflicted. There are two sides to this. There is the part that wants the eating disorder and wants to lose weight no matter what the cost. Then there is the rational part that knows it is self-destructive behavior and knows it's avoidance.

Doesn't matter. The eating disorder side always wins. I try and think how I've been able to maintain my weight this long and I don't have an answer. Maybe avoidance really is good. If we avoid talking about our history then the eating disorder will not be needed.

I really don't know where to go with all this. It's just one of the many things driving me crazy.

The definition of "Help me"

It's so hard to get these posts started. I just don't know where to begin. I feel everything and I feel nothing. I am angry but I'm calm. I'm sad but have no tears to show for it. Then there's the nothingness lulling me with her sweet numbness. I think I'll take her side.

I don't know what's really wrong with me. Maybe it's the fact I put my husband in a psych ward yesterday. Maybe it's because it brings up my own terror images of being locked away. Maybe it's because the last thing husband said to me was that a part of him wanted to kill me. I think that fits well.

I feel sorry for the spouses, partners, and friends who support us. Husband has it hard. I have several members who are crazy for tattoos. We have four tattoos already. They want several more. I personally don't like tattoos but I feel all members should have an outlet, like the littles should have their Barbies and Fruit Loops and the teenagers should have music and makeup. So why should I say no to other members just because Husband hates tattoos?

It was this fight that sparked his down spiral again. He is angry at me because I allow the tattoos; I don't stop it. Sometimes, when going to get a tattoo, I do want to turn the car around but I'm compelled, pushed forward to the tattoo shop. And when I look in the mirror and see the final piece I grimace but the face in the mirror is all smiles.

He says we value tattoos over him; we love the tattoos more. It's not black or white but his thinking is and this led to comments made by me about leaving him. My thinking at the time was that I just can't deal with him anymore. But I did tell him if he went to the hospital I would stay for now. But I don't see what good the hospital can do. His feelings about us will not change. The hospital will not change his view of our getting tattoos. And I feel completely betrayed by him when he doesn't show other members love other than the ones that are easy to like, for example, the littles.

A lot of damage has been done to this marriage. He was my rock, my support, my everything. I relied on him for almost everything. Which may or may not have been a good thing, but it is what it is.

I've refused to talk to him. He's called four or five times but I can't imagine what he could have to say to me. Every word would be my recall for the verbal daggers he's thrown at me.

Again, I know it's hard on loved ones who have to cope with our illness perhaps as much as we do. He's always done everything he could to accommodate me. It's a shame to lose it over stupid tattoos.

In any case, I hope this reaches someone out there, some reader in Internet land. Maybe then I won't feel so despondent, alone, and hopeless. Right now I feel like hurting myself with a glorious razor blade or the bright flame of a lighter, but I won't. I'll find other, less effective ways to cope.

From 0 to 60

It's a painfully slow post. It's been brewing for days but, understandably, never comes to fruition. For most of the week I've been blank. Blank as in blank. Lifeless. Disconnected. Empty. Deserted. Abandoned. Meaningless.

When I tried to explain this to Therapist yesterday he didn't get it. I grappled for words. I felt inside prison walls that I just wanted to escape. (Thank you Victoria for these words.) I don't know what can be more hellacious than being blank. You feel worthless, like an outsider.

Therapist thinks being blank is another way to avoid discussing the painful details of my life. I have to agree; it just make so much sense. We are trying to be aware when we are avoiding circumstance and we really want to break the pattern, but I don't know how to get out of the blankness.

But no matter, today they pulled me out of the blankness. We went from 0 to 60, from blank to depressed and bothered in the blink of an eye. Seemed that since they were all so silent this week they had to bombard me this morning with switching and constant twirling thoughts. Nothing that brings me refuge.

So it's raining in Georgia and I haven't found a good reason to get out of bed. I realize Randy, if you're reading this, that I'm just avoiding. What I'm avoiding I don't know. Life seems too hard today to do anything but hide under the covers or watch Captain Jack Sparrow. I know this will pass. I need to privately journal with my members and find out what's going on. Easier said than done when they don't communicate back.

On the one bright spot, I filled out an on-line application for a seasonal summer job for which I've been hoping to get. Just to fill out the application was an accomplishment. I hate applying for jobs. They ask about dates of employment, supervisors' names, job duties. All the stuff I can't remember. Does anyone else have trouble with this? Well, I'm trying to keep this positive, as positive as I can be glued to the bed.

Well, despite the obstacles, I applied for a job. Yeah, us!

Hell hath no fury

I am not in the best of moods. I am very angry at myself. It was a whole weekend of being angry at myself. There is a picture I keep as my wallpaper on my computer of a time when Husband and I went to Charleston. In the picture I look very happy, big grin on my face. But I don't look thin. While nutritionist would argue, argue, argue that I'm at a healthy weight in the picture, I don't feel thin, and if I don't feel thin then I feel dirty and vulnerable. I want to feel thin and invisible. I want to disappear in my clothes so no one can find me.

So Saturday morning when I got out of the shower I accidentally saw myself in the mirror and my collar bones look just like the collar bones of that fat slob in the picture in Charleston. This sent me on a tail spin. From that moment on, I wasn't myself. Both the good and bad sides of my eating disorder kicked into high gear. I was interminably berating myself for being such a loser. In an instant, my clothes didn't fit, as if the mirror had really put weight on me. My whole weekend continued this way.

I was not myself. I was compelled by another member and I don't know who she is. That's the suckiest part of this whole thing: I can't connect with another god damn member. I can't know who's persecuting me.

Today we see Therapist. With every generous fiber of my being I don't not want to go in. He's going to want to know how the weekend went. I can't give specifics. I know the mirror and collarbone incident. I know I binged this weekend. I know I went and helped O. with a paper due on Monday. I can't tell the inches of time in between that made up my bad mood; that made me so worthless. He might ask me to read my journal. I don't want to do that. I just want to go exercise, but I know that won't solve the internal dialogue going on inside.

Even though it's Monday and a new week, I'm still carrying into it the same bad feelings from the weekend. Sure, I got up and showered, did my hair, applied my face. But someone won't let it go. And I've learned it's never about the food; it's always about something else. I fucking don't want to know what the something else is. Therapy has been hard enough lately. Maybe that's the reason for the freak out in the bathroom. Who the hell knows?

I wish I didn't feel so fat. Food seems dirty to me right now. I know I'm not being rational, but try telling that to an eating disorder that's been in existence for 24 years.

So where do I go from here? How do I exorcise these feelings from my conscious? How do I not hate myself so damn much? Most, most, most importantly, how do I feel not so fat? Time will have to take care of me, because no one inside sure as hell will. Enough is enough.

New quote added

As a matter of business: I added a new quote that inspires me and gets me thinking about recovery.

You don't get anything clean without getting something else dirty. - Cecil Baxter

I added that quote to my favorites because it reminds me that I have to get dirty by digging into the dark, dirty secrets of my past, but I will come out clean. At least that's what this quote means to me.

Relationships

I've been mulling this topic over since the weekend and have been trying to figure out how to write a sanitized version of what took place.
One of the many things we've learned with D.I.D. is just how hard relationships are to maintain.

I've been married over ten years. In fact, Valentine's Day marks 10 1/2 years of marriage. That's an accomplishment for someone who doesn't have to deal with dissociation, so for someone like us with D.I.D., it's almost impossible. We've heard of many marriages busting over the difficulty dealing with a spouse who is dissociative.
Husband and I have had our ups and downs. One thing we've always agreed on is "I do" has meant "I do" and neither of us have looked to abandon the other to divorce when we weren't getting along.

However, time seems to be molding us into a couple that just puts up with one another. I feel sorry for Husband. I know it's not easy living with someone with D.I.D.; Lord knows he tells me that all the time. Well, not all the time, but he's said it on more than one occasion. He tells me he doesn't always know how to act around us, that we give off mixed signals, that we've changed since marrying us.

Changed is an understatement. In all fairness, when we married, we hadn't accepted the diagnoses of D.I.D., and so didn't tell Husband. It wasn't until later in the marriage that we couldn't deny the symptoms anymore and things started falling apart. But Husband is right; we have changed. When we married we didn't have pink hair, nose piercings, and tattoos. How he HATES the tattoos!!!

I think he could live with all that but there is an area of our marriage that is under fire and he doesn't know how to deal with it; I don't either, for that matter. You see, we aren't as close in the Biblical sense as we used to be, if you know what I mean. In the beginning of our marriage, we as a system used to engage in "the act" because we didn't respect ourselves, so it didn't matter if "the act" hurt us or not. Now that we're trying to heal, that area of our lives is off limits to him until we get some healthier views toward s*xual relations. So, basically, Husband is having to go without and he doesn't know how to deal with it and that makes me feel guilty for depriving him. As a result, Husband and I have lost a sense of emotional closeness that gets fed by being physically close and that breaks my heart. Still, we as members can't give in until we have healed more, otherwise it would be too damaging.

So over the weekend Husband and I were arguing over the lack of closeness and if we would ever resume a physical relationship again. He feels it's hopeless. I have no answers for him. For me, it's just another brick in the wall; another hurdle that needs to be overcome before we can ever come close to "normal."
And that's all I have to say about that.

Dueling emotions

I'm not well. I'm in a terminal bad mood. I can't wiggle out of it. It has cornered me all day.


The thing is, I'm angry and sad. I don't know how I can be both at the same time. I know I would feel better if I could just have a good cry but authentic feelings escape me. I'm not in charge of feelings. I'm living on borrowed time, borrowed memories, borrowed emotions. There's nothing organic about me. If I feel happy it's b/c someone inside feels happy; if I feel depressed, it's b/c someone inside feels depressed. I'm just a shell. I'm a big, fat blank.

Even my words sometimes are not my own. I'll be speaking and hear someone else's words come out. I never know the source.


Establishing internal communication has been difficult. I don't know who I am from one minute to the next. I wrote a letter to my members about how I'm scared of them. I apologized and stated all my reasons for being afraid: I don't want to lose control, I'm afraid I won't recover, I'm afraid of their pain.

I don't want to be afraid of them. I want to want to get to know them. Everyone says to just keep trying. Keep talking to them. Keep treating them as a friend, someone you literally have to get to know. It's so damn hard. I am so empty.

I feel like I'm treated like a child. I'm one of them, can't they see that. I feel alone in my system, like nobody likes me. Inside feels like a very unsafe to be.

I feel like I'm banging my head on a wall. All I want to do is cry, cry, cry.

Disturbia

I find it disturbing and disruptive. The people behind my eyes are active and I feel pressure in my head. Does anyone else get that way when the switching is intense?

They switch back and forth, never landing on a single personality. I'm switching as I write this. They chase my thoughts away and never look back. I don't know what they want. Sometimes the switches come with memories, sometimes not. For now, the memories are silent and I am grateful.

I am scared of my members. They are scared of me, too. (A voice just told me that.) I know it sounds bad, but I'm glad they are scared of me. I can handle that. That tells me they aren't holding out because they want to punish me or hurt me. We are all hurting and holding ourselves tightly. I grapple for words.

Things have been extraordinarily difficult since our therapy session yesterday. Members were out that have never been out before. It's too much. Therapist says we can trust him, that he 's never hurt us before.

True that, but it doesn't make someone autonomously safe. More is at stake.

Reflecting on Therapist's potential to hurt us, it is concluded that he would not hurt us. He's been generous in many ways. And we know our goal is to stop avoiding the unpleasant, so we know we should just put it all out there.

Thought it's taken the reader all but 30 seconds to read thus far, know that I've sat speechless, unable to write, for twenty minutes. Words are taken away. I stare into space while the switches batter me around.

Some feel Therapist put us in our place yesterday. Some feel he was mean. I believe Therapist's words were: "supportingly confrontational." Whatever the hell it was it has taken us aback and left us disconcerted. He feels we are avoiding work and school but he is wrong. School is not an option as long as members think they can be out in class and take hours out of primary member's memory.

Other than getting through the switching, it has been a "productive" day. I call it productive when I simply get out of bed and put my makeup on. With D. out of work, we spend our days together, so I'm forced to get out of bed. We ran errands today and took our dogs for a walk. I went over to C. and O. 's house and helped O. with her Social Science work. All in all, it was a slow and easy day.

I'm tired now and I hate this mess of shifting thoughts. Regret will probably make me delete this post later as I feel embarrassed about how scattered I am.

Article link - "Living with DID"

I found this link on Google and thought I would share it with everyone. It's a good article and I related with the author on many fronts; however, she comments on integration and that is a sore topic for me, as I don't agree with integrating all personalities into one. Skate lightly.

Take care.

http://www.divinecaroline.com/22190/90903-living-dissociative-identity-disorder

Avoiding

Pardon us while we wax philosophical. We are in the middle of a switch...

It is dark in my room. I've succumbed to the internal pressure of my members to blog. It's been a while since we blogged but no worries here. New insights have been gained and a new committal to therapy has taken place. A new attitude had developed that therapy has to be uncomfortable, it isn't pretty, it's going to hurt, but I will heal and be able to live a better life.

Our T. keeps telling us how we avoid the topics that we need to explore in order to heal. That is somewhat true, although we've done a much better job of owning up and sharing the painful and embarassing details we'd rather leave out. It's hard to NOT avoid. For ex, we've been avoiding this blog since October because it's so hard to figure out just what to say. We get nervous going to Randy's, our T. Despite reassurances from him, we worry if he'll judge us, think negatively of us, not want to help us anymore. Our husband sees a T. and we've asked him if he gets nervous when he goes and he says no. Maybe it's just us.

Randy gave us an assignment in our last session and we haven't done it. We're avoiding it. :)

I can probably thing of one second of my life where I felt free, not tied down by the rules and laws of whatever vice I am about to give to. I look at the girls in my dining hall at school and none "look" like they cut, burn, or have an eating disorder. I'm sorry, but I feel that our addictions put us in a special category where you have this 6th sense about other people. I search the walls of my campus and see no one like me. I certainly don't see anything off the chain like me and D.I.D.

Not that I'm anything special or atypical from the next mixed up person. What I'm trying to say is.....i don't know.

I did have a major let down in my behavior. I probably would feel better about myself if I had gotten out of the house today, but I set myself up for failure by isolating, and the outcome wasn't healthy.

I go tomorrow to terminate my relationship with my therapist. The drive is too far, I'm getting no where with her, she always ASSumes to know with whom she is talking.

I like her because she has gone above and beyond the call of duty. As a T she is great. Makes me less hopeful b/c she was recommended to it. I don't know.

What does the blogging find important and special about therapists? Have you found The One?

Missing In Action

I know I've been gone for a while. Things have not been okay but I will spare you the spilt milk and the sob sorry.

I was released from the partial hospiltization back in May, I think. My intentions were/are to get a job and go back to school. I couldn't cope with applying for a job. I know that sounds silly, but for someone with D.I.D, dates and time spans are foreign concepts. So, applying for jobs was hard. It was hard to fill in the data such as when I had worked prior, whered the job was located, and addresses and names of supervisors are problematic.

So, I've been stressed. And interviewers don't want to hear that my lapse in job and school is due to long term hospitalization. So the jobs haven't been forthcoming. I was just going to go to school and lay off the employment part of my plan.

School has been overwhelming. I'm an English major and that's hard to deal with because dates are involved. When was Shakespeare's first Folio published? When did Chaucer die?

Frankly I could care less. So the dates and the multiple reading assigments and the papers to write consumed me. I dropped the first two classes and thought I would be okay taking the last two semesters. It wasn't okay. This week I dropped my last two classes.

Part of me feels completely worthless because I couldn't "make it". I couldn't last. worthless, guilty, shamed, embarassed damaged. That's how I feel. It has gotten a little better. Chocolate helps.


As for my eating disorder, it's just a mirror image of how I perceive myself. The eating disorder gets worse when I do a great job of hating myself and when I love myself the eating disordoer does better.

So, what will be next for Missing In Sight? With this time on my hands I guess I'll be hanging around the blog. It's definitely good to be back.

Acceptance

I don't know if I can do this. I'm not much better but a little. The meds my psycho-iatrist gave me have helped a little, but I still have a hard time "soothing" my brain. It always feels disruptive and a bit like ADD. It's a mad world.

In any case, I was reading the meditation for today and though it was pertinent to me. It was about how we always like one thing, but don't stop to consider it's flip side. For every positive we get in our life there is bound to be a a negative.

For example, a couple plants a beautiful shady tree in their backyard. They enjoy the shade and coolness of the big branches and leaves. Then winter comes and the leaves have turned brown and have fallen to the ground. The couple gets upset because their beautiful shady tree has turned into a mess of work to get all the rotting leaves up off the ground that was spoiling their outside time.

The point is, there is always a flip-side to what we like most. If we translate this to our human relationships, for what we like most in another person, there is always an undesirable trait. That's just human nature. It doesn't mean we should give up our relationship. It means people are what they are. We are our height, we our race, we are our backgrounds. To take all of Nature's gifts in people and then complain about the downside is simply foolish and maybe a little immature.

The flip arguement can be made for ourselves. We are all endowed with incredible gifts in ourselves. To think that we are all bad and have nothing to offer is rediculous. We have the same traits as others. We have things to offer and things we'd rather keep hidden.

Point is, self esteem is not based on our changing but accepting what we are.

All Apologies

To my blogging friends,

I feel the overwhelming need to apologize to you. You have been so kind as to offer comments on my blog, and I have not been able to return the feedback.

I am not well. I had an emergency session with my psycho-iatrist today. I'm not sleeping and what few winks I get are filled with nightmares. I can't focus. I cry easily. I'm depressed. Ya da ya da.

When I'm better you will hear more from me. Please know that I'm reading your blog and staying current with you comments. I hope to be heard soon.

Missing In Sight

Preventing a fall.

I'm trying to keep a positive attitude today, but it turns out to be more challenging than with which I can cope.

Today's meditation hits home for me, and I've studied it as if there were an exam at the end of this post. The quote is by Thomas Fuller and he says, "A stumble may prevent a fall."

Yesterday I definitely stumbled. Cancelled on my T and dietician. Binged and purged. I came close to acting out with self-harm but was spared from the behavior, or rather I stopped myself from acting out self-destructively with matches.

One can definitely say yesterday I stumbled, but I will not let it prevent a fall. I got right back up this morning and had breakfast according to my meal plan. I'm reaching out by posting to my blog site and listening to the feedback of others.

My T always says that therapy is like a toddler learning how to walk; it should be expected that someone learning to walk is going to fall down or stumble or fall head first into the carpet. I'm definitely stumbling around, but that shouldn't rob me of my self-esteem. Life is full of hazards and "dangerous" attempts at recovery. It takes a few tumbles before we can learn from them and prevent ourselves from taking a more serious fall. An occasional stumble may be a warning AND a blessing. It's only if we learn from them can it be a blessing, and eventually learn from our stumbles so we won't fall in the future.

The affirmation for the day, according to the book Believing in Myself, is "My self esteem profits when I profit from my mistakes."

Ramblings of a gone mind

I'm not okay. I'm feeling rather rabid and English. The words are coming from somewhere else. I don't know what to do with myself. I know what I should do, but "shoulds" are woulds that can't help themselves.

I feel like Sarah McLachlin when she sang with the Perishers a song called "Pills." She sang they weren't alright, they needed pills to get through the night, needed lies to get through the day, and she wasn't okay.

That's how I feel today. My abusers are mingling with my memory, creating a cause for alarm and exhaustion. I find no solace anywhere, except in place I'm not allowed to look: a long sleep.

The nights are terrible for me. It seems that right after dinner it's an all out panic attack for me. Nothing in my coping skills bag satisfies. I try to color, do puzzles, play a computer game, nothing compensates for my deterioriation. I dry up and crumble.

I've the perfect opportunity to act out on my eating disorder this morning. I "pray" I do not. I worked it out with D. that if I don't act out on my eating disorder till the end of the month I can get my third tattoo, and I really want that tattoo.

I can feel my younger parts gathering around. This is really difficult. I don't know where I've gone.

What matters

Over the weekend, I had an opportunity to attend a gathering of acquintances I know for a small celebration. I told D. that I didn't want to go, but I really wanted nothing else but to go and see people and see the presentation that was to be put on.

You see, these "friends" are very strict and conservative. The last time they saw me I didn't have pink hair, no nose piercing, and two tattoos. I was a blank slate. Dressed conservatively, rigidly, and fit into a very small box. Now, I'm pure as the driven snow. Not really, but I definitely don't fit into the same category I used to.

One of my members had the idea of tattoos and nose piercings. Since we all share a body, I try to be agreeable to fashions, fads, and wants that each member has.

But I knew if the "friends" that saw me the way I am now they would not "approve" and I would be a subject of discussion among everyone. I'm not embarassed of how I look now. In fact, when we see the colorist next month we are going to request more pink for our hair. We are also planning our next tattoo.

But I still knew that people would talk about me. No one knows about my diagnosis and that the members have their own opinion on what to wear, how to talk, and how to act. And I wasn't about to explain to them that I hear voices and lose time and see people that know me and I haven't the slightest clue who they are.

So....a rose by any other name still smell as sweet and if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, walks like a duck, then it's a duck. I can say that I'm not embarassed by my members, but the evidence proves otherwise. I can say that I'm really not embarassed, and I feel I embrace my members, but I was too self-concious as to what others would say.

It makes me think of two things:

I've said it before and I will say it again to myself: be kinder and more gentle with myself. It is unreasonable to think that a member would not embarass me and it doesn't make me a bad person that I'm not explaining away my behaviors or sharing my diagnosis with everyone so they will understand me.

I know I use a lot of quotes, so I won't stop now. It reminds me of a quote I learned in treatment:

Those that mind don't matter, and those that matter don't mind.

I don't know who wrote this, but it gives me comfort.

If these people truly care about me, they won't judge me on my appearance. Yes, I look different now, but I'm/we're the same people that we were pre-tattoo. And if people do judge me on appearance and do mind how I look, then they don't matter in my life and I'm better off without their friendship.

I say alot of things and I hope in saying them that it will come true in my heart. I can B.S. myself to hell and back, but I'm hoping something I throw out there will stick for me.

Stay strong and take care.

Becca

10 things about me

1. I have pink in my blonde/brown hair.
2. I will be celebrate 10 years of marriage on August 14; I turn 35 on August 15, and my husband turns 35 August 16. Wham, bam, bam!
3. I have an Associates degree in Accounting.
4. I have gone back to school to get my Bachelor's in English Education.
5. I want to teach 7th grade.
6. I have two tattoos and counting.
7. I'm a good cook when I try, but I love to bake.
8. I've been in therapy 17 years.
9. My bio-parents live in China. I don't see them or talk with them.
10. I have seen Pride and Prejudice with Kiera Knightly at least 50 times.

The Second Act

When I was in Charleston, I picked up a card that had a saying on there that means so much to me and gives me hope. It is a quote by Mary Anne Radmacher and it reads,

"Just because you bought the ticket doesn't mean you have to stay for the second act."

I love this so much. If I apply it to my life's experiences, it helps me realize I'm not a victim anymore and I can effect change in my life. Yes, I have a history of abuse, a trauma history, but I don't have to let that define what my life looks like now.

The first act of my life sucked, but I have a choice for the rest of it. I'm staging a curtain call and I'm not staying for the second half of the act. The second half of the act is where I stay stuck in my disorder and distorted thoughts. It is filled with actions of self-harm, an eating disorder, suicidal gestures, depression, mood swings, flash backs, insomnia, night sweats, nightmares, panic and anxiety attacks, etc...

So I'm leaving the theatre. Just because I bought the ticket doesn't mean I have to stay for the whole production. I'm staging a Coup d'etat. I'm finding a new production that will only bring me peace and happiness.

I hope you find a new second act, as well.

Becca

Charleston - Day 1

Besides my husband, these are the loves of my life. C. is on the left, O. is on the right. I'm surprised O. is letting me take a picture of her. She is normally camera shy.

This is the first full day of Charleston. We've just parked along the Battery where parking is free. It's already insanely hot and humid. Plan is to go to catch the boat to Fort Sumter where it's even hotter.
Feeling the love! They don't look or act like twins, but they are fraternal.

Backing up an hour, we are in the hotel gettnig ready to go. You can tell this is early in our trip because the room is still clean. :)

O. is here with her favorite pose.

C. is all smiles...as usual.

Starbucks? Really, girls. Why can't we even go on vacation without running towards the nearest Starbucks? Okay, okay. It was really my idea. I needed a caffiene fix and the hotel coffee sucked!

Looking at the Battery from the ship on the way to Fort Sumter.

My three favorite faces in the whole world!

We arrive finally at Fort Sumter, the home site of the Civil War, April 12, 1865.

Construction on Fort Sumter began in 1829. I don't think this museum and bathroom were part of the plan. These are the original bricks built by slaves. They've lasted almost two centuries. They are very delicate and are slightly crumbly to the touch. These were the barracks and were built under the gun powder. During the attack, this proved to be just a little mistake.

C. is always inquisitive and alway asking questions. She's brilliant!

The man with all the answers and who also stole my heart.

O. and C. are reading about their history.

After Fort Sumter, we were a little hungry. O. wanted to go to Bubba Gump Shrimp. It's really good, but not for vegetarians, which C. and I are. The salad was good, but I like the mixed drink even better. The second drink even better than that.

C. is enjoying her "mixed" drink.

Words to live by:

"And that's all I have to say about that."

The benefit of the doubt

It's been a rough twenty-four hours. I see my T. three times a week, and the days I don't go in I don't know what to do with myself. D. took the day off work yesterday to keep me company. The lonliness feels so pathological and morbid that I can't take it. A deep hole wells up in me and I can't describe how dangerous it feels. I AM NOT SUICIDAL, but the thought of going to sleep crosses my mind. I don't know how to dig myself out of this malignant hole.

My thought process reminds me of the meditation that was e-mailed to me today.

"The difference between a mountain and a molehill is perspective."
http://www.meditationsforweightloss.com/dailys/113538.html

It's all about how I'm thinking. Am I focusing on what is wrong with my life or am I looking at what is right? Yes, I could feel sorry for myself. I don't have a job, school starts next month and I'm terrified, I have financial troubles, my house is messy, etc...

But I love the challenge that the meditation poses. It reads, "Give yourself the benefit of the doubt, and don't be so harsh." Giving the benefit of the doubt is what I always try to do with D. when we have a disagreement. I tell myself he didn't mean to hurt me or whatever the case may be. And giving him the benefit of the works.

If other people deserve the benefit of the doubt, then why don't I? What makes me so bad, so undeserving, so worthless, that I can't give myself the benefit of the doubt? What is so inherently wrong with me?

While I should love myself and take better care of myself, I don't have to do that to give myself the benefit of doubt. I can still give myself the benefit of the doubt. It's about being a little bit gentle with myself, less critical, and realizing I'm not atypical. There are other people that struggle with life just as much as I do.

To my blogging friends, when I read their posts, I don't criticize them or judge the quality of their post or what they have to say. I don't judge their life. I value thier posts and their comments. If I don't judge them, then why do I have to judge myself? I bet if I asked other people who have the same diagnosis as me they would admit to the same struggles as I have.

When I go to my support groups, we always end the meeting with the Lord's prayer (which I don't say), but the last words we say are "Just for today." That will be my motto today.

Just for today, I'm going to view myself as human. I'm going to view myself as someone who is doing the best she can. The mountain of laundry decorating my living room is not a commentary on my worthlessness as a housekeeper. Just for today, I will view myself as valuable, even though I don't have a job. Just for today, I will adhere to my meal plan, even though I feel fat. And lastly, just for today, I will allow myself to cry, to mourn my childhood, to feel all the painful feelings that sum up my existance. I will not judge myself for being human and experiencing my feelings.

Just for today, I will give myself the benefit of the doubt. I hope you do, too.

Back in the saddle, again.

I forget without peeking exactly how long it's been since I lasted posted. I was hoping to post while on holiday in Charleston but that didn't happen.

Charleston. They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. (C. Dickens for you.) It's hard to remember chunks of hours out ot the days. The members were all stoked and on stand-by because we had our god-daughters and we are determined that their childhood be not so ill-fated as ours.

We did the usual Charleston-touristy things vacationers do: take a fourty minute boat ride out to some shambles of a fort, spend an hour in the hot sun, take the fourty minute ride back and watch our god-daughter produce herself from the lavatory because of morning sickness. Poor thing. I'll be mean and post pics of her later. (Of course I won't.)(Okay, maybe I will.) :)

We took a pirate tour that C. wanted to take more than anything. I thought it was the most boring tour ever, and I've been on several in that city. Apparently, it was around here I was dissociating because I couldn't tell where we were or what day of the week it was. I holed up on the hotel room while the others finished out the day. I slept.

I slept alot on that trip. One of our members sole responsibility is to make me go to sleep. If I'm asleep, then secrets don't get told and all are safe.

So we met with our therapist and psycho-iatrist today. Double whammy. I took that one on the chin. The meeting with T. was good. It brought up a lot of sadness regarding being bullied and teased as a child. There's more to it and I won't bear you with it, but, suffice it to say, I got in touch with one of my adolescents, a twelve year old who bears the scars, scrapes, and tears from being rejected by classmates, teachers, and the biological parents. Her wounds moved me so deeply I couldn't help but shed tears, and I'm not a crier. I try to steer clear of emotions that cause me to cry or get angry. (That's another post.)

But this twelve year old had me in a vice grip mentally; I didn't want to let go. I wanted to honor her and parent her and tell her everything will be alright. Countless nights I cried myself to sleep wishing that someone would hold me and tell me everything would be okay. No one ever did, but I can do it for the twelve year who as yet holds know name of which I am aware.

I am going to start adding to my postings affirmations, meditations, thoughts, and down-right gibberish that is helpful to me in the hope that others might derive some meaning. It will include a quote, a little squirb, and maybe a positive affirmation for the day. We'll see how it goes.

When I started our blog, I wanted the general public, if not more importantly, friends and families of those diagnosed, to see the daily hell that we are put through; how hard it is to go outside the house; how difficult it is to raise two sets of children; the trials of having this diagnosis and be married; the pressures and disadvantages of having the disorder and going back to school. I could go on and on. But I think I want the blog to metamorphosize and be less about the mundane, trite activities of life and more about sinking our teeth into recovery.

We are more recovery focused and I want it to show.

Should I or shouldn't I?

While I'm getting my drink on, I'm wondering whether I should post pics of myself along with pics of my family. I wonder the ramifications, if any. Does the blogging community have a thought on revealing our identities?

Most every blogger I know posts an item or a pet for their profile. Are we really in that much danger for posting our picture? Let me know what you think.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Waking up to the dark

I don't know what to write; I just feel I need to write something.

There's not much in here to inspire; just an account of where we've been physically and emotionally. I have no advice to give today, nor a response from a mediation I read. It's just me, we, the bare bones of us.

It feels like we're figuratively waking up to the dark. We can't make sense of time. The days have slipped past us and we haven't been able to hang on to them. The darkness has won.

We've been quiet on the blog, but not quiet in our head. My members have been giving me information about the abuse, the perps, and about each other. I swear it's make me believe I'm headed for a breakdown. I really have missed the support that I get on-line, because I don't get it in my 3-d life. I go to my groups, (usually) but there is something lacking. Maybe it's because there is an expecation to rely on each other and be more personal, but personal I can't be. I feel I'm more real with my "on-line life" than I am in my real life. I get more comfort from people I don't know than the ones I do know.

Strange how that works. I suppose someone would say it should be the other way; I would say I'm taking baby steps. And being on-line are my baby steps.

We've actually got a dietician now. Even though I think the meal plan is too much and I've been skimming off certain sections, it's still fantabulous that I have someone to take the guess work out of what I should be eating. When the dietician at the hospital left me high and dry because she didn't want to work with me I was devastated. I didn't know where I was with my weight and what I should eat and how much. I ended up overcompensating and gained too much weight, which has set me up for restriction all over again. But now that I have a dietician I can almost relax about my eating.

I love my tattoo, but my husband, D., hates it. I want more, he wants this one lasered off. I tell him to fuck off; there are things about his body I don't like but I don't tell him what to do with it, so who is he to tell me what to do with my body? I will grant him that I probably won't get another one on my arm. But I want a vine of forget-me-nots on my ankle and a lotus flower on my lower right abdomen. I don't want any more piercings, so he's safe on that front.

I'm babbling; I know.

I've been taking my god-daughters and their brother swimming. It's been really nice, at least for me. M., the brother, is nine years old and can swim really good. He stays at the deep end of the pool and jumps off the low and high dive. He can dive and do flips off the board. I can dive, but I'm too chicken to do flips. Mostly I just lay in my lounge chair, covered in sun-screen, soaking up the rays, and reading my magazines.

I love laying in the sun. I'm extremely fair skinned so even fifteen minutes in the sun without sun protection will fry me to a crisp, so I usually over kill the sun screen. I still get a little burnt with only staying out 2 1/2 hours. It's so relaxing, though.

I'm still looking for work. I've put an application in at one place and I'm really hoping they call me for an interview. There are few places I can work. The stress of a job makes me delibilated, so I try to find low-stress, part-time jobs.

School at my university starts up in August and I am so excited. We have a member that does most of the school work and she is anticipating reading books and writing papers.

Next week we travel to Charleston, South Carolina with our two god-daughters. We'll be there five days and I'll be taking lots of pics with the camera. We'll have free wi-fi so I'll be able to upload the photos and share them with everyone.

That's it for now. It's good to be blogging again.

Sounds of silence

I haven't posted lately. I've been quiet. At least on the outside. Things are revving up on the inside. I haven't posted because I have nothing to say. I'm reading everyone else's post and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.

Why don't I have anything to contribute? Why don't I have anything special to offer the blogging community? Why am I such a loser?

More specifically, why am I so fat? Why is everyone better than me? Why can't I hold down a job? Why is everyone prettier than me? Why, why, why, why, why this, why that, why what?

I feel hopeless and think I would be better off dead. I AM NOT, I REPEAT, I AM NOT suicidal. Would it matter if I were? Wouldn't my family be better off without me? I would be better off without me.

Does this sound like I feel sorry for myself? I don't. I feel nothing but contempt for myself. I hate myself and it just won't go away.