NOTE: This post deals with fat, food, eating, and body image. This is about me and it’s personal. This is not a political page. Be advised that any political proselytising will be immediately deleted.
I’m struggling with body image, food, weight… All of it. I’m worried about every bite. I feel like i’m eating too much. My body looks fat to me. I don’t feel comfortable in my skin. I’m back outside walking regularly, but the weather has turned chilly and i’m already in a chronic pain flareup. So, yeah… Suckville. I’m doing all the things that have worked before, but i’m not seeing any weight loss. In fact, i think i’ve gained.
My clothes say i haven’t. My doctor says i’m on track. My loved ones say i look as if i’m continuing to lose.
That means i have fat eyes again.
Fat eyes is the name i give the tricks my mind plays on me when i’m in a tough spot mentally/emotionally. The stuff i’m dealing with in therapy has me as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Seriously. Everything is triggering memories. This guy looks like… This song was playing when… This smell brings me back to… I’m constantly on edge and it’s exhausting. Every little noise startles me. I wake up shaking. Random, banal things scare me.
And maybe because i’m dealing with the sexual abuse more directly than i have before, my body feels disgusting. I look at myself and think i’m dirty and gross. I’m even less inclined to have sex than i was before — and that’s saying something. The closest i can get to sex is wanting to want it. Between my dead marriage and working on accessing the split off parts of me that were raped as a child, i’m having trouble envisioning a future where i’m having sex.
Where does food end and sex begin? In my story, it’s hard to unravel. Food probably came first because my mom starved me off and on as long as i can remember. Maybe she fed me well when i was a baby/toddler, but i doubt it. Rewards and punishments were mostly food-centric. And let’s not even get into what school, bullies, peers, tv/movies, and fashion did to my self-image.
Suffice to say i’m drowning in self-loathing at the moment. I can suss it all out intellectually, but it isn’t helping me as far as what i see when i look in the mirror.
I know what to do:
– maintain soft calorie deficit eating;
– keep walking to no more than 15,000 steps or 10km;
– listen to body pain and adjust eating/exercise when necessary;
There’s nothin’ to it but to do it.
Y’all hang in there, and remember, sometimes, the brain lies.
If my brain wore pants they’d be on fire right now.
IMAGE: Pexels, uncredited
Honestly, i don’t know what to tell you. Life is hard and it sucks right now, but it also doesn’t. I want to give you something good, something you can think of when you’re low and it’ll make you feel a little less so. Some bit of experience where you can see yourself and hang on because hey, i am, and i’m a total fuckup… So why can’t you?
But my head is throbbing and i can’t find any interesting words swimming around up there at the moment. I’ve got a headache every goddamn day these last weeks. It is the soup of madness and chaos bubbling and spitting hot broth when i give it a stir. There are those who live in my brain who NEED me to do this work that’s in front of me and there are others whose very ephemeral and esoteric existence is built exclusively around STOPPING me from doing this work.
That probably makes no sense.
Parts of my system are allied with my abusers. That is a sad and scary fact. They drank the kool-aid. They believe i was born for a special purpose. They are searching for the man i called Daddy, and his right hand man, and all the rest of his compatriots and co-conspirators. That sounds romantic, doesn’t it? But that’s just the way i like to write. What those fucks were, were a bunch of predators; perverts and paedophiles who shared information on how to be the BEST child rapist, i.e. how not to get caught and have access to as many children as possible!
This is ugly writing here, and i try not to do any of that anymore. I’m trying to make my story consumable; spicy, but not so hot as to be unpalatable. Your guts might hate you for an hour or 2 and we won’t talk about the burn that awaits your butthole, but the dish was cooked, seasoned and served in such a way that you’d never have guessed you’re eating offal stew.
Today i’m serving up something that’s raw and still squirming.
Today i have no panache.
Today i am a wall of stone-muscles and magma-guts.
Today i cannot hang on to time.
That’s the “suck” part.
The not-suck is that i know i wouldn’t be here if i weren’t progressing. These fail-safes in my brain can’t be triggered by just sitting on the curb watching the parade go by.
I’m in this. I’m not even in the fucking weeds yet and it’s a LOT.
I have to go in and grab my babies away from the terrible men and women that have held them captive all these years.
And holy shit, do i not want to.
But you better believe i will.
The thought of touching them makes my head throb so badly i’ve shut all the light i can out of the house and i’m playing elevator jazz on volume level 4 and i’m wearing sunglasses to be able to look at this bloody keyboard i’m clacking away on, and if i retch one more godforsaken time i think my head might actually explode like that motherfucker in the movie Scanners…
But you better believe i will.
I’ll try to be a bit less… whatever-this-is tomorrow.
IMAGE: Kai-Chieh Chan
I’m pushing myself because i can. Maybe i could have before if i’d tried harder. I certainly tried, but maybe i could have done more. I couldn’t do much. I could barely keep the house together and get my family fed. My hygiene was… Okay.
But i wasn’t writing anything publishable.
And i wasn’t walking.
Those 2 things are the most important to me, the ones i’d immediately rattle off if i were asked what was vital to managing my mental health.
I don’t know what, if anything, has changed. I think it’s more that i’ve gotten sick and tired of being sick and tired. I’m in a corner and i don’t take kindly to being cornered — even if i’m the one who’s done it.
I started back walking this week. Just 2km, that’s it. My headphones weren’t working, and i hadn’t set up my new Fit band, but i went. My brain really wanted to use those things as excuses not to go, but it was easy to see them for what they were, so i went. I walked. And then, with that tiny bit of momentum, i walked in the door, sat down in front of the laptop, and i wrote.
Here on my WP blog, i can be a little less demanding and a little less perfect when it comes to the content i post. I’m not trying to be legit, make money, attract the algorithm gods’ attention, or win kudos from top writers and their publications. This is my diary. This is where i let people see who i am and how i figure shit out.
Over the last few days, i have sorted my music and Fit band situations. I’m walking more, and thanks to this blog, i am writing more. I’m not yet creating fantastic new content on my other platform, but i’ve resumed going back over my old WP blog posts and commenting on them and how i’ve progressed since writing them.
They’re like a reaction video on YT, heh. I’m reacting to my own stuff. It’s not terribly original, but it’s keeping me in the game. The added benefit is that i can see how far i’ve come since i began writing. This place got me to admit that i love writing and i want to be a writer. That admission was challenging and a long time coming. I can see what i’ve learned and how i’ve grown, all of which help me through this dratted depression i’m currently in.
This is the easiest that writing has come in a couple of months.
My new Fit band is sending me messages that i’ve been sitting too long. Maybe that wouldn’t have be,en good for me a couple of weeks ago. Now, it’s okay. I’m using it to get myself up and do something, no matter how small. I’ve walked my dog around our yard, done a couple of loads of dishes, scrubbed the tub and tiles, and vacuumed the living room. Yesterday i made 2 carrot cakes. Tomorrow i’ll be preparing for my grandchildren to come for an overnight visit and getting ready for a family Thanksgiving celebration on Sunday.
I got some poetry written. I checked my analytics on the other site, and i’ve got an idea i’ve been sitting on for a publication where i always get good engagement. I’m gonna move into my office and make writing more intentional. Sitting at my desk feels official and grown up. I probably need a bit of that right now.
What i have to do next in my therapy journey looms large on the horizon. I’m now able to think of other things, and i’m no longer frozen with dread and terror. But it is still paramount in my mind because i understand what i’m about to do, and i know it will suck a truckload of shit. What it’s costing me to avoid the work has become untenable. I’ve backed myself into a corner here, too.
ZOOMing with my therapist tomorrow.
Tomorrow’s blog entry might be interesting.
I guess we’ll see.
IMAGE: Mitchell Orr
Sounds Wise, but Is It?
Dissociated AF today. Trying my best.
Today in contrarian snark, i bring you Rupaul’s iconic catchphrase:
“If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?”
For me, that’s absolute nonsense. I was born with a sweet and beautiful heart that loved everyone in my life, even my mother — purely, and without reservation. Even now i love my mother. I have hate for her, but the love is still there.
I didn’t think about loving myself, but i can assure you that, if i had, i would have struggled to do it. That goes against all my childhood indoctrination. Not even religion could penetrate what i was taught to believe about myself.
Pop psychology and its parade of self-help gurus got me thinking about it. It was like reading a book jacket — it sounded interesting and i wanted to know more. Finally acknowledging my trauma got me working on it. It started with a lot of eye-rolling and bosom-heaving. There was wailing and gnashing of teeth. I could see the value in it and i wanted very much to love myself.
But i couldn’t get it done. I couldn’t seem to make much headway until i had my boys. In them, i saw that there was good and beauty inside me. More than that, though, I LOVED THEM so much! I saw that they needed to see me living my best life, which included loving myself.
I’ve fought the good fight since then. The knowledge that they’re watching me is always in the back of my mind. I think about what my treatment of myself might be teaching them.
I ask myself:
- what do i want my children to know
- who do i want them to be
- how do i want them to comport themselves
- how do i want them to FEEL about themselves
- what can i give them that i wish someone had given to me
My love for others, my sons in particular, spurs me ever onward in loving myself. I’m learning how to treat myself by how i treat others. I can see how it can work the way Rupaul says, but it just doesn’t for me. I have some healthy natural instincts for how to love others, but loving myself was beaten out of me; it doesn’t come naturally at all.
Today i am pushing through depression, dissociation, and exhaustion, in part because my kids need to see me do it. They will know they can walk through their own valleys because they watched me walk through mine. I’m hoping to show them how good it is to love oneself, how worthy a pursuit, by how hard they see me fighting for it.
Today my system is very active and i’m coming up against a lot of resistance to write in depth about the work i’m currently doing in therapy. I’ll try again tomorrow.
IMAGE: Gianluca Tristo
I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up
Depression has kicked my ass so hard i’m having trouble doing much of anything.
My house, yard, body, and relationships are basically okay, meaning clean enough, not cluttered or in disrepair, but that’s it.
I’m having a shit of a time writing.
My fibro pain is so bad i’m dissociating to get away from it.
I struggle in conversation; i can participate, but on the inside, i am freaking. out.
My system is banging around in my head so hard that i have a constant headache. The only time i’m not aware of it is when i’m sleeping.
Speaking of sleeping, it’s the only thing that’s going well in my life, which makes me wonder if i got sucked into an alternate universe where it’s Spongebob’s opposite day, every day. Because sleep is always a crapshoot for me. Maybe i’m finally on the right mix of meds? The only problem remains dreaming. I dream all night long, flowing from one dream into another and then another. I wake up to use the bathroom, and as soon as i’m back to sleep, my dream picks back up where it left off. They’re not nightmares, they’re not even particularly disturbing, but they are exhausting. They’re the kind of dreams i have when my stress level is too high.
My body is at the breaking point.
I saw the doctor last week to chat about my last round of blood work. My organs are functioning well, and my weight loss continues. My headaches have become debilitating, so she gave me a neurological exam.
When she was through, she said, “You are the tensest person i’ve ever examined.”
She thinks the problem might be stress, and i’m inclined to agree. The band around my forehead began tightening as soon as i started typing this post, and it’s already at the point where i’m having trouble concentrating. I’ve decided to cut this post short, but i will continue it tomorrow. It might be the only way i can produce consistently for this blog.
Some people in my brain do not want me to do this work i’m doing with my therapist. I was never supposed to talk about what happened to me, let alone survive this long. I’m coming up against some parts of my system that are allied with my abusers. I’ve spent years cleaning out the horde in my brain, and they don’t like it. I’m integrating (becoming fully co-conscious with my system), and some of the bits that split off when i was little have been… I don’t know what to call it. Reabsorbed?
It’s hard to describe; it’s all so esoteric.
I’ll elaborate tomorrow.
IMAGE: Caleb Woods
Feeding the Dog
Things are happening in my life that have been a long time coming. One i’d hoped for, and the other i dreaded. I don’t know where i’ll go from here, but it’s time to find out.
I’m back in contact with my oldest child and his family, which has been nothing short of wonderful. For the last 2wks, i’ve spent most of my time with them, and it’s been good for my heart. Watching my marriage breathe its last breaths is excruciating, but it’s been in its death throes for years now, and it’s time to let it go. I’ve done everything i can, i have to accept that the relationship will never be what i want it to be. I’m ready to go back out into the world and see what kind of life i can fashion for myself.
I’m thinking of moving out immediately. I know i said i’d stay, but i think it might be better if i go and then come back when my husband is placed on dialysis. For now, his health is good, and he’ll be able to care for himself. I know i’ll be a wreck for a while -lonely and terribly sad- but i’m lonely and sad here, and i have been for years. At least on my own i have a chance to not be so.
I’m not sure how our split will be received. My youngest is expecting it, i think, which makes sense because he lives with us. The middle one might be devastated. He has a lot going on in his personal life already, and i worry about the extra stress this will create for him. And my oldest will not understand and be angry about it. I think many people will be surprised, not understand, and assume it’s all me and my craziness.
They’re all free to think as they will, of course. But the truth is so much more complicated. Our marriage ending is indeed all on me. However, i have good reasons for ending it. I am not satisfied, i am not fulfilled, and i am not receiving the most important things that i’m in the marriage for. In over two and a half decades, i have not received these things, and i think i’ve waited long enough.
The most important relationship i’ve ever had is dying, and everything about this is terrible.
Once again, life has hiccoughed and my plans have to change.
I got an infection in one of my fingers, requiring a trip to the ER. And then i had an allergic reaction to the precautionary tetanus shot they gave me. I’m so itchy it’s hard to get anything done. I have a large, hot lump on my arm. I’m not sleeping, and when i am, the dreams are so vivid i don’t feel rested. I’m logy all morning, barely productive during the best part of the day, and completely non-functional once i get supper served.
I haven’t been able to return to my son’s house to get more done. I have planting that needs doing. My writing is suffering because i can’t freaking concentrate. I had a new doctor all up in my lady-business because my doctor for over 25yrs retired — and i’m still not over it. My week’s been chock full of triggers. And my personal space doesn’t seem very personal right now.
On one side, i’m being condescended to, and on the other side… Ugh.
My husband thinks my silence is a sign he’s been given the green light to keep trying to save our marriage. But it’s not that. I’m just bloody exhausted and don’t have the spoons for a conversation about it. All this crap has sent me into fibro flareup, so once supper’s laid out, so am i. I leave the clean-up till morning. I can’t even do my nighttime toilet. I take meds, THC, and i fall into bed.
Where i spend the night waking up every 40freakingminutes.
And i’m coping by eating. Which i don’t do anymore. But i am, and it’s making everything worse.
This blog post has just been a bitch sesh so far, i know.
I’m sorry for anyone trying to slog through this.
I had to. It’s been building up, and i haven’t had the time or mental/emotional capacity to purge it before now.
This post is quick and dirty and utterly lacking in finesse.
Maybe this is what was stuck in my throat, and it was the reason i haven’t been able to write anything decent for the last couple of weeks. I plug away at something for an hour or two, hate what i come up with, and walk away from it disgusted and borderline angry.
I’ve got to get writing, have a hard talk with my son and the hardest one with my husband, figure out where i’m going to live and what i’m going to do for money, and get back to helping my other 2 children, all while dragging my uncooperative body back to exercising and –oh yeah– I’ve gotta stop eating my feelings, STAT.
I am now furious, and i don’t know why. I hate everything about this post, and i want to burn it.
Took a break. Had a nap.
What i know is that i have to gather my thoughts as best i can and get back to basics. Do what i can, let go of what i can’t. This spring has left me with low stores. I’m tired, scattered, and emotional. A bare minimum with lots of check-ins is in order, but i have to distribute the talk around because i’m a lot right now. I’m hoping i don’t trip over a mania — i feel as if that’s a distinct possibility.
I recognise that this post is all over the place, but it’s more important that i get stuff out than it is that i like how it’s presented. That’s just not gonna happen.
So, i’ve bitched and rambled on some.
Now, for a list of small things i can do to manage my current state:
– 1 day of tea and popcorn
I do this to take away some of food’s power over me when i’m eating for the wrong reasons. I’m not thinking about what i’m going to eat, or what i can and cannot eat. This lessens anxiety and obsession for me. I feel relief that i’m not battling thoughts and urges all day.
– 3 or so days of eating the same thing
It’s usually a high-protein, low-carb soup. I’m adding calories and proper nutrition back in, but having the same, simple thing for a few days helps ease me back into thinking about food and eating. I know what I’ll be eating, so that removes planning. Planning can quickly lead me to obsession, anxiety, powerlessness and self-hatred.
– Regimented eating times
Eating at the same 3X a day, with a 12hr break works well for me when i’m feeling out of control in my life and how i’m eating and thinking about food.
– Using alarms
Alarms help me get back on a schedule when my brain is too busy to manage without some help. This is when i eat, this is when i wash my face and brush my teeth. Now i need to walk the dog, now i’m cleaning up from supper, now i’m taking meds and doing nighttime toilette.
I’ve got to journal a bit every day. I will attempt some non-journal writing if i feel able, but if not, it’s okay. As long as i’m airing out my thoughts and emotions a bit every day — that’s good.
– Shower and put on clothes
I don’t usually shower daily, but this will give me a wake-up and a virtue-boost in the morning. I desperately need that right now. I will practise mindfulness while washing and go over my goals for the day.
These are very simple, bare-bones, doable activities that will provide a sense of accomplishment and return a bit of control to me.
This post is what the generation before mine would have called “a dog’s breakfast.”
Hey, at least i fed the dog, okay?
I hope everyone’s hanging in there.
Love and Peace,
IMAGE: Chris Benson
I’m a Pale Blue Bird
I will take this road much further
Though i know not where it takes me
~ Sinead O’Connor, I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got
ZOOM’d with a group of friends that calm and connect me. I was still pretty floaty, but they offer acceptance and unconditional love and support. It was exactly what i needed. I was having trouble being present for anything. All my thoughts and emotions were mixed together in a bitter mélange. They brought a pinch or 2 of sweetness that balanced me out.
My relationships at home are difficult for me at the moment. I’ve taken a stand and set down boundaries with both of them, and, well, let’s just say that change is hard for everyone. I want what i want and i don’t want what i don’t want. I’m through trying to twist myself into unnatural shapes to try and get them to give me what i’m asking for. Give it to me or i’m gone. Stop or i’m leaving.
It’s extra-tough, i admit. I’ve gotten fed up and overwhelmed before. I hit maximum stress and i dissociate, lose the face, and someone else takes over and screams for me. They issue threats and make promises that, once i was back in control, i wouldn’t follow through on. I established a pattern of being all bark, no bite. No follow-through. But i’m different now — more grown up and resolved to my current trajectory.
Give it to me or i’m gone.
Stop or i’m leaving.
I’ve lived my life trying to be what i thought other people wanted. I’ve been trying to avoid harm and rejection. I’ve been trying to earn love and approval.
There came a time when i saw my motivations and patterns clearly. But i still don’t set boundaries well. I avoid confrontation. I’m terrible at saying NO.
The way i handle it is to withdraw. Sometimes that’s me pulling inside myself and another part of me coming forward and handling things for me. Sometimes the withdrawal is physical. I can do it temporarily, or i can disappear from that person completely.
I lost a friendship at the end of last year. It was dear to me and i’m still not over it. It might be saved yet, and i do have some hope. But fixing it is tied up in confrontation and setting boundaries. Saying things that might not be received well, and hearing things that might hurt and upset me. I avoid this kind of shit.
I have other things that take precedence over the possibility of saving this relationship. If it dies, it dies.
I’m trying to get what i want in my marriage.
I’m trying to be a proper mother to a grown man.
I’m trying to reconcile a new diagnosis with the rest of the ones already part of my repertoire.
I’m in a bipolar depression.
I’m dealing with death and loss and my husband’s declining health.
I’m trying to be a real live writer.
I’m pursuing some big ticket items that don’t come cheap.
I know i was doing my best. If they’ve decided my best wasn’t good enough, i respect the choice. But i must put down the club i was beating myself with, because my best is all i can do.
Today is a (VERY) rare day alone. Between my chat with friends last night and a precious day to myself, my mood is considerably lighter.
I’m grateful for what i have, and to quote one of my favourite artists, i do not want what i haven’t got. We’ll see what life has in store for me in the coming week.
Whatever comes, i shall persevere.
Love and Peace,
Dear Diary: Well, Hell…
I couldn’t hold on. Yep, again.
I write about falling often, because it happens that way. I’m not feeling like getting deeply into the specifics this time, which is weird. What i’d like to do is merely document that it happened. I’m not into a forensic analysis on this one. I do, however, feel an obligation to let my readers know. This is my process, these (hopefully) brief lapses of control might always be part of my life. And you know what? I’m not particularly concerned at the moment. It is a part of my life for now, and that’s what’s in front of me to deal with.
As my therapist so helpfully reminded me last week, trauma like mine is not “one and done.”
I’m already dealing with bipolar depression. If i can avoid going deeper, of course i will. Beating myself up for something that happened, that i couldn’t stop (or i bloody would have), is wasted energy. So here i am, picking myself up.
While i heartily and vociferously reject the cult of suffering, i understand there aren’t many over the course of human existence that have avoided it. I find truth and a powerful tool in the idea that a shift in perspective can move me forward. It can help to propel me out of whatever pain and difficulty i’m currently enduring.
And yes, i choose to endure, but also to MOVE, if i can. I will not tolerate suffering or pain any longer than i must.
I know myself well, and i know my limits.
I will push if i can, but if all i’ve got is just enough to hang on, then i will hang the fuck on. Sometimes, torpor provides the opportunity for rejuvenation. I’m immobile, but i’m marshalling my forces. I’m in trench warfare, and it ain’t pretty, but i have always prevailed. I’m a plodder, a babystepper.
Wow, i just motivated my own damn self.
If this helped you in any way, well, even better.
You are enough.
I will, too.
Love and Peace,
Photo by dominik hofbauer on Unsplash
Dear Diary: I’m Pissed Off
I’m afraid and i’m hurt.
And now the worst has happened.
I’m pissed off.
SO pissed off. I’m angry most of the time. I can keep it at bay during daylight hours, but somewhere around 6pm, it comes over me. It’s bad, like, don’t talk to me if you’d like to keep your head attached to the rest of your body, kind of bad.
I’m afraid i’m losing a friend, and i’m mad about it. It’s wicked unfair. I have to put myself first though, and i’m simply not strong enough to walk through someone’s anger and disappointment with me. There’s hurt on my end too, and resentment as well. I’ve remained silent because i’m not sure they could handle what i might say. I hope we can weather this storm.
I know i can survive the loss of a friend, but i don’t want to. Plus, it triggers all kinds of extra crap for me to deal with, and frankly, my outhouse is full.
I’m afraid i’ve lost someone else, too. It probably happened years ago, but i’ve tried to hang on and i’ve tried to make them like me and want to be a part of my life. I have to accept that they don’t. I think they’ve tried a few times to make it work between us, but it just doesn’t for them, for whatever reason. And i have to let it go.
I’m mad about it because it’s so unfair. I’m mad at myself for failing them, and i’m mad at them for not letting me fix it.
I’m afraid my marriage is in serious trouble, and holy shit am i furious over that one. I’ve fought like hell to keep it going. I’m tired of all the years of trying to be heard, trying to be taken seriously, reaching out for connection, asking for more, for better, for something deeper and more intimate. It’s not happening, and i’m changing in ways that put more distance between us and i don’t intend to stop.
This also seems to me to be outrageously unfair.
You know what – you know what?
I still don’t know if i buy that anger is a secondary emotion (i’ve written about this before). It can be, but for me, in a helluva lot of instances, it is primary. When i acknowledge the fear and the pain, you know what’s underneath?
Yep — it’s anger.
But in this case, it’s obviously due to hurt and fear. In this case, it is definitely a protective response.
I’m so fucking mad i can barely function.
I am tired of being the only person in close relationships, who can consistently admit when they’re wrong.
I’m tired of being the one who takes stock of shit and figures out what’s going on and notices when things are out of whack, and wants to talk about it and try to make things better.
Which leads to a major piss off:
I’m tired of being the one who lets shit go, who doesn’t say the thing, and who takes on the blame because, after all, i’m the fucked up one, right?
I’m dramatic, i’m loud, i’m chaotic, i’m controlling, i’m unbalanced, i’m sensitive, i’m angry, i’m withdrawn, etc., etc., ad nauseum.
Well you know what? I can be all of those things and more, but i show up and admit fault and cop to my shortcomings. And i don’t use my brain as an excuse – i set to making amends whenever and however i can. I’m always working on myself and trying to be a better person and a better friend and a better parent and a better wife, and what in the actual flippity-flip have i gotten in return lately?
Someone had the audacity to tell me i’d better have a damn good reason for letting them down… There’s 2 sides to every story and i’ve kept mine to myself. I could take the backseat in this relationship for a while. I was seriously due. Quite honestly, it was my turn. So, in a way i was happy to be the one that wasn’t fucked up. This relationship should be give AND take, and i’d taken a lot. Turns out what i gave wasn’t enough.
I wish i had unlimited stores, but i don’t.
I’m pissed off that i live in a society that admires workaholism, selflessness, and sociopathy.
I’m pissed off that we worship revolting amounts of wealth that simply CANNOT come without preying upon, or at least knowingly victimising, those with few means and no power. I’m disgusted that we’ve bought the lie that we too might one day profit immeasurably off the bloody backs of the poor and afflicted and desperate, so we tolerate the unbelievably selfish and psychopathic behaviour of the vainglorious billionaire. It’s disgusting to me that anyone would even want that. We clap along with their hype man while they rape the resources of countries that aren’t ours and refuse to pay their employees here a living wage, or provide safe, let alone enriching, work environments.
And don’t even get me started on royalty – particularly the festering pus-boil that is the British royal family. YES – all of them.
I’m pissed off that i’m not being appreciated for what i’ve given.
I’m pissed off that someone i love won’t forgive me and be in relationship with me.
I’m pissed off that my partner won’t do the smallest or the biggest things i’ve asked for to make our relationship better.
I’m pissed off that i have to take care of an ungrateful person who low-key abuses me on the regular.
I’m pissed off that, through watching world events unfold over the last 5 or 6yrs, i’m a hair’s breadth away from becoming a misanthrope. That’s not who i am or who i want to be.
I’m pissed off that i’m this pissed off.
I can hear the tantrums going on in my head. I can read the whiny, petulant tone of this post. I’ve tried to deal with these thoughts and emotions quietly, on my own, because this shit doesn’t cast me in a great light.
But i can’t seem to get past it quietly, or on my own.
So i’m gonna blast this page with a torrent of bile, and hope it helps me get a grip on myself.
I don’t want to be angry and jaded and bitter.
I don’t want to move about in the world as a traumatised child.
I’m a grown woman who loves people and loves the world and wants to make everyone and everything better. I want to be looking at my life, the events unfolding around me and the people i interact with, through that lens.
I just need a few moments to scream and throw stuff.
I should be fine by the next Dear Diary.
IMAGE: Roger Starnes Sr
Dear Diary: Biting the Bullet
Truth can come from anywhere, so i keep my ears open. I picked up a bit of truth from an old vulture of a source some years ago. He said: You can’t change what you don’t acknowledge. I can easily tear that apart, but sometimes it starts like this. There’s some truth in there that i can apply.
I’ve been out of sorts lately, and i thought i knew why. I was right, but addressing the issue didn’t help. Or rather, didn’t help enough.
There was more.
Starting the blog on the other platform is what i needed to do. Yes, i use the other site for less bloggish writings. I know that’s what i said, and it’s true. But i’d always intended it for something else, and the longer i’ve procrastinated getting it started, the heavier a burden it’s been. Sometimes, the only way i can get a thing done is by backing myself into a corner. The new diagnosis, plus the constant inner urging to start the new blog, was causing stress. Stress that amped up a little every day. Stress that twisted my guts and squeezed that muscle that pulses inside my skull.
I started eating my stress – and i’ve gained weight.
It’s not a lot, probably somewhere between 5-10lbs, but that hits me where i live. I’ve struggled with my weight since i was 8yrs old, and it’s taken me a lifetime to figure out the whole jumbled mess of abuse and disordered eating. I was as close to my goals as i’d ever been, when life came and life’d all over me. It only took a couple of weeks for me to notice, which is good. I practise mindfulness to help me curb dissociative behaviours, so one day i noticed my clothes were fitting me differently. I prefer tighter fitting clothing, so it doesn’t take much for my yoga pants to show me there’s a problem. If i’m jumping up and down and getting sweaty to put them on – i’ve got a problem.
So i was stuck in this corner, with weight gain on one side, and being a grouch with my housemates on the other.
I know what to do, and i’m doing it. I’m not freaked out or devastated. This is how i work. I’m always making small course adjustments to keep me on track, heading in the right direction. Getting this new diagnosis hasn’t changed me, it’s new information that shines a brighter light on who i am and why i do the things i do. It can help me make better decisions on how to continue forward. It has answered some questions that i’d been puzzling over for some time.
I haven’t told my family. I’m not sure why.
For one thing, i’m not completely convinced. I don’t think i will be until i go for the more intensive testing that was recommended. It was hard for me, as a multiple, to figure out who i really am. I put on all sorts of masks to survive my childhood, and the masks aren’t me, yet they are. It’s taking time and intention to suss out the “real” me. As my personality has streamlined and become more cohesive, i have a better understanding. In some areas i have a confidence that i am “x,” and i am not “y.”
For instance, i now know that i’m an introvert. That’s only become clear in the last few years. Prior to that, i’d have sworn up and down that i was an extrovert. But i’m so much quiter than i’d have thought, and being around people tires me out. Like, exhausts me. And now that i’m meeting my own needs, i’m not seeking attention and acceptance from every human with whom i have contact. I’m not as obsessive. Things like rejection and conflict don’t wield the power to destroy me as they once did.
So, there might well be other things about me that i’d not known before, things that were hidden by my system coming in to fill the gaps. Aspects of my personality and psychological makeup that my ability to cope had camouflaged. The diagnosis fits in some ways, but i’m not sure it does in others. I guess that might be the “spectrum” part of it. Heh.
What i know is, i’m snippy with my family and i’ve put on weight. These things tell me there’s something i need to handle. I know that it’s ASD and the other blog. I can hurt my loved ones, including myself, or i can bite the bullet and do the work.
I’ve got the blog started, and i’m eating healthier and exercising more.
I also understand though, that the other blog is going to trigger all kinds of crap.
The subject matter is difficult, and the path through it ain’t gonna be easy.
If you’re interested in checking out my other platform, leave me a comment and i’ll send you a link.
I’ll check in again soon. Couple days, tops.
IMAGE: Jay Rembert