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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I Know Pain

Pain.

It doesn’t scare me.

In fact, pain intrigues me.

This wasn’t always the case.

At 16 years old I was suddenly in such constant, excruciating pain.

I didn’t have a choice but figure out how to deal with it.

After two brain surgeries, five spinal taps, a fractured spine, an infection in my brain, too many needle pricks and IV’s to count, fear was known. I knew pain so well I could practically call him my best friend.

People fear the unknown. Pain was no longer the unknown.

I know that pain will come and go and I know that pain won’t kill me. I know that pain is temporary and relative. I know that pain is more in the mind than of the body.

When in the hospital they show you a chart with smiley faces ranging from 1-10. Number one has a big smile and number ten is grimacing in pain.

Number 10 couldn’t do justice for the pain I experienced as a 16 year old.

But I survived, I lived through it. So what pain that is to come can I not handle?

I know I can handle pain. I know pain. Pain does not scare me.

In fact, I take much pride in my ability to conquer pain, to not fear pain.

Because I know pain.

 

The Black Hole

I think feeling alone has to be one of the hardest feeling for me to handle…

I sit here, in the dark, alone.

So alone.

So alone that I can’t think of a single person I can reach out to to help ease the pain.

That is terrifying.

And what makes it even worse is that I don’t even know how I got here. How I got to a place of having nobody. Because I certainly used to have plenty.

My life has become a spiral of nothingness. I go to work, through which I find no joy. I go to school, through which I find no joy. And then I sleep. I sleep because I have nothing else to enjoy. I sleep in hope of easing the pain. I sleep because sleep is my only friend. I sleep because I have no other option.

And yet I’m exhausted. I’m tired of having no joy, no hope, no goal to strive toward, no purpose.

It’s an emptiness in my chest that resembles a black hole. So large, so dark, so void of anything¬†that signifies life…

So where do I go from here?

Something has to change, but what? I’m stuck at my job, I go to school online, my options feel so limited.

So here I sit trying to think of a single person I can reach out to as my mind crawls towards the darkest corners of existence…

I’m alone.

So alone.

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…

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…