recovery or recovering

Today I feel like I am "doing recovery" rather than recovering.  I think you have to have experienced recovery in some form for that to fully make sense.  I am tired.  But I'm tired because I'm depressed not because I haven't gotten enough sleep.

Yesterday, once again, I begged God to heal me.  I promised Him the world, just make this heaviness go away.  PLEASE!  Instead He filled my ride to work with songs about trusting God even through the pain, songs about how His love doesn't fail us even through the dark times, songs of reassurance but no songs of healing.

So once again, with a heavy heart, I am asked to trust what I cannot feel.  And I do.  And I will.  Even if the heaviness never leaves, He is God and He is good.

I saw this on Facebook last week.  I have to share it because it is true.

Yeah, I really am glad.  I'm glad you're here still.  I'm even glad I'm here still.  Keep pressing on.  Keep hanging on.  Keep doing recovery even when you feel like you are doing recovery not recovering.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Keep doing the next right thing.  And next year we can all gather around each other and be glad that we are still here. 

to share or not to share, that is the question

Today someone I work with said this,
"I understand you have a blog also, I'd love to read it."

And now I wonder, do I share or do I keep my little area of the world private?  I don't talk about my blog or even that I do blog.  Do I let her join me on my journey, on this journey that is often ugly?  Or do I let her see the cleaned up version? 

Why did I just think of starting yet another blog simply with the for everyone's eyes posts?  I could give her my other link but then if she looks at my profile she will see that I am here also. 

Oh anxiety, how I loathe thee.  Anxiety of how much of my heart is ok to share.  Anxiety that I want to share my thoughts just not sure if I want to share my journey.  How far do I let people in? 

yeah, I'm crazy

Would you think I was crazy if I told you there is a area at my work that scares me?  No, not the lunchroom, though that scares me for totally unrelated reasons that I have already covered here!  There is a place that I walk by and it brings back memories of attack. 

When I walk by it the anxiety feels visible.  If I'm playing it as well as I hope I am, no one can see the anxiety that I feel drips off of me like wax off a candle.  But I feel it.  I feel trapped when I'm near that area.  I feel scared when I'm near that area.  I feel not in control when I'm near that area.  I want to run, hard and fast.

Remember when I said something was on the edge of my consciousness that would have to be dealt with?  It started with a friend tagging her friend in a Facebook post.  There was his name right in front of my face.  The name I haven't heard in many years.  It wasn't him, someone by the same name with a slightly different spelling.  But it was enough. 

A few days later I walked past this area at work and my palms got sweaty, my heart started racing and the tears threatened behind my eyes.  Suddenly I was there again, being held down, clothes being ripped, my body being groped.  My mind tried to tell my body that I wasn't really back there but it was too late, my body was already reacting.

 Logic wasn't enough to convince my heart rate to come back to normal.  Knowing he wasn't there, that I wasn't in danger, that I wasn't about to be hurt wasn't enough.  And in my head right now I hear the article I read recently written by a counselor about PTSD, about how the body reacts no matter what the logic says. 

I just walked by the "scary spot" when I was getting my lunch.  I wanted to sprint again.  I wanted to hide.  I wanted to get away.  So I sit here eating my lunch and blogging so that my heart rate will return to normal, my voice won't shake and my palms won't sweat so that I can get back to doing my job in a few minutes. 

Silly really, that I react to something so simple.  How I wish I were normal enough to not freak out at work over things that in reality don't still have the power to hurt me. 

walking throught the muck with my kids

Friday the news broke that the body they found was indeed the body of the missing little girl.  Friday my son spent the night at a friends house.  Friday the friend's mom told my son that the girl had been found.  Friday she told him that the body had been dismembered.  Saturday I had to pick up the pieces of a very broken little boy.

Wouldn't you think that maybe it isn't ok to tell other people's kids big news like that?  Or maybe send me a text if he was asking questions to ask if I minded if she talked to him about it?  Or at minimum, TELL ME that she talked to him so that I know what he knows so I have a starting point when he breaks down in my arms? 

We believe that our kids should hear from us whenever possible the things they need to know.  We tell our kids hard things because we want to be able to help them process their emotions in a safe place.  We would have talked about this with him.   We talked to our kids about the theater shooting.  We talked about the little girl being missing and the reasons we have certain outside rules in place.  We talk about sex and answer uncomfortable questions.  We answer all of their questions when we are asked, even if the answer, like this time, is "I don't know.  I don't understand either." 

Maybe that is why it made me angry that someone else handled it.  I know it will get talked about at school.  My son is in the same age range as the little girl was.  He and his friends have been talking about it.  I just wanted him to hear the big part from me and dad.  I wanted him to be in a safe place that he could completely loose his temper and punch his pillow and scream and cry and do all of the things that he did when he got home to the safety of his room.  I wanted to be there to hold him when he asked through his sobs why someone would do that.

This morning  I asked his little brother what they talk about at school.  He told me at lunch that they talk about the bad guy who broke into the theater.  He told me they talk about the missing girl.  I told him the missing girl was found, that someone had hurt her, that someone had killed her.  He asked me why that person would steal her if they were just going to kill her.  I told him I don't know.  He doesn't have the same details that his big brother has.  He doesn't need the same details that his big brother has.  But he knows that he can ask us questions if he has them.  He knows home is a safe place to feel what you need to feel.  But it isn't affecting him in the same way as it is affecting his brother.

This parenting stuff is hard.  Helping my kids to feel the emotions that they need to feel and to walk alongside of them as they process is important.  It is also hard.  I understand why some parents choose to not talk to their kids about issues.  It is painful.  It hurts to see pieces of your child's innocence taken away.  It is a very helpless kind of feeling to have your son break down into gut wrenching sobs in your arms and know that you can't make it better.  It is very humbling to have no words of comfort and to only be able to pray that the Lord will bring us His comfort.

sleepless nights

I didn't sleep well last night, I was really restless.  Maybe it was because I didn't want to fall asleep because the night before I didn't sleep well either.  The night before, I had a nightmare.

In this nightmare, I was in a house that apparently I was familiar with and I heard someone yelling.  After a minute or so of hearing it, I realized that I didn't know where my youngest son was.  I started looking around the house and realized finally that the yelling was someone yelling AT him.  The yelling escalated to screaming at him.  I was trying to get to him but suddenly there were boxes and piles of papers and clothes blocking the hallway and I couldn't get to him.  The screaming escalated to hitting.  The person was beating my son while he whimpered and cried and I couldn't get to him.  I needed to protect my child and I couldn't get through the hallway to the room because more and more things were blocking my path.  Finally I screamed, "NOOOOO!" and lunged but the stuff still held me back.

There is no worse feeling in the world than feeling like your kids need you and you can't help them.  There is no worse feeling in the world than the one I had in my dream of listening to my son being hurt and not being able to stop it.  Thankfully, Hubby was awake for some unknown reason.  Apparently I whimpered and he woke me up.  My son was safe.  It was a dream.  No one was hurting my family.

Now I will tell you the real reason it bothered me so much.  The person hurting my son was someone who loves him.  It was someone who he loves.  It was someone who should never hurt him (and who in real life would NOT beat him).  It was my mother who was attacking my son.

I know all of the psychological reasons that I had the dream.  I was hurt and angry with my mom over something else that had happened in the day which is why she was the aggressor in my dream.  And I feared for a few minutes for my sons safety at a pool party when he went into the restroom with another little boy who has before made a point of repeatedly showing his "man junk" to my son.  The combination of wanting to protect my son and being hurt with my mother created this dream.  I know that.  It doesn't make it any less disturbing though.

My head hurts this morning.  Probably from lack of sleep this weekend.  I should be getting ready for work, instead I sit drinking coffee and typing.  I wish to insulate my heart from the world, but mostly from my mom.  I've been trying not to cry since yesterday morning.  My heart is very troubled today.  Pray for me today, friends.  Pray for God to wrap His arms around me today and for Him to bring healing balm to my wounded heart.

memories on the verge of darkness

It's there.  It's on the verge of my consciousness.  It wants to be dealt with.  I have no idea what aspect of it still lingers to be dealt with so I keep stuffing it.  I don't want to deal with it.  I don't want to feel it.  I don't want to think that those little things that have been randomly triggering it could be the Lord's gentle leading to let Him heal that part of my life.

It is so much easier to just keep it compartmentalized.  Well, not really in the long run, but for the part of me that knows the huge sopping puddle I become when these things surface, it is easier.  It is easier to set it to the side than engage in the feelings that have been threatening to surface.

So there you have it friends.  I know that when small things start triggering, and when my dreams contain multiple re-tellings of things I want to forget, that at some point I will either choose to face the feelings or I will run and hide until the feelings overcome me.  It will happen.  I've never actually chosen to face the feelings.  I usually let them hunt me out and destroy me for whatever their time frame for healing is.

So maybe this time will be different.  Maybe because I see it on the horizon, I will not need to hurt to the extent that I have in the past to heal.  I say that with a laugh.  The pain isn't in if I allow my feelings now, it is in allowing feelings I haven't ever allowed myself to fully feel.  I don't look forward to healing.  I don't look forward to rebreaking a bone to allow it to heal properly.  I don't look forward to the pain on the horizon.

Right now, I'm still running from it, hoping that this time I can outrun it.  Right now I will continue to stuff it all down and go about my day to day.  I still have to go to work.  I am still a wife and mother.  Those things don't get to be put on hold when I feel, though God knows I wish they could.  And when the day that I know is coming does indeed come, could you still love me and hold me up and encourage me that the pain won't last forever?  Would you remind me that God will carry me through the darkness, that He won't leave me, and that this will bring about healing? 

Even If....

My new favorite song Even If by Kutless......

Last week was hard.  Really, REALLY hard.  I've decided that suicidal thoughts come in many forms.  I've had days of actively wanting to kill myself.  Last week I didn't want to actually kill myself but I just wanted to die.  My friend had a time similar this week.  She didn't want to kill herself but wished that someone else would kill her.  And it is all suicidal ideations whether it is wanting to kill myself, wanting to die or wanting someone else to take your life.  And it is scary. 

It is scary to fantasize about dying.  Even when I am in a good place I still wonder what it would be like to die.  Even when I am loving my life and not overwhelmed with depression, I still wonder what would happen if I took the entire bottle of pills.  I still think about it, maybe not all the time, but regularly. 

Last week I heard this song for the first time.  It is truly what I believe.  This song has moved my heart.  If my healing never comes, if I struggle with depression, suicidal ideation, and eating disorders for the rest of my life, it won't change WHO  God is.  He is still good, even if my healing never comes.

encouragement to live to fight another day

This morning I woke with the same sluggish, less than hopeful, depressed view that I went to bed with.  While taking my boys to school this morning though, the Lord brought to mind a verse.

"Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.  Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it, but one thing I do: forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."
Philippians3:12-14

Today I know I have a battle raging inside of me and today I will press on.  I will fight and I will lean on the strength of the Lord to carry me through.

HR confessions and more

I've had so many thoughts attacking my brain that I haven't even known where to start or the words to say to debrief.  Sunday was a beautiful day of worship at church.  For a while I was able to bask in the presence of the Almighty.  I was able to worship without reservation.  For a few moments and for a few hours later, I felt at peace.  I felt that my life really mattered.  I knew that my sole purpose in life is to bring glory and honor to the Lord, to reflect Him and the work He is doing in my life.  For a few moments, the size of my body didn't matter and didn't even cross my mind.

Today was a rough day.  Nothing specific, just felt like going through the motions was like waking through mud today.  I am so grateful for those moments in time, like Sunday, when I feel the Lord's presence so profoundly.  Those moments carry me through the rest of the days when I struggle desperately.  Today I didn't feel God, not even once but times like Sunday remind me that He is there even though I don't feel His presence.

Is it completely wrong for the girl who loves God, who believes He is good even when life isn't, who works for a Christian ministry, to say things like I didn't feel God today?  Does that mean, as was so often told to me growing up, that I don't really trust Him because I don't always feel Him?  Does it make my faith less if I share my doubts and fears?  I don't know the answer.  I do know though that on days like today, I have to hold on to what I know to be true not what I feel to be true.

Today brought the opportunity to talk to the HR person at my work.  I really like her and I trust her.  I went into her office and told her about my concerns with the health class that our work is sponsoring being either triggering or enabling to me.  She is the only person at my work who I have told that I struggle to eat, that I have major depressive disorder, and that some days going though the motions is overwhelming.

I told her I don't want to make this public knowledge at the moment.  I don't want my plate analyzed by every person in the office.  I don't want the calorie police hovering over me and worrying even when I'm doing ok.  (I told Hubby that calories are the little bastards that hide in your closet and sew your clothes smaller while you sleep.  He laughed.  And that is completely off subject and random. :)  )

On a food note, I'm both struggling and doing well.  I'm maintaining but at the moment the thoughts are pretty aggressive.  Like for instance, I had my physical recently.  My weight was satisfactory.  My ideal however, I realized in reading through my journal, is 5 lbs lighter than what my ideal was this time last year.  I feel the viciousness of the cycle that insists that no matter how much you lose, it isn't good enough for Orange.

My doctor allowed me to opt out of the metabolism screening which is good, that is always very triggering to me.  So I didn't have the extent of numbers to contend with that I usually have but I still had the scale numbers to contend with.  I still had questions from the new nurse wondering if I'm eating enough calories.  I told her yes.  And then I told her that I'm not counting them so I suppose I'm getting enough.  When I'm counting them I know I'm not getting enough.

For the TMI part but it does show how distorted Orange can be.... Before my physical I had a severe kidney infection.  The medicine I had to take for it backed up my bowels a LOT.  The doctor recommended some different products to help cleanse my colon without being laxatives.  It took several days to get back to being able to go.  Then for a day it turned into diarrhea and I stopped taking the supplements.  Today I contemplated starting them again.  The conversation in my head went something like this:

You should finish the full 14 days

No, I don't want to deal with cramping stomach and emergency trips to the bathroom

Yes, but think of the weight you are losing in cleansing

But the goal of cleansing is to be healthy and get my system jump started a little to get back in the swing of things, it isn't supposed to be about the weight
Keep taking it.  A little diarrhea shouldn't be enough to stop you.  You can still be in control but really, isn't the diarrhea worth it for what it will do to flatten out your stomach?

And just that quickly the battle is raging again.  In my actions I am still pursuing recovery.  I am still striving to beat the voice in my head.  Sadly though, that voice isn't little and it torments me day and night right now.  I covet your prayers right now as the voices are really loud.  Please pray for strength for the battle and peace for my heart. 

There is still so much more  but I've already made this really long and also it is getting very late and I need to attempt to sleep.  I need rest so I can be productive at work tomorrow.

How does she do that??????

I planned on skipping lunch today.  Yes, I am flat out admitting that I had every intention of having a low intake day.  I have been once again fighting the voice in my head (or maybe indulging the voice in my head) that swears that I can both live and restrict.  That voice is trying so hard to tell me that I can still be me, that I can still be a great mom, wife, friend and employee without the assistance of food. 

Let's be honest for a moment, I know the voice is lying and yet I still feel the need to listen when it speaks.  I still feel like I could be the different one, that my disease wouldn't steal from me.  I still feel like if I could be down x pounds before my doctor's appointment that I would be "happy" with myself. 

And then my work friend happens along on the days that I have no intention of eating and she just seems to KNOW.  Once it was a friendly, "Hey, have you taken your lunch yet?"  Last time it was the one I blogged about with a touch on my knee and a "You ok?"  Today it was the offer of splitting the cost of Chipotle.  How did she know?  How did she know that today was the day that I needed to eat, that today was the day I had not one intention of indulging in lunch, that Chipotle was probably the only thing that could have tempted me?

I don't know, but I'm grateful that she brought me out of my head.  I'm grateful that she gave me perspective enough to see the faultiness of the voice in my head.  And I'm grateful that she went and got the food.  God must have known that I needed someone here who could pull me out of my head once in a while.  There is no other reason that I can think of that the only times she has mentioned food to me have been the days that I have really been struggling!

are they really watching my plate or is it all in my head?

Yesterday was a working lunch.  In other words, my work provides lunch and we eat while we continue our meeting.  I hate working lunches.  I despise them.  Yesterday had me desiring to run away, to cry, to swear.  Thankfully I was at a table of people I'm fairly comfortable with which eased my tension a little.  I always feel like people are watching me eat and it makes me really uncomfortable.  Which really, especially here where no one knows about my past, probably isn't happening.

At least this meal was Panera so it was sandwiches and salad rather than pizza or bbq.  Having healthy options should have made it easier but for some reason yesterday's lunch was still harder than usual.  My friend now works with me.  She sits in the cubicle next to me.  I really like having her there.  I was scared at first to have her there because having her there crosses the line of keeping work and personal separate. 

It means that someone in my office knows that some days I don't eat.  It means that someone in my office not only knows about it but was the one to get the text saying that I was in the hospital under 72 hour watch nearly two years ago.  It means that someone at work knows about things I don't want to share at work about my past. 

It also means yesterday when I was staring at my food contemplating for a few moments running away, that I got a quick touch on the knee and a concerned, "You ok?"  Wow.  That was a life giving moment.  I still excused myself to my cubicle to cry for a minute or two but I came back to my meeting and was able to eat the lunch.  That simple gesture helped me bring my head back in the game.

Maybe I still feel like everyone noticed my plate because I noticed someone else's.  I noticed the woman who ate only half of her sandwich (which they were half sandwiches to begin with) and gave her salad away and never ate dessert.  Maybe I feel it because I couldn't stop my leg from shaking violently once the food time arrived.  That was probably more of a tell than my plate.

I feel vulnerable.  Not necessarily in a bad way but still vulnerable.  I feel like there will come a point that my story is going to be asked about and as I've said before, if you ask, I don't lie. I am a little afraid of that but I'm learning that I trust majority of the people in my office.  I want to be known and at the same time I want to be invisible.  It is a scary spot.

I also yesterday realized that I think God brought me here to prepare me for what is next in my life.  I hope to work with this organization for a very long time.  I love it, I'm passionate about it, I feel called to be where I am.  I also feel like the stretching and growing that will happen here is to prepare me for the next step.  I don't know if that step will be within this organization or outside of it but I feel fairly convinced that this is training ground.  That is exciting and terrifying all in one breath.

And today I can eat lunch alone if I wish, with no one watching me.  Even if I do eat with others, knowing I don't have to eases the anxiety a hundred times over.

confused and angry

It has been a rough couple of days at work.  I've spent Monday putting out fires, which is fine, that is basically what my job is - to put out emotional fires.  Today was a tear filled day.  Today I don't understand God's plan.

I talked for a half an hour to someone with a very broken heart.  Someone she knows and loves just lost her toddler daughter to an "undetermined cause of death".  The child was too old to be considered SIDS and yet no one knows why she died.  And I am broken.  I don't understand why a mother has to continue to get up and take care of her other child and go through the motions when emotionally her heart has stopped beating.

I don't understand how God uses things like this.  I am mad at Him.  I am angry at God that children die.  I am angry that another baby was born addicted to heroin while many of my dear friends who long for nothing more than the feeling of their own child in their arms are losing their babies in utero.  And I want to say I feel God's peace and I want to say that all the Christian cliches are enough but the reality is that I don't feel it and they aren't enough.

Times like this make words like, "God will work this out for good", "God has a plan", "God was trying to spare her the pain of life", and "At least she is in heaven"  painful and frustrating.  Will He work this out for good?  I'm sure He will.  Do I want to hear it right now? No.  Do I still believe that God is good?  Absolutely.  But can I tell you a secret?  Sometimes I even though I KNOW that Hubby is a good man, I still get angry with him.  Sometimes even though I KNOW that Hubby loves me, I still get my feelings hurt or feel lonely.  Sometimes even though I  KNOW it, I don't feel it.  And sometimes I feel that way with God too.

Even though I know God is good, I don't understand Him right now.  Even though I know God still loves me, right now my feelings are hurt.  Even though I know it, the feelings haven't caught up.  Right now the feelings are hurt and anger.  And yet, God is still sovereign.  He is still on the throne.  He is still capable.  He is still good even when life isn't.  He is still faithful to His promises and loving toward all He has made.  My anger with Him doesn't change any of that.

Thankfully He is big enough to handle my emotions.  Thankfully my feelings don't change His character.  And even though I can't understand what He is doing or why, I will go back to the song that carried me through days of infertility and miscarriage.

God is too wise to be mistaken, 

God is too good to be unkind. 

 So when you don't understand, 

when you can's see His plan,

 when you can't trace His hand, trust His heart.

Another secret,  I don't understand God's plan.  AND I don't really want to understand His plan right now.  I don't ever want children dying to make sense to me. 

Fifty Shades of Heartbreak

It's the hottest book series on the market right now, Fifty Shades of Grey.  I heard it was like the adult version of Twilight, with lots of racy adult scenes.  I read the back cover and didn't seem too intrigued.  The intrigue came when a firestorm of a debate came on Facebook.

My friend was heavily attacked because she had read the book and enjoyed it.  Someone "unfriended" her sending an email criticizing this friends Christianity, her marriage, and her desire to read such wonton hussy books.  That did it.  My friend is one of the sweetest people on the planet.  She is kind and doesn't judge others.  She is an amazing woman, a wonderful wife to her military man and a fabulous mother to her girls.

I was pissed that she was judged so harshly (by someone who had not read the books, no less) and suddenly I wanted to read them.  I wanted to know what the big deal was.  The last things that sparked huge controversy in the Christian community ended up being series that I now love, Harry Potter and Twilight.  This, I expected, would be the same as those.

So here is my thoughts on the book, there is a bit of a spoiler alert but not much more than the review on ABC news and for some, this spoiler alert is needed.  I could have used it. 

The book is racy.  The part where they first have sex made me ravenous for my husband.  It created a physical response in me so unbelievably strong that I wished Hubby wasn't already asleep.  I'm not opposed to racy in a book.  I am opposed to this book though.

Christan Grey asked Ana to sign a contract allowing him to be her dominate and her to be his submissive.  The contract states that if she is not submissive to his every whim that he has authority to "discipline" her.  He has any number of ways that is accomplished, through a belt, a whip, a cat of nine tails, a cane etc.  He was made to be a submissive through his teenage years and that is where his dominating sexual appetite comes from. 

I had to close the book.  My heart was racing and not with desire.  My heart was racing with fear.  Now I have a wild side.  But this was just too much for me.  Memories flooded my mind.  I couldn't sleep and when I did it was not well.

This morning I picked the book up again.  I thought that possibly I had over-reacted.  Maybe I was just tired and that is what sparked those feelings.  Maybe Ana doesn't actually sign the contract.  Maybe it really is a love story like everyone said.  I started reading and felt that same sick pit in my stomach again.

I flipped later in the book.  He was beating her with a belt.  She was in her mind crying and begging him to stop but never saying a word.  (I also read the last few pages but I won't spoil that part for those of you who don't want to hear the end.) I can't do this book.  I pushed it away from me while the tears sprung up.  I understand the sexual appeal of some of the things in the book.  I cannot handle though, the physical aspect of how those sexual moments come to be.

I've been held down, unable to move while someone forces his hands on my body.  It wasn't love, that is for sure.  I've been hurt for not doing as I was told.  It isn't as glamorous as this book portrays.  I guess my thought is this, sometimes I do enjoy doing exactly as my husband says.  It can really be a turn on.  But he would never beat me if I didn't.  That is my issue.

How does loving someone ever mean wanting to beat them?  How does loving someone ever mean wanting them to hurt?  Submitting and hurting are different things.  I personally feel like it crossed the line into abuse.  I'm just not ok with it.  I'm not ok with telling other women that it is ok, good even,  to be beaten for sexual pleasure.

I'm sure that someone out there is going to bring up that Ana willingly signed the contract, that she desired to be hurt and that makes is why it is different from abuse.  I've heard that argument but I still can't go with it.  For me, in my life, coming from my past, this book is too close to the abuse that I suffered and I cannot bring myself to relive it from the perspective of someone who willingly subjects herself to it.  Your opinion may be different, and that is ok.  We can agree to disagree.

Right now I am nursing my fifty shades of broken heart.  Though I am not a spoiler alert kind of gal, I really wish someone has given me a spoiler alert.  I would have never read this book.  It was just too triggering for me.  I'll be ok, but I'm not right this moment.  I'm hurt.

Fight

                     
Fight. I'm hurting.  I'm hurting a lot.  But something has changed,  I'm still fighting.  I don't feel like eating.  It is hot and uncomfortable (try 101* INSIDE my house today) and eating sounds gross when I am this hot.  I don't feel like eating, it is easier not to. 

 Eating means I'm still fighting though.  Eating means I haven't given up, even though it is tempting.  I suppose that eating means (both figuratively and literally) that I will live to fight another day.  I'm glad tomorrow is a new day.  And I hope the fight is easier tomorrow.

Emotional

                                               

 I have always been emotional, very emotional. I also grew up in a home where being emotional was bad.  I tried so hard to not be emotional.  I tried to keep all of those emotions inside so that I wouldn't get in trouble for having them.  The harder I tried to not feel my emotions, the more depressed and angry I became.  And when I say angry, I mean seriously rage filled.

As an adult finally facing the past, there have been a lot of emotions.  I've blogged about this before but there have been times that I have had to feel some of the pain of my past and I thought the emotions would carry me away.  I thought they would kill me.  I had bottled the tears for so very long that I was convinced that I would never stop crying if I started.

The flow of emotions started at an intensive therapy weekend.  Our assignment was to cry.  Yep, cry.  I thought they were crazy.  I curled up under my blanket and made myself cry.  As I cried I felt things I had never before felt.  The words I found myself saying were, "Why wasn't I worth protecting?"  And I mourned not so much the loss of innocence but the feelings of being too insignificant to protect.

Since that point I have really actually had to feel some of the things I have run from my entire life.  Just this past fall I ran into something I had been running from since I was about six.  I thought feeling this was going to kill me.  It hurt more than I have ever hurt before.  I didn't think the pain would ever end.  I know why I use my eating disorder for comfort.  When I focus on my food, on my body, I have something tangible to concentrate on.  I can avoid feeling when I am restricting.

It took every ounce of my strength to stay in the moment and keep feeling that.  Every instinct said to run hard and fast from that intensity of pain.  I don't actually understand how it happened, but when I stayed present in the pain, I made it through the pain.  It didn't kill me even though for days I thought it would never end.  And now that memory is a memory, not a flashback.

I still struggle with staying present when I have big emotions.  My first instinct is to restrict, to not feel them.  Some of the things I have to face come with a lot of pain but now I know that the pain won't kill me.  I know that if I cry, eventually I will stop.  If I hold back my emotions they only get stronger and then they come out on their own without my permission in the form of horrible, angry, awful ways.

It is ok to feel.  It is good to feel.  It is ok that I am extremely emotional.  It is how God made me (for you Miers/Briggs people, I'm an NF, emotional to the very core of my being).  My emotions won't kill me and eventually, feeling them will bring healing not more hurt.

Crazy

Crazy.  Hmmmm. What an interesting word.  I was always convinced I was crazy, I mean certifiably insane.  I've struggled with depression for as long as I can remember.  Most children don't struggle with depression and when I was a kid not as much was known about depression as is now.  I never felt like everyone else.  I thought that made me crazy.

When I was a teenager, no one explained how hormones make you feel crazy.  I mean my mom told me all about sex and my period and all of that but she failed to mention that hormones fluctuate and also contribute to your mood.  I didn't know that EVERY young girl bursts in to tears at random moments for absolutely no reason at all.  There always had to be a REASON to cry or be angry or feel at my house.  When there wasn't a reason, I thought I was crazy.  I had no idea that I had a case of hormone and depression induced craziness! 

I also grew up in a family that basically believed that bad things don't happen to good Christians.  And my mom also kinda believes, though she probably doesn't realize that she believes this, that if you don't acknowledge something, it never happened.  I have a very unique relationship with God.  I have since childhood.  It is amazing and it is beautiful.  I didn't always realize that it is amazing and beautiful because it didn't look like my mom's relationship with God.  I felt crazy because I felt peace when others felt panicked.  I felt crazy because bad things did happen to me so I must not have been a good Christian.  I felt crazy because I felt emotions that had been listed as "taboo" and unholy.

Now I use the word jokingly.  I tell people I'm crazy but I don't see it as a stigma or a bad thing at all.  We all have some areas of our lives that we feel a little crazy in.  I just tell people I know I'm crazy but that is why I love God, because He can make sanity out of my craziness.  My life is crazy.  I am a mom of 3 boys. That in itself makes me a little crazy.  Sometimes I feel like life is spinning out of control.  That feels crazy.  Everything is crazy but I'm ok with the crazy now.  I'm ok with it because I know I'm not the only person who feels crazy.  We all do.

"We all go a little mad sometimes, Sydney." ~Scream

breaking the silence part 1

It has been a while.  I have struggled and grown, fought and been stretched.  I didn't intend to do any of those things, nor did I intend to do them alone.  The budget was tight this month and the tv/internet was the least important of the bills and therefore, I had no internet and ended up growing and stretching without you, my dear friends and sounding board.

I have to say this month has been one of the hardest and one of the most rewarding.  I had to come to terms with the diet talk at work.  Someone mentioned the person who had taught the class about "the diet" and I know her.  And the "diet" isn't a diet at all, it is a healthy living lifestyle class not a "I'm fat and need to lose 20 pounds" fad diet.  Here's where I had to realize my own insanity.  This class is a really helpful and informative class.  Much of what it entails I had already been doing in my own efforts to live healthy (before relapse) before I even took the class. The problem with it was in my own brain.  I took those healthy living steps in that class and made them into hard. fast. rules.  So though I was already mostly living them, suddenly they were RULES and I would rather not eat than break them.  I am the one who went too far, not the program.  It was my brain not the class that distorted it into what it became for me.  For most people I would recommend it in a heartbeat, just not for me or anyone else prone to eating disorder struggles.

My first three weeks at work were filled with tears.  I loved what I was doing, I loved the people when I saw them in their cubicles or in the hall or mail room just not when they were all gathered together.  I cried more in front of people in those three weeks than I think I have in years.  I just couldn't stop the tears from coming no matter how hard I tried.  I was tired.  I was lonely.  I didn't know where I fit in this tight knit group of people who all already know each other and have a history together and know each others stories.  I tried so hard to make conversation.  I would add something to a conversation and get a polite head nod and then they were back in their own little lives and the conversation went on as though I had said nothing.  They weren't trying to exclude me but I felt extremely excluded.

And then there was food.  Ahhhh, my old bitter enemy.  Rephrase, food isn't the enemy, how I feel about it is, how I interact with it is, how I use it to avoid my feelings is the real enemy.  I wasn't eating breakfast and barely eating lunch.  All I could think about was how I was going to cope in this very lonely place that I now work in four days a week.  Restricting was just the easy go to.  It felt wonderfully terrible.  I cannot think of a time before that restricting made me feel so guilty while still delivering the physical euphoria that I longed for.  I knew I wasn't taking care of myself but for the life of me I couldn't remember why I needed to move forward.  All I could think about was that I don't think I was really that sick EVER.  It couldn't have really been that bad or I would remember why I couldn't go back to it, right?

I have one vivid memory that is the only thing I can see in my mind as proof to myself that it was worse than I ever thought it was.  When I was in the hospital a very overweight woman looked at me and said, "This is what self hatred looks like, eating a weeks worth of calories in a day."  I pulled up my shirt and said, "It also looks like this, eating a days worth of calories in a week."  Three people in the room gasped when I lifted my shirt and showed my ribs.  The face of one person in particular is etched in my mind with the reaction given at seeing my ribs.  It is the only thing I have to remind myself that though maybe I couldn't see how bad it had gotten, it really was that bad.

I tried to remember the feelings but I couldn't.  I couldn't remember what being sick felt like and it really did start to glorify in my mind again.  Since I couldn't remember the feelings, I forced myself to remember the facts.  I may not remember what it felt like to wince in pain when my kids hugged me, but I know that I did.  I may not remember how my body felt when it hurt to just lay down and sleep, but I know that it did.  I thought about my mom-in-law smacking me with a newspaper and telling me I'd lost too much weight.  I thought about the clumps of hair that were constantly falling out. I thought about the worried and sorrowful looks Hubby would give me when he thought I wasn't looking.  I thought about the look on that persons face while I was in the hospital.  I thought about the friend who stopped me one day to ask how she could help because she knew of my past struggle and could see the current struggle getting worse and worse.



I never did feel it, but I forced myself to remember it, even as just black and white facts.  I never did FEEL why going back to sick was bad.  I just had to trust that I knew it.  And that right there friends, was when I realized that I can do this recovery stuff.  I couldn't feel a single reason to pursue recovery or to at minimum to hold steady enough to not relapse and yet I knew those reasons.


The next post is the kindness that I needed in the moment I needed it, the panic attack at work in front of my entire team, the words of wisdom that bring me back to you only a little shaken but not completely shattered.  But for tonight, I'm tired.  It's good to be back.  I've missed you guys!

old territory from a new perspective

There is something really big weighing on my mind.  For the first time I have to deal with the reality of childhood sexual abuse as an adult.  I have friends who are dealing with big stuff right now.  There has been sexual impropriety between their young children that will result in a foster child needing to be placed with a different family. 

As the little girl who wasn't protected, I am so grateful for the steps being taken to protect the other children in the home.  On behalf of those children, I want to hug the parents and social workers and say thank you for stopping it while it is still impropriety before it becomes full fledged abuse.  I want to hold the child affected by the actions and never let go. 

As a parent, I ache for my friends.  I can only imagine the pain of having to say goodbye to this child who has been part of their family and they were trying to adopt to make him forever a part of their family.  I cry thinking of having to say goodbye to one child in order to protect another.  I cry thinking about needing to protect the other. 

As someone who loves this child dearly, I want to hug him tight.  I want to make the wounds of the past better.  We don't know what his past held, but based on some of his incidents, I would guarantee that he was exposed to some form of sexual inappropriateness.  I want him to be free of this.  I don't want to see him labeled as the bad guy.  I don't want to see him grow up, never dealing with whatever it is that has gone on, or for him to become the attacker.  I love him and I want the best for him.  I love him and I want him to have a family who loves him as much as he has been loved by my friends. 

And selfishly, I ache because the child we have to say goodbye to is my sons best friend.  I don't want to have to tell him that his best friend is moving away but best friend's family is staying, that we will still see the family multiple times a week but the family will be minus his best friend.  How do I explain this to my son?  How do I tell him and not have him fearing that he will have to go live with a new family if he is naughty?  How do I comfort my son when he has to hear that his best friend has moved away when this is the child I get asked DAILY if we can play with?

There are a lot of emotions going on inside me right now.  I bounce back and forth among them.  There is no good answer.  It hurts.  It hurts on so many different levels and in so many different ways.  As I told Hubby yesterday, I don't know how to do this.  I don't know how to walk through it, much less how to guide my children through it.  And I'm scared.

**** to my dear friend,  I remained as vague as possible, not sharing names or specifics.  But if you read this and I have said more than I should legally or more than you are comfortable with, please let me know and I will delete this post.  I had to process what I was feeling before it swept me away and this was the easiest outlet tonight. *****

muse missing

My muse has been hiding from me for a while.  I think she's still hiding.  I've been really introspective lately.  I have had some good insights and some crappy days. When I think "I should blog about that"  I end up not wanting to sit down at my computer or it ends up being something deep and personal between me and God that I haven't been ready to share.

Today was one of those crappy days.  I restricted.  I counted.  I measured.  For the first time, I started picking at my skin and then forced myself to stop when I realized what I was doing.  I don't know why it was hard, it just was.  I really only wanted to run away.  I made it through though. 

I have interviewed for a new job, a position in ministry.  During the interview I was asked why I wanted to work for them.  I realized how much I want this job when I answered.  There are so many broken people in the world, so many broken women.  But that isn't how we need to live.  Jesus said he came that we could have life and have it more abundantly.  He came to heal our brokenness and I want to be a part of that.  I went to bed the next night in tears.  I am so very broken, how can I ever minister to others?  How can I help be a part of that healing with others when I still am broken myself?  I really want this job.  I've never in my life wanted a job because it is dear to my heart and what I would want to do even if money wasn't involved.  This time I do and yet I feel so unqualified when I look at my life.

some days are harder

like today.

I've had plenty of random things trigger big emotions today.  I'm not a fan of big emotions, especially when several different ones hit me in just a few hours span.

On the way to work this afternoon I was overcome by sadness.  As I turned the corner to the street I work on, I saw two men on scaffolding and one man down below extremely exerted and struggling to lower the scaffolding.  In January, when Cousin died, he fell from scaffolding at work that he was helping his guys to take down.  It was the last thing they had to do before they went home for the day.  I gasped and tears immediately sprung to my eyes.  The sight and the subsequent intense emotion caught me off guard.

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At work, I checked my email.  There was one from my former pastor that had a link to something he had just written.  The short version of what he had to say was that depression is a symptom of trusting your feelings rather than God. The long version, to be honest, made me a bit angry.  When someone who has never dealt with depression tries to tell me why my depression isn't as big as it is or that it is my fault or that I'm just not enough of a Christian, I get really frustrated.

 I wonder if these Christians who believe that depression is a sign of sin have ever read the Bible. What about the prophet Elisha (or maybe it was Elijah, I still to this day get those two mixed up!) who sat beneath a tree and told God to just kill him, that his life was over?  God had to send an angel to tell him to sleep and eat and to minister to him. Or what about David, the man after God's heart? He was as extreme in his emotions as one could ever be.  How many times does he, in his hurt, cry out to God and beg God to kill him?  How many times does he ask God to kill his enemies?  How many times does he make comments about despair and agony within him?  And yet he knew God was faithful.  And yet he still worshiped God in spirit and in truth.  DESPITE the agony.  Why can I not still know God is in control and worship Him even though often times my soul is in despair?  Why is my hurt a sin in so many people's eyes? Wouldn't it be nice if people had to live a day in your skin before they were able to criticize your emotions?

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Many years ago I heard it said that once you have been stalked, you will always live with one eye over your shoulder.  At the time I didn't understand but thanks to abusive boyfriend, now I do understand that comment. Looking over my shoulder has been somewhat of a second nature to me for far too many years now.  I'm not terrified like I used to be.  I don't think every car or person behind me is out to get me like I used to.  I am aware though of any car that has been behind me, including lane changes, for more than a mile.  I have detoured on my way home from places just to be sure that I'm not being followed.  While most of the time I feel fairly safe, sometimes I don't at all.  Tonight was one of those nights.

I work in a really nice part of town.  We joke that you are more likely to get pulled over there for something minor because the police need something to do to kill their time since they don't need to be out stopping crime.  Tonight, however, the police didn't need to kill time.  I don't know what happened, but something did.  I saw 18 cops tonight, lights on, sirens off, blocking parking lot exits and several side streets in 1/4 mile radius as I was leaving work.  As I got on the highway, I saw 2 more that I hadn't seen who were parked on the sidewalk next to my building where the light rail station is.  They were definitely looking for someone. I was suddenly bombarded with icky feelings of insecurity and danger.

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All of that comes to top off the fact that last night I realized that think I have been subconsciously sabotaging my recovery for the past week or so.  I wasn't intentionally acting out but suddenly last night I realized that I have been restricting.  I haven't been concentrating on it, I think that is what is scary.  It comes so naturally that I don't realize I'm doing it sometimes.  I realized simply because I had very little wine last night before I was aware that it was affecting me.  I made a comment about being a total light weight last night and Hubby asked me what I had eaten.  As I started going through my day I realized I hadn't had much at all to eat, and then I went through the previous several days and suddenly understood why the wine got to me so quickly.  Had I not done that, I wouldn't have even realized that I was doing it.

I knew I have been unhappy with my body.  I knew that I don't feel anywhere near summer body ready.  But I also have known that having energy to enjoy my family again is better than fearing my body.  I thought that since I have been acknowledging my and validating both my body and my emotions that I was in a good spot.  And now I see that recovery still needs to be an active choice even when I think I'm handling things fairly well.

So that's my night.  There are a lot of emotions swirling around in there, and a lot of thoughts as well.  I'm not pushed over the edge, which is good.  I'm a little overwhelmed still by feeling and especially so many things in such a short span of time.  I'm reminding myself that feelings are ok, good even, and trying to embrace them rather than run from them.  It is a little (ok, a LOT) scary and difficult too.