A Sick Mind Living in a Recovered Body

Prison.

That’s what it feels like.

Prison.

Having a sick mind in a recovered body feels even more horrible than having a sick mind in a sick body.

At least having a sick body made me feel like my pain was worth something. At least the pain wasn’t invisible. At least people could see. At least I didn’t feel crazy. At least I was skinny.

Now I live in a recovered body and I’m not dying but my mind is still very much stuck in the sickness, the pain, the torture, the fear, the shame.

Now I’m sick but no one can see. I’m sick but my pain is invisible. I’m sick and I don’t look it. I’m sick and feel crazy. I’m sick and the pain is worth nothing.

I miss my sick body. Some days are worse than others, but lately all the days seem to be horrible.

I want my bones to show again. I want my stomach to be concave again. I want my thighs to be as far apart as the east is from the west again. I want to be fragile again. I want to feel high again. I want people to stare again. I want people to be scared for me again.

I miss my sick body.

And yet, in order to get my sick body back I would have to lose so much. My job. My school. My puppy. My apartment. My friends. My family.

I don’t want to lose those things but sometimes (a lot of the time) I would still rather have my sick body than all of those other wonderful things.

Prison.

I’m stuck in the prison that is my body.

I am a sick mind living in a recovered body.

 

Losing Sight

Sometimes my sight gets blurry and distorted. Not my actual sight. My eyes work just fine. But the eyes of my soul. The eyes of my heart.

It’s so easy to get swept up in all that is wrong in the world. I’m so quick to get lost in my past, angry about my present, and confused about my future.

I lose sight.

I forget that what I’ve gone through isn’t in vain. I didn’t experience the pain, loss, and fear for nothing.

This life is not about this life. This life is about so much more.

I get caught up. Caught up in the mundane. The drama. The depression. The anxiety. The fear. The repetition. The artificial.

I lose sight.

I find myself falling back into thoughts of self destruction, feelings of self pity, and actions that don’t represent who I want to be.

But I am meant for so much more. My story was given to me for a purpose. To help and to serve. To live and to love. To share and to give.

But as long as I sit still, overcome by this world, my story is in vain. And that is not what it is meant to be.

As hard a fight as it may be I have to keep standing up. I have to keep speaking up. I have to keep taking actions that will progress me towards the person I want to be.

And I want to be someone who serves. Who loves. Who gives. Who fights. Who reaches into the deepest darkest corners of this world to bring hope where there was once despair.

I want to be someone who remembers that every single person is fighting a battle. I want to be someone full of compassion and grace.

I want to be someone who shows the world the heart of God.

I want to bring light.

Hope.

Love.

Life.

 

Fragility

January 1, 2017 my father cut me from his health insurance.

It’s a moment I’ve been waiting for for quite some time. I have looked forward to severing this last form of connection but I’ve also dreaded it.

With it comes freedom and with it also comes pain.

The pain and fear that I may never connect with my father again pierces my heart.

I feel fragile. I feel broken. I feel the anxiety and the sadness creep up on me inconveniently throughout my days.

It’s a pain I can’t seem to articulate.

It’s a kind of pain that I just want to numb out from.

It’s an exhausting type of pain.

It drives itself deep into my being.

It makes everything ache.

And there is no band-aid or ice pack or medicine that will make it go away…

I miss him..I need a father..or a mother..either would be nice. I just need someone. Someone to tell me it’s going to be alright. Someone I can go to and feel safe to fall apart in front of for just a moment before I have to pull myself together and present strength to the world.

I need family. Something I’ve never really had…

 

 

Sacred Connection

Sometimes I get to thinking about how much I miss treatment.

I say that out loud and realize how crazy that may sound to others. But the reality is that the connections created in and through treatment are unlike anything else. At least for me..

I never had much of a family. Don’t take me wrong, I absolutely adore and love my mom and sister but my family is so filled with disfunction and suffering that the bonds we have always had have been very unhealthy.

Through treatment I found my family. I found people who heard me, listened to me, and understood me. I found people who loved me despite my pain, despite my past, and despite my mistakes. I found people who helped me identify, embrace, and cherish the most beautiful parts of myself. I found people who encouraged me to honor and love the little girl in me who never felt loved as a child. I found people who wanted to help me carry my burdens. People who wanted to be with me at my best and my worst. I found people who would never leave.

So sometimes I find myself daydreaming about the beautiful people who I would have never met had it not been for treatment.

It’s crazy how the most beautiful things in life can also be the most painful. But without the pain meaning is lost.

We can’t appreciate the light without darkness and we can’t endure darkness without the hope of light.

So thank you to my family. I miss every single one of you who has offered me your heart.

My love and gratitude is beyond explanation.

My Father: The Rapist

Dear Dad,

I’ve thought long and hard about what I would say to you if I had the chance or the courage… And I don’t know that I will ever send these words to you but maybe one day you’ll run across this¬†letter online and discover the things I’ve wanted to tell you for years…

It’s January 11, 2017 and I’m sitting alone in my apartment that I worked my ass off to achieve by working two jobs and never giving up. I am where I am today because of me, because I have put in the work and fought tooth and nail for a life beyond the crap you gave me. You tried to bring me down, to ruin my life but I made a choice to never let that happen. You will never win. I am successful in my job and at school and I am surrounded by beautiful, loving people who are walking this journey with me.

You lose.

I remember, dad.

I remember the times you tied me to my plastic play slide in the basement so you could rape me. I remember when you would make me undress and take pictures of me in sexual poses. I remember when you threatened to do bad things to my sister if I didn’t comply. I remember you laughing in my face as I cried out in pain. I remember having a knife held to my throat so I wouldn’t move. I remember being pulled down the stairs by my ankles and being raped on the cold, hard tile floor of the kitchen. I remember the weight of your body on top of mine, unable to breathe. I remember your hot breath in my ear. I remember the grimace of pleasure on your face when you saw the fear in my eyes.

I remember.

You never got caught.. but one day the truth will come out and people will know who you really are. You are far too good at getting people to believe that you are a poor father who loves his family and was betrayed and hurt by lies. But one day…one day people will see that you are not who they think you are…

You say you love me but I don’t think you know what that really means..

You say you miss me but I don’t think it’s because you care..

Well I want to say that I do love you..because I know what that really means..and I do miss you.. because I care..People don’t seem to understand how that could possibly be after all you’ve done, but in the end, you are still my father. You still gave me hugs goodbye and came to my ballet recitals. You still played fun games with me and took me to dinner. You are my father…the only one I will ever have and because of that I love you. It’s so painful to think that I may never see you again in this lifetime..

And while all of that is true, it’s also true that I hate that you are my father..I hate who you are and what you’ve done. I hate the confusion you’ve caused me and the pain you’ve inflicted upon me. I hate the lies you’ve told and the games you’ve played with my head. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…and I hope that I never see you again…

You’ll never see me graduate college or get hired at my dream job, you’ll never meet my husband or walk me down the aisle, you’ll never meet my kids or even know their names…

I hope you are okay..wherever you may be..and I hope you have a nice life…I really do..

I just need you to know I remember.

I remember, dad.

Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Dear Younger Me…

My younger self is a part of me that I have always had a very hard time connecting with.

I feel like I don’t know that little girl, like she is some person in a far away land I have never met. Yet, she is how I have gotten to where I am today. She has been someone I have despised and hated for a long time. In my mind she is bad, dirty, naughty, selfish, and a liar. I think all these things of her and yet I’m not even sure what she looked like.

I often see young children in public and wonder how old they are because for some reason, my ability to discern ages of children is very skewed. I see a 2-year-old and think they are 4 or I see a 9-year-old and think they are 12. The most plausible explanation I can conjure up is that because I had to grow up so fast when I was little, I never saw myself as a young child and, therefore, can’t discern ages of other children either because to me they all look older than they are.

Any who…my current work lies in finding the key to unlock the cage in which my younger self is trapped. How do I do this? Where do I even begin?

I don’t have the answers yet but if I ever want to really heal the inner workings of who I am I must allow my little girl to have a voice, to be seen, and to be heard by others, but more importantly by me…

Utter Exhaustion

I lie propped up in bed where I’m supposed to be doing homework.

I have reached a place of utter exhaustion. Fighting for your life is exhausting. Especially when it seems the world is fighting against you.

About a little over a month ago I reached a point of giving up. I fell captive to anorexia with hopeless defeat. I plummeted in a matter of a single day. For about 3 weeks I ate little to nothing and starting purging when I felt I’d eaten “too much”. I quickly lost control. My hair started falling out and my blood pressure dropped to 84/51. I lost xx pounds in only a couple weeks. I was weak, I was freezing cold, I was dizzy, and exhausted. I could no longer think clearly. I was a mess.

In the beginning stages of my eating disorder I could go months doing what I can only maintain now for a couple weeks before my body gives out.

I guess after years of abuse, one’s body simply can’t handle what it used to.

I’m fighting to get back on track. I’m eating. I’m not purging.

And it fucking sucks.

All of the reasons I started using behaviors again are slapping me in the face and knocking the wind out of me.

As hard as I try, I feel like I’m fighting again the world.

I’m completely and utterly exhausted. And tonight, the 11 bottles of pills I’ve saved up over the years are looking like a really good option…