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.

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?

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.

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.

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.