I Want To Be Better

Another email came through containing a "Confidential Item" from the church.

They asked for a new letter because last year, Peter's temple clearance was not approved and he is applying for it again.

And I didn't lose my cool when the email came through! I sat down and wrote out my feelings and sent the letter within two days of the request.

Last year, I took 3.5 weeks to write the letter and it was six pages long. This time, my letter was three pages long.

And maybe I don't care if he gets sealed to her in the temple or maybe I kind of do. I know it's going to happen eventually. But I kind of wish it would've happened last year so I wouldn't have had to write another letter.

It's all going to be ok. 

I was listening to a conference talk at lunch about how our lives hardly ever turn out how we imagined they would and how we need to trust in God and allow Him to guide us through our storms.

This doesn't stop the pain from trials. But pulling closer to Him rather than pulling away from Him is the key here.

And I'm trying so hard to do that. 

I made a calendar of daily goals that include yoga and scripture study and journal writing, etc. I know I need to work harder to fight this anxious state I've been in since the court trial. I don't like the way I feel right now.

I want to be better. 

I want to give the control to God because when I try and control everything, I relapse with my eating disorder and I allow my OCD to make my decisions.

So as hard as it is right now, I'm going to try and give up the control I so desperately am holding onto.

Now I just need to figure out exactly how to do that...

Failure

I told her in a pretty rude way.

She asked about my eating disorder and I sarcastically gestured to my body. Because if you look at me, it looks like I have not been skipping meals at all.

That was just a short 30 seconds of how my first therapy session in 18 months went.

And it was mostly truthful. Because just considering purging every time I eat doesn't count, right? And sometimes having a day where I don't eat or a day where I do throw up doesn't count, right?

But when I left, I started to actually assess the past few months and how often I have snuck to a bathroom after eating a meal.

I don't like lying to people, mostly because I don't like liars. So when I left that session thinking I might've lied, I was pretty angry at myself.

I'm usually pretty hard on myself after therapy. It's always been that way. Because if I could just be completely real and comfortable and open and serious, maybe I'd leave feeling a weight lifted off my chest.

I've had a few sessions like that in my life.

But they're not often. Because most of the time, I leave therapy the same way I leave MOST situations in my life---thinking of all the things I should've said or could've done, reminding myself how I've once again failed and acted like an idiot.

Is there a point in my life where I'll stop being so hard on myself?

The Catch-22 of all of this is that I'm capable of believing I'm a failure no matter which choice I make.

For example, if I eat a meal and don't purge it, I am a failure for letting myself eat and letting those calories turn into fat, which will inevitably cause me to gain weight and make me less desirable to a possible future spouse.
And if I DO purge after eating, I am a failure for giving in to my eating disorder and being weak and not fighting hard enough to be the best mom for my kids.

So no matter what, I'm a failure here.

And that just plain sucks.

When Weakness Feels Powerful

There is a familiar feeling here.

The feeling of my hands shaking. My head spinning. My knees weak. My throat sore. And my stomach empty.

How can feeling weak also feel so powerful? 

That is the million dollar question. That is the question I've asked over the past decade and haven't quite figured out.

Control is a part of it. But there is more. There is a feeling of pride, of being strong enough to endure this hell to get the final outcome.

The final outcome. 

I don't know what it looks like yet but I know I want it.

And I'm at a crossroads where I need this. 

I need it.

Three Years

The odd thing is that I thought this was going to be the 4 year anniversary.

I don’t know why I was adding an extra year on there. Probably because it feels like I’ve been on my own for much longer than three years.

I knew August was creeping up on me. I could feel it even without looking at a calendar.

There’s just something about August, about school starting and schedules changing.

And the night before school, I’m lying in bed and praying for my kids and thinking about another year alone.

Another year where I go to parent-teacher conferences and schedule extra meetings to make sure my son with ADHD is getting the schooling he needs alone.

Another year where I help with homework and book reports and reciting poems alone.

The irony is that Peter left me just 3 weeks into our oldest child’s Kindergarten year so I’ve never really known what it’d feel like to have a spouse more involved with those school activities.

So I don’t know why it always hits me hard in August.

I’ve been doing this all alone since the very beginning.

But this anniversary always hits me the hardest---because it is my D-day. Three years ago, I was in a relationship and since then, I haven’t been.

In fact, I can count on ONE hand the number of dates I’ve been on in the past three years.

I’ve tried. I’ve done the online dating thing a few times and it’ll seem to be working for a week or two and then all of a sudden, one guy will ruin it for the rest by texting me something dirty or I’ll read the profile of a guy who says extremely provocative things in his bio and I take ten thousand steps back and think to myself, “Oh my gosh, being single forever would be better than this!”

Because at least if I’m single, I won’t be getting my heart hurt by the extremely douchey guys that seem to exist in this world.

Another thing that really triggers me about online dating is the fact that 90% of the profiles say they’re interested in someone “slim and slender” or “athletic and toned”. And any time I see that on a profile, I feel like I’m reminded of why I’m single.

And then I have a hard time not listening to ED because it seems like he’s telling me the truth.

It’s just one big ball of frustrations and disappointments and there are days I consider just getting back together with Peter because, you know, he still loves me and maybe he is the only guy who ever will---because am I even loveable? 

I realize how irrational this is. 
Or maybe I don't. 
But I want to realize how irrational this is. 

It's just that dating with an eating disorder is not easy.
I'm pretty sure dating in general isn't easy either though.

So I tell myself most days that I'm ok being alone because, most days, I am.

But some days, it just hits me that it's been 3 years since I've been in a relationship and had another adult living in this home with me.

August is a messy month for so many reasons. 
Six years ago, tomorrow, I was diagnosed with infertility.
Four years ago this month, Peter left the church we were both attending and I felt so scared.
Three years ago this month, Peter walked out on me.
Two years ago this month, I had to stop being a stay-at-home mom and went back to work.
Last year this month, I was dealing with some after shocks of some traumatic events earlier that year. I also started telling others that I was questioning my faith and wanted to attend a Christian church.

August is my messy month and every year, I brace myself for what is to come.

And this year, I found myself quitting my job recently and dealing with some after shock and anxiety from that.

I'm not doing well right now. I'm hanging in there because I know it will get better but I've not been handling life well.

Because my body just senses the unsafety of August and every day feels unsure. 

Thankfully, I've got my tribe of people who are patient with me while I struggle through the shittyness of August.

Thankfully, thankfully, thankfully. 

------------

Excuse me while I let the negative feelings seep out.

Does there just always have to be something?

I feel good about my maturity and strength with some things that have brought immense anxiety lately. I haven’t let them get to me. I’ve done so well letting myself feel the fear without letting it consume me, and talking myself out of taking on other’s problems and anxieties.

But I cannot apply those same things that I’ve learned to my eating disorder.

I literally consider(ed) quitting my day job…for my eating disorder. Because then I’d have more time to exercise and control my eating without being around people so much of the time.

I mean, if that’s not irrational, I don’t know what is…

I’m about to get on a stage in two days and dance for the first time since having my two kids. There are days I can talk myself through this because I absolutely love being on stage and performing but there are also days where I cannot even fathom the thought of this.

I am not anywhere near what I would consider to be a goal weight. In fact, I switch between starving myself and stress-eating every damn thing I can get my hands on.

And the stupidity of this is not lost on me.

If I would just NOT eat…or if I could just eat smaller portions…or if I could just pick healthier foods…

If I would do ONE of those things, I wouldn’t be overweight. Or at least, I don’t think I would. But maybe I would…

I have a friend who is a Beachbody coach. Two years ago, in the middle of my worst addiction cycle to date, she invited me to try Beachbody shakes and I remember telling her, “Absolutely not”, because part of recovery was trying to eat like a normal individual---crazy/fad/strict diets don’t work for my recovery. But then I got to a point where I felt I was ‘in recovery’ but I was overeating and needed a different kind of help.

She offered the shakes again and I decided to try it.

And I hated them. They were so gross. I tried so hard to convince myself that those chocolate shakes didn’t taste like Pediasure but they did. So. Gross.

And that experience had me frustrated because if I could just ENJOY healthier foods and not feel like ‘eating healthy is a punishment because I’m a fat person’, I feel like this would all be easier.

Because that’s how I view food---it’s either a reward or a punishment. 

I'm Done

I was so triggered by a friend's comment today. And she doesn't get it, she doesn't understand how telling me 'skinny people are more self aware' is so damaging.

I can't do this anymore.

I'm done fighting my eating disorder.

I tried. I failed. It wasn't worth it.

The end.

Eating Disorder Reality Check: Part II

We filled today up with family time.
I think that's why I've been feeling a little lighter load than the other days this past week.
Even though I'm still not listening to my recovery voice and I'm still fighting the urge to break down, I opened up to my best friend because I needed a reality check.

And she gave it to me.

And I didn't much like it.

Because instead of telling me that it is wrong for me to feel the way I feel, she validated my feelings. And that should be a GOOD thing---we all love feeling validated, right? But in her validation, she told me that there are many men who go for the skinny girls, the perfect bodies, the impeccably distributed curves.

And then she asked me if I really wanted one of those guys...

...and although I gave her an answer (No...), I'm still struggling to believe my own answer.

What do I really want? 

Perfection? Is that what I want in a man?
No.
I want someone who is caring and HONEST and loyal and funny and outgoing.
But really, I'd settle for someone who is honest and who loves me.
Seriously.

But knowing what I want hasn't made this any easier. Because I'm starting to think that what I want doesn't exist.

I'm starting to think that recovery, or whatever you want to call the past year and a half, was a waste of my time because even the best of the best guys want skinny girls.

*****

This past year, I still turned to addiction. I was addicted to food. Much like the trauma from Peter leaving me, my immediate reaction was to turn to food and tell myself I didn't give a damn what people thought or said. And much like my pattern from back then, it was only a matter of time before I found myself overweight and feeling worthless. And it is when this break happens that I switch gears and give in to the purging.

I remember a friend telling me once that she didn't enjoy throwing up (Does anyone, really?). But the thing is, when she said this, I was smack-dab in the middle of my eating disorder hell and I remember thinking, "I may not like this but I like the way I feel right after. I like the control." I felt strong. I felt incredibly invincible.

When I woke up the other day and realized that this is a pattern, I was angry. And sad. And extremely frustrated. I want to beat my own statistics.

But I can also tell you on the flip side that I already feel a sense of control that feels highly addictive. I feel like I am working toward a goal to better myself.

I don't know, you guys. I really just don't know.

Some days, I try to fight my eating disorder and other days, I don't believe it is worth the fight.

And that's frustrating for me because every time I relapse or gain weight or believe unworthy thoughts, I start feeling like maybe this fight will never be over.

Like ever.

And I really hate that thought.

Eating Disorder Reality Check

Four relapses in one week. It's been a while since I've even considered this being a huge deal. In fact, most of the past year and a half, my struggle has been with loving myself and not so much about restricting/purging.

I don't know how much weight I've gained because instead of smashing my scale this time, my children accidentally broke it. And I feel like someone should give me a high-five for not even getting upset at them. In fact, I took it as a sign. "Wendy, you don't need a scale to tell your self-worth."

Ed tells me there's no one I'm hurting if no one knows. Or at least that there's no one I'm hurting if no one knows how bad it gets. So if it does get bad, just don't tell anyone, right? Don't reach out. Because if you reach out, they will tell you to stop.

And you don't want them to be disappointed.

Ed tells me that when they see my weight loss mixed with my beaming smile and awesome hair, they'll congratulate me and think of me as strong and capable, rather than weak and incapable.

Ed tells me that the reason my friend who's been single for less than 6 months has a boyfriend is because she is beautiful and skinny. And that the reason I have been single for almost 3 years and haven't had a boyfriend in that time is because I'm the opposite of beautiful and skinny.

That last paragraph might be my main trigger this week.

In fact, I know it is. Because I don't believe the lies about this not hurting other people. But I can't help but believe that the reason she is dating while I'm not is because she is skinny and I'm not. I honestly don't think there's anything anyone could say to convince me otherwise. The truth is right in front of me.

Ed tells me that people will take me more seriously as a dance teacher if I'm skinny, that my career will be much more gratifying and fulfilled if I lose weight and become as skinny as the ballerinas you'd see at the professional ballet.

And I don't think Ed is lying about all of the things I'm being told. I don't.
I'm still struggling because I know what a lot of the world's views of right/wrong with eating disorders are. I know it isn't considered healthy to purge meals or restrict eating.
But I don't quite know what to believe when I feel bombarded with a society telling me that my worth is equated to my size.

When I look in the mirror, I don't love what I see. I love my hair and my eyes but I don't love my body as a whole.

Will I ever love my body as a whole?

And I don't have an eating disorder support system. I don't have people who fully understand what I'm feeling or why I'd want to choose my eating disorder.

And I guess that's ok---I didn't have that for the first 26 years of my life so I don't think it's something I necessarily need to have now but it's still hard when you've experienced that support for a while and then it's gone.

Because now I'm left with my family support---which is just one big effing joke since nobody in my family takes eating disorders very seriously---and my friends---which is semi-ok because they try to understand and at least make an effort to support my struggle.

But Ed never left me. In fact, Ed has been one of the most consistent companions I've had. And I look back to the times where I was going to the gym a few hours a day and obsessing over my intake in food and I think I'd be happier being her and looking like that girl I used to see in the mirror.

Because if I'm supposed to create my own happiness, I think weight loss is a huge part of that.

I remember being happy with the path I was headed down before. I went into recovery for other people, not for myself. And if I had continued to listen to Ed, maybe I'd be dating or married or at least a lot prettier than I am right now.

Sometimes Ed Wins

I broke down yesterday.

It was one of those moments were, on the inside, I had completely lost my shit, but on the outside, I was acting totally fine.

I was fighting within myself---eating disorders are good, no they're bad, no they're good, no, no, no, no, no---*brain explodes*.

And I'm pissed. Because I have so many reasons to be happy. In fact, there are so many reasons why I AM happy.
But on the inside, when I allow my thoughts to turn to body image, I lose control. I cannot handle it. I fail at every recovery measure I've tried. I hate my body. I get angry at it for not being perfect.

Recovery tells me that my body has birthed two children, that it teaches dance and can still do incredible things.
Ed tells me none of those things are good enough, that I'd be worth something if I'd just stop eating.

Stop. Eating.

I tell myself this daily. And then when I do eat, I hate myself for making such a bad life decision.

Because even though my life is so beautiful, it'd be even better if I was beautiful. My body doesn't match the life I'm living. It isn't beautiful.

I want to be beautiful.

And the only reason I'm still fighting is because I've heard stories of the damage and the heartache. In fact, I've been those stories. I've been ruined before. But if it weren't for journals, I wouldn't remember those broken stories because right now, when I look back, all I remember is feeling so strong and accomplished and worthy.

And I want to feel those things all of the time.

A part of me still feels like fighting is the right choice. And the other part of me feels like fighting isn't worth it.

So badly, I wish this wasn't my life. You have no idea how much I wish this wasn't my life.

To feel happy with your life while fighting or not fighting inner demons, that just doesn't seem fair.

I want to feel happy without hearing so many hurtful things being said about me inside of my brain.That girl in there, she is mean. She is cruel. She has extreme standards. Not for everyone, just for herself.

Sometimes I don't get how I can be her, how I can be so concerned with loving and accepting others without being that way with myself.

Sometimes I feel absolutely crazy.

Absolutely crazy.

It's Only Make Believe

Sometimes marriage seems like a distant memory, like something that I question ever even existed.

I can distance myself from the memories for a time but they always creep back in.
Peter and I haven't been getting along lately. To me, this means that Peter isn't conquering the recovery path he claimed to be on.

But what do I know? He deceived me for 8 years.

I often tell myself this wasn't about me, that I was more than good enough for Peter but most of the time, I say it because I feel like that's what I'm supposed to say.

Do I believe it? Not really. Do I want to believe it? Yes.

Our marriage was make believe. It wasn't real. It wasn't based on trust and love and compassion. It was based on lies and anger and a shit-ton of messes.
Marriage didn't help me grow into a better person. I lost myself in marriage. I had fears that were almost unrecognizable even to myself.

He never told me it was me, that my body is the reason he left...but was it? Could it have been?
Could this recovery I keep trying to force myself into make me less lovable in the future?
I try not to believe this. I try to remember that recovery is for myself, not for anyone else. But I don't think I've ever chosen recovery for myself. It's always been for others; for friends, for family, for my children, for future relationships, for my therapist, etc. It's amazing how good I can be at pleasing others but when it comes to pleasing myself? Hmm...in my mind, the most pleasing thing for myself would be purging and exercise and skipping meals and watching as the person in the mirror gets smaller and smaller.

Peter and I got in a fight this week---not that that's abnormal. But as I sat on the phone with my mother and apologized that I was asking for her help with my children, she apologized for the position that I'm in---and there was a lump in my throat as I said, "It's ok. I'm the one who chose this mess."

Because I chose to marry Peter and have 2 children with him. I chose to sign divorce papers. I chose not to be submissive every second of every day to keep him happy.

I'm not saying that any of those choices were wrong---in fact, I think they were all good choices. But I still chose them. This is still my life. It's always going to be my life.

I feel much happier and more independent without Peter here but it still hurts. It still aches to be alone. It still sucks to rely on other people sometimes. If I could do this all alone, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat.

I often wish this wasn't my life, that Peter hadn't been an addict who left his family and flip-flops between wanting to see his kids more and complaining that he has them double the amount that he used to have them. I often wish things were different, that I was skinnier and gorgeous and had been one of those divorced women who was so amazing that she got snatched up quickly by another man who could see her worth.

But I'm not. This is my life. This has been my life for almost 2 years.

And unfortunately, it isn't going to change.

Please

I am the odd man out in a lot of places.
Places I once fit in. Places where I was once extremely loved.
I lost a lot of things, a lot of people, a lot of places. I almost lost myself. 

But today I couldn't shake the urge that I've been having to bring my blog back from being private.
This is scary for me. There are reasons I went private that were very valid and scary and real but this is my place.

This is my place. 

It used to be my safe place and I haven't figured out if that's true anymore but I hope it is. I hope that if you don't want to be here, that you leave. I hope that if you don't like what you read, you will walk away instead of letting me know.

I don't need to know if you like me or like my space or like my choices.

You don't have to like me. It might be painful to have you leave but at least I'll know. At least I'll learn and get stronger.

I never stopped writing while it seemed like I was gone. I don't think I'll ever stop writing as long as I live.

I hope that when enough time passes, the people in my life who don't want to be there will learn that they can walk away without hurting me with words.

I've endured so much in the past few years. I used to think it was too much but now I know I was strong enough to get through it.

I don't want my safe place to bring me anxiety. Please. Please let me be here and write my story. If you know me and you don't love me, please know that you can walk away without trying to ruin me.

Maybe it's because it just isn't in my nature but I've never understood people who have vendetta's against others. The closest I got to a personal vendetta was when Peter left. For a while, all I wanted to do was ruin his life. But that isn't me. 

In reality, I don't want to ruin anyone's life. I try so hard to be a good person and be honest and be there for the people that I love. It isn't always easy but it's something I've always worked hard to do---sometimes spending too much time on that.

I'm starting over and trying to fight for myself.

I have an eating disorder and quite frankly, it isn't going so well. Every day that I lose my battle, I lose a little more hope that I'll ever win again.

I've done it before but each time I give in, it seems like this battle is never going to leave me alone.

So if you don't like me or you don't understand me, please just leave me alone.

I need to be here. This is my space. 

But I Miss Her

It's hard to explain and even to understand the feelings I've been having lately.

Mostly it is heartache. Mostly it is pain.

I saw her for the first time in six weeks on Friday. The last time I saw her was the day before this whole mess started.
She didn't see me. She was picking her kids up early from school and I was in the carpool lane waiting for my daughter to get out of school. I saw her walking to her car and I could hardly breathe. The anxiety I felt was almost unbearable. I was sweating and panicking.

I don't know what I was afraid of---that she'd start a scene in front of the school or that if she saw me, she would ignore me. Either one would've been painful. Either one would've hurt unimaginably.

A part of me wanted her to see me and smile, letting me know she was healing and moving on, but I knew that probably wouldn't have been the case. I knew it would've hurt to have her see me.

Living seven minutes away from someone you are trying to avoid is messy. I'm surprised that this was the first time I'd seen her in six weeks. At the same time, realizing it had been six weeks brought back so much of the pain.
It's been six weeks since I lost a lot of friendships and supporters, six weeks since I decided fighting my eating disorder wasn't worth it, six weeks since I was close to committing suicide.
In a lot of ways, it feels like it's been longer---years, even. But in a lot of ways, it seems like she and I were best friends just yesterday.

I wish it were easy to just forget her and move on. I wish the pain was gone and that I could fully believe that it's better having her out of my life. Deep down, I believe it. Deep down, I know that if she could give up on me so quickly and not come and talk to me before talking horribly behind my back to so many others, I am better off without her in my life. On the surface, that all makes sense to me. I shouldn't want her in my life if she doesn't want me in hers---but there is a part of me that is still struggling to accept that the things she has said to me these past six weeks really happened. I want to believe that somewhere within her soul, she knows who I am, but it's hard when she has told me a lot of hurtful things.

On top of that stuff or maybe just going along with it, I've been struggling to feel like I'm adequate these days. I feel like I'm accomplishing huge things---school, work, mom life---but I'm just waiting for it all to fall apart. I feel like I am trapped, like I'm listening to these voices inside my head that tell me I'll never amount to anything.

And Peter...yeah, Peter. I feel like he is getting a little too emotionally attached to me lately. I don't know, maybe I'm overreacting. I get really tired of the games. I get tired of feeling like he wants me and then he thinks I'm a horrible mother and then he wants me and then he thinks all I ever do is remind him he owes me money and then he wants me again. It. Is. Exhausting.

In fact, everything is exhausting right now. Everything. My brain seems to always be in hyperdrive. My anxiety is always looming. THIS IS NOT LIVING, PEOPLE! It's just not dying.

But tonight, it's all I've got. Tonight, I am trying to focus on the small things like the fact that I was accepted to the college I wanted to go to and that I've been keeping up on my housework without a cleaning lady (who I was blessed to have for the past 8 months).

I am capable. I am going to get through all of this. Just not tonight.

Hello, Ed

Fighting is hard.
I feel this sense of pressure that I'm supposed to be fighting for myself every day and a lot of times, it's too much. It is too damn much.

People say I'm strong. I even say I'm strong. But at night, when I think back on the day and the amount of times I gave in to my eating disorder, I realize just how weak I am.

I don't know if the trauma from the past month has made it worse but I feel like Wendy all of the time these days---obsessing over my food intake, purging many times a day, looking in the mirror and seeing fat fat fat fat fat fat fat and a whole lot of ugliness, weighing myself in the morning and wanting to throw the scale out the effing window.

I act like I'm fine. Am I fine? I feel fine. I feel like this is who I'm supposed to be. I feel like if I can just lose weight, I'll be happier than ever before. I believe that. I remember last March/April when I was going to the gym daily and starving myself or obsessively purging. I was beginning to look better. I was beginning to feel in control while simultaneously getting out of control---irony? Sure.

I think that's the thing I hate most about eating disorders. I crave the control but after a while, I lose control. But in a weird twisted way, the loss of control also feels good because my brain is saying, "This is what you've wanted! This is total commitment and you will love yourself soon.".

Soon?
When does "soon" happen? Does it end with the specific amount of weight I've dubbed as "worthy" of my approval? Or will the number just get lower each time I reach a goal?

I don't know. She used to tell me it never ended, that I'd never be satisfied. But I don't believe her. My brain doesn't believe her. It believes Ed.

Ed hasn't ever left me the way other people have. Ed hasn't ruined my life. In fact, he tries to fix my flaws and I like that. I like that when I give in to my eating disorder, I'm fixing myself to become more worthy of life and love and happiness.

My counselor pointed out that I've always equated my worth to weight and that is true. It feels like the two things go hand in hand for me. Do I think that about everyone around me? No. But for myself, weight matters.

If I was skinny, my stupid flaws and mistakes could be overlooked by someone. This is just logical to me. If I was what the world perceives to be "hot", I would be more attractive and people would want to get to know me better. I feel like this whole "I'm an overweight mother of 2" thing is a real downer for most of the men I meet. Because who would want to take all of that on for someone who looks like me?

I feel oddly out of control and in control right now. I feel like I deserve this, like this is just the life I was meant to live. The aches and pains of an eating disorder are worth it when the numbers on the scale get lower.

With everything going on, this seems like the only little piece of control I can have. Everything else is being pulled out from underneath me. People who I loved no longer love me. I need this. I need Ed.

Gravity

Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long.

I don't think if there will be a time in my life that I'm not struggling with something, whether it be my eating disorder or my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I just don't. I feel like it'll never go away, like I'll never be strong enough to fight my battles. These battles are too big.

No matter what I say or do, I still feel you here 'til the moment I'm gone.

Don't eat that. Don't touch that. You might die. You'll gain weight. You shouldn't be sitting on the couch. You shouldn't be going on vacation with unknown germs. You're stupid. BE SMARTER!
I hear these words all day, every day. It's like the never ending story from hell.

You hold me without touch. You keep me without chains.

This perfectly describes addiction. I understand why it's hard for some people to believe addiction is real. Because it doesn't make sense. Not even a little bit of sense. How can I be trapped by something that isn't physically holding me? How have I allowed these things to control me so much in my life? Shouldn't it be easy just to walk away and yell, "YOU CAN'T FORCE ME TO DO THIS!" Because the reality is, no one is forcing me. No one has chained me to a wall. This is me. My addiction is me.

I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain.

I used to scribble furiously in my journal how I loved my eating disorder and just wanted it NOT to kill me. Can't I just keep the comfort of my addiction WITHOUT the physical consequences?! I want to drown in it, be enveloped by it---because there has always been a part of me that believes that my eating disorder is what helps me and gives me worth.

Set me free. Leave me be. I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity. Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be. 
But you're onto me and all over me. 

I can yell and plead and wish that this wasn't my life. I can tell myself I'm stronger than this. I can rely on the truths of the people who love me. I have been in recovery before. I have been in a place where I truly believed in myself.
But then something happens. Something always happens. Addiction comes back into my life. Obsessions seem to make me feel safer.
Germs become death. Food becomes weight gain. Everything starts to feel bad.
And all of a sudden, I find myself right back where I started.
It's so damn frustrating. It's frustrating to fight and work hard and then lose everything you have worked for.

You loved me 'cause I'm fragile when I thought that I was strong.
But you touched me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

My eating disorder preys on my weaknesses. It knows exactly what to say to hurt me and make me doubt myself. It is one of the worst things I've ever dealt with because it knows me inside and out. And I believe it.
I believe the lies. I believe the shame. I believe I am not good enough. Yet.
Yet.
My eating disorder tells me that there is hope! That someday I will be good enough when I've lost all of the weight and made myself stronger by controlling everything. Everything. Every damn little thing.

I live here on my knees as I try to make you see that you're everything I think I need here on the ground. 
You're neither friend nor foe though I can't seem to let you go.

It's so confusing. I hate my eating disorder. I hate OCD. But I also love them both. I also feel safer here. I feel so much safer and so much more in control.
But I'm not. My eating disorder is not my friend and not my enemy. It feels like neither and it feels like both.

The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down.
You're keeping me down. 
You're onto me and all over.

There's a part of me that gets it, that understands the danger here. There is a part of me that can take a step back and recognize a lie as a lie. But it isn't the prominent part of me. It isn't enough of me.

Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long.

I feel so weighed down by addiction lately. Whether I'm acting on it or not, it is consuming my thoughts and affecting my life. I hate it. I hate the discord between my heart and my brain. I hate feeling worthless and stupid. I hate feeling like no one really truly loves me.

It isn't a fun place to be.

Hope{less}

If he wants to leave then let him leave.

The idea of this sounds so simple.

Let him leave.

But people don't always tell you about the aftermath. People don't always tell you how much it is going to hurt and how much you might lose yourself. They don't tell you that these times will feel so painfully lonely and that one minute to the next can drastically change. They don't tell you that you will see the beauty but you will also feel like you want to die.

I often wish my journey would just end already---not my journey on earth necessarily but this painful journey of divorce and eating disorder and trauma and exhaustion. I often hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is going to show up but it never does.

Especially today, it doesn't.

I feel weak. I feel stupid.

I was thinking about my eating disorder for hours on end at work today. It was consuming my thoughts and I was wondering why I'm more apt to say I relapsed if I purge but if I go days without eating, I don't treat that as a relapse.
Is it because I've always identified with bulimia the most?
Even further than that, I wonder if the relapse is actually the thought process---the things I choose to believe. Because if I choose to believe the lies, isn't that a relapse? Isn't ED all about the lies in my head?

So maybe I'm in the middle of another eating disorder struggle and maybe I'm not. I haven't navigated it that far yet. But my body feels the way it used to---struggling to stay awake, feeling jittery, and extremely impatient.

But I ate today. I really did. I ate breakfast and snacked at work and ate dinner. So I don't know why my stomach feels hollow tonight. I don't know why I've been fighting back tears for a good portion of the day. I don't know why I am so angry that this is my life.

I feel like I can't handle life---the kids, the school, the work schedule. It all seems like too much today. It all seems heavy and scary and I feel like I'm failing at everything.

I look in the mirror and I don't see a person I love. In fact, I see a person that I hate. I see rolls and fat and blemishes and stretch marks. I see a mother who doesn't have time to do homework with her daughter, a student who half-asses assignments just to get them done on time, and a friend who almost never has time for others anymore.

Tunnel vision.

I feel like I'm being held captive by tunnel vision tonight. I feel like all of the beauty is covered in dark clouds. I feel like everything I accomplish is tarnished by the millions of mistakes I make. I feel so unworthy of love. I feel so unworthy of relationships, whether they be family or friend relationships.

I have a messy house that was spotless four days ago and I haven't decided when I'll be able to pick it all up and continue on my psychotic organizing journey.

I have OCD that tells me NOT to touch door handles or bathrooms or counter tops and that if I do, I better bust out my hand sanitizer or we are all going to get sick.

Today I was thinking about how it'd be easier if I weren't here---how the people who depend on me wouldn't have to get their hopes crushed all of the time. I feel like I'm constantly screwing everything up.

I feel like I'm speeding through life but getting nowhere. Am I moving on a path? Am I working toward something? I want to say yes. I want to have goals and be productive and have positive relationships but I just don't have faith in myself tonight.

I'm trying to accept the fact that I'll probably be single forever because I don't have the time or energy to date. I can't even keep up with the relationships I have---adding in another one might kill me. And not getting married means I get to accept the fact that I'm not having any more kids. And not having any more kids means I get to accept the fact that my baby starts kindergarten this year and that life is passing me by faster than I'd like it to.

I can't do this tonight. I really hope that sleeping will bring some of my normal self back. If it doesn't, I might just go bat-shit crazy tomorrow.

My Conflicted Feelings about Ed

I've heard people claim to completely recover from their eating disorders. Honestly, maybe a part of me used to believe that was possible. But I think it had to do with the fact that I was married and happy and didn't struggle with my self-esteem and so my eating disorder's voice was a whisper in my head.

There were times I would look in the mirror and struggle to love my body. But my husband would assure me I was beautiful and my worries would fade.

Then one day, I found out all of that was a lie. I found out that the man who had claimed I was beautiful had been looking at naked women on the internet. And I found that out after he had left me---alone, feeling worthless and abandoned.

And I just can't see myself getting over that. Ever.

I have so many helpful tools and so much support---but sometimes I pull away from the support because I'm so damn exhausted and all I want to do is live with the comfort of my eating disorder and not worry about the repercussions of it all.

Because when I have an empty stomach, I feel empowered. I feel more worthy. But I also feel like hell.

I hate it. I love it.

I've been trying to work on recovery for eight months now. Eight months of rollercoaster emotions, weight loss and weight gain, weeks of no purging, weeks of starving myself, etc. It hasn't been an easy 8 months. In fact, I have felt so much emotional turmoil regarding my eating disorder because I'm so afraid.

I'm afraid of dying---and I'm afraid of recovery.

A year ago, I wrote in my journal about how giving up my eating disorder would automatically equal gaining weight. And gaining weight would cause me to not get married. So moral of that story, giving up my eating disorder would cause me to be lonely forever.
A year later, I can pick out the lies. But I have also gained weight since starting my recovery journey and although I was ok with that at first, the weight gain has gotten to me. I think about it daily---multiple times a day. I can't concentrate very well when my stomach is full because I want to purge. I don't always act on it but the thoughts are always there. They never leave me alone.

I can tell you one of the biggest lies that I believe---that my eating disorder helps me. I tell myself that all the time. In fact, even though I can point it out as a lie, I don't quite believe that. When I was able to go to the gym every day last February through July, I would take pictures in the mirror every few weeks. As I looked at those pictures the other day, I saw a girl who was in control, who was strong and capable. And now I feel like I've lost her again---like I'm weak and incapable. I feel like I'm losing myself.

But everyone says that when my eating disorder takes over, that's when I lose myself.

So why do I feel lost without my eating disorder?

Tonight I'm just trying to honestly and openly sort through these thoughts. I want them here. I want to remember my struggle.

I wish I had this figured out. I wish this blog had more happiness and less mess. But I identify as Wendy the most when life is messy. I just do. And I'm extremely grateful that I have a safe place for all of this.
I can remember back to the days where I felt so alone and had no one to talk to. I remember the feelings of just wishing I could die so that my heart wouldn't hurt so bad. I don't identify with ever being suicidal but I have had days where I believed I would't be strong enough to keep going.

I hadn't purged in so long before this weekend. I had been holding on, even if the rope I was grasping was a thin strand of yarn. At least I was holding on. And now that I'm not holding on---or maybe I am still holding on---I don't know what I want to do next.

I want to heal. I want to believe in myself. I just don't even have a desire to open a recovery book or fight my thoughts. I feel so exhausted.

And the hardest part is, I keep trying to practice patience with myself. I keep trying to validate my fears and anxiety and trauma. But a lot of days, I still feel like I'm at Recovery Square One.

I know focusing on the baby steps will help. I think that's where I'll start. I think I'll continue to validate my feelings and when that becomes easier, I'll add a new goal in there.

It's funny how I gave myself a timeline of "one year" to work through my divorce trauma. I figured that was a loooong time. It sure sounded like a long time. But now that I'm here, it seems like it all just happened.

You really can't put a timeline on grief.

My Fuzzy Gray

I had a date last night.

My favorite date so far in the history of dating.

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

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

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

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

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

Anxiety hits.

Chest pains, sweat, heavy breathing...

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

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

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

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

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

I don't know.

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

I don't know.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.

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

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

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

I know what your answer would be.

But is that my belief? Is that my truth?

I don't know tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

Am I a Warrior?

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

Because this is just too hard.

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

It all makes me feel like I'm failing.

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

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

I should be able to be an adult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that just doesn't really sound like strength.

Because I am Not a Prostitute

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

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

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

 

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

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

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

 

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

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

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

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

Just give me a few days, please?

 

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

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

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

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

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

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

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

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

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

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

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

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

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

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

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

Not this time.

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

Today I am Wendy

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

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

Am I just an effing crazy person?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm done.

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

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

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

Like literal crazy.

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

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