I'm broken. And I'm sad. And everyday I wonder why. Some days it seems clear to me; it seems clear that it's because of the house or because my brother quit the family or because I wasn't allowed to go to my favorite aunt's funeral when I was 12.
I'm broken.
And sad.
And I don't know why.
I've been to the counselor, but I never felt like she could really hear me. The other day I fought with my mother. She couldn't hear me either. Sometimes I think no one can hear me. There is so much that I'm saying everyday and no one hears me.
I'm broken.
I'm sad.
I wish that I could just be broken and sad out loud in a way where I could make sense to the people who I want to have understand me. At the same time I don't want to be heard. At the same time I want to be alone with my sad, broken, pathetic self. I want to go a day with no fears of the dark things that are within me. I want to go a day without the fear that someone with notice the darkness within me. I want to eat without shame or not eat without shame. I don't want to say 'no' or 'later' every time I'm offered a chocolate or a pastry. I want to say 'never.' I want to say 'yes, please!'
I'm broken.
And sad.
I want to look at a cookie in the store window without even thinking about wanting it. I want...- It's funny because when I was less broken, when I ate all the time, I wouldn't even notice a cookie in the store window because I wasn't worried about it. I had cookies at home that I didn't even have to think about, I ate them with out a worry or a care. And now that I'm fat, sad, broken, and scared I just want the cookies to leave me alone. I want the left over pizza in the fridge to stop calling my name, to not jump out of the box and out of the fridge and into my hands. But these days pizza seems to have a mind of it's own, a way to find my hands and my mouth.
There was a time when prowling for food in the middle of the night was just a normal and expected thing for me to do; I didn't fight it, and I didn't care. Now when the sun goes down I have to tell myself 'you don't need it' 'you don't want it' and my thought begin to race....
....Just one. Just none! Just one more. Just one bite. Just one more bite, I'm still hungry. I don't need it, I had enough. I had too much. I have to eat more. I can't eat any more. I'm just going to eat this. Just this once. No more. You're bad. No good. Pig. I have to eat something. I haven't had enough calories today. You had too many calories you stupid fat slob! I'm not a slob, I'm just fluffy, I just have a little extra... I can feel the bones under the fat, so maybe... You don't feel bones. You feel fat, you feel the places where there would be bones if you weren't wearing a dead whale under your skin. You're weak. You deserve to suffocate under 100s of extra pounds of blubber. Only 100 extra. Lose 30 this month. Lose it next month, eat that now, and lose it next month. I could really hurt myself. You're just a weak cow until you do. You can't be happy till you do. That will not be happiness. This will not be happiness either......
It goes on and on in my head... I try to tune it out, I try to make it stop, but as soon as it goes I need it back because... Because I don't remember how to function with out them.
I'm broken...
How did I get so broken? And why is it that when ever I have a break through, the ah-ha moment in which I suddenly understand my brokenness, I am suddenly swallowed by grief and guilt and the realization that I can never face my brokenness out loud to the people that I need to... the people that it would hurt... the people that are at the roots... the people that I don't know how to impress or at the least just please.
I heard a particular sound... an ordinary everyday sound. A sound that would otherwise be plain and ordinary and of no consequence to you... but the sound was broken in a way, and although I can't say it, can't say what the sound was or how it was broken, I can say that it triggered some thoughts for me. I thought about my childhood, the part of my childhood where ordinary broke, and brokenness became ordinary. I realized that I did express my feelings of guilt to my mother, and she blew it off as ordinary. I did express my needs, in my own way which ought to have conveyed that I felt guilty and embarrassed. I did speak up, and I did try to tell my mom... so it can't be on me anymore. I shouldn't blame myself anymore... except that I have no one to blame but me, because my efforts were broken... hidden, disguised as ordinary. I played it off. I brushed it off. I made it less then it was. I set myself up for failure when I was eight years old.
But why? How? What for?
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Give Thanks That All THINGS On Earth Will Pass Away...
Thanksgiving is almost here, and when it comes many people will sit down in front of a butchered turkey and tell each other what they are thankful for in their lives. My family doesn't do the 'sharing' so I have to share here.
I'm so thankful that stuff is temporary. When we die and go to the other side we will no longer be plagued by our mother's, father's, or sister's piles and piles of JUNK!
Anyway... yeah, that's what I'm thankful for this year.
I'm also thankful for my friends, and my 'adoptive' family..."And pie." =D
On a more serious note... anticipating spending a month with my 'real' family... makes me feel... sick. Which is sad to me. Most people are all excited about going home and seeing their families for the holidays. I'm sitting here wishing that A: there was something that I could actually DO for my folks... to help get their house....... livable. or B: just not even have... a real family o_O; Anyway... for all you 'pack-rats' out there... don't let it get out of hand. Use your heat when you're thinking about what to keep, what to toss, and what to put in storage. And don't, I repeat DO NOT, let your living room, kitchen, and kid's rooms all become drop zones for your crap. You'll end up with messed up bitter children. Like me.
Happy Holiday's every one!
P.S.
What do you get a hoarder (and every one who loves with them) for Christmas? o_O;
I'm so thankful that stuff is temporary. When we die and go to the other side we will no longer be plagued by our mother's, father's, or sister's piles and piles of JUNK!
Anyway... yeah, that's what I'm thankful for this year.
I'm also thankful for my friends, and my 'adoptive' family..."And pie." =D
On a more serious note... anticipating spending a month with my 'real' family... makes me feel... sick. Which is sad to me. Most people are all excited about going home and seeing their families for the holidays. I'm sitting here wishing that A: there was something that I could actually DO for my folks... to help get their house....... livable. or B: just not even have... a real family o_O; Anyway... for all you 'pack-rats' out there... don't let it get out of hand. Use your heat when you're thinking about what to keep, what to toss, and what to put in storage. And don't, I repeat DO NOT, let your living room, kitchen, and kid's rooms all become drop zones for your crap. You'll end up with messed up bitter children. Like me.
Happy Holiday's every one!
P.S.
What do you get a hoarder (and every one who loves with them) for Christmas? o_O;
Thursday, November 18, 2010
MISSING (a lost blog)
[ (a lost blog) means that I started this post forever ago... forgot about... and am now finishing it up because I think it's worth keeping. Hear goes nothing! ]
I haven't been blogging in a while... I guess that's to be expected of some people. People who start things and never finish them. People who don't really know what they want. People who tend to keep their opinions to themselves unless they have a blog to share them on.
The truth is I have been depressed.
Not, "Oh, life isn't worth it any more and no one loves me!" depressed. Just... depressed.
I spent the better part of the last three months... sleeping.
Oh my goodness! How can anyone just lay around? Lazy bum! Get a job for goodness sake!
Have you ever tried to look for a job when you felt like reality was in some other dimension. Honestly, for me, it often feels like this life isn't quite real. It has it's roots somewhere in reality, but somewhere along the way my life got sucked into a black hole and now much of my life is like a dream. The kind of dream where you are just watching things happen around you but you have no real grasp on yourself. The kind of dream where you don't seem to really exist at all. No control. No way to move. Just a ripple in time that no one else really even noticed. I feel like I've gone missing.
I think I had a grasp on reality somewhere around the age of 17. Not a firm grasp, just a grasp. I knew that in this life you have to make something of yourself because no one else will do that for you. Unless you are one of the Olsen twins and were born into it. I knew that you had to work hard, even if it was just at McDonald's. And that's exactly what I was going to do, work at a McDonald's. But sometimes things don't work out just the way you want them to. And sometimes you mess up. It's hard to tell where I messed up, because there are many things in my life now that I learned from, but they could also be the very mistakes that sent my life toward the big sucky black hole.
For instance: when my roommate told me McDonald's wasn't good enough and I had to A: get a real job, or B: move out; I took the path of the least resistance. I moved out, and my parent's sent me to university. I did agree to go, I even took my ACT and applied! woo! and I got in, so that was all good. Not having a clue what I wanted to major in didn't stop me... for a couple of years.
Now? Now I'm in debt up to my eyeballs, still don't know what I want to do with my life, but at least I met one of my best friends, and my 'family away from home'. So? So it's good to be with my family away from home, because my biological family drives me up the wall. Who's family doesn't? Well, unless your mother is a hoarder, you sister is a tween, and your dad has a problem with honesty, then you can't really understand what 'family' means to me.
I grew up watching Home Improvement with my family. I took comfort in the fact that my dad was a bit smarter then Tim 'the tool man' Taylor... But looking back at my childhood, that was just a child's perspective, now I wish my dad could be as smart at Tim. Wow.
The thing is, you can be a total screw up when it comes to projects around the house and still be a really great guy. You can't be a total screw up when it comes to taking care of your family.
Taking care of your family? What the heck does that mean?
10-being there
9-being social
8-being the provider
7-being frugal
6-being fun
5-Being reliable
4-Being the best example you can be
3-Being honest
2-Being committed
1-Being responsible at work
Where did I get that list?
I made it up of all the things I wish my dad would be/do do the fullest and best of his abilities. I wish them for me too.
What else do I wish?
I have often wished I could turn back the hands of time, be born again, and have one major do-over. Is that bad? Do many people wish that they would have started doing things differently from birth? I felt this way for as long as I can remember...
I've always wished that instead of being a timid shy little kid I would have been adventurous and outgoing.
I've always wished that I could stop eating once I was full.
I've always wished that I could put what I was thinking and feeling into the words that the person I was talking to could understand at the time that I was talking to them. Especially with my counselor.
I've always wished I were more athletic.
I've always wished that I could get it right the first time.
I don't want to be this person that always looks back at her life then just wishes it had all been different... but as far as I can tell, it's always been that way for me.
When I was eight or nine I started looking back, wondering what I had done wrong. Why was it always so hard for me, and why did I never have anything to say? Or why didn't I say what I knew I really needed to?
I haven't been blogging in a while... I guess that's to be expected of some people. People who start things and never finish them. People who don't really know what they want. People who tend to keep their opinions to themselves unless they have a blog to share them on.
The truth is I have been depressed.
Not, "Oh, life isn't worth it any more and no one loves me!" depressed. Just... depressed.
I spent the better part of the last three months... sleeping.
Oh my goodness! How can anyone just lay around? Lazy bum! Get a job for goodness sake!
Have you ever tried to look for a job when you felt like reality was in some other dimension. Honestly, for me, it often feels like this life isn't quite real. It has it's roots somewhere in reality, but somewhere along the way my life got sucked into a black hole and now much of my life is like a dream. The kind of dream where you are just watching things happen around you but you have no real grasp on yourself. The kind of dream where you don't seem to really exist at all. No control. No way to move. Just a ripple in time that no one else really even noticed. I feel like I've gone missing.
I think I had a grasp on reality somewhere around the age of 17. Not a firm grasp, just a grasp. I knew that in this life you have to make something of yourself because no one else will do that for you. Unless you are one of the Olsen twins and were born into it. I knew that you had to work hard, even if it was just at McDonald's. And that's exactly what I was going to do, work at a McDonald's. But sometimes things don't work out just the way you want them to. And sometimes you mess up. It's hard to tell where I messed up, because there are many things in my life now that I learned from, but they could also be the very mistakes that sent my life toward the big sucky black hole.
For instance: when my roommate told me McDonald's wasn't good enough and I had to A: get a real job, or B: move out; I took the path of the least resistance. I moved out, and my parent's sent me to university. I did agree to go, I even took my ACT and applied! woo! and I got in, so that was all good. Not having a clue what I wanted to major in didn't stop me... for a couple of years.
Now? Now I'm in debt up to my eyeballs, still don't know what I want to do with my life, but at least I met one of my best friends, and my 'family away from home'. So? So it's good to be with my family away from home, because my biological family drives me up the wall. Who's family doesn't? Well, unless your mother is a hoarder, you sister is a tween, and your dad has a problem with honesty, then you can't really understand what 'family' means to me.
I grew up watching Home Improvement with my family. I took comfort in the fact that my dad was a bit smarter then Tim 'the tool man' Taylor... But looking back at my childhood, that was just a child's perspective, now I wish my dad could be as smart at Tim. Wow.
The thing is, you can be a total screw up when it comes to projects around the house and still be a really great guy. You can't be a total screw up when it comes to taking care of your family.
Taking care of your family? What the heck does that mean?
10-being there
9-being social
8-being the provider
7-being frugal
6-being fun
5-Being reliable
4-Being the best example you can be
3-Being honest
2-Being committed
1-Being responsible at work
Where did I get that list?
I made it up of all the things I wish my dad would be/do do the fullest and best of his abilities. I wish them for me too.
What else do I wish?
I have often wished I could turn back the hands of time, be born again, and have one major do-over. Is that bad? Do many people wish that they would have started doing things differently from birth? I felt this way for as long as I can remember...
I've always wished that instead of being a timid shy little kid I would have been adventurous and outgoing.
I've always wished that I could stop eating once I was full.
I've always wished that I could put what I was thinking and feeling into the words that the person I was talking to could understand at the time that I was talking to them. Especially with my counselor.
I've always wished I were more athletic.
I've always wished that I could get it right the first time.
I don't want to be this person that always looks back at her life then just wishes it had all been different... but as far as I can tell, it's always been that way for me.
When I was eight or nine I started looking back, wondering what I had done wrong. Why was it always so hard for me, and why did I never have anything to say? Or why didn't I say what I knew I really needed to?
Where I left off and where I am now.
Last year I made my latest post on this blog... it was about confidentiality at counseling/therapy because I was frustrated, I felt like I couldn't talk to my counselor about the things I really needed to because I was afraid she would have to make a report and my life would break into a million shards and slice up everyone I love. I still think that, and that's why I quit going... I haven't been for six month. I know I should. I know I need to. But I can't.
It's too personal.
It's none of your business.
I'm scared.
You can't help me.
No one can know this.
Just let me go.
Just let me die!
These thoughts... yes, they are my thoughts and I think them almost everyday. There are days when I am numb and I don't think much of anything. Most of my days are numb because I don't have the energy to feel all the feelings that I would feel if I weren't numb.
And now I'm scared again because I'm no better for the counseling that I had six month ago or for the meds that I got. I don't take them. Sometimes I take them, when I feel like I'm about to break.
But I am broken already.
I know that the thoughts in my head don't match yours. Not unless you are broken too. And if you are broken like I am, no amount of tape or glue will fix you, only counseling and medication and possibly an in/outpatient program. I don't qualify for those programs either. Yet. Why don't I? Because I'm fat and my weight is stable and I don't puke often enough and I had my period last month. I'm fine. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm not sick. I'm not crazy. I just have a little brain glitch. No big deal. Yet.
Suppose I stopped floating around in numbness. Suppose I listen to all the little voices that say "don't eat that!" "You're too fat!" "You're not good enough!" "You don't deserve it!" "Gross!" "Fat pig!" "Cow!"
Suppose I chose to run each night for an hour... two hours. Most people would see these changes in me and say "It's about time you took control of your life." "You look so much better now, keep up with the weight loss!"
And people will say these things to me because I am fat. I'm obese. I have a BMI of 30+ which the text books will tell you is, in fact, obese. When I was in high school, I was overweight. BMI 28/29. I felt ok about that, not great, but I didn't hate myself back then. I hate myself now. I hate myself for letting me get this big when I was already too big and not exactly happy about it. But the little ostrich in me just stuck her head in the sand and kept on eating. Kept on sitting around. Kept on gaining without noticing. Until one day all my clothes shrank. Everything that looked amazing on me, put up their protest signs and fliers that said "No more weight!" and "XL bodies don't fit in L clothing!" I was offended. Appalled. Outraged. Depressed. I ate a pint of ice cream everyday for a week. I took seconds and thirds at every meal because my life was over but my taste buds still worked. Then I wasn't just obese anymore, I was on the ledge, the verge, the last step toward being MORBIDLY obese. I quit eating because I couldn't take just one helping. If I took a bite I would eat until my stretch marks burst open. "Fat whale!"
I worked for a catering place, and all the food in the world was available each lunch break. Leftovers were packed and taken home to save the trashcans from having to bare the burden. Each and every lunch I would say to myself, "this is the last time I'll ever eat this way." Each and every lunch break I would tell myself, "this is the last time I eat like a pig, it will be dry salads from now on." I would say the same thing every lunch until I quit my job and got kicked out of my apartment.
One day I'll eat till it hurts. One day I'll eat nothing. One day I'll starve all day, break down when the world is asleep, eat a dozen cookies, and puke. I'll puke up the water a cookie or two, and then my throat closes up and I cry because I couldn't get rid of it all. Then one day, I'll eat enough to not go mad and binge, but not enough to be satisfied, I'll feel hungry, but I won't eat anymore because I don't need the calories. But at the end of the day, I'm still not good enough.
I hide it pretty well... I'm also inconsistent. I think of the Relient K song, Let It All Out
"Let it all out
get it all out
rip it out remove it
don't be alarmed
when the wound begins to bleed
cause we're so scared to find out
what this life's all about
so scared we're going to lose it
not knowing all along
that's exactly what we need
.....
oh, inconsistent me
crying out for consistency"
And, oh, how badly I just want to let it all out! I don't want to have to hide. I want everyone to know, so that when I don't eat they won't have to wonder why and I won't have to lie... I would like to think that if they all knew they would understand and not try to shove food in my face, or beg me to eat.... I guess they won't have to if I don't have the strength to not eat in the first place. I'm always taking a little of this and a little of that to keep people from suspecting something... Then there are all those days where I am just plain weak, I make exceptions... a holiday... a birthday... a rare family gathering... the day before my diet really starts... the week before my diet really starts... I'm just not good enough. I'm not in, and I'm not out. I'm in the middle of the pie chart teetering toward Compulsive over-eater one day, Anorexia the next, and then Bulimia the day after that... Normal... Odd... Strong... Weak... Weaker. Willing to live. Willing to die.Willing to live. Willing to... exist.
Food wasn't an issue... not that I was aware of... when I was going to counseling. Self-of steam... yeah it was, but I didn't talk about that much. I talked about side effects, not problems, not the subject, not anything that really mattered. One day I let it slip that I had issues about my brother. He quit the family and I was angry about that. My counselor pegged that as the main root. The weed taking over and polluting the rest of my life. The weed that I really wanted to pull up was my mother's hoarding... but that... I was scared to confess. Scared that she would make a report. Scared that my life would shatter and the shards would cut up my family and they would hate me for that. No. I can't pull that weed. Not like that. And this weed? Ed. The weed that spreads more and more each day. The weed that I water. The weed that I willingly let grow because it's the only weed that is really mine. Hoarding is my mom's weed. My brother quit the family, that's his weed. My dad.... he has his weeds, I won't talk about those here, not now. My sister? I'm not sure what her weeds are... maybe she is the only family member left that is still a soft, pretty, innocent flower among this family that has been choked out by weeds.
It's too personal.
It's none of your business.
I'm scared.
You can't help me.
No one can know this.
Just let me go.
Just let me die!
These thoughts... yes, they are my thoughts and I think them almost everyday. There are days when I am numb and I don't think much of anything. Most of my days are numb because I don't have the energy to feel all the feelings that I would feel if I weren't numb.
And now I'm scared again because I'm no better for the counseling that I had six month ago or for the meds that I got. I don't take them. Sometimes I take them, when I feel like I'm about to break.
But I am broken already.
I know that the thoughts in my head don't match yours. Not unless you are broken too. And if you are broken like I am, no amount of tape or glue will fix you, only counseling and medication and possibly an in/outpatient program. I don't qualify for those programs either. Yet. Why don't I? Because I'm fat and my weight is stable and I don't puke often enough and I had my period last month. I'm fine. There is nothing wrong with me. I'm not sick. I'm not crazy. I just have a little brain glitch. No big deal. Yet.
Suppose I stopped floating around in numbness. Suppose I listen to all the little voices that say "don't eat that!" "You're too fat!" "You're not good enough!" "You don't deserve it!" "Gross!" "Fat pig!" "Cow!"
Suppose I chose to run each night for an hour... two hours. Most people would see these changes in me and say "It's about time you took control of your life." "You look so much better now, keep up with the weight loss!"
And people will say these things to me because I am fat. I'm obese. I have a BMI of 30+ which the text books will tell you is, in fact, obese. When I was in high school, I was overweight. BMI 28/29. I felt ok about that, not great, but I didn't hate myself back then. I hate myself now. I hate myself for letting me get this big when I was already too big and not exactly happy about it. But the little ostrich in me just stuck her head in the sand and kept on eating. Kept on sitting around. Kept on gaining without noticing. Until one day all my clothes shrank. Everything that looked amazing on me, put up their protest signs and fliers that said "No more weight!" and "XL bodies don't fit in L clothing!" I was offended. Appalled. Outraged. Depressed. I ate a pint of ice cream everyday for a week. I took seconds and thirds at every meal because my life was over but my taste buds still worked. Then I wasn't just obese anymore, I was on the ledge, the verge, the last step toward being MORBIDLY obese. I quit eating because I couldn't take just one helping. If I took a bite I would eat until my stretch marks burst open. "Fat whale!"
I worked for a catering place, and all the food in the world was available each lunch break. Leftovers were packed and taken home to save the trashcans from having to bare the burden. Each and every lunch I would say to myself, "this is the last time I'll ever eat this way." Each and every lunch break I would tell myself, "this is the last time I eat like a pig, it will be dry salads from now on." I would say the same thing every lunch until I quit my job and got kicked out of my apartment.
One day I'll eat till it hurts. One day I'll eat nothing. One day I'll starve all day, break down when the world is asleep, eat a dozen cookies, and puke. I'll puke up the water a cookie or two, and then my throat closes up and I cry because I couldn't get rid of it all. Then one day, I'll eat enough to not go mad and binge, but not enough to be satisfied, I'll feel hungry, but I won't eat anymore because I don't need the calories. But at the end of the day, I'm still not good enough.
I hide it pretty well... I'm also inconsistent. I think of the Relient K song, Let It All Out
"Let it all out
get it all out
rip it out remove it
don't be alarmed
when the wound begins to bleed
cause we're so scared to find out
what this life's all about
so scared we're going to lose it
not knowing all along
that's exactly what we need
.....
oh, inconsistent me
crying out for consistency"
And, oh, how badly I just want to let it all out! I don't want to have to hide. I want everyone to know, so that when I don't eat they won't have to wonder why and I won't have to lie... I would like to think that if they all knew they would understand and not try to shove food in my face, or beg me to eat.... I guess they won't have to if I don't have the strength to not eat in the first place. I'm always taking a little of this and a little of that to keep people from suspecting something... Then there are all those days where I am just plain weak, I make exceptions... a holiday... a birthday... a rare family gathering... the day before my diet really starts... the week before my diet really starts... I'm just not good enough. I'm not in, and I'm not out. I'm in the middle of the pie chart teetering toward Compulsive over-eater one day, Anorexia the next, and then Bulimia the day after that... Normal... Odd... Strong... Weak... Weaker. Willing to live. Willing to die.Willing to live. Willing to... exist.
Food wasn't an issue... not that I was aware of... when I was going to counseling. Self-of steam... yeah it was, but I didn't talk about that much. I talked about side effects, not problems, not the subject, not anything that really mattered. One day I let it slip that I had issues about my brother. He quit the family and I was angry about that. My counselor pegged that as the main root. The weed taking over and polluting the rest of my life. The weed that I really wanted to pull up was my mother's hoarding... but that... I was scared to confess. Scared that she would make a report. Scared that my life would shatter and the shards would cut up my family and they would hate me for that. No. I can't pull that weed. Not like that. And this weed? Ed. The weed that spreads more and more each day. The weed that I water. The weed that I willingly let grow because it's the only weed that is really mine. Hoarding is my mom's weed. My brother quit the family, that's his weed. My dad.... he has his weeds, I won't talk about those here, not now. My sister? I'm not sure what her weeds are... maybe she is the only family member left that is still a soft, pretty, innocent flower among this family that has been choked out by weeds.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)