Neverending

Trust him, they said. It will be different this time, they said. You need to give him the benefit of the doubt, they said.

But they were wrong.

Because I trusted him when I shouldn't have and he hurt me. I learned to love him through my pain and he stuck a knife in my heart.

I don't agree with advice. I don't agree with telling people how they should or shouldn't feel because everyone is different. Finding out about my ex husband's pornography addiction could be equal to a person losing their job or a person losing their spouse. Because we are unique individuals, the way we deal with trials is different. If I tell you I am hurting and that I'm not healed yet, you need to take my word for it instead of comparing me to someone else with a similiar trial.

I am my own person.

Yes, I was divorced when I found out about the pornography addiction. Yes, I don't have to see the man that hurt me so badly every day. I don't even have to interact with him daily. But he hurt me. I still have a brain that has a damn memory in it and when I replay old memories, I hurt. I ache. I don't like to think about what might have been fake.

I used to think people shouldn't be angry after a while. I used to think they should learn to get over their problems on my time frame---because my time frame must be bible. But I've seen real pain. I've seen real anger. I've also felt these emotions in my own life. And not a single person gets to tell me how or when I should get over these things.

Life really sucks sometimes.

I feel my eating disorder like a constant rain cloud. Although I've done better at fighting him, Ed isn't much smaller than he was a few weeks ago. He is still just as loud. I still question him daily. And I feel like I have no one who I trust enough to be an available support in my life. I wonder if that's because I actually don't have someone or if I just often feel alone because my spouse is gone.

My freaking spouse is gone.
Damn divorce.

I trusted someone that screwed me over. For years, he screwed me over. For years, he lied and made me feel like an effing crazy person. And as soon as I had started to heal and accept this as my life forever, he left.

He left at the worst possible time. He left when it would hurt me the most. I cannot think of any other time in our marriage where it woud've hurt more than it did when he chose to leave. I was happy. I was truly happy. I had accepted all of this. I had learned so much about myself. And then he left.

I hate manipulation. When I hear about husbands manipulating their wives, I want to scream and then punch their husbands in the junk. Seriously. Because manipulation is the worst. Manipulation is the perfect way to make a person feel bat-shit crazy when the manipulator is the real monster of the situation. As the manipulatee, you start to feel like you are the one who is wrong and you question yourself.

I used to question myself daily. I used to wonder why the guy who "loved" me so freaking much was the same guy who hated so many things about me. I used to wonder why I couldn't live up to his expectations.

And my eating disorder tells me I should keep questioning myself. My eating disorder tells me that I should settle for another douche husband because douches are the only ones who will take me "as is". But oh my gosh, I am not going to settle!

Because damnit, I deserve better than a porn addict, lying, ass face of a husband. I deserve someone who can look at me and see the good and accept the bad. I deserve someone who supports instead of manipulates.

We all deserve that.

And some of us don't get it. Some of us have to live with manipulation and lies and unsettling amounts of fear. Some of us have to wonder what life will feel like at the end of the day when our husbands walk through that front door.

And it isn't fair.

But life isn't fair, right?

Tonight I pray for you. I pray for my friends who are stuck in situations that seem hell bent and neverending. I pray for those of you who feel weak and unloved. I pray for those of you who question why you stay.
I love you and I am rooting for you.

The All-Consuming Lies

I've been thinking a lot this weekend about pornography, my eating disorder, and Satan.
I am a part of a Facebook group of women who are wives or ex wives of porn addicts and we all struggle with eating disorders or disordered eating. I thought this group would be good for me. So many parts of it have been good for me. But I'm still new to all of this stuff.

One of my struggles with our eating disorder group is the things my eating disorder tells me about myself when I read what people post. If someone says they are struggling to force themself to eat that day, Ed tells me, "Wow, Wendy, you are so weak and fat and stupid. You are not strong enough to starve. You give in when you are hungry. And often times, you binge and then either you purge or you don't---but either way, you are a loser. Purging means you're failing at fighting me and not purging means you're going to get fat."

Ed tells me a lot of heavy things when I compare myself to the people around me. He tells me that if I lose 20 more pounds, I'll suddenly feel "good enough". He tells me that I am a horrible mother and that I am the reason Peter was addicted to pornography. He tells me that I should be more self-conscious than I currently am. When I start to feel any amount of confidence in myself, he laughs in my face and tells me the people who say nice things about me are doing so because they feel sorry for me. It's so hard to believe that people say things because they truly mean them. It is so scary to trust people.

At church today, a loud and bubbly woman asked me how I'm getting so skinny. I looked at her with bewilderment. Me? Skinny? Ha! But I told her a friend had referred to this as the "divorce diet" because I just don't have an appetite right now because of stress. It was a lie. I hate lying. I wanted to tell her how I'm struggling with an eating disorder---and not just "an eating disorder" but bulimia, an eating disorder that doesn't come with loss of appetite very often. I wanted to tell her how I hate the girl I see in the mirror. But I have no idea what to say in these situations. I am not ready to just be "the girl with the eating disorder" or "the girl with the eating disorder because her addict husband left her". I want more of an identity than that and I'm afraid if I tell my real story in the middle of my struggle, I will get lost somewhere in there. When I'm stronger and have the confidence to help others with all of this, I know I will be able to tell my story and still be Wendy.

 I'm still here fighting. I still remember my wake up call from two weeks ago. I still remember my meeting with my parents last week. But today, my choices are equivalent to what they would have been two weeks ago. Ed is screaming in my ears how ugly I am. He is yelling at me for thinking my friends are supportive because they like me as a person and not because of pity. I don't feel strong enough to fight him today but I'm trying to do it anyway. I have prayed that Ed leaves me alone and that my Heavenly Father with give me strength to downsize the lies my eating disorder wants me to believe. I have struggled with prayer more these past few months than ever before but today, I needed the one person who hasn't left me during this whole thing and I knew He would still be there waiting for me to come to Him.

Satan and Ed are like the nastiest of twin brothers. Actually, I think Ed is Satan's son.

I will continue to try and fight them. As hard as this is, I will try.

Faith and Fighting

It has been a good week.
Monday started out rough but ever since then things have been a lot better. I think this has been the most consecutive good days since my divorce.

I am loving summer so far.

I have felt a lot of freedom this week. Our schedule has been mostly wide open and I have loved the sleepovers and late nights and lazy afternoons and time with my kids. I've always felt like one of my biggest callings in life would be motherhood. Although it tries my patience, motherhood brings me the most joy.

I have been more loving to myself this week. At the gym, I've had a goal to run two miles instead of one. Normally when I go to the gym, if I quit early or get tired, I talk down to myself using words like lazy, weak, stupid, fat, etc. but starting yesterday, I decided that what I am doing is quite incredible. I've never been a runner so two miles is a big deal. I started telling myself things like, "I am strong.", "I have power.", "I have worth.", "I am amazing." and I really can feel a difference in my running. Positive affirmations go a lot further than I used to believe. I hope someday I really believe those things about myself but even if it takes a while, I'll keep telling myself them.

I have a lot of faith this week. I have faith in myself that I am going to heal from this trauma. I have faith that my children are going to be ok. I have faith in God.

My desire to fight my eating disorder just keeps getting stronger. I've eaten lunch every day this week and even dinner a few times. I have tried so hard to keep truths in my mind and weed out the lies. This has been the hardest part. I saw my therapist on Wednesday and I was telling her how discouraged I am that ever since I decided I really needed recovery, I am frustrated that I'm not just better. She explained to me that recovery doesn't mean I'm done fighting. This fight is going to be a part of my life. Recovery means that I am always trying and that I believe the truths over the lies. She said, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly." and I think that was my favorite thing from our entire session. I've really felt like if I can't just stop purging or starving myself, what is the point of trying? But if it's worth doing, it really is worth doing poorly. It is going to take a lot longer than I anticipated recovery to take.
Because I've never experienced my eating disorder to this extent before, I honestly had no idea what a fight I'd have to put up to recover from this hell. But I'm doing it. I'm getting there. I'm doing it poorly but I'm inching my way on the path to recovery and I can already tell that it's making a difference in my demeanor.

Today I am incredibly grateful for resources and hope and support.

Today I am grateful for my life.

Beautiful Scars

True to my obsessive nature, when I find a song that hits home, I listen to it over and over until it is engrained in my memory forever.

Right now, it is the song "I Believe" by Christina Perri. I posted it a week ago when I wrote When Wendy Met Alice because I usually imagine Alice singing it to me when I listen to it. Is that a weird thing for me to do? Maybe I'm also obsessed with Alice---yeah, probably true but I'm comfortable with that. She's pretty great.

Anyway...

When I hear this song, there is always a part that sticks out to me. "I wish that you could see your scars turn into beauty." I've been thinking about this phrase all day. I believe that will happen. Actually, I've seen it happen.

When I was infertile for years and years, I ached. I was a mess. I wanted so badly what so many other women could just do without hardly trying. Peter was not supportive after the first few months. He got sick of my baby fever and would often call me selfish for having a hard time as each of my sisters announced pregnancies. It was a really dark time for me---second only to my divorce from him. But after a few years, I could literally see how those scars from my infertility pain had turned into beauty. I was a different person because God had allowed me to experience an empathy toward others who were struggling. My empathy surpassed anything I had ever experienced and I got to a point where I could see the good in other people really easily.

Although Peter leaving has been the hardest thing I've ever faced in my life up to this point, I will always have those scars from infertility, from miscarriages, and from the many other trials I've experienced. These have all made me who I am today.

And I really hope that someday, the scars from my eating disorder and from divorce and Peter's pornography addiction will become beautiful scars that help me live a little more than I was before. I hope I am able to recognize those scars changing and making me a better woman, a better mother, and a better friend. I want so badly to be able to refrain from ever judging others. That is God's job, not mine, and only He knows our hearts. I wholeheartedly believe that if we knew everyone's story, we would be able to love them a little more.

Everyone has a story. Everyone struggles. Be kind to the people around you today---and every day.

Ups and Downs of Recovery

I feel so stuck, so alone.
I know I'm not alone---I have daily reminders and people that keep me going---but sometimes it just feels this way. Sometimes it just feels so dark and bleak. Sometimes I don't believe I can keep going.

A friend described recovery as having many ups and downs. I'm trying to trust that. I'm trying not to be scared of myself and scared of recovery. I try to tell myself weight gain wouldn't be the worst thing in the world so if that's honestly what I'm afraid of, I should get over it---but I can't.

I can't get it out of my head that pornography won. Pornography took my marriage and my worth and ripped them to shreds. I can't make myself believe that Pan wouldn't have loved me any differently if I was skinny.
Because I feel like I'll love myself "when I'm skinny", I believe everyone else will love me more if I can just lose weight.
I'll have more worth if I'm skinny.
I'll be able to date again if I'm skinny.

I hate the way that I feel tonight. I hate that I am so overwhelmed with thoughts of being worthless and thoughts of pornography being in my home for years. How does one "not know"? I feel like I've stumbled upon this foreign world that I'm now a part of and as much as I love the people in my new world, I have so much heartache from this betrayal and I want it to go away.

Pan moved to California over the weekend. I feel like every little change in this divorce shows me just how real this is. I am really divorced. He really is an addict. I really survived six years of crazy addict behavior from him without questioning what choices he was making. He really is gone and he won't be back very often. I really am the sole caregiver for our children right now. His addictions really caused him to run away.

Really?

I hate reality tonight.
I hate feeling like I'm going to burst into tears at any moment.
I hate feeling like I'd just rather stay in bed than be around people.

This is not me. But I can't find me. Does that girl still exist?

I'm never going to be the same. There are painful memories that are now a part of my life and they can't be erased.

I know it can get better but it can never be how it used to be and that is overwhelmingly sad tonight.

I don't want to be alone. I don't want to hate myself. I seriously do not want to feel so weak and stupid.

I want to be the strong Wendy that everyone thinks I am. I want so badly to be her.

When my mom told me I was her hero on Saturday, it was hard to accept because I shouldn't be anyone's hero. I'm so broken and weak. I am over-bearing and loud. I am annoying and extremely sensitive. I'm trying to accept that people love me just the way I am but it's really hard when I don't see those awesome things about myself.

Tonight is just really hard.

Results of "The Meeting"

Was it a small step?

It didn't feel like it. It felt big. It felt like one of the biggest steps towards my recovery.

We walked in with a game plan---set boundaries so everyone feels safe. It sounds simple but it felt so complicated in my mind.

They stared at me. Alice stared at me. For a while, I just stared back. I had no idea how to start any of this. But somehow, I did it. Somewhere among my jumbled up, nonsensical phrases came feelings and sentences that I had been trying to say.

And when I stumbled, Alice stepped in.

There were pros and cons, good feelings and bad feelings. I left feeling unsure but I'm trying to just have faith.

They did the exact opposite of what I was expecting. They wanted no boundaries, no check-in's, and they wanted to trust that I'll come to them if I need them.

This should feel good, right?

And yet, this is how I felt in high school---like they just didn't get the seriousness. I left feeling like maybe they didn't understand.

But I am trying to trust that they do. I'm trying to trust that this is them caring.

Although the meeting started out awkward and had a few other awkward moments, it was mostly good. I felt like my parents were listening to me. My mom told me I'm her hero. My dad apologized for thinking Pan was the one keeping our marriage together. My dad really thought that Pan was the one that saved me...would it be inappropriate to laugh right here? I got to say a lot of things that I've been feeling for months, some of them even years.

So there were pros, a lot of pros.

I guess I was just left feeling like, "That was it?". Nothing major happened. No major boundaries were set. And I'm trying to decide where that leaves me in recovery. I feel like I'm in this weird limbo of trying to get better but not having the resources. My counselor can't see me weekly until June 3rd and I am trying to do this on my own but it feels so overwhelming.

That's addiction for you. It takes over when you feel like you're in control. It causes you to hear things in your head that aren't really true. But you have the damndest time not believing them because they feel real.

I feel like what my head tells me is true. I look in the mirror and it feels true. I walk down the street and it feels true. I think about dating and it feels true.

Tonight, dinner at my parents' house was just weird---because it wasn't weird. Are you still with me? It was weird knowing my parents know something major is happening in my life and yet we can't talk about it because my sisters are all around and I have decided I don't feel good about telling them yet. They will freak out, that is for sure. And it was weird having food on my plate and thinking about what was probably in my parents' heads. Because obviously, I wasn't refusing to eat. I'm sure they thought about whether I'd keep the food down. I'm sure they wondered if I was overreacting about this "eating disorder" because I look fine and I'm eating and I'm overweight. My dad actually asked me in our meeting if anyone had given me an "eating disorder" diagnosis. Uhh...yeah? And even if the answer is no, I can assure you that is what this is. He also asked me some questions about weightloss that I felt weird about but I was probably reading into those questions a little bit too much.

I read into a lot of things way too much.

I'm feeling good tonight. Focusing on the truths I believe and trying to weed out the lies that I need to start defying.

I can do this. As much as my head tells me I'll never overcome this, I can defeat this.  

Nerves

I know I have already written today but I can't NOT write these things down.

Today is the day. After my confession to my parents on Tuesday night, I am having a meeting with them tonight---in two hours.

Two hours.

My heart beats faster every time I look at the clock and realize it is that much closer to the time where I will sit down and talk with them about my boundaries and their boundaries with this whole eating disorder mess.

Alice will be there. I need her there. I'm so nervous about this whole thing. I couldn't have done any of it without her.

I'm nervous about boundaries. I'm nervous that they will try and hover. I'm also nervous I won't be able to accept reasonable boundaries because I've had such a hard time letting them in to these parts of my life. I think that's one of the main reasons Alice is coming. I need her to tell me what I'm being unreasonable about and what is actually them asking too much.

So my chest is tight. My heart is racing. I feel sick to my stomach.

But I'm doing this. I'm doing this hard thing because I've made it through many other hard things and my track record so far is pretty good.

I'm doing this because I need to be stronger.

I'm doing this because I love my family and I do really want them in my life.

I'm doing this because I want to kick my eating disorder in the stomach and say, "Screw you!" I want my inner voice to be louder than ed's voice. I want to listen to truths instead of lies.

So I'm doing this.

But in the meantime, say a prayer that my nerves will calm the frick down.

Trauma

Yesterday, A Wife Redeemed asked "What does trauma feel like for you?" and I immediately knew I needed to write down my feelings on this subject.

Because this trauma is real and I often feel like I'm talking to a wall when I try to explain this to friends and family that don't understand my betrayal trauma.

They feel bad for me but they don't get it.

I've experienced emotional trauma many times in my life. As a little girl, this trauma was caused by my parents, not because they didn't love me but because they didn't understand what they were doing. I'm not angry about this. I'm sad for that little girl but I'm certainly not angry. The times my dad would make comments about my weight, he honestly believed he was helping me. He didn't hate me. He didn't want me to be self-conscious.

But it still happened. Time and time again, it still happened. And now, when I experience trauma, I go back to those childhood fears of abandonment and never being good enough for anyone. My brain flips a switch the second I am traumatized and my chest begins to tighten. I usually worry and sweat and start hating myself. I scold myself over and over and tell myself how horrible I am.

Trauma makes me spiral.

Trauma makes me feel like a stupid little girl---the stupid little girl I used to view myself as.

Trauma makes me hate me---it's hard for me to take my trauma and reflect it where it actually needs to be. My first instinct is to blame me, not the person traumatizing me.

Trauma causes me to obsessively second guess myself. I lose trust in myself. I can't think about anything else.

When Peter Pan walked out on our family, I didn't realize I was feeling trauma because I was so numb. I was angry. I wanted to be strong. I didn't want his actions to affect me.

But they did affect me. There was no way around it. My husband left me. He abandoned our eternal commitment and left---because of shame.

Trauma hit me a lot harder this time. I became smaller than I've ever felt. I felt insignificant and stupid and worthless. Everyone was always telling me how strong I am and I would smile and repeat in my head how worthless I am. Because in my mind, people don't leave people who have tons of worth.

Since that day 9 months ago, little traumas in my life escalate quickly. My chest tightening happens in a heartbeat. I can't think clearly. Everything is dark and bad and awful.

I could explain trauma to you all day but if it's something you haven't experienced, it can't make complete sense. Trauma is just, well...it's just really traumatic and it becomes a part of your life.

But I can promise you, this trauma is real. It is real and it is dark. It is not a trauma you can see but it is a trauma I can feel.

Screwed Over

So maybe it wasn't truly planned. Maybe Peter didn't intentionally take my heart and expect he'd end up punching it time and time again.

But surely I can tell you I was screwed over.
Screwed over by pornography.
Screwed over by addictions.
Screwed over by lies.
Screwed over by Peter.

I understand addiction. I get that he was scared. What I don't get is why leaving me was better than telling me. Peter can tell me ALL he wants how this wasn't about me but he left me. He didn't leave pornography. He left me.

Peter has a way of making me feel all better again---it's called manipulation. He can go from being an ass to being a gentlemen and back to an ass again. And every time I believe him, I hate myself. I hate that I am stupid enough to believe the lies. What the hell, Wendy? Get a backbone!

On Wednesday night, Peter looked our little girl straight in the face and promised he would be at her kindergarten graduation the next day and then he no-showed. No explanations. No apologies. Not even a lie of an excuse. Nothing. He just didn't show up.
I told everyone I would not be the mom crying at her graduation. I mean, it's kindergarten---big whoop. We kinda knew she was gonna make it through kindergarten. But as I saw her eyes anxiously searching the room for the one person she hoped to find, I got a little teared up and then I got angry.
Why does our little girl have to feel disappointment at this young age? Why does she have to experience the broken promises that I've experienced for six years?

Because not only was he my husband, he is her dad. And yesterday at kindergarten graduation, he screwed her over. He broke a promise that was really important to her.

Pornography screws everyone involved over. From the addict to the spouse to the children to the family to the friends---pornography harms people.

When Peter's addiction wasn't as bad, he was a wonderful dad. He wasn't as angry and he showed up. He was present for his kids. Even now, he tries to be there for them. He loves them. I can see it. But his addiction seems to come first. He can't always tell when he's screwing us all over. He didn't understand today when I told him his daughter was upset about him missing her graduation. He didn't get that his broken promise to her was more than just him being there to watch her sing a few songs. He had promised.

Have I mentioned Peter is moving to Utah...tomorrow? Yes, he's allowed to do this. He would only not be allowed if he had full custody of the kids. I'm still on the fence about this decision. A part of me wants him gone because he causes a lot of heartache for our family right now but a part of me wants him here because our kids want their dad.

He's running away and I hope it ends up doing some good instead of harm. He is missing his daughter's birthday party. He is giving up weekends that he fought for when we first filed for divorce. He is giving up time with the two people who look up to him so much right now. They want him and he is leaving.

But maybe it'll be good? I really am on the fence about this change.

In the meantime, I'm trying so hard to say "Screw you" right back to addiction. And to Peter. And to pornography.

I think I'll just focus on the fact that today is my daughter's birthday so the rest of our problems can suck it. We are going to celebrate today and we'll deal with this crap some other time.

When Wendy Met Alice

 It was a happy beginning---no endings in sight---to a fairytale.
I am Wendy and I was feeling so alone. No one understood me. No one really got what was happening. I don't even think I fully understood what was happening. But I knew I needed to reach out. I knew I needed to muster up some courage and find someone who would be able to understand me.
And I did. I found her. And just like me, her fairytale was a basket case being juggled by a pinata-hitting child. Yes, folks, what I mean by that is we are all a little bit unstable. I'm surprised you didn't gather that directly from my so awesomely stated analogy. Wow. Ok, back to the point.

Her name is Alice. And she is looking for Wonderfulland.
She struggles. Don't we all struggle? I met her through the good ol' World Wide Web after realizing we fight similiar battles. Her wounds looked very similiar to mine and I found my courage to try reaching out to her because I had a feeling---a feeling like this might change my life.

I met Alice one day---in real life. And I've re-met her many times since then because she is now one of my closest friends.
My original belief was correct. The experiences I've had in the last few months have been life changing and I owe a lot of that to Alice.
I owe almost all of that to Alice.

Alice is an eating disorder conquerer. Alice is a WoPA. Alice is a warrior. Our commonalities kind of suck because we have a lot of crap in common---but that's ok. Because Alice helps me fight. She keeps me brave when I don't want to be brave. She teaches me about resilience and love and laughter---oh my goodness, she teaches me about laughter.

On a cloudy Friday afternoon in April, I was laying in the grass in Alice's backyard, watching the clouds move back and forth, and I felt it. For the first time in months, I felt peace. It was in that grassy spot, laying next to my warrior sister, being attacked by a miniature guard dog, that I had a prompting that things were going to be ok. Whatever crap Peter throws my way, I can handle it because I learned that day that peace can be mine no matter what.

Throughout these past few months, Alice has been there when I needed her most. She has talked me through Peter's return to Neverland. She has talked me through my feelings of worthlessness. She has talked me through some of my late night demon sessions---stupid late night demons need to get the hell out of my life.

And when Alice struggles, I am there. And if I can't be there, I say a prayer. Because I look at Alice and I see a queen. I see so much worth in her and I hate seeing her struggle. It doesn't matter what struggles she faces, for some darn reason, I hate it. I can hardly stand it.

Alice shows me what bravery is. That girl has stared hell in the face and she still stands. She still loves. She still dreams.
Brave people choose to stand after they're punched in the gut with a sledgehammer. It might take days or weeks or years but eventually, they stand.
Alice has proven time and time again that she plans to keep standing and I love her a little more each time she does.

A few weeks ago, Alice gave me a challenge. She challenged me to open up to the people I am most afraid of right now---my parents. The second she said it, I knew it was something that needed to happen. But I put it off. And then I put it off again. I was so scared.
But last week when shit got real here, I knew I couldn't put it off much longer. I knew I needed Alice to walk me through this brave, life-changing step.

And she did.

She proofread the letter that I wrote them. She changed some of it. She told me what I needed to prepare for. And then tonight, I handed it over to them.

I handed over a letter to my parents explaining that I am knee deep, struggling with my eating disorder.

I've been shaking most of the night. I don't know if they've read it yet but I assume they have. And because she is my warrior sister, Alice will go with me this weekend to have a talk with my parents to further explain all of this mess.

I'm scared.

I keep thinking of all of the horrible scenarios in my head. I keep thinking about abandonment or hovering or broken boundaries or heartbreak and I just want to run away. But I won't.

I have Alice here and she promises never to abandon me. She promises she will always be my friend. And I believe her.

I'm often worried that people will leave me. This isn't something that happened after Peter left. I've struggled with abandonment my whole life---with almost no explanations as to why. I can see it now as a struggle with insecurity because I've never felt good enough. Peter leaving just magnified the problem.

But tonight, I am focusing on my trust in Alice. I am focusing on how brave she has taught me to be these past few months.

I heard a song tonight that reminded me of Alice. The chorus drew me in because I felt like that is what Alice would be singing to me, if she were sitting on my couch tonight (Gosh, I wish she were sitting on my couch tonight...I hate being alone).
"Cause I have been where you are before. And I have felt the pain of losing who you are. And I have died so many times but I am still alive."

I'd keep writing most of the night to show you how much Alice has influenced my life for good but I am still trying to process through knowing my parents' lives are changing tonight too. Sleep needs to happen soon so I can find peace with the decisions that has already been made.

But I'll leave you with the words to the song I quoted above.


Alice has taught me that God is real because I know He placed her in my life for a reason---or maybe a hundred reasons. He loves me. I feel it tonight. He loves me enough to provide relationships that teach me bravery. He loves me enough to send earth angels to my door when I am too weak to do this all on my own.

Thank you for becoming my partner in crime, Alice. I couldn't do this without you.

Beautiful Days Are Possible

Today has been beautiful so far.

First and foremost, I told my story over on A Wife Redeemed. I really appreciate you allowing me to do that, Shay. My heart skipped a beat when I realized the post was up. Be brave, Wendy. Be brave.

The other MAIN reason today has been beautiful has been directly related to my recovery.
Today I tried hard. I mapped out my safe foods and put each of them around a meal time and I've been doing good so far. Only a few times have I had to talk myself out of unhealthy habits.
I've been putting off this fight because I was afraid of it. I was afraid of weight gain and I was afraid I would feel more out of control again.

All morning, I've had visions of taking a hammer to my scale. Seriously. I haven't been brave enough to do it because I still plan on losing weight (I really am overweight and being a healthier me would include some more weightloss---in a HEALTHY way) and I cannot fathom not having my scale.

But I ate breakfast and lunch. They were very small meals but they felt ok. I wasn't afraid. I didn't panic. I wanted so badly to fight. And I did it.

I had a very liberating conversation with Peter last night, where he explained more of his addiction and why he left us and how he feels now. He was crying and it was a cry I have never seen from him. I felt like he was finally telling the truth. I felt like he was remorseful. I felt like he was a little bit more free.

He apologized over and over for ruining our family. He thanked me for everything I've done for our kids these past 9 months. He apologized for hurting me so badly. He explained how the pornography addiction had gotten bad and how the drinking was to mask the pain he felt for doing this to our family. It was the old Peter. It was the Peter I married. I hope he makes a complete comeback because that guy can do great things in life.

It was a good talk but it left me realizing that my marriage really did end because of pornography. I really am a WoPA or maybe we should say EWoPA. I was kind of in disbelief. I knew he had admitted to it being a problem but it was really bad enough that shame caused him to walk out on his family? I can't imagine that feeling and I was proud of Peter for his bravery last night. It couldn't have been easy to talk to me and apologize like that.

Addictions ruin lives and the more secretive they are, the more they can eat at your soul.
I was glad I asked Peter about a pornography addiction two weeks ago. I can see how much that helped him. He is still on the fence about help but I can tell he feels a little bit lighter. His depression was taking over him because of a secret that was so shameful.
I know how he feels. I've been there. I've had shameful secrets that I thought I would rather take to my grave than talk about.

But talking helps. Honesty helps.

So today, I fought for our family. I fought my addiction because I want to be stronger.
Parts of it were easy and parts of it have been really hard. Night will be worse. Nights are always worse. But I'm going to try hard today.

Recovery looks possible today.

God is Real

I felt like I was sinking further than I've ever sunk before. Because I was no longer loving and I was no longer carefully considering the way others would feel.
And it was a low point---truly the lowest point I've felt in a long time.

Last night's post coincides with today's post because that wasn't the ending. I wrote that earlier in the evening. But I continued to feel broken and selfish and horrible about this person that I am.
Wonderful? That couldn't be a description of this person I was seeing in the mirror.
But I am wonderful. I am selfless. I truly do care about other people. I see it when I'm not loathing myself for all of the horrible decisions I make. I even believe it when I'm in a clear state of mind.
Satan has taken over. He has set up shop in my heart and I allowed him to. I allowed his presence to overcome my peace.

Last night, I was apologizing over and over for the wrong choices I have made but the most important thing is that I figure out the right choices and start utilizing them in my life.

I tried. In my mind, things were going to change. I went into the kitchen to put away the food I had bought at the grocery store hours prior and I just melted. I was feeling more broken and horrible than ever before. I layed down on that kitchen floor and cried. I cried for myself. I cried for the people I hurt. I cried for my children.
I cried harder when I replayed a text conversation where a friend told me she needed me. Someone needed me. Someone thought I was wonderful and selfless and caring. Someone wanted me here.
And by some miracle, a little head poked around the corner and looked at my tear-streaked face. Those hazel eyes stared at mine and then he walked away. I was confused.
Why was my little boy out of bed? And why did he see me crying and just walk away? Odd...

But without another second to think, that little red head came back around the corner, this time with two pillows and a blanket. He lifted my head up and placed a pillow underneath and then he layed down beside me and pulled the blanket over both of us. And he said to me, "Mom, I'm just going to lay here with you until you feel better." and we layed there and I cried and he wrapped his arm around my neck.
A four year old boy was prompted to do what God knew I needed last night. A tiny four year old boy.

I felt God's love last night. I felt his presence and I felt like He would be able to help me overcome this trial in my life. I can do this with Him. I can do it with the people He has placed in my life to give me strength.

What a beautiful ending to a horrible day. I am grateful to be a mother and I'm also grateful to be a child of God.

God is real.

I'm Sorry

I'm just sorry tonight. No other words will do.
I'm sorry for the pain I cause others and I'm sorry for the pain I cause myself.
I'm angry at myself tonight; so very angry that I am not in recovery and angry that it is so hard to choose recovery. What is wrong with me? I need to be better for my kids. I tell everyone I'm trying but that has been a lie and I hate being a liar. I absolutely hate lying.
So tonight, I am just sorry. I'm sorry if I'm fake. I'm sorry for the worries and the triggers and the pain. I hate myself for doing this to other people.
This doesn't just affect me. If it did, I don't think I'd care as much. But I care too much about the people around me and it makes me sick that I have hurt other people.
My actions have hurt other people.
I want the big heart that I have to encompass myself and help with my healing. Why does my big heart have an easier time loving others? I need to rewire it to start loving myself.
I need recovery. I need help. And I need to stop bringing other people down because that, in turn, hurts me more.

The Scale

This cycle of hell is too much sometimes.

All for another pound.

And I hate that I feel this way.

A gosh damn pound!

When I write it out, it sounds so stupid but it isn't. It is my reality. It is real. I own this eating disorder. It is a part of me. Whether I want it or not, it is mine. It follows me everywhere I go. I eat and I can't focus on anything else until I purge. When I accomplish not eating for long periods of time, I feel like I just conquered the world. Food is bad.

Sometimes it seems as though I can claw it off and throw it out but I can't. I can't do this. Who fights these kinds of things and comes out on top? Like really, truly on top? Is there ever a day where I won't be fighting? Is there ever a day where I won't be torturing my body from one extreme to another? Is there ever a day where my brain and my heart will connect with each other and decide on the same strategy?

Because tonight it feels hopeless. Tonight it feels like that brave thing where I tell my parents about this is never going to happen. I am the queen of the weaks tonight.

But at least I got rid of a pound, right?

............................................

It is morning now. I fell asleep writing that because loss of calories makes me lethargic. It was a hell night but this morning, oh how I love mornings where I know the scale will drop. I've learned in the past 6 months what I need to be doing to get it down and some days, I can't handle the torture while other days, it is everything I want.

This morning, as my alarm went off, the scale was my first thought. The scale. What would it say? What will it tell me about myself today? How would I feel after that bright red number popped up?

This is my life right now. As much as I like mornings where I realize I've now lost 34 pounds---hell yeah---my brain is controlled by this thing called "eating disorder". I can't escape it. When I tell myself I'm overreacting or making these problems up, I look back on the many times I've tried to stop or the many times that having food sit in my stomach has driven me absolutely crazy to the point where I can't handle it.

This was my reality at the gym yesterday. The kids ate lunch. I ate lunch. Why did I eat lunch? I was mad at myself for eating lunch. We were already headed to the gym. There were people all around me in the locker room at the gym. I tried feeling good about just burning extra calories. It didn't work. I was pacing. I felt frantic. I couldn't do this. Food is bad. GET IT OUT. I could not handle feeling this crazy but moreso, I couldn't handle the thought of food. In my brain, it is hard to tell myself that exercise and food should go hand in hand. I feel like food is bad so don't eat and ON TOP OF THAT, exercise is good so do a lot of it. It's like I'm burning negative calories because there are no new calories to burn. Hence, weightloss. Hence, feeling accomplished. Hence, a dangerous situation for my body as it so desperately tries to cling on to the things I do feed to it.

The things I tell myself are bullshit. I can see it from an outside perspective but I can't control it very well in my own life, this very day.

A little over a week ago, I allowed a friend to use my bathroom while I got my kids put in bed. Then we left to go hang out with another friend. Let me preface this with to things: This particular friend has struggled with an eating disorder and she also knows about my eating disorder.
That night when I got home, I immediately went into the bathroom and this is how I proved my obsession a little bit---the scale was nowhere to be found and it was the first thing I noticed. My need to pee urgently was now forgotten because my heart was racing. Where is my scale?! I took some deep breaths as I remembered who had been here and I knew what had happened. Damnit, she had taken my scale! I texted her and laughed it off a little bit while she sent me back texts with words of advice to repeat positive affirmations about myself to cope.

Seriously, cope? Over a scale? This all sounds so stupid to write out. But it is real.

I went to bed thinking that I wasn't looking forward to the morning because my scale gets me out of bed. I love seeing the number, high or low, because it tells me how to treat my body {Ironically, if I lose weight, I try to do exactly what I did the day before and if I gain weight, I try to do exactly what I do on the days I lose weight---so really, nothing changes because of the scale. It doesn't change my lifestyle at all. I still have disordered patterns of eating.}. I got through the next morning and it wasn't until the afternoon when I went to do my laundry, that I found my scale---the one she had apparently hidden and NOT stolen---and I immediately put it on the floor to see what the number was.

A scale.

My friends tell me this scale is a liar. They tell me I shouldn't give it so much power. They tell me to get rid of it or at least put it up in the closet and take a break from using it but I can't. The numbers on that scale feed my addiction. They tell me what I need to hear. Am I worth something today? I don't know. Let's ask the scale. I love and hate this about myself. I can't just leave it behind. I am too far gone that I can no longer do this on my own.

This is different than 'high school eating disorder'. Although I worry about death or other serious injuries, I also think about weight gain and loss of control and eating food and I cannot make the necessary changes to save myself. I just can't.

Fighting Ed is not something I can do alone. His venom consumes my every day thoughts and patterns. I think about the numbers on my scale constantly. I love them. I hate them. I want them to be smaller and smaller and smaller.  I don't enjoy the activities I used to enjoy if there is food in my body. I can't think straight if I've just decided to eat. I hate that they aren't good enough.

But when will they be good enough?

People assure me that they won't ever be good enough---not for my eating disorder brain---but I tell myself that there will be a point. I will stop when I'm ready.

But I already know one truth and I've stated it above a few times---the truth is, I can't stop this on my own.

How Did I Realize Peter was a Porn Addict?

I've gotten asked this question a lot in the past week and each time, I try to answer it simply and say, "Because I just felt like I had figured it out." and although this is true, there is so much more to this story.

Peter is an angry man, when he isn't busy charming the people around him. He is scary good at being charming and he is scary good at manipulating.

Since I have a lot of friends who are either married to sex addicts or divorced from sex addicts (friends I have met through The Togetherness Project), I have heard bits and pieces and full out details of stories of these women and how their husbands' porn addictions affected their lives.

During these stories, my mind would often wander to my sex life with Peter---yes, we're going here again. I know how much you like talking about my sex life. Peter wasn't an initiator. Peter was always tired. Peter had a million excuses as to why he didn't want to have sex. These excuses included but were not limited to being overly tired from work, back injuries, sex being painful, and not being in the mood. If I wanted to think of more I could, but you get the point. Sex wasn't non-existent and Peter would often say he wanted sex more but when it came down to it, I was turned down more nights than not---which sucked for my ego because I really enjoyed sex. Are you uncomfortable yet? Hang in there, we aren't done yet.

Among his inability to decide whether he wanted more sex or less sex, Peter would almost never come to bed with me. He claimed insomnia and I would beg and plead with him to just come lay next to me so I could feel like we were close. Going to bed alone was something I hated but it was something I had done almost consistently for TWO YEARS prior to Peter leaving our family. But because I had no idea what a pornography addiction looked like, I believed the insomnia claims and I believed that Peter was just up watching movies or playing video games well into the night.

Another thing that always struck me as odd was the fact that whenever I was on Peter's computer sign in, every single thing in the history was erased. Every. Single. Thing. And when I would borrow his iPhone for anything, it was always empty of it's messages---and guess what? You don't have to erase messages on an iPhone. At first, when I told a WoPA (Wife of Porn Addict) friend about this, I told her I was relieved that this proved Peter wasn't looking at porn but she burst my bubble and told me this was quite the opposite. There is no need to erase all of your computer history unless you're hiding something.

On top of all of these things, the fact that Peter had been lying about being at work so much of the time has caused me to fixate on the theories of what in the hell he was doing in his "spare time". He claims he was hanging out with friends because he was "overwhelmed with family life". {{{ I have the urge to punch a wall every time I hear him say that }}} I asked him about this last week, specifically about infidelity, but he denied everything through his teeth. He became angry and started to gaslight and project his problems onto me. I am still on the fence about what I think of this reaction. Peter usually only becomes truly irate when I catch him in a lie.

None of these things were ever red flags, in my mind, that would cause me to speculate on Peter being addicted to pornography. They were definitely red flags regarding Peter's commitment to our marriage but I internalized all of these problems and blamed them on my inability to be a good wife. I wondered if Peter was attracted to me and whether he thought I was good enough for him. I was secretly worried that he regretted his decision to marry this woman who was fat and lazy and didn't even like to cook. What was I for him? What did I give him that he could not find somewhere else?

The answer to that question is nothing. In Peter's mind, I was an obstacle keeping him from being the person he wanted to be. I was an obstacle keeping him from doing things he wanted to do.

So he hid. He hid behind his choices and lied through his pearly whites. And I had no idea---and I don't know very many women who would have any idea in my situation. Because before you realize you were married to a pornography addict, you usually can't recognize the signs. And by the time I realized the signs could point toward him being addicted to pornography, I was already divorced from my addict husband. It's kind of a double-edged sword. But it's the kind of double-edged sword that we need to use to help others. It's the kind of pain that might be able to help someone in a similiar situation. It's the kind of heartache that might show someone else they are not alone.

I finally got the guts to ask my husband about his pornography addiction when I had so many signs right in front of me for years---approximately SIX of the seven years we were married---and guess what? It didn't hurt any less to have him confess to the things I felt I already knew. It didn't hurt any less to hear the words leave his mouth and enter my ears. Because no matter the signs, I still hoped I was wrong. I still hoped this was me being Crazy Wendy, the girl who overly obsesses over stupid things that aren't ever true.

So if you're uncomfortable with things you are seeing in your marriage, question them. Question the hell out of them and make sure you are comfortable. Being uncomfortable means something is off. Whatever that looks like in your life, you have a right to feel comfortable in your marriage. Trust your instincts and believe in yourself.

And while you're at it, go get an ice cream cone---because most likely, you have a hell of a journey ahead of you.

Go ahead and judge me

^^^this^^^

I'm a worrier and one of the biggest things I worry about is how people judge me.

They probably think I'm stupid for choosing an eating disorder as a coping mechanism.
They probably see my flaws and it suddenly makes sense why Peter left me.

I could go on and on with the worries I worry each and every day when I step outside my home. These thoughts consume me a lot of the time. They are constantly bombarding my brain with signals of failure and defeat and unworthiness.

On Sunday, Peter yelled at me, which is something he doesn't do often now that we are divorced. I told him I didn't trust him regarding a specific topic and he said, "You see, this is why I left you! You are crazy and manipulative and you have never trusted me." My first retort was, "I wonder why the hell I don't trust you, Peter! I freaking wonder!" but as I stood there and shook, trying so desperately to hold the phone steady and BE STRONG, I decided there was one thing Peter needed to hear from me before I hung up that phone so I said, "Peter, I would be happy to have this conversation again when your brain is healthy." and as he yelled and belittled, I hung up the phone. I hung up the phone and I shook for a while and I cried and tried to tell myself I was better than Peter thought I was. It was hard to believe but I tried. I need to overcome this fear that I have that I was never good enough for Peter. I need to be a stronger me.
Yesterday, my mother talked about how her friend wants me to teach classes to women in their stake who struggle with addiction or are teenage mothers who've given their children up for adoption. I was floored mostly because I WANT SO BADLY TO DO THAT but I feel so incapable right now. Don't I have to be perfect to help others?
I feel like I have so much knowledge and love to give to the world and my dream is to conquer my fear of public speaking and be someone who can reach thousands of people and make a difference but I need to get myself healthy first. And then I need to check my sanity because public speaking is SO not my thing. Remember how I deal with anxiety?
But the top priorities on my list aren't conquering my public speaking and changing the world. My top priorities include fighting my damn eating disorder and working through my anger toward the world.
I think about inpatient therapy a lot. Like a lot, a lot. And I don't want to go. I seriously do not want to leave my babies in the hands of their father and/or my parents and/or Peter's parents for a period of time but right now, this all feels so above my control. I guess that's the thing about addiction. I had no idea what this felt like, to be so out of my own control that I often make decisions that I am certain I won't make again. If you know what this feels like, I am so sorry. It isn't fun and it isn't living.
I want to live again. I want to feel like the old Wendy but with my new knowledge and strength. A few days ago, I couldn't even see this as a possibility so I feel like I've made a teensy bit of progress.

Today was a better day than any other day I've had in the past week. Although I'm still self-conscious and I still have an eating disorder and I still have this belief that my overweight body is what caused him to look at pornography, I saw a bit of hope today. I redecorated a room in my house and it was the first thing I've really done this week just for me. It benefitted no one else and I was happy that I have something to look at that is just mine.

Baby steps, Wendy. You can get back to where you want to be. You can do this.

Hello, God, it's me, Wendy

Church was hard today.

I woke up not wanting to go but I decided to go anyway and see if I could feel something. Anything. 

I've never really questioned God. Even as a rebellious teenager, I always had a testimony. So this feels weird, almost bad. I shouldn't be doubting. I shouldn't be losing faith.

I left church thinking that I probably won't go back for a while but I don't know why, nor do I know how. I am not this person. I am not really a questioner when it comes to my beliefs. Having a testimony has always been easy for me. In trials, I turn to God first. I bear my testimony when people want to listen. I help others get through their dark times when they are certain they can't feel God. 

And my visiting teaching partner invited me to go to the temple on Wednesday and all of a sudden, I'm nervous. Why the heck am I nervous? I was just at the temple a week ago and it was fine. 

I'm going through the motions because my emotions are so closed off right now. I'm sure that's why it's hard to feel God---because I'm just not really feeling anything right now. My brain is still in fight or flight mode and it's stuck somewhere in the middle. I'm not fighting and I'm not flighting---I'm just here.

And today, I'm just going to accept that. I'm going to accept that just being here is good enough. I don't know what my worth is and I don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow but today, I am here. I am breathing. My heart is beating. And I am here.

The Start of My Eating Disorder: Take 2

Trust is such a scary concept for me because I don't trust people.

Even the people I trust the most aren't completely trusted because how can I? How can I guarantee I won't be left abandoned or judged or talked about when all is said and done?

The story of my adult eating disorder is a story about the stupid things people say. Even good people say stupid things so this story isn't meant to bash on any of the people that I love in my life. But hey, I'm anonymous so who freaking cares?!

I struggled after Peter left me. I was a mess. One day, two days, three days...I couldn't get used to the fact that he had seriously left. Anger mixed with complete despair. That Sunday, oh my goodness that Sunday was hard. It was the day after he left and I chose to take my kids to church. Umm, what was I thinking? Of course, all I did was cry...IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. Gasp! That is something I try really hard not to do ever. Ever ever.
After church, my friend took my kids home with her and I just couldn't even stand to be home alone so after about ten minutes, I drove to her house. We talked. I cried. We talked some more. I may have bashed my then-husband a little bit. Or a lot. And she looked at me and said, "You should just lose a bunch of weight and show him what he's missing out on."
And suddenly, my heart felt like it was in my throat and I am glad she left the room for a minute because I was devastated.
She noticed.
She noticed what I notice every day.
I'm fat.
I'm fat, I'm fat, I'm fat!
And I was left feeling horrible about myself because someone else had VALIDATED an insecurity I was trying to deal with.

But it wasn't two days after he left that I started controlling the hell out of my eating. No, a month or so later, I was sitting at a friend's house {different friend} and we were talking about my possible divorce from Peter and she said, "So how awesome would it be if you lost a ton of weight and showed him what he's missing out on?" and I could feel it again; the small panic, the heart in my throat, the validation HELL.

Someone else had noticed.
Someone else had validated.
It was true.
I'm fat.
I'm fat, I'm fat, I'm fat!

And that night, I threw up after dinner and it was the most comforting thing I had felt in a long time.
I felt in control. I felt like I was on a path worth taking. I WAS GOING TO SHOW HIM.

It's been 32 pounds since that journey started and I can honestly tell you this is hell on earth. I can tell you how hard it has been to go from thinking I had control to realizing this consumes me. Sometimes I try to make good choices about my eating and they get ripped out from under me by this thing calling Eating Disorder Hell. I tell my brain to stop. I even looked in the mirror yesterday and told myself I was beautiful because my daughter was with me and I am trying my darndest not to have this affect her. I need this gone so she doesn't think this is reality. I need this gone so I can stick around for her life!

Showing Peter what he is missing is a big deal for me. It's something I obsess over. Because I was told this same thing twice and because I already felt this way about myself, I have a hard time deciphering the truths from the lies.

Because when I look in the mirror, the phrase "I am fat" sure as hell seems like a truth. And when I step on the scale, the phrase "I am fat" sure as hell seems like a truth. And because other people believe I need to lose weight and have outwardly told me this {my parents included}, the phrase "I am fat" sure as hell seems like a truth.

So I'm fighting. I'm fighting to find truths that are actual truths. I'm fighting to stay alive and relearn how to treat my body.

I'm not successful but I'm fighting.

My name is Wendy and I am one half of a divorced equation.

My story starts 7 years ago, when I chose to marry the man I had fallen in love with. At the time, he was everything I had ever wanted in a husband.
I told myself he was my everything because he loved me---and I thought nothing could stand in the way of love.

But things did stand in the way. About 2 months into our marriage, problems started arising that caused Peter to make decisions by himself that affected our entire family. Some of these decisions were quitting jobs out of the blue, quitting school, wanting to go back to school and quit an incredible job he had just gotten, spending evenings upon evenings with friends, lying about where he was going, etc. You probably get the point so I'll stop there.

I started noticing that Peter's commitment to our family was dwindling and so was his faith in God. But I was confused and lost and I had no idea what to do. About 6 years into our marriage, things were really tense between us. Marriage counseling was the first step in my book and we were in counseling for over 6 months with small improvements here or there. Peter finally convinced me that things were better than ever so we stopped going to counseling, although I was nervous because things just didn't feel right.

For seven years, I had feelings of things just being off. I could never put my finger on what the problems might be but this did not seem like the Peter that I had married. Happiness was missing from his life and he would often get angry about very miniscule things.

I often thought the unhappiness was my fault and I didn't know what to do to fix what I had done to our marriage. Was I uncomitted? Was I too lazy? Was I negative with him? I would look around and see how my friends' husbands were grateful for their wives and I wondered what I was doing wrong in my marriage. Peter couldn't see my potential as a wife or mother.

And then it happened. On a Saturday in August, Peter left our family. He gave me reasons of why I was an inadequate wife and he was gone. This was D-Day #1.

In a matter of hours, my family was torn apart and I had no idea why. Was I really that bad of a wife?

The story of our separation into our divorce felt like a lifetime and yet, we were only separated for three months before divorce was decided.

November 2013 was D-Day #2. This day was a little less devastating than my first d-day because it brought answers. Peter was an addict. He had been lying for almost our entire marriage about drinking and doing drugs.

But d-day #2 was too late in my "blame game" because I had already decided I wasn't good enough for his love. I had already decided that I was the reason Peter left and I had decided I was worthless without his love. I began a painful journey into the eating disorder world that has brought nothing but hell into my life.

My pathway into the eating disorder world isn't something I was unfamiliar with. It is a struggle I've had my entire life. The first time I realized I was "fat", I was 5 years old. I've never felt completely comfortable in my own skin but ironically, I had been working really hard to get to that point months before Peter had made his life-changing decision.

D-day #2 was slightly comforting because I started realizing that my feelings of betrayal trauma were for a reason. I knew there were definite reasons I had felt our marriage was off. But something still seemed to be missing in my "divorce puzzle".

Two months after our divorce was final, I felt like I had figured out the last puzzle piece on my own but I was so afraid to ask for two reasons: I knew Peter could lie. He is an amazing liar. Also I knew that if I found out the truth, my heart would be even more broken. But I was brave and I chose to ask. What would it hurt to ask?

D-Day #3 was the d-day that is more painful than believing Peter left because I didn't cook or clean enough and it was even more painful than thinking he was just lying about alcohol and drugs. D-day #3 was only a week ago and the pain is etched in my brain and it feels like it will last forever.

Peter has a pornography addiction.

I figured this would be painful to hear but I didn't expect it to cut through my heart the way that it did. My feelings of inadequacy and not being good enough were validated by learning my husband had been seeking out pornography for years.

It's painful to write. It's painful to think about. I feel like I'm walking through fog and getting nowhere.

But the thing is, when I take what is happening right now and think about the hard things I've overcome in my life, I know I can get through this too. It may be the most painful, messy thing I overcome but it is still possible.

I've had miscarriages, struggled with infertility, and I conquered my eating disorder once already. I'm living alone with two children and that is a fear I never thought I would be brave enough to fight but we are still alive and we still get up each day and accomplish things. I am a full time student and I've finished two semesters as a single, stay at home mom.

I know hard. Hard knows me. And I have faith that hard things are possible to overcome even if it takes years and years and years to get where I want to be.

This is possible to overcome.

Worthless

Betrayal hurts. It effing hurts.

Ever since Monday, I've had this pain deep down in my chest and I can't get it out. I want to claw it out and throw it off a cliff but it stays there and festers and it seems to be getting bigger.

Today I can't handle it. I wanted to stay in bed but the kids forced me out of bed because, you know, SCHOOL! And on top of that, my weight obsession doesn't allow me to miss the gym very often so we went there. The whole time, I felt like crying and screaming but I acted completely normal and dropped my son off to kids club with a smile.

A smile.
A damn smile.

People don't know---and they shouldn't. But sometimes it's so hard having this life where only a small portion of my friends understand and even most of them don't understand everything because our situations are all different.

I feel really hopeless today. I feel like it isn't possible to feel wonderful again.

I can laugh and smile and joke with others but I still come home at night, all alone, and I'm still fat and unattractive and my ex-husband is still an addict who didn't love me like he should've.

I don't believe I'm actually loveable. I feel like me gaining weight when we got married caused him to seek out pornography because I didn't have the perfect body and maybe I wasn't good at sex and maybe he was never really attracted to me. I wish I would've stayed skinny because I think he would've been happier.

Where is the healing? Where is the hope? I can't do this today. I can't handle these thoughts of loneliness. I'm supposed to be spending the day with my daughter while Peter Pan took our son on a campout. And goshdamnit, I'm going to slap a smile on my face for her and make it a fun night. But I'll still come home and ache and my chest will still be tight and I'll still feel abandoned and stupid and weak and worthless.

And that is because today, I am worthless. I look in the mirror and I can't see anything about me that is awesome or good. It's all gone. I am nothing today.

Lots-o-shit

Today. This week. This month. This year. The past seven years.

I often ask myself why. Why would God allow all of these things in my life? Am I just "feeling" him because I want to believe in something greater? Is He real? And does He really care? Peter Pan used to tell me that believing in God was for weak people. Am I weak?

I worry that even questioning God will ruin all of our lives...and I'm already ruining our lives, right?
I worked so hard to get custody of my kids on Sundays so they would be able to attend church with me and be raised "the right way" but tonight, I just want a break. I know God is real. What I'm having a hard time believing is that He knows what I'm going through this very minute. And if He does, why is this all happening? Why with the pornography addiction? Why with the eating disorder? Why with the divorce? Why with the infertility? Why with the miscarriage? Why with the childhood traumas? I just don't get it! I don't get why it's never "easy".

This morning, I had an appointment with a new therapist. Hell-to-the-yeah. It was just a basic appointment but I could tell that I'm going to like her approach to all of this crap I'm dealing with.

Then I came home and wrote two essays. I never did finish the third one but without it, I'll still have a B in that class so screw it! I skipped the essay completely! I started to stress out because I was going to be brave and eat some toast for lunch (Hi, unhealthy carbs, Meet, Wendy, the freak who loves/hates food) and although I stressed and panicked and stressed and freaked out, I did it. I did it knowing I could beat the hell out of this body at the gym in the afternoon. And then on the way to my daughter's dance class, I realized I couldn't get to the gym tonight and that I should've gone earlier. PANIC MODE. Food is effing just sitting in my body and I'm not going to burn the calories?! Oh, hell no.
So I was agitated.

And then I babysat at my parents house for an hour---an hour---in which time their house flooded from a clogged toilet. NOT EVEN KIDDING! That was the unluckiest hour to be at their house. My parents both reprimanded me like I was a five year old and I left their house feeling like shit---which is ironic, because I had just been cleaning up shit. Why was I in trouble for something that could've happened on anyone's watch?! Because I'm that kid, that's why. There's always a reason it's my fault.

I had eaten dinner right before the shit incident because well, everyone was eating and that's awkward. But halfway through the shit incident, I realized my older sister was there helping me clean it all up and there was no escaping this one AGAIN! So I sat and festered and obsessed and hated myself because I had food in my body again. Twice in one EFFING day.

And tonight. Tonight is when I really started questioning this God business. Because how is all of this possible in one day; the good, the bad, and the extremely ugly? How do I change my heart as it gets more hardened? I want to open up but I can't. I can't trust anyone with this heart of mine. Not family, not friends, not ANYONE.

Because anyone can abandon me. Anyone can be someone one minute and choose to be a jackass the next minute. Where is trust even possible? People make mistakes all on their own and the rest of us are just supposed to trust?

Trust is scary.