Can I?

I don’t know if I can…

I’ve been planning for my service dog for the past 6 months and now I’m panicking.

Can I do this? Is this the right choice? Am I being selfish? Will Avery be okay? Do I have what it takes? Am I worthy? Will this be a crutch? Will it be worth it? Can I do this?

These questions…constantly swirling in my mind.

I’m terrified.

This dog could either be a beautiful thing or a horrible mistake. Or is there grey area?

Could it be hard but also worth it? Can I make mistakes but not fail? Will Avery be jealous but still be okay?

Am I doing the right thing? Will I ever know? Is this one of those moments where you say you only live once and take the plunge?

Or do you back out knowing logistically it’s a huge commitment?

How do I know which is the right choice?

Am I a bad person for doing this? And am I also a bad person if I back out of doing this?

Are all of these questions my wise mind or are they coming from my insecurities and fear?

The exhaustion, it’s real, it’s here…

I just want the questions, the doubts, the fears to go away…The anticipation is killing me.

A part of me wants to back out and waste away…ohh the anorexia is so appealing right now. She is calling my name and it sounds so sweet.

Can I do this? Should I do this?

Am I changing my life for the better or am I turning down a path of no return?

I’m exhausted…

 

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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…

 

 

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…

Catch 22

The last few months have been incredibly difficult, and while I am aware of some of what has been causing such pain, there are other aspects of my life where I just feel out of the loop. I walk into my therapist’s office twice every week and recently there has been a theme. I don’t know what is wrong and yet I’m a mess. She asks what is going on…I don’t know…she asks what I need…I don’t know…it’s really quite frustrating and makes me feel as though I need to get over myself and get my shit together. And yet, the pain and emotions are so real I don’t know how to ignore them.

I suppose this is why I haven’t been blogging much. It’s hard to write about my life when I can’t even seem to figure it out in my head.

lost

Everything is so chaotic and counterintuitive.

I’m depressed and yet I find myself resisting seeing a doctor or getting back on medication.

I want to restrict and yet I need to keep my life together.

I want to SH to end up in the ER and be taken care of but I don’t want to end up in the ER.

I want to feel connected to people and yet I turn down opportunities to do so.

I want the pain to end but I don’t want to die.

I want to get high but I don’t want to eat.

I get high anyways.

And then I eat.

My weight hasn’t been this high in a long time and I am panicking. And yet I can’t seem to lose weight because I can’t seem to not get high every day. Because if I don’t get high I don’t get a break from the pain.

It’s all a catch 22.

I’m hurting. I’m stuck. I’m alone.

And I don’t know how to fix it…

The Pain of Knowledge

I’ve recently been reflecting a lot on the difference between my life in recovery and my life in my anorexia and how vastly different the two are for me and yet how vague they probably appear to others.

I think for the first time in my recovery I have reached a point where I want so badly to use behaviors for some relief but the amount of knowledge I have about myself and my disease keeps me for being able to do so. Which is good, I suppose, but also extremely frustrating. I’m stuck in this terribly uncomfortable middle ground where I know I can’t use old behaviors but I’m also unsure of how to affectively utilize new, healthy coping behaviors.

I’m stuck having to feel the pain of depression, anxiety, and ptsd, where as in the past I could simply not eat or throw up in order to numb the pain. I know this is a phase of recovery that is very much necessary and important, and at the same time that doesn’t make it any easier. I’ve been stuffing my pain for YEARS (like 18 years..) and now that I am allowing myself the space to feel the pain and not run from it, 18 years is hitting me all at once.

numbing the pain

It’s overwhelming, it’s suffocating, it’s terrifying, it feels like it will never end, and it hurts more than I could ever explain.

But I have to keep going. I have to get out of bed every day. I have to keep talking through it and taking one step after another.

And sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it…sometimes I wonder why I fight so hard. Can I be allowed to give up for once? My whole life I’ve fought like hell. Can I have little break? I’m exhausted.

Capable

Capable. What is that word really?

I mean if you think about it…at least for myself…I have always doubted my capability to succeed, to do, to get through, etc.

And yet, I have, haven’t I? I have, up to this point, succeeded at, completed, gotten through, all that has come my way…or I wouldn’t be here. So why do we continue to doubt our abilities when so far our success rate is 100%?

Sure, the path the where you are now may not look as you thought it would, but one way or another you made it through. You are here. You have conquered the past and who is to say you won’t make it through the next tomorrow? Because so far you have made it through all of your tomorrows.

the oldest story

I guess this thought comes from a place of reflection. As I delve deeper and deeper into trauma work with my therapist on a bi-weekly basis, I doubt more and more that I can make it through to see the rainbow after the rain. And yet, here I am, I’ve made it so far. Why wouldn’t that continue?

Sometimes in the little moments where the world feels too overwhelming it’s hard to zoom out and see the bigger picture. But  you can’t make sense of one puzzle piece without the whole puzzle and you can’t complete a puzzle without every little piece.