Crappy Day

I heard on the news on a music radio station that Jaycee Lee Dugard's captors were sentenced to 467 years between them.

The hubby asked what it was about and, as I have read and seen quite a bit about the story, I filled him in and told him all about it.

The final item of crap in a crap-filled day.

I've had a bad day.

First, I woke up with the all-too-familiar realisation that I'd drunk too much last night.

After helping hubby get out the door (whole 'nother story, suffice to say he needs lots of support right now), I fell asleep and woke up at 20 minute to - just enough time to get washed, brushed and dressed and make it to my therapy appointment at 10 ... glancing at the clock while grabbing some coffee I noticed that, yup, it was 20 to 11, not 20 to 10!! Ahh!! And I have been so very strict with myself at not missing a single therapy appointment since I started this latest therapy in January.

Why is it that something that last week caused me to go into mind-numbing-I-can-only-moan-and-whimper-in-pain-and-sleep-for-three-hours, now makes me angry at myself when I miss a session?!?

Then my stomach has not been happy with me today (hmm, no clue why that might be ...).

And now it's that time of the month and I have really bad cramps in lower stomach and back - something I haven't had for the last 3 or so years ... ok, so maybe because for a lot of that time there was a significant lack of a menstrul cycle ... not impressed that the cramps have returned.

So by the end of today, when I'd been thinking too much about too many sh*tty things, including how messed up my family-of-origin is and how much I want my siblings to enjoy being the amazing aunts I know they would be when I have kids and that I want to be able to tell The Mother that she's going to be a grandma with no regrets ... but in reality, I know that the day I find out I'm pregnant, a new stage of this nightmare will begin.

You see, I've never confronted The Father about the abuse. Whether or not he's pretending he didn't do it and would never dream of admitting it, or whether he has managed to put it in a box and firmly shut the lid, concentrating on being the wonderful, wise, insightful, highly religious and devoted father that he fools everyone into beliving he is ... I don't know. Either way, he tries to act toward me like nothing ever happened.

I know that to many, many people, it is highly astounding that I have not cut my family off entirely. There is one huge reason why I haven't done that, even thought I have desperately want to and continue to long to do so at times.

I love my sisters very much. I care about them and their welfare. I can see all the abuse (not sexual in their case, but emotional, spirtual, physcological and financel) that they have been through with me, but they can't. I consoled myself when I moved out of that house and caused them a huge amount of pain and hurt, with promising myself that I was going to help them see the truth and get out one day, or at least to know some people their own age and were not people that simply worshiped The Father's religious ideals.

So my very real love for my sisters (formed through 21 years of being homeschooled, churched-at-home, having hardly any other friends and living in the same space 24/7 - we were absolutely everything to each other) and deep concern for their welfare, is what makes me hold on so tightly to keeping in contact with my family. Not an option 'till they tell me to my face that they never want to see or hear from me again. I pray that day never comes.

So how on earth amd I ever going to be able to explain to my siblings why The Father is not allowed to even TOUCH my kids?!? I don't want him holding them as babies or older, or holding their hand on a walk, or touching them to clean their face after dinner ... yuk!! It makes me feel sick just to think about it!

So as soon as the day (hopefully) comes when the hubby and I know we're going to have a child, that's the day we're going to have to confront The Father and tell him exactly where the lines are and what will happen if he crosses them.

And then what will happen?

F*ck them ***

F*cking bastard!
F*cking bitch!
F*ck them both!!!

This is exactly how I feel right now.
About both ... I can't even write how I am legaly related to them by blood ... thank God I have a different name now.

SPIT

Tears or laughter? ***Possibley triggering***

So much about my family-of-origin and the way they still choose to live their lives brings me a huge amount of pain, grief, triggers, anguish, desperation and worry.

I get exasperated at how blind my siblings are to the way things are and here, I am not talking about sexual abuse, which has, as far as I can tell, e confined just to myself, but to the constant emotional, spiritual and psychological abuse that we have all experienced in common. Apparently the sexual and physical abuse was the catalyst that sent me over the edge and out of that place - yes, I am at times (read: often) mildly to severely sarcastic.

As an example, The Bean Pole is soon to be nearer to 30 than 25, but still lives at and works from home, gives over the majority of any income that might happen to be earned to The Father, seeks his approval to any item of clothing bought and has to have his permission before going anywhere outside of the house.

HELLO?!?!?

Nope, to The Bean Pole and the other two siblings, this is "the right way to live", as has been dictated and handed down to them from The Father.

***Possible trigger ***

I recently threw out a skirt that I remember, so vividly, having to wear in front of The Father, while he scrutinized how far past my knees the hem came and whether or not it showed the shape of my bum in any way - no one was allowed to see anything that might possibly suggest that I, or my siblings, had bums or boobs - tut tut!! I had to go back and exchange it for the next size up, as the skirt "hugged me a little too tightly".
I so hated the size 20 t-shirts I was forced to wear, when in actual fact, I was a size 12-14, but no, the t-shirt must not go in EVEN A LITTLE between the nipple and the waist! And who inspected our boobs to make sure we were not "immodest"?!? Uh-huh, that one doesn't need an answer!
Ugh!! Creep!

***

Sometimes, however, despite your worries for the people you care about who are stuck in an unhealthy place, sometimes the way that place works is so flipping predictable, you have to laugh!

That or cry - or for me, not one to cry easily, a different expression ...

I think you can get into your new, healthier way of thinking and running your life that when you realise the way someone from your family of origin has acted, it hits you on the head and you have to go "Duh, of course! I should have known it would happen that way!!" Maybe it's just a constant false-hope that they are going to choose a healthy option?!

I had great hopes for a decision that I had, unusually, helped The Mother arrive at ... but of course, I found out today that it was conducted in the Family of Origins usual twisted way.

Duh!! What else did you expect?!?

So then it was laugh or cry. Thankfully the hubby helped me laugh.

Banging my head against the wall ...

Uh oh, it's nearly night again ...

Last night was an awful night, a truly awful night! I felt like it was never going to end and then, just when I had finally managed to fall asleep ... beep, beep, beep, my husband's alarm went off - oh joy, time to get up again!

I took such a very long time to get to sleep; had nightmares; woke up convinced there was a man (other than my hubby) in the room - actually saw the colours of his clothes! - only to screw up my eyes till all I could see was fuzz; was convinced I heard someone brake into our apartment building and took too long to reassure myself that there was no way that, if such an unlikely thing had happened in the first place, there any way they would be able to get into my double-locked 1st-floor apartment; I then took ages to get back to sleep again ... oh, hello, I need a pee! Whoopadoo!!

After my second pee of the night, I randomly decided to weigh myself and after being unreasonably irritated with the results, I stewed about it for another hour or two, before finally getting to sleep again ... and we're back at that annoying alarm ...

This is why I dread going to bed. I dread the nightmares. I dread the flashbacks. I dread not being able to sleep. I dread waking up terrified. I dread the dark. I dread not being able to see what's going on around me. I dread the feeling of being completely and utterly alone.

Yes, I know the man I love is sleeping right next to me, but for me, the night time has always held a dreaded fear; the certainty that I am completely alone; the knowledge that no one is out there; the sickening realisation that no one will answer my calls for help.

A little about me

I've realised there is really no context at all to my posts (the millions that there are of those of course! sarcastic laugh).

I have started reading a lot of blogs over the last couple of months, which has actually been helping a lot, because I am becoming aware of the huge number of people out there who have similar issues to me - ok, so I know that it's really sad that they have had to go through truama and be struggling with these issues in their daily lives, but going from feeling like you're the only one to realising you're not alone and not a complete psycho is a huge relief.

Every time I read a blog which has posts, but nothing about the author to give it any context or meaning; nothing to help me know if this person is on a journey to wholeness (whatever state that is for them) or simply ranting because they refuse to accept that they are in pain and need to seek help ... yup, this frustrates me. I can't read their blogs in the same way as I do the blogs whereI can have som sort of grounding or context to what is being said ... I feel a little like I am getting an incomplete picture.

On the one hand, I COMPLETELY understand the wish to not give eeryone out there the whole picture ... but on the other hand, there is a part of me that ends up thinking: "If you're out there on the internet, blogging anonymously, what's the difference? Why are you letting people in on your story unless you intend to tell the whole thing? I completely understand not being ready to do that, but then, don't blog!!

So to cut a long story and a huge amount of justification about my feelings short ... I'm going to 1) do an "About Me" page and 2) tell my story/experience/context ... this 2nd thing might be a little confusing or bitty, but that comes from the wish not only to protect my own identity, but also the identity of my siblings, the majority of which know nothing of the core-happenings of my family-of-birth.

It may take a few days, but soon you will see an "about me" page! I hope this will help any readers of this blog, not trigger or hinder them.

Lots of lovely thoughts,
Me

Loosing Control

Control is a wiered thing. Therapists say that an Eating Disorder is a way that we try to gain control of some aspect of our lives, and that at that point, food is the only thing we can control.

Well, as any of you wo have suffered from an ED know, it so very quickly changes from you having control over your body and your food, to the ED having control over you.

I so desperately hate the way I miss-use food, but I seem so powerless to stop it.

What is more sad, is that the more days I manage to go without binging-and-purging, the less "in control" I feel.

Right now there are so many things in my life that seem so way out of my control. It freaks me out.

Yes, I want to stop the whole Bulimia thing becuase it's a pain in the arss, because I think it's disgusting, because I loath myself every time it happens and because I want to "get better" for my husband, but you know what the ultimate driving force is at the bottom of wanting to leave Bulimia behind?

Because I want go back to Anorexia.

There, I've said it. It's not that I want to have a healthy relationship with food (though goodness knows there are times when I long for that!), it's that I still have this overwhelming, infiltrating desire to be thin. To be tinner than everyone else. To be thinner to those tat have been held up to me as an icon of perfection. (I don't mean models or celebrites in this case, I mean people I know, family members).

So I weighed myself for the first time in ages this morning. I'm within a few points of my BMI being in the underweight range. Bearing in mind my struggles with alcahol, this made me quite happy and encourages me to keep perservering with not having Bulimic episodes and not eating more than I can help the rest of the time.

I have ended up having a 5 week break from any kind of therapy or support relationship (something which scares the shit out of me) and I admitt - I'm planning on being as noticabley thinner as I can possibley manage, before I see anyone who will "see it" again.

I'm seriously loosing control over here.

Pain

Pain.

Showing in the jutting ribs.

Loosing pounds on the scales.

Turning away the plate of salad.

Pain.

Showing in the sleepless nights.

The angry tears over a cancelled evening out.

Being scared of a group of friends.

Pain.

Showing in the stumble across the floor.

The last drops drained from the glass.

The hazy oblivion to the reality of the minute.

Pain.

Showing in the sharp edge of the knife.

The hidden marks on the arm.

The blood seeping out into a puddle on the skin.