The New Bishop

We got a new bishop today.
As I sat in my chair and heard the stake president release the old bishop, I was on pins and needles. I needed this. I had been looking forward to this day for a long time.

As the new names were read, I sunk back down into my chair. My faith had diminished and in it's place, I found myself doubting that this calling was from God.
It couldn't be.
Or could it?
Is this a test of my faith, to have a man called as bishop that I don't believe will be a support for my family?
Am I jumping the gun by not trusting my new bishop within seconds of him being called?

I don't know.

What I do know is that my loss of faith has less to do with the man called as it does the overall callings in my ward. I was taught from a young age that all callings were prayed about but what I've witnessed in the last 7 years in my ward is that the same people get the same :high" callings and everyone else is in primary or nursery.

Our new bishop used to be the second counselor in the bishopric before he was released and called as the Sunday School president. He is now our bishop. His counselors consist of members who have only held either bishopric or other auxillary callings in the past 7 years.

I want to trust "the system". I want to trust that he will be a safety net when I need a priesthood holder. But I don't.

I'm going to try, friends. I really am. I want to have faith. I don't want to abandon the church...and yet, a lot of times, all I want to do is abandon church. It isn't that I have issues with the doctrine. I've never had issues with the doctrine. But I've had so many faith-diminishing experiences with my church leaders.

The bishop that has been my bishop for the past 5 years has always known within 24 hours when a huge trial has hit...and never before has he reached out to me. I reached out to him when Peter went inactive and he counseled us and led me to believe that our trials were because of my infertility. He literally told me that I needed to stop being so emotional about my infertility because it was putting a rift in my marriage.

AS IF I COULD JUST TURN OFF THE HEARTACHE I WAS FEELING.

Since that day, he has never spoken a word to me. When Peter left me, he never reached out. He never even said hi at church. I haven't spoken to him in years and he walks past me every Sunday.

So I was hoping that I'd have some amazing Spiritual experience with my new bishop and I'm kind of disappointed.

I know it's rude. I feel guilty for having these feelings. I want to have faith in him. I want to trust that God knows I need church leaders who can help me in my struggles. I want to believe he is our bishop for a reason.

I hope I get there. I really, really do.

My Fuzzy Gray

I had a date last night.

My favorite date so far in the history of dating.

And because he made me feel so comfortable, I was able to shake off the nerves of, "Oh my gosh, does he like me? Is he thinking about me? What is he thinking RIGHT NOW? WHERE IS MY DAMN LIP GLOSS!?!". I was able to focus on having fun with a guy who is fun---and stop worrying about whether I was doing something wrong or right or awkward or amazing.

But shit balls, I don't know how I feel about being able to shake off my dating nerves because once I did, I started to think about who this guy is and whether he is a porn addict and how many people he's lied to and WHY IS HE RUINING MY LIFE?!!

It's a bit dramatic, I know...
I couldn't believe I was even thinking those thoughts. I get that it's healthy to someday have a talk with a potential husband about viewing pornography and I get that it's normal to question but I must be the dumbest girl in the world---because every time someone posts on our WoPA support group page, I think, "That isn't going to happen to me. I won't have those feelings or fears." And then I date a few guys and don't think about it and BAM! I go on a date with a guy who is super awesome and makes me feel comfortable and I start thinking about the double life he must be living.

They're all living that double life...right? How can they not be?

And then I get all insecure again and think about the thousand ways my life could play out since chances are, I will someday marry a porn addict again.

Anxiety hits.

Chest pains, sweat, heavy breathing...

And I realize that I only have one option---and that is to lose part of me to look more like the ones they will want.
Because they won't want me after looking at that.

And then I don't eat. Surely the reason I haven't had a second date ever is because of my looks. Surely.

And then my chest pains begin again and I can't tell if they're a result of not eating in over 24 hours or if they're anxiety---or both. And my paranoia decides I'm probably having a heart attack because out of all the 27 year old's in the world, I would be the one to have a freak heart attack...

From there, I imagine the way it will feel when I've hit my goal. Alice tells me it never ends and I want to believe her. I want to believe that this isn't going to ever go away and that I need to keep fighting but I keep believing that all I really want is to lose 50 pounds. That's all. 

But is 50 pounds the equivalent of happiness? Is 50 pounds worth the damage and suffering?

I don't know.

Because I also question whether 50 pounds is worth never getting married again. Is 50 pounds worth the loneliness? Is it worth the countless birthday parties that consistent of all of my married coupled friends---and me---the odd one out?

I don't know.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.

But tonight, after a horrible NON-recovery day of eating nothing until 8:00pm and then purging the things I ate at 8, I don't know which way to turn.

I'm at a crossroads and nobody can make this decision for me.

I don't even know if this is one of those decisions I wish someone could make for me. Because I know what their answer would be.

I know what your answer would be.

But is that my belief? Is that my truth?

I don't know tonight.

I feel lost and confused and my shit-damn Zoloft does not seem to be working these days but trying to find a doctor who takes my insurance has been a hay day and imaboutreadytoquitlife.
Because life is full of puzzles and fuzzy answers and a hell of a lot of GRAY in between the black and white.

And tonight? Tonight I want to feel secure about life. I want to feel secure that I'll be able to accept me for me and not go all bat-shit crazy on everyone.
I'm fighting the urge to not believe that "they just don't understand". Because they probably do.
All I really want to do is stay in bed for days and let my mental illnesses take over my brain and never fight them because they're probably telling me the truth anyway. They know how stupid I am. They know how much I weigh. They know what types of feelings I'm feeling. They know I'm the most unstable stable person in the world.

I just don't know which path is a little less gray.

I don't know which path will have more rainbows and butterflies and puppy dogs and watermelon jello.

And I don't know if my truths are really truths.

Am I a Warrior?

I often think I'll never be able to do this.

Because this is just too hard.

Providing for my kids isn't easy. Having to rely on an inconsistent child support check is not easy. Getting overdrafts in my bank account is not easy.

It all makes me feel like I'm failing.

Because I am not this girl. I am not the girl who can't keep her budget straight. My first overdraft fee ever in my life was last year, the day after Thanksgiving. I had gone -$2.00 and my anxiety went through the roof. The second time was this summer and it was much worse. Both of those times, it was due to lack of funds from Peter. In November, he was refusing to pay me much. In July, he had moved to a different state and forgot to send the money for---you know---ten days.

But now I have a job. I should be able to keep us stable on my own.

I should be able to be an adult.

But when my eating disorder controls me and my OCD gives me severe anxiety, I feel like I cannot control anything in my life---and that includes my own damn bank account.

It really shouldn't be this hard. These are stupid, simple things.
These are things I don't like talking about---because they make me feel incompetent and whiny.

My kids are fed. We have a home. We have clothes and shoes and toys and extras that we are super grateful for.

I don't want to talk about this but it won't leave my mind. Shame has entrapped me into believing a lot of things lately. For example:
Eating 3 meals a day is bad.
Not saving money is something only idiots do.
In order to be happy, you should have an empty stomach.
In order to be happy, you need to spend money.
In order to be happy, you should never need help.

Lies.
I get it.
I see it when I write it down.
None of those things are truths.

Why am I still allowing myself to be the girl not in eating disorder recovery? Why am I fooling myself into thinking that I am doing just fine when my actions prove otherwise?

When did I become the girl who doesn't want to eat? 

Some days, I really believe I'm in recovery. I pat myself on the back and count how long it's been since I've purged and get all proud of myself...as if bulimia is the only type of eating disorder I'm supposed to have on my recovery radar. But I don't know if this is me being delusional or if I really have been fighting. Because eating a few goldfish crackers a day is not really classified as recovery. It just seems like I've found a loop hole.

As much as I like having an empty stomach these days, I function better and have a healthier body when I eat.

When did all of this reverse? When did I become the girl who doesn't want to eat? When did I become the girl who actually thinks that germs might kill her?

When I touch a door handle, I feel like I can't put my hands near my face for a while because I might just die from whatever germs I contract.

Death and OCD---never before was I the girl who actually feared anything specific when it comes to my obsessions. None of them had any rhyme or reason. And I don't like that they are starting to control things.

I wear sweaters because it's cold---I also wear sweaters because I can wrap the long sleeves over my fingers to touch things I don't want to touch.

I don't want to be this girl but I also don't want to fight her. I'm sick of fighting. I've done a lot of work this year and accomplished a lot of things---I'm angry that I am still having to fight.

I just want to feel good enough for myself. I get that other people like me---but I want to like me too. I don't want to be ashamed of myself.

Single mom life sucks today.
I feel alone within myself. I know that's confusing. It sure isn't easy to explain. I guess I just know that I have friends and family who love me but I still feel like I'm walking through life alone. I make all of my big decisions by myself. I fall asleep every night by myself. There is no one to pick up the slack and not have me feeling guilt over it. I cannot go out with friends without feeling guilt for the babysitters that save me time and time again.

Why do people have to save me?
I don't want to be saved.
I just want to be strong enough.

But what does strength mean to me?
Because today strength means patting myself on the back for not eating anything by 4:00pm. Today strength means ignoring all of the things my heart tells me and listening to my brain.

And that just doesn't really sound like strength.

Because I am Not a Prostitute

I am not going to sit here and tell you that it is always going to be ok.

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

I don't care who you are or what your life is like, you will have bad days.

 

So it isn't necessarily a matter of making every day amazing---it seems like the heart of the matter is making sure we are strong enough to handle the days where we are punched in the stomach over and over.

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

We build them. They seem like they're strong. And then someone finds a way to destroy a piece.

 

We have to learn to rebuild them over and over again.

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

I had counseling and had almost nothing to talk about---which is good because I truly wasn't hiding anything. I wasn't being afraid. I was just doing good!

I felt like life had hit a stand still of happiness.

Just give me a few days, please?

 

But my life just doesn't seem to work that way.

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

Last night, Peter accused me of being a prostitute. And I'm not joking even a little bit. Like not even the teensiest, tiniest bit. He was acting like an ass and kept sending me weird texts about photography and when I'd ask what he meant, he would reply, "You know what I'm talking about...", as if I'm the world's greatest ass hole reader.

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

And after a bit of asking and a while of ignoring his idiocy, he told me a friend had showed him pictures of me from a Craigslist ad.

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

I'll tell you what my first reaction was---I wasn't worried at all. Because even as a rebellious teenager, I have never in my life taken and/or released inappropriate pictures of myself on the internet. Ever. But my next reaction was anger and hurt all mixed together.

 

I told him I would not be playing his mind games and that if he would like to email me proof, he could do so and then we could discuss it further---or not---because really, either way, it's none of his business.

 

With some coaxing and then a little more ignoring, Peter called me on the phone to apologize for upsetting me---because apparently, that was never his intention. Who knew!?!

 I told him without him sending me proof, our conversation would be over so as I sat on the phone with him, he sent an email with a picture attachment.

 

A picture attachment that consisted of a busty woman's cleavage---and her head cut out of the picture.

 

And I couldn't help but bust out laughing on the phone.

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

Well, my laughter offended him---because remember, he is just looking out for me. He claims there were multiple other photos that were more inappropriate and showed sides of this woman's face and that it looked like me.

I asked how "his friend" would even be able to recognize me. I also pointed out that his friend {and he} needs therapy. Like yesterday.

He claims he matched my freckles to the freckles in the picture because, remember, "no clear-face pictures were involved in the making of this soul-selling ad"

 

And all I could think to say was, "Peter, it really offends me that you would even consider that being something I would do."

 

And he replied, "We haven't been together for a year. I don't know what you are doing with your life."

 

And I felt waves of trauma hit me because right then and there, I remembered how little Peter knows me. I remembered how little he gave to me in the seven years we were married. He doesn't know the real Wendy because he could never see her for who she is.

 

She isn't a prostitute. I can assure you of that.

 

 

I'm not better. In fact, most of today I have been feeling anxious and jittery and dirty---which is confusing because those pictures weren't even me. But I feel dirty even thinking someone was looking at pictures BELIEVING it was me.
I cannot imagine Peter would spread rumors but the worst part is, Peter has done a lot of things I never would've imagined he would do.

Never in my life would I have thought I would be accused of being a prostitute. That just wasn't even on my radar.

So it's thrown me for a loop which is just so effing ironic because I was GOOD in counseling yesterday. And now I want to go back today but because I've been doing good and I'm trying to save money and I'm trying to be brave, I go to counseling every two weeks now.

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

Thank you for reminding me why I have to fight the urge to hate you. Thank you for reminding me why my worth has nothing to do with your broken brain. Thank you for reminding me that YOU are the one with more problems than I can even count on this page.

And to think, I was planning on using my Friday night to write about my eating disorder. I was planning on getting on here and telling you how, for the first time in...ever..., I am struggling to eat every day. Where the hell is my bulimia? At least that was familiar.

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

I'll get to that post someday. I'll write it out and process it and learn things from it.

Today my writing taught me something I hope to never forget---I cannot rely on the actions of other people to determine my life. I am fighting against the urge to hate Peter. I am fighting against the urge to swear at him and post nasty things about him all over the internet. I am fighting the urge to lay in bed all night and cry. I am not a hater. And I am not going to become something that I'm not just because someone hurt my heart.

I am going to spend tonight with friends and I am not going to let my fears override my fun.

Not this time.

You can't take that away from me, Peter.

Today I am Wendy

My high's have been higher than I've felt in a year.
My lows are crazy low in comparison.

My heart is angry a lot when I'm alone. Put me in a group of people and I'll perk up. Put me in front of the cyber world of friendship and I'll perk up. Put me in my classrooms at school or at my work desk and it doesn't compare to the thoughts going on in my head.

Am I just an effing crazy person?

Because as I sit and fight for recovery to win again, I truly believe that I love myself. Am I just stupid? I love who I am on the inside. I still don't like who I am on the outside. I am fat. I am truly, by definition, overweight. Am I obese? No. But I'm not skinny.

A lot of my choices at home are stupid. A lot of them directly conflict with my Christian beliefs. Am I just so weak that I can't get my shit together when I'm not being watched?

I'm eventually going to get a tattoo. I know...right?! I have it drawn up. It's just going to happen. But when I found out about Peter's tattoo that he lied about, I flipped out. We were up until 2am fighting that night. So am I just a hypocrite?

A lot of times, I don't feel like I'm genuine because how the hell can I be this awesome serving Christian and in my mind, the most constant phrase that plays is, "Who fucking cares?"? It doesn't make sense.
Like at all.

How can I be angry at Peter for looking at pornography when sometimes I consider just sleeping around because I like sex and I want to feel connection---even fake connection? I hate that I like sex. I know that's ironic. Sex is good. It is natural. It is fun. But I hate liking it because I hate missing it. I hate struggling with the loss of connection. I don't want to struggle. I don't want the struggle to get harder the longer I go unmarried. I thought it was supposed to get easier.

I don't know if there is a bigger contradiction in my life than the fact that I teach my children gospel principles and yet, I struggle to pray. I have a strong testimony and yet, I struggle to go to church. I do not doubt that every word in the scriptures are true and yet, I don't open them up for answers.

I know my Heavenly Father loves me but I don't get why He can't just answer the prayers that I do pray. I don't understand all of this. I wish it weren't so hard.
I can give you every "correct" answer of why I've been given the specific trials in my life. I can point out the blessings from each and every one of them. But that doesn't mean I want them to continue just so I can grow more and get more blessings from hard trials.

I'm done.

I'm done being single and not knowing if there will ever be someone to love me on this earth. Everyone says he's out there. I'm supposed to trust that I'm worthy of a man's love. But have I had a single second date since my divorce? No. Have I kissed anyone? No. Have I had any type of relationship where the guy wanted to be with me more and more? No.

I can trust facts. Facts are facts. They don't need arguing. They just are. So everyone in the world can tell me I'm going to be loved by a man but how am I supposed to trust that? Dream Boy didn't have feelings for me. And I thought I was dealing with that ok but it really freaking hurts. Not because he rejected me. It's ok that he was honest. I kinda like him even more for being honest with me /damnit/. It isn't the simple form of rejection that hurts today. It is the fact that Dream Boy having any inkling of interest would've shown me that love---someday, today, a hundred years from now---is possible. Because I just don't have enough hope that it is. There's a little hope---but each day that passes, a piece of it dies.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to just be perfect and not make any decisions against my religion because that would just make me a liar and put me on the highway to hell? Am I supposed to recognize that I am imperfect and give myself a break? What the hell is my next step? Because the one I choose will probably so freaking contradicting that I am going to go crazy.

Like literal crazy.

There is so much good. I shouldn't be struggling because I am able to recognize the good. I feel like such an ungrateful bitch for NOT acknowledging gratitude in my every day thoughts and actions and feelings.

Today I am Wendy. I am the part of me who is struggling with faith and security and connection. I am the part of me that still gets angry and ignore the empathy I've felt toward Peter's decisions. I am the part of me that is stupid and irrational and unsettled.

I'm fighting and relapsing and fighting and breathing...and fighting.

I'm fighting.

I have relapsed a few times this week but I'm fighting.

I have avoided the mirror but I'm fighting.

SCREW YOU, eating disorder. You may take your trip back down to hell where you belong. You don't get to tell me I'm imperfect and unworthy.

But truthfully, maybe I'm not fighting. Because I'm listening to Ed. Because when I'm not purging, I'm still bingeing a lot of the time. So maybe this isn't fighting. Maybe this is slowly giving up, just less vigorously than the last time I gave up. Maybe I'm giving in because a part of me finds comfort and stability in obsessive weighing and starving myself.

What am I doing?

Things are going well. My anti-anxiety meds are doing their job. I'm going to be getting on ADD meds soon because I have ADD but don't take medication for it and I'm having a really hard time in school and at work these days. My house is clean and my children are doing well.

So what am I doing?

I've been doing so well that I graduated from weekly counseling. I decided to start going every two weeks because I haven't felt the obsessive need to call my counselor every hour of every day to make sure she knows I'm alive and that she still likes me and wants to be my therapist and won't abandon me. {Yeah, I'm crazy...}. If you're wondering, I've never actually called her regarding these things. That would just be creepy. But I think about counseling a lot. A lot, a lot. And I've been getting better about living my life without her.

So what the hell am I doing?

I want to just find a magic fix and be done with this. I hate eating disorders. I hate the rollercoaster. I hate hating myself. I try so hard to love who I am and the body my Heavenly Father gave me. I want to love it. Sometimes I do love it. But I still equate so much of my worth to whether I am loved by a man---and currently, there is no boyfriend or husband at my side so I'm still struggling.

I feel like I'm dependent. I'm fine doing everything on my own right now. I like making my own decisions and being in charge of my finances and taking on the parenting...but there is just something missing.

As Maurice Harker said at the last Togetherness Project, I want interdependence. And I feel like that's what is missing. I want someone who can be at my side and reassure me when I doubt. I want someone who loves me physically and emotionally. I am done being alone.

I think about the quickest and easiest-right-now decisions---taking Peter back---and I realize I only want him back because I just want to settle for whatever love I can get right now.

That sounds so sad.

Because I shouldn't have to settle for love. If there comes a day where I feel like I'm not settling by taking Peter back, I'll allow him back into my life. But right now it just seems like settling.

Right now, anything but Dream Boy seems like settling---because Dream Boy is my perfect idea of what I want. But he never called.
Maybe that's why I'm struggling.
I brush it off and say it doesn't matter but it does. Because getting asked out on a second date by Dream Boy would've really turned things around.
But he didn't. And he probably won't. And I'm going to have to move on.

So today I am going to try fighting. Tomorrow I'll try fighting. And the more I fight, the stronger I'll get. And the stronger I get, the more unstoppable I'll be.

Because I am a warrior.

PS: I've hit another faith crisis block...so I will not object to prayers in my favor right now. I am not a fan of faith crisis'. This isn't where I want to be. But for now, I am here.

Dream Boy

This weekend was so overwhelmingly good and I think I've crashed from that intense high down to a sense of anxiety.

I had a date with Dream Boy. I asked him on a date. I really did. It was the bravest of brave choices for me and I fought my fear and asked him out.
We had a great time. He opened my door for me and asked if he could hug me at the end of the night and none of it was awkward. He made it not awkward.
We talked for five hours. We laughed and talked about serious things and explained our family dynamics a little bit.
I fell in love with the idea of being with someone like him.
A dream boy.
Not to be confused with a perfect boy. Dream Boy isn't perfect. But he is open and I like that I trust him.
Dream Boy has OCD and I'm sure he has many other faults. I'm not going to deny that. But the characteristics that I am most looking for in a man, he has.

I decided it didn't matter if he called and asked me out after Saturday. We had a good time and if that was a one time thing, I have no regrets. He's moving back to Utah in January anyway. It wouldn't ever work out.

But I find myself thinking about him every few minutes and dreaming of a future with him. I want him. I want him to want me. I want to believe that I deserve him and that he can recognize the goodness within me.

I find myself hoping he calls and wondering why he hasn't.

And this is why I hate dating. Because my heart starts to ache before I ever get a chance to breathe. I don't ease into relationships. I love with intensity and trust with ferocity. I am a giver and a pleaser.

I've learned how to be on my own and I'm stronger because of it---but my hell, can it just be over already? Can I date someone? Can I kiss someone?
I'm ready.
I'm ready to be in an interdependent relationship with someone who can take my whole self and their whole self and put those two wholes together.

I don't always feel completely whole and some days, I still fall apart. But I feel healthier than I have in a long time and stronger than I ever have been in my whole life. I feel like I'm ready to figure this next step out.

Can't it just be easy this one time? Can't I just have my Dream Boy and we can get married soon and we can build a life together? I'll move to Utah. I'll quit school for a while. I'll make sacrifices.

I just want this to work out.

But if it doesn't, please pray that my actual Dream Boy is somewhere out there. Please pray that he finds me or that I find him.

I'm ready for him. Please oh please pray that he is ready for me too.

What Is Brave?

I've been thinking lately about what it means to be brave.
I use that word a lot these days---as in, the past year. I tell my tribe of WoPA sisters they are brave because they are. I tell my kids they are brave because they are.
People are brave.
Simple things can make a person brave.

Today brave for me was getting out of bed. That sounds simple, doesn't it? But it wasn't. When my alarm went off for church, I just stared at the clock and I toyed with the idea of never getting out of bed. I don't even know why. I guess sometimes depression just tells you that staying in bed is going to feel better than getting out of bed.

I did skip out on church because of the amount of energy it took for me to get out of bed. I did lay on the couch while my children watched hours of Disney channel. I did knowingly ignore the fact that I could hear my kids sneaking their early Halloween candy every three seconds.

But I also took my kids on a twenty minute bike ride. I also wrestled with my kids and had a tickle fight. Today those things were brave because they fought my original idea of just staying in bed the entire day.

A long time ago, I started drinking Diet Coke. To tell you the truth, my DC consumption got bad at the peak of my eating disorder. At the time, sipping on DC made it so I could go whole days without eating because the caffeine and carbonation would trick my body into feeling semi-normal. I've learned that this way of thinking is quite normal for eating disorders but at the time, I can't quite remember if I was doing this with that knowledge or if I just knew it would help curb my appetite.

My body has gotten to a point where it relies on the consumption of Diet Coke on a daily basis---actually moreso on a tri-daily basis. I decided last Sunday that this has to end. I have to give up something I love because I am relying on it way too much.

Although it no longer feeds my eating disorder, it is still a huge part of my every day life. I eat meals---and I drink a hell of a lot of Diet Coke.

And if I skip a "dose" of Diet Coke, I start to get pretty bad migraines.

No bueno.

In the past 7 days, I have had two Diet Cokes. I'm serious about that.
But I think with that has come these stupid withdrawals that have put me in a semi-depressive state that make it hard to get out of bed.

I'm proud of myself. Quitting Diet Coke may be one of the bravest choices I've made in weeks and it is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

So I guess what I've learned is that being brave can be anything. It is different for everyone. For some of my friends, answering the phone is super brave. For some people, jumping out of an airplane is their brave. It never looks the same.

Getting out of bed is brave. Getting out of bed means trusting that there is something better out there.

Even though I skipped church today, I still found myself making brave choices. These steps might seem small but they are helping me on my way to recovery.
I am learning how to be the me that I want to be and that is super brave.

I Can Fly

I'm ready to fly.

 

My house is clean today.

I didn't go to school yesterday or work today because I've been sick.

Peter was here this morning for an hour before he took our son on his preschool fieldtrip. The three of us were playing catch together, laughing together, and it felt like we were a connected family again.

Did I mention my entire house is clean?

 

I just feel like I am able to breathe today. I'm able to be sick and not feel guilty that I'm not getting off the couch and doing something productive. I feel like I'm able to relax.

 

And it feels so damn good.

 

I've watched 10 episodes of Shark Tank since last night.

 

Lately I've been going back and forth about whether I would ever allow Peter to come back into my life as my eternal partner. It's a huge choice. I was actually leaning toward giving it a try. But then last night, I was cleaning out my closet and went through a lot of our wedding stuff when I found my wedding journal.

 

In that journal, it held a lot of emotional, painful times from the first few MONTHS of our marriage. Each time I would write in my journal, I would end the entry with something along these lines. "I wish there was something I could do for him. It's a good thing I love him because it's easy to forgive him."

And here's the thing...the longer we were married, the harder it was to forgive and forget each time he hurt me.

The longer we were married, the less optimistic those journal entries became.

 

It was hard to read my journal and then consider trusting Peter and the changes he claims he is making.

 

I don't know how to trust him. I don't know if he deserves the hard work it would take me to trust him.

 

As of today, the answer to Peter's question is no. I'm sure I will continue to go back and forth for a while.

 

But today, I'm going to fly. I'm going to be thankful for the happiness I've experienced this week. I'm going to remember the wonderful nights with friends, the love I've felt from them, and the compassion I've felt for myself.

 

I can fly.

Happy Birthday

I don't know where to begin here.
I had a birthday last week.

And today it finally hit me.

As I was gathered around my family and they were singing to me before I blew out my candles, I had to work hard to curb the tears in my eyes that five days after my birthday was the first time I'd been sung happy birthday to. It got even harder to hold the tears in as I opened the present from my parents---the one and only present I opened this year.

It's hard to explain this without sounding like a spoiled brat. My birthday has always been my favorite day of the year because it is my special day. Peter would always get me presents and we would go out to dinner and spend time together on my birthday. The celebrations were always happy.

This year on my birthday, I spent all morning at school and the rest of the day being a single mom. It felt like a normal day. No presents, no cake, no singing, and no one to be by my side to tell me they loved me and always would.

I don't know why my birthday is a time that just gut-punches me into the reality that I am divorced but it does. It hurts. It makes me sad. It makes me feel so alone.

I mentioned something about how thankful I was for my present because it was the only one I had gotten and it was so special to me and the room got quiet---no one knew quite what to say other than my sister mumbling, "Awkward...". It came out totally wrong. I was trying to express my gratitude and show my parents just how much I cherished their gift but instead it just sounded like a sob story.

I wish I wouldn't have said anything. I wish I wouldn't have made it a big deal that they got me a present. It's not like it was anything huge---it's just that it's mine. It is a tribute to having survived another year on this earth. It is a celebration of twenty seven years worth of gratitude and happiness and heartache and learning and growing. It doesn't matter that it is a t-shirt and socks...it is something I have to help me remember that I am not alone even when I feel alone.

Another year older and wiser too.

Happy birthday to you.

My Burden

I had a dream last night and in my dream, I loved him. I felt the way I used to feel about him.

In my dream, we told our families we were thinking of getting back together. Most of them were happy, although some weren't.

I sent Peter a text last week that said, "I'd love to have another conversation with you in the future when it's appropriate." I sent it out of the blue. When I left the conversation last week regarding another relationship with Peter, it seemed pretty final. In my head, it was final. The words I said to him were pretty final.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it all week.

All damn week.

How would it even work? Would I be able to love him again? How would I learn to trust him?

That "meeting" took place two nights ago. I allowed Peter in my home after the kids were in bed as long as he promised to respect my boundaries and sit across the room and talk cordially.

Throughout the conversation, Peter told me a lot of things that hurt my heart but one in particular I'm still struggling with to this day.

You see, I have suppressed a lot of memories in my life. I'm really, really good at suppressing memories.

I had forgotten about a few incidents in the second year of our marriage when I viewed pornography with Peter. I don't want that to be a part of my life. I really hate that I have that truth to tell you. But the thing is, it's true and I'm owning up to that.

When Peter told me his addiction got bad after we viewed some "informational pornographic dvd's" together, I could hardly catch my breathe. The room seemed to be spinning. I couldn't focus on the other things he was saying.

I had forgotten those horrible times. I had forgotten the immature choices I made when I didn't know any better.

I had no idea about Peter's previous pornography problems. I had no idea how addicting pornography could be for him. I would never have agreed to something like that had I known what it could do to his brain.

Although I am stuck on blaming myself---in reality, I had no idea!!! In a world where I don't doubt myself, I know that my choices don't make me responsible for Peter's choices.

The problem is that I do doubt myself.

The problem is that I now remember those memories so vividly that I want to scream.

So it didn't matter that Peter told me about his testimony of God and how he hasn't looked at pornography in 5 months and how he is trying really hard to recover and how he loves me and wants us to be a forever family.

I was long gone before he said any of those things.

My brain had already detached as much as possible so I wouldn't feel so much of the pain.

How could I have not known that even viewing pornography (informational or ANYTHING) with my husband wasn't safe? How could I have NOT known that it would stay in his mind and cause him to crave it more and more?

I feel like I now have blame in my failed marriage---a large portion of the blame. But from an outside point of view, that doesnt make sense.

So why is my heart telling me it's true?

Forgiveness

I keep feeling like it is time to forgive Peter.

I don't know why this is so hard for me to face.

I've always known that I have the power to forgive him. I've always known I'd be here someday. For a while, I even thought I had forgiven him.

But every time I really think about letting all of the hurt go, I choke up and my body wells up with anger.

Because HE DID ALL OF THESE HORRIBLE THINGS TO ME! He is the reason I work and miss my kids every other holiday. He is the reason I am alone. He is the reason I feel betrayed and am afraid to ever trust again.

I've placed all of the blame in our failed marriage on Peter. This came easy for me because, duh, what the hell did I do?! I didn't walk out on him. I had never lied to him before. I wasn't looking at pornography or drinking alcohol behind his back. But I've realized that by focusing on all of this being Peter's fault, I allow myself to judge him and that isn't my job. My job is to work on forgiving him.

I will never know all of the details. And as much as I've been curious as to how bad Peter's addictions were/are, I don't think I'd really want to know all of the details anyway.

I was talking to my sister yesterday about what had happened on Sunday and she brought up the point that Peter would have to be fully honest with me if he ever wanted to come back. Well what happens if I can't handle the honesty? What happens if I allowed him to come back and started from square one again and then I heard all of his confessions and I couldn't handle them? Because there is a possibility that whatever transparency Peter would give me would be too hurtful and would bring up more hurt than I've already experienced.

It just wouldn't work.

And the fact that I've lived through a year of divorce makes me not want to go back to that marriage ever again. I've already endured all of the heartache of my marriage ending---I will not choose to go back into that marriage and possibly end up with the same outcome when Peter's shit hits the roof again someday, which just seems likely to happen in my untrusting mind.

But I am working to get to a point where I forgive Peter and let go of the past. Because it is over and I'm not going to get it back.
All of the hurt I've been through has made me the Wendy that I am today. Without my divorce, I wouldn't have this blog and I wouldn't all of the new friends I've made this year. Without this divorce, I wouldn't know how independent I'm capable of being. Without this divorce, I wouldn't know how much of a fighter I really am.

Without this divorce, I wouldn't be going to Utah this weekend to attend The Togetherness Project. It is amazing to look at all of the beauty that has happened due to some really horrible choices.

Tonight I wouldn't change any of it. There are so many days I want to change my circumstances but tonight, I am just grateful to be alive and the have the strength and the knowledge that I have.

As much as I hate trials, tonight I can vividly see how much stronger I am because of the things God has allowed to happen in my life and for that, I am grateful.

Forgiving Peter is possible. It won't be easy but it is definitely possible.

Everyone deserves forgiveness.

He Wants Me

A year ago, I wanted him. I wanted him to be the Peter I had married. I wanted him to come home and be the husband he promised me he would be.

And now I don't want him. I don't love him. In fact, the thought of being too physically close to him makes me want to vomit. It makes me uncomfortable.

When I think about taking Peter back, it is only something I consider when I'm feeling low and self conscious. It isn't something I actually want. I only consider it when the fear of never being loved consumes me.

In my last post, I spoke about how my daughter overheard Peter talking to his grandma about getting back together with me.
Tonight I spoke to Peter about this problem and how I'm angry that I had to be the "bad guy" again.

And instead of apologizing or even acting awkward about the conversation she repeated to me, Peter said, "Well, is it a possibility?"

No. It isn't a possibility.

I told Peter a thousand things would have to change for me to even consider it and his response was, "I know and I'm willing to work on that." He told me he has been going to counseling for his addiction.

And yay, right?!! I SHOULD BE SCREAMING FROM THE ROOFTOPS, RIGHT?

For years, I prayed for this. For years, I would cry and hope that there was some way I could help Peter find his way back. I wanted him to know he is a child of God. I wanted him to have the drive to provide for our family. I wanted him to be respectful and compassionate toward me. I wanted to be his number one.

But that was then and this is now. And now I can't even think about bringing Peter back into my life.

I think of all the pain he's caused me and I can't do that all over again! I cannot picture a beautiful life with him in it. Because no matter how beautiful it gets, it will contain the ugly defects of the past year.

Peter said he's proud of me because I seem so confident and like I'm moving on. And the thing is, it makes me angry that he wants me because I seem to be doing fine without him. And him "working on his shit for me" isn't a good enough reason. He should want to work on his shit because HE wants to be a better person. If he does it for me or for someone else, it isn't going to last.

I was shaking when I walked away from his car. I told my sisters and they rolled their eyes and gave me the response I needed in that moment (thank the frickin heavens!). I texted Alice and reminded me that Peter wants me back because he realized what he gave up. This isn't something I have to decide yes or no on. He is the one who gave up. This is NOT my problem.

I needed those reminders. Because the second Peter asked me that short-but-not-simple question, I started to get anxiety that if I turned him down, the divorce would be my fault because I wasn't willing to take him back when he got his crap together.

I keep having urges to text Peter and ask him what he will work on, if he's willing to go back to church, and if he would go to counseling with me, BUT I DON'T WANT TO! I don't want to be in counseling with my ex husband. I don't want to find out what things he's willing to do.

I don't want to be in a relationship with him!

And tonight, I feel so scared and worried that I'm making this decision to irrationally. Why? Why am I so scared that this decision is wrong? Why am I even being put in a place where I have to consider any of this?

Wouldn't this be better for our kids? And wouldn't I have the support I want and possibly be able to stay home with my kids again? Aren't those things worth being married to Peter?

The short answer is no. They are not worth my failed marriaged to Peter. They are not worth any more heartache or lies or secrecy.

We will be just fine without him.

I will be just fine without him.

So who wants to send me reminders of that every day so I can actually begin to believe it?

We Are Not Ok

How do you break your child's heart over and over again and ever have time to heal?

I don't get it. I don't know if I ever will.

My oldest child has slumped into a hard stage again, aching for her dad to come back home and having moments of anger that our family isn't what it used to be.

Last night, she cried and told me she will never be ok because our family isn't together. I told her that I know this is hard but that I believe we will be ok someday.

She overheard a conversation between Peter and his grandma that she never should've heard. It wasn't fair for her to hear and have more confusion in her life. When I picked the kids up from his house, the first thing she said was, "Mom, Dad was telling his grandma that 'dad's best friend' really likes you and 'dad's best friend' said dad should try to get back together with you. Is that going to happen?"

And guess who had to be the one to break her heart and tell her no? Guess who was the bad guy again?

This isn't fair. It isn't fair to be the one perceived as evil because your children can't understand everything right now. I'm angry at Peter for allowing her to hear this conversation. I'm angry at Peter for even talking about getting me back. I'm angry at Peter for ever ripping our family apart in the first place.

Peter can't just realize his mistakes and think he is going to be able to win me back. I don't even know why this would be a topic of discussion. Months and months ago, Peter had made a joke about this very thing and I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "You know that will never happen, right?". I wanted to make sure he didn't think it was a possibility...because it isn't.

I'm so frustrated today that I'm divorced and that my ex-husband is a porn addict and that my children have broken hearts and that MY heart is broken. I'm frustrated that the choices Peter made have brought so many of my deepest fears to the surface and that they all seem to be magnified by a thousand. I'm frustrated that I have to leave my children every day to go to work and school and that I can't spend the time with them that I used to.

I'm super frustrated that after not acting on my eating disorder for over a month, I did. And then I did again. And some days I still do. And I'm gaining weight because I'm never able to go to the gym and I eat out a ton. I just don't know what to do because I feel stuck. I feel stuck between bulimia and a happy life, but a life that I don't believe can actually attain happiness because my weight will always be in the forefront of my mind.

My eating disorder brought security and stability and I felt so in control. I felt like I had something I was conquering but what I really had was an addiction that put chains all around me and held onto me for months before I started to fight back.

Today I don't know what to do to be ok again. I am battling between decisions of how to live and how to parent and how to spend money and what to eat and although those choices might be small for most people, they seem so big right now.

Another Week

Peter, please, are you serious? You can't help out with them again this week? That is so frustrating for me. I need a break. I can't do this. 

I'm sorry. I have no choice. I can't help you. I wish I could. I know I made these mistakes and I have to live with that forever and I'm sorry they're affecting you like this but I don't know what else to do. I have to work.

This was a blip of the conversation we had tonight. Another week. Another week with no help. Another week of needing babysitters and putting kids to bed by myself and doing homework late at night and working.

He knew I was upset. I told him I am exhausted. He apologized and it felt real. I felt like he was genuinely sorry. But that didn't stop me from feeling anger toward him because had he not made the shitty decisions that he did, I wouldn't be going to work three days a week and doing bedtime on my own.

I started crying as soon as I handed the phone off to the kids so they could say goodnight to their dad. My son looked over at me and then announced to his dad that I was crying and I heard Peter ask him to hand the phone back to me but I refused to take it. He doesn't get to hear me cry. He doesn't get to hear an emotion that is extremely vulnerable for me.

An hour later, I'm still crying. I'm still trying to figure out what days I need babysitters this week and how I'm going to get through another exhausting week of work and school and motherhood. I'm trying to tell myself I can do this but I'm screaming on the inside for someone to rescue me.

I love my kids. I love them so much and I would do anything for them. I just feel so stretched thin that I don't feel like I can be the mother that they need. The deal with this divorce was that he HELPS with the kids and ever since he left for Utah and then came back, it doesn't seem like he's been helping enough. I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff and I'm trying to figure out what to do next.

Peter just sent me this text right now: I'm sorry. For many reasons, and I didn't mean to make you cry. I wish for nothing more than your forgiveness for everything I put you through.

And I haven't responded because I don't even know what to say.

I'm trying to forgive. I'm trying to let all of my pain go. But all I really want to do is run away. I want to run away to a place where divorce and pornography and fears don't exist.

I'm so tired tonight. I feel like I'm falling apart and I can't do this. I can't be divorced and keep going. I just can't. This isn't what I wanted my life to look like.

I'm torn between my anger toward Peter and my gratitude that he recognizes and took a little bit of responsibility for the actions he has chosen tonight.

I hate being so confused.

I told Peter I didn't sign up to raise two children on my own when I gave birth to them. I told him I didn't choose to be single and work and go to school and still have all of the same mothering responsibilities I had when we were married. I told him I am hanging on by a thread and that I need his help.

But nothing helped. It's not like he could've said he would take off work so that I could get a break.

I said what I wanted to say to him. I'm glad he understood me tonight. I'm glad he recognized that he has put me through hell and that I am trying to pick up a thousand broken pieces and that after a year, I still have about 950 pieces to go.

But none of that changes the fact that I'm exhausted and stressed out and I just want this to be over.

Fears and Being Vulnerable

I feel like I utilize this saying in almost every area of my life, mostly because fear is usually right beside me while I do anything and everything.

It's hard to allow fear to be a part of my life without letting it consume me. I try to accept that I have fears but I haven't figured out how to let go of my fears.

This post is hard and vulnerable for me and I'm shaking while I write it because it isn't a post I'd like to discuss. I'm ok with talking about fears---OCD fears, fear of death, fear of the future---but my deepest, biggest fear keeps coming into my mind these past few weeks as I've been spending time with a boy. A boy that I might have a crush on. A boy that might be the first boy I could see myself trusting. A boy that hardly knows I exist. Dating is stupid...

But everytime I think about him or am around him, I feel it.

The fear that I'm not loveable.

The fear that a person could not physically love me.

Because I am not skinny enough or pretty enough and my teeth are crooked and I have a double chin and my stomach is all sorts if ugly and I have stretch marks. I just can't imagine someone picking me when they could pick someone better.

I spend my days with girls prettier than me who have flatter stomachs and better smiles. I try to tell myself that my personality will make up for my lack of physical beauty but it won't. There are pretty girls with great personalities.

And boys like pretty girls.

I keep having this reoccuring dream that isn't actually a dream but more of a daydream. It'll happen sometimes when I'm driving or when I'm laying in bed or even when I'm at work. I'll picture myself being intimate with a man and most times, the daydream ends with him sizing me up and choosing to leave instead. Each time I feel it, the pain in my heart is physical and gut-wrenching. I start to get anxiety. I overanalyze everything I'm doing. And I consider that someday, this could happen. It doesn't matter that it hasn't happened---I still feel like it has. I don't know if my heart could've broken anymore had Peter walked out on me in the middle of sex. Because I just don't know if it's possible to hurt more than my heart has been hurt.

Because intimacy is such a vulnerable activity for me and the ONE person I've ever had sex with left me.

He left me.

And even when he was with me and complaining that we didn't have sex enough or that we should be more adventurous (whatever the hell that means), he was viewing pornography. I wasn't enough. I don't give a damn whether his brain was broken---I still wasn't enough.

And I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not being enough.

A thousand people can tell me it had nothing to do with me but I'm sorry---it did. Whether it had to do with me not being sexually pleasing or whether it had to do with me not being a trusting enough wife that my husband could talk to me about his addiction, I wasn't enough.

And now I just don't know if I have it in me to do this all over again because the pain of rejection gives me a severe amount anxiety. The pain of rejection is something I fear more than anything else in the world.

My eating disorder feeds lies into my head and tells me I'll never be good enough and guess what? I think she's right. I think that although I can focus on the happiness of motherhood and the great friendships I have, I just won't ever be able to heal from the trauma of being rejected.

Doing this all over again, this time with a ruined body, just seems too much. I look at the guys I'm attracted to and think, they would reject me in a second. I'm not good enough for them.

And what if that's really true? What if I'm not good enough? What if I ask someone on a date and they say no because they aren't attracted to me? What if I never get asked out on a date because of how unattractive I am? What if I am never loved like that again?

That last question pisses me off just thinking about. Because what the hell does "loved like that again" mean when I wasn't loved enough the first time around? Why do I look at my marriage and see so much happiness when I think about the physical intimacy between Peter and myself? It makes me feel stupid and horrible for even having memories like that. Because he was probably looking at me the whole time and wondering why the EFF he was with me when he could go look at skinny porn stars instead. He was probably thinking about other women while he was having sex with me.

My heart hurts from writing this out because I don't want to acknowledge it. I don't want it to be real. I want to be strong Wendy, the girl who fights and is brave and loves herself. But instead I'm codependent Wendy, the girl who fears ever being loved.

In a perfect world, men would look for a wife who had a great personality but especially now with the effects of pornography, I think men want a wife who is gorgeous and as close to perfect as possible.

And I am not that. I don't think I can be that.

So now I have to choose whether I'm going to swear off men forever so I don't have to think about the pain of rejection or whether I'm going to be brave and fight for myself.

I can't think about this any longer tonight. I can't feel this way and feel vulnerable because I feel so freaking unsafe! I don't want to push "publish"...which is exactly why I'm going to push it. Because this is me practicing vulnerability. It's the best I can muster right now so if it doesn't seem like much, sorry.

Exhaustion

I want this fog to be lifted. I need it to be lifted. Because right now, I just don't think I can do it all---but there just isn't anything I can weed out of my life. I have to do it all. I don't have a choice.

My counselor had to ask me if I was suicidal on Thursday and for some reason, it just hit me hard. I know I'm not. I'm glad she trusts me that I'm not. But the dark feelings that engulf me seem to sound that way.

I told her I wanted to give up, that I was done living this life. And the thing is, I don't quite know what I mean when I say that. I certainly don't mean taking my life but I also don't mean nothing---I guess I mean that I want this to stop being the life I live. I want it to start getting better.

I want the constant exhaustion to go away. I want to be able to provide and take care of my children without being so tired that I can't be a good mother to them at the end of the day. I want companionship and love and trust in my home so I'm not doing this all on my own.

My eyes are bloodshot and I had a migraine that almost caused me to vomit today. It was horrible. It was a sign of anxiety. I went through the motions at church but I didn't want to be there. Every week, I struggle to get up and take my kids. It is only through my testimony that we get there because physically and emotionally, all I want to do is stay home. I don't like being at church. I don't feel anything right now when I'm there. I'd rather sleep or do homework or spend time with my kids. But we still go because I still have a testimony that it is the right thing to do---I just wish that made it easier.

I was feeling really excited that this week, Peter's new job would allow him to take our kids three days out of the week...until he called to inform me that due to training, he actually couldn't take them at all. At all. I wanted to cry. I want to cry. I feel so overwhelmed and I just don't feel like I can make it through another week. But I will. I'll do it because my kids need me to.

I don't know how I'll do it but I will. I'll try not to worry about the dishes in the sink or the smell of mildew coming from the washer full of clothes I put through five days ago. I'll try not to worry about the fact that my six year old makes herself breakfast and packs her own lunch while I struggle to get out of bed each morning. I'll try not to worry about the amount of tv my children watch while I do homework or lay on the couch after a long day of working or being at school. I'm trying to remind myself that I'm still good enough, even though I feel like I'm failing at every single thing in my life.

It isn't always going to be this hard.

Right?

I Am More Than Just Wendy

I feel so broken and yet stronger than I have in days. I'm hurt by Peter but I also feel so much gratitude for the real person he is. Not the addict---the guy I married seven years ago. Sometimes he is still there.

Sometimes it's hard to compare the two and realize that I put a lot of my heart into loving a man who didn't reciprocate that love back to me. It's painful for me to think about.

I loved a man that preferred porn stars over my real body. I don't get that. I am reality. I am real love. I am real happiness. Pornography is not.

Peter was over today for almost four hours. Four hours. That is the longest I've been in the same room as Peter in months. I needed my garbage disposal fixed and I asked him to do it. Was I thinking clearly? I honestly don't know. I don't know if Peter was confused or happy or annoyed or excited. I really don't know.

I do know that he fixed my garbage disposal and that I paid him by buying dinner for our family. I do know that he helped put the kids to bed and we talked about his new job and how that changes our parenting plan a lot a lot a lot a lot a lot. And I'm nervous about those changes because I no longer have free weekends and Peter is now responsible for a few school days with the kids and I'm overbearing and feel like I should take charge and now I'm having to release some extra reponsibility to Peter.

Sigh...it's ok, Wendy. He can handle it. You can let go.

It's just really hard for me to let go. It's hard for me to be a working mom and a full time student and still have time and patience for my children. It's hard to think that I probably won't get married for years and years or ever because I'm just so damn busy right now. And the thing is, I want to get married again. I don't care how traumatic my marriage was---I fully believe marriage can be beautiful and wonderful. Maybe that's stupidity but it's all the hope I can muster right now.

I feel like I'm drowning in this new life. My anxiety has been at an all time high, especially today. I sat in the school pick-up line and had to talk myself through a panic attack---an attack that came on for no apparent reason. And tonight I'm still feeling that panic and fear and I don't understand why it's happening. I wasn't even thinking about anything specific when it started happening.

Eff you, anxiety. You stupid dumb piece of crap.

It's hard to be this exhausted but to feel like this is your first time to really have a break. After the kids were in bed and Peter left, I spent two hours doing homework and I craved being here. I craved writing and doing something that helps me sort through things. But it had to wait until my homework was done. And now it's 11:00pm and I'm exhausted and I still need to shower but I'm here.

I'm drowning and I'm here.

I'm here because I need this. I need this safe place to write about my thoughts and my fears. When I talk to friends or am sitting on that couch across from my counselor, I have a hard time putting my thoughts into sentences but here...here everything flows more naturally. I feel a release when I come here. I feel like I'm making sense.

My counselor and I have been working on the fact that I have different parts of me. I refer to the negative, fearful part as Wendy, mostly because when I come here, I often feel like I am her. And I refer to the loving, compassionate part of myself as my real name. There are other parts and sometimes my brain hurts from trying to remember what that all means and how it applies but I do know that I want to be me. I don't want to be Wendy.

I want the real me to merge with Wendy and teach her how to trust herself and love herself. I want this battle to be over. Wendy isn't evil but she doesn't know any better.

Wendy has an eating disorder. She grew up thinking she wasn't very important and because of that, she craves being important to other people. She craves attention because she was sandwiched between talented siblings and special needs siblings, all who seemed to get more attention than her. Wendy has so many fears, one of the biggest is being unloved. She has a hard time really trusting that people can love her because she has a hard time loving herself.

Wendy is me but I'm glad she isn't all of me. I'm glad my counselor pointed out that I am more than her. It is possible to be Wendy and to still be the compassionate, brave warrior that I often am.

And tonight, I keep repeating that over and over again in my mind because I need to hold on to that. I need to be remined that Wendy is me but that I am also the me I want to be. I am a good, loving person. Even though I think I fail a lot, I still succeed too.

Tonight as I layed with my crying daughter who was sad that her dad had to leave at bedtime, I was reminded that I am not always a horrible mother. Sometimes I am the best mother my kids can have. Tonight I was everything my daughter needed.

Tonight for a few minutes, I won a battle. And since that is more battles than I've won in days, I am going to celebrate my one small victory and try to go to bed without saying negative things about myself.

I Fail

I come here when it gets hard. And it keeps getting really hard.

I've had some of my worst days and that just isn't fair. My eating disorder days were supposed to be my worst. My husband leaving me was supposed to be my worst day. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

But my crying has become a broken record. It keeps happening. Damnit, it keeps happening!

My brain feels hazy, like it would if I were on drugs---but I'm not---and I wish I was. I wish I wasn't hurting so badly for no apparent reason. I wish I wasn't a horrible mother. I wish I wouldn't say mean things to my kids. I don't deserve them and today proved that they would probably be better off being raised by someone else---someone more patient, someone less broken.

I know I take on too much responsibility. I know I "can't do it all". Everyone tries to remind me of this. But when I say no to people, I become more of a failure. I'm so worried people won't like me if I don't help them. I'm so worried people will abandon me if I don't bend over backwards and put a brave face on every single day.

They'd get sick of me. They are getting sick of me. No one likes to be around negativity and right now, that seems to be all that I am. Who am I, really? Because Wendy isn't strong or brave or nice or compassionate.

I'm not really worth anyone's time. I know the real me---and you don't---so if you like me, you probably just haven't gotten to know me well enough. Because the real me is full of flaws and full of failures and she gets afraid and mean sometimes. She says really dumb things a lot. She goes too far with jokes and sarcasm. She isn't good.

I don't trust anyone---and even just that little fact makes me even more rude. How rude that I can't trust people who have born their souls to me? How can I not trust people who confide in me about some of life's most sensitive subjects? So by not trusting, I'm failing. I'm failing by not being strong enough to trust the people around me who have proven they are trustworthy.

I barely got through today and unfortunately, it isn't over yet. If my kids weren't with me, I'd probably highly consider drinking because I am not strong enough to succeed tonight.

I was exhausted at work and I kept nodding off in my office. And then the headache started. And then I got back to my kids and they were crazy and rude and all over the place. I told my friend I don't like kids today---and I probably shouldn't be their mom. How can someone so unworthy be a mother to two of life's most precious gifts? I'm not good enough for them. They'll realize it someday.

I was impatient all afternoon. My four year old and I butted heads. A friend came to give me a break before I literally snapped and my son said to her, "I'm coming to your house because my mom and I are being mean to each other today. She said she never wants to speak to me again." And he was telling her the truth. I did say that. And I hate that I said that. I hate how much I failed as his mother today. I hate that he could potentially remember today for the rest of his life. I hate who I am today.

My house is a mess and I can't keep up with this life. But if I accept help, I'm a failure. Lots of single moms have jobs, go to school, raise their children successfully, and keep their damn house clean. I'm just not good enough at all of those things so something always falls through the cracks.

Today two of those things fell through the cracks as I released my impatience onto my children.

I failed at being the kind of person I want to believe that I am.

And because of that, I hate myself today.

Emotional Emotionless

Counseling was horrible today.
I was so incredibly stupid today.
Just one thing after another---I was beyond agitated.
Not with my counselor but with myself.
I couldn't spit my words out. I couldn't feel my emotions. I was obsessing over what my hands were doing and how even everything felt. OCD was horrible.

I seriously felt more stupid than I've felt in a long time. I was so angry with myself. I can't remember if I apologized but I feel like I just wasted an hour of both of our lives because I just couldn't work.

I think it might have had to do with the fact that the past few weeks of counseling have been overly incredible and I've worked so hard to be brave---have I mentioned I didn't like it? I know, confusing... I was so uncomfortable but each session, I left feeling like I had accomplished something great. I felt myself understanding the different parts of me a little bit better.

But I went into counseling today with a lot of fear that I had placed on myself to be more open and have more emotion. I told myself I would open up however much I needed to. And I think in doing so, I psyched myself out and just acted stupid the whole time.

So then I was mad.

I was a weak Wendy today. I tore myself down and was so incredibly hard on myself and I just couldn't imagine a world where I don't feel like this. How is that possible?

And tonight I broke down at my meeting. I was feeling so happy to be back among my support group and all of a sudden, a friend I've known literally since birth walked in the door.

No.

Hell no.

This stupid ass addiction has affected way too many people in my life.

For some reason, I just couldn't handle it. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and just run away to a world where pornography does not exist.

This isn't fair!!!

I cried the entire time she was speaking. I cried a little bit while spilling a few of my thoughts. I cried even harder during the closing prayer and I gave her a huge hug when it was all over.

You guys, I don't cry in front of people. I am so out of touch with my emotions these days. But I just could not hold it in tonight.

I hated pornography more than ever before. I hated what it was doing to some really incredible people that I know. I am just so angry about this.

But among the crying and my aching heart for my wonderful friend, I saw a small glimpse of a positive attitude toward myself. For a few seconds, I thought, "Good for you for caring so much about her, enough to cry in front of people. You are compassionate, Wendy. You have goodness."

It didn't last very long but it was there for a minute.

You have goodness, Wendy.

You are filled with so much light and only a little bit of dark---so stop focusing on the dark.

I want to be that girl. I want to love myself. I want to give myself a break.

I just don't know how.

OCD: Comfort and Anxiety

When I was little, I thought it was normal to count the number of letters in a word and divide it equally in half, cutting the middle letter into two if the number of letters were odd.
I thought it was normal to make sure I stepped an equal amount of times in between each crack in the sidewalk and that if I stepped on a crack, my other foot had to step on the next crack with the exact same footing and pressure as the previous foot had.
I thought it was normal to have fears of body parts---for me, feet. I've been afraid of feet ever since I can remember.

I never spent much time thinking about these little obsessions because they were just little. They didn't hold my life back and they didn't slow me down. They have always been a part of me.

In high school, I realized how much I obsessed over eating things in even numbers and I would spend a lot of time eating my cereal, making sure each bite contained an even number of pieces. Then I would chew an equal amount on each side of my mouth.

I still didn't care though. By this point, I had recognized this was Obsessive Compulsive Disorder but it was just a part of me and everyone in my family had it to some degree. We would laugh about it often and I never told anyone about the anxiety I would feel that seemed to be associated with my OCD.

Peter noticed my OCD right off the bat. I mean, you can't have a fear of feet without your spouse finding out. It just doesn't work that way. Peter knew touching me with his feet would cause me to freak out, often times needing an extra shower or to change my clothes if it happened in certain areas of my body. Close to my hands and face were the biggest trigger areas for me.

Peter knew I had to eat even numbers of things and that I seemed to walk like a drunk person because of my obsession with the cracks in the sidewalk. He knew I counted the dashes and light poles along each street and matched them in pairs so they would stay even. He knew I would often rewrite words on a piece of paper because I didn't use equal amounts of pressure with the pen.

And he hated it.

I think he may have hated it more than I did.

Sure, it was annoying a few times but it was just my quirky way of doing things. I liked the way my OCD felt because it was safe.

During times of trauma, it becomes worse. When things are feeling stable, it seems to just lurk in the background and only controls my life to a certain degree.

Only controls my life to a certain degree... That phrase just feels so weird. And if you don't have OCD, you might not understand what that feels like to me.

A few years ago, when we had just started marriage counseling, Pan had brought up my OCD to our counselor---most likely in an effort to get the attention off of him for a second. I was really frustrated with him for doing so because I AM FINE! And although I still think his reasonings are stupid for why he did that, I am kinda sorta grateful he brought it up. Because I just don't know if I would've ever told my counselor about it.

Because honestly, I don't always notice it.

It's just the way I am.

But we began a discussion in counseling on how OCD can get worse after traumatic events. I actually looked up episodes of Obsessed on Netflix and watched them, shaking my head at these crazy people who did these crazy things for really crazy reasons. I couldn't be grouped in that same category, could I?

The answer is yes, I could. I am. To an extent, that is.

I don't recount the number of tiles in my kitchen to see if the number has changed from the last time. I don't have fears that the floor underneath me will break. I don't keep my kids inside all day every day in fear of the germs in our society. My house isn't obsessively cleaned each and every day.

But I do wash my hands a lot all of a sudden. And I freak out if they start to feel dirty almost instantly. And yesterday, my son licked my daughter's foot and I was in the fetal position on the couch, trying not to vomit from the sheer terror I felt. And if I itch my face on one side, I cannot focus on anything else until I itch the other side an equal number of times with an equal amount of pressure.

And I cannot, CANNOT handle the radio/tv volume being on an odd number. I don't care if I'm at my own house or if I'm at yours. I will make you change it up or down a notch. I will panic until you do so. And the second it is changed, my anxiety will release and I will feel safe again.

This is real life. This is my life. I'm starting to hate it. I'm still really loving it.

It is comfort and anxiety---a package deal that seems so very similiar to my eating disorder.

Comfort and anxiety. You didn't think those two things could coexist, did you?

Well, they can. And for me, they do.

I just don't want help because I fear it. I fear every second I let myself speak of the vulnerable things in my life. I fear the insecurities about how psychotic I am and how unstable this all makes me feel. My OCD is hard to talk about because it really does make me seem bat shit crazy. I'd think that about me if I were you.

This stuff seems ridiculous. But sadly, it's real. And it's my life.

I haven't even fully covered all of my OCD triggers and tendencies. Sadly, this isn't where it ends. This is just a peek into my crazy mind.

Please try to believe me when I tell you I'm not this unstable all of the time. As anxious as I get, I am still a functioning adult and you probably wouldn't know that I had OCD if you met me on the street.

Unless you touch me with your feet. You sure as hell would see my OCD if you ever touch me with your feet. And please oh please oh please, if you know me and are reading this, don't touch me with your feet to be funny. I might laugh---but inside I'll be screaming. And I'm serious about that.