Belle

Some days, I just want to run away because I don't believe that I'll ever be good enough. I don't think I'll ever be doing all of the things I'm supposed to be doing to be an emotionally and physically and spiritually healthy person.

There is always some way in which I am failing and I am really good at recognizing that.

My therapist told me we are digging deeper into my feelings regarding Belle moving two hours away. Probably because I waited until five minutes before our session was over to start letting my emotions out and actually talk about it all. I do that a lot with harder topics. And Belle moving away has been a harder topic because it makes me feel stupid. I feel weak and stupid that a friend moving two hours away affects me this much.

This loss makes sense based on my past relationships. I definitely have abandonment issues. But it just makes me so angry that it all stems back to my abandonment trauma with Peter and I hate how everything in my life seems to stem back to that awful time in my life.

I lost Peter. I lost Alice. And now I lost Belle. This sounds like an incredibly stupid Disney movie gone bad.

But it is definitely NOT a Disney movie. Because in an actual Disney movie, I'd get those people back in the end. This would all wrap up with some amazing happily ever after. All relationships would heal and we would all sing and freaking birds would dance around in the air.

But that isn't how life works.

Instead of a happily ever after that magically wraps it all up, I am supposed to be in charge of my happily ever after. And although some days, I am doing that pretty damn well, other days, I feel like such a failure.

I know I didn't lose Belle in the same way. She is still my best friend. We still talk. But she isn't right down the street and I can't go see her any time I want.

In fact, I no longer have anyone like that around me. And that has been brutal the past few months.

Peter left me almost FIVE years ago. And here I am, still struggling to be alone. I immerse myself in teaching dance and doing homework and filling out job applications and taking care of my 4 month old (Oh, did I not mention I got a BABY on Easter Sunday who is now 4 months old?!) but when my kids are with their dad, I still go home and have no one to talk to. I take care of Cubby and that gives me a sense of purpose but unfortunately, 4-month-olds don't talk.

I haven't gone to church much since Belle moved. I feel more alone there than I have in a long time. I don't feel connected to my ward. I go because my kids need me to go. I go because I know it's the right thing to do. But I'd like to go because I want to go.

I just want to stop going through the motions. I want to try harder. But I feel so stuck in this pit of anxiety.

I feel like I'm struggling to find enough energy for self-care right now because all of my energy goes toward providing for everybody else. And I love that I get to be teaching dance and going to school and spending a lot of time with my babies---but I just need to find a better balance.

What Is Normal?

Therapy was good-hard again. Two weeks in a row of that is a good sign.

It means I'm growing. It means she's pushing me. 

I've let so much go this week---not in a positive way. No anxiety meds. An incredibly disorganized house. Being late to work every day. Putting off my homework as long as possible.

End of the school year is crazy. Dance recitals are creeping up. And then Company tryouts. And then Nationals in California.

And in the midst of everything, I'm applying for jobs and wondering if I'm ever really going to be successful. I'm much better at failing, right? 

I'm pouring myself into everything I can and acting like I'm handling it all fine but inside, I'm just about ready to jump ship. My brain is scattered and my anxiety is high.

I saw a cockroach run past me at work and immediately---chest pains from anxiety. Over a damn cockroach.

My best friend gave me the date for their move and it's in two weeks. 

Two. Weeks. 

How am I going to live without her being only two streets away?

I want to NOT avoid her until then. I'm trying not to. I spent the afternoon over there on Monday and it felt a little foreign. I went over on Sunday for five minutes just to say hi and immediately began to cry.

Each time I leave her home, we hug and it feels different. It feels like a goodbye hug. And that feels painful.

I'm trying to feel normal but I don't really know how to anymore. 

My foster baby could leave at any time. So---anxiety all of the time. Because he truly feels like he's mine and even though I know he isn't, I am so scared to lose him.

Summers are hard. Getting babysitters is stressful. Leading up to the anniversary of D-day starts looming.

Not having sex is hard. Feeling alone is hard. Being the main financial provider for my children is hard. Thinking about dating is hard. Co-parenting is the absolute worst.


Peter and I were doing so well and the past few days, we've had stupid arguments.

So what is normal? How do I feel normal when I don't even know what normal is anymore?

I did kneel down and pray this week---once---so that's a start, right? I need that to mean something right now. I need it to show that I'm trying. Because I'm trying to try.

And that's better than giving up or ignoring the fact that everything is shifting right now. 

I'm trying so hard to face the scary things right now. And therapy is helping me do that.

I just need to keep from drowning. Because eventually, I'll get used to the big changes that are happening.

Right? 

Shame Culture

What does therapy look like for you? 

Am I doing it right? Is there even a right way of doing it?

Do people tell their therapists everything---like absolutely everything? Is that the only way to truly heal or figure your stuff out?

There are certain things I could talk all day about. Not necessarily easy things but things that don't feel shameful.

Shame culture runs deep around here. It does. And I don't even know where that started. Is it a religious thing or have I just learned to beat myself up about anything and everything that I can?

I went to therapy yesterday with one rule for myself---don't talk about sex. Don't talk about missing it or wanting it or thinking about it. Just don't. Because shit will get uncomfortable and your therapist will think you are gross and you will not feel better.

One rule. 

But here's the thing---it's one of the main reasons I used to refuse a specialized eating disorder therapist---my therapist has been in my life for 5 years. She was there as a marriage therapist and she was there to watch me as I went through my divorce. She gets me.

So I usually get in to her office with my set of rules---taboo subjects that I'm NOT going to talk about---and somehow those are always the things that get brought up. Partly because I start to feel safe and decide to throw out a hint (that sounds way dumber than it feels when I'm there...). Partly because she knows me really well at this point and there isn't much I haven't told her. So she figures out what my taboo subject is and dives in.

And I cringe and feel uncomfortable and stress about whether her perception of me has changed. But when I leave, I feel like I accomplished something huge.

Merely surviving the conversations that feel so absolutely shameful is such a huge deal for me. And I like being pushed. In fact, I need to be pushed. Because if it were up to me alone, therapy would be about only showing my best attributes and laughing and pretending that life is always awesome. [I'm kind of an idiot, guys...] 

So it's a good thing I'm not running the show. It's a good thing she knows me.

But this week, that hasn't helped me to pull out of the shame spiral where just the fact that I miss having sex makes me feel like a bad person. Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm gross. Like I'm not a "normal" female.

And I hate that. 

I hate that the shame I feel seems to have ANYTHING to do with my gender. Because---why? Why is it ok for boys to feel this way but not girls?

I'm working through it, I think. And if I'm not, I'm going to try and continue this conversation in therapy next week, even though I will hate it.

The hours where I hate therapy are usually the best hours. I always leave feeling better. Because there is just something about pushing past my comfort zone that makes me proud of myself.

Bravery, y'all. 

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.

Post-Trial Anxiety and Forgiving Others

I thought that the trial verdict would fix everything. I thought I would be able to breathe. But that hasn't happened.

I think my body realizes it's safe to feel all of those traumatic feelings from the past nine months and it's all just been building inside of me while I tried to stay strong throughout the duration of the trial.

I doubled my Zoloft dose and I'm going back to my therapist this week. I'm trying to use the tools I've learned to combat my anxiety.

And most of the time, it absolutely works! Because most of the time, I have my children at my side.

But when they aren't by my side, my anxiety comes on strong---it no longer creeps in like it used to. It just hits me in the chest and I worry about my children and their future and whether they're safe and whether their father is manipulating them into hating me. And then I start worrying about whether I left a curling iron on and the house will burn down or whether I'll get in a car accident or maybe someone will kidnap my kids or maybe someone will break into our home.

Irrational fears? Yes. But anxiety is almost always full of irrational fears.

I chose to sit alone at church on Sunday because my goal is to soak up the gospel this year. I wasn't sitting alone to be sad or reclusive. I wanted to focus on every word from every speaker. So I chose my own bench, just for me.

And last night, after dinner at my sister's house, I opened up my brand new LDS Addiction Recovery manual that I ordered online a week ago.

I have faith that working through this book will help me calm my anxiety from this past year. And even more importantly, I am working the 12-steps to find forgiveness for my ex-husband and a former group of friends.

I've realized that although I've worked through a lot of forgiveness over the years, I am still holding onto that last little bit---mostly because I am scared that if I completely forgive, it negates all of the pain I have experienced.

I want to be free of the anger and feelings of betrayal. I want to understand as much as I can and then forgive them.

And then I want to focus on forgiving myself for not knowing then what I know now.

Hindsight sucks. But it's also beautiful.

I've learned so much through the eyes of "hindsight".

And I feel this responsibility to myself and my children to use what I've learned in hindsight to protect our future as best I can. Although that won't keep bad things from happening, it will help me to know that I've tried to learn and grow the best I can in the situations I've been given.

Anxiety is one of the worst things I've dealt with these past 5-6 years because not everyone understands the reality of a person with an anxiety disorder. It absolutely affects my every day life and most of the time when I'm acting happy and cheerful, my brain is sending signals of panic and fear.

And then when other people doubt me or betray me, it just reinforces the idea that I should be worried or anxious all of the time.


So I'm anxious and excited for therapy and working the 12-step program and growing even more.

My life is so full of beauty and I do not want to miss the beauty because I'm too busy worrying or feeling anger.

Peter Pan

Peter.

This weekend was one of the worst weekends to date with Peter.

He refused to give me a time frame of when the kids would be home on Memorial Day and kept saying, “When we’re done…”

He then refused to drop them off to me while I was teaching dance so I asked him to keep them until I was done (Because, you know, if he wasn’t going to drop them off BEFORE I started teaching, he would need to keep them until AFTER…common sense…)

And again, he refused.

I got a text a while later stating he had dropped the kids off at my parents’ house.

What. The. Hell.

And by this point, I was going all sorts of crazy. They had been away for a few days and they were late 2 hours getting home and now I had to drive to my parents to get them?

And I lost it. Big time.

I called my mom and yelled at her for not questioning why he was randomly dropping the kids off to her. {Not her fault…}

I fought with my mom and dad when I got to their house because the kids were swimming and I JUST WANTED TO GO HOME. {Not their fault…}

It was horrible. I felt so horrible.

On the drive home that night, my 8-year-old said, “Mom, dad says you were mad at him today but it’s not his fault. He says Memorial Day was his this year and since you never give him extra time with us, he shouldn’t have to give you extra time with us.”

So after I put the kids down to bed, I wrote Peter an email with the new Parenting Plan contract I had written up {because it’s long overdue to be updated} and I told him how disappointed I was that he had brought our children into this mess and talked poorly about me to them.

And he wrote me back some confusing paragraph about how he will ‘review it and we can come to an agreement upon said plan after adequate time is allowed for assessment of the plan you are suggesting.’ {Seriously, the oddest email I’ve ever read before with a bunch of big words that DID NOT make sense together}

Why does it still surprise me that Peter acts the way he does?

I think that’s the most frustrating part for me---that his actions catch me off guard and I allow myself to burst with anger.

I should be used to this by now. I should be able to handle things like this without getting so angry.

My therapist gave me good advice on this because I absolutely HATE when my anger escalates to the point that it did on Memorial Day. I hate feeling guilty after because I want so badly to just love and understand people and be calm and compassionate but realistically, I make mistakes and sometimes I let my anger pour out on others.

I hate this about myself. I’m trying to give myself more grace but I seriously hate this about myself.

Because I hate hurting people.

I’d rather hurt than hurt others.

But sometimes I am the one doing the hurting and I’m trying to work on that. I’m trying to recognize the anger when it’s in the beginning stages so it doesn’t get out of control. 

I wish Peter would grow up.

I do. 

But I have to remind myself that I still have a lot of growing up to do. 

And that really is the only thing I have control over.

Forgiveness is Freeing

The beauty of life is that although really hard things happen, we can move on.

We can pick up those broken pieces and fight like hell for what is important to us.

Lately, I've been thinking about forgiveness and how powerful it is---or more-so how freeing it is.

Two years and one month ago, I was in a marriage that I had fought for, living each day and believing that I would be married forever---and then my husband came home and told me he no longer loved me.
Two years ago, I was told by some of my family members that I needed to fight harder to keep my marriage together, even after Peter had left me.
Twenty-two months ago, I was told on two separate occasions that I should "lose weight to show him what he's missing out on".
Sixteen months ago, I found out that my ex-husband had hidden a pornography addiction from me our entire marriage.
A year ago, a family member told me they didn't understand why I felt the need to broadcast my pain all over the internet and that it could ruin my family.
Six months ago, I lost a friendship I thought would last forever.
Three months ago, there was a stream of hateful comments on my blog that stabbed at my character.
A month ago, my Bishop told me that all I needed to do was pray and read my scriptures to find my faith in the LDS church again.
Three weeks ago, I tried to open up to my mom about leaving the church and the first thing out of her mouth was, "Aren't you worried about ruining your children?"

It's been a painful few years---and not all of the pain is listed above.
But the reason I brought that pain up is not to relive it---I've done that enough in the past two years.

The reason I bring those painful memories up is to remind myself that I am a different person, a better person, because of each and every one of those comments and trials. I am stronger and I have forgiven.

This past month, it started to hit me just how much I have moved on. I woke up one day and realized that I hadn't thought about my pain in over a day---and then sometimes it'd go two days or three days or a week.

And the dreams have stopped. That might sound odd but for me, that is an indicator of my healing. For at least a year after Peter left, I had nightmares almost every night about him. Once in a while, I'd have a good dream with him in it but for the most part, my dreams brought out so much of the pain I was feeling and wasn't able to articulate.

I survived the anger phase---I survived so much that I thought I wasn't capable of surviving.
I can look back to six months ago as I sat in my therapist's office and sobbed for the first time in front of her (after seeing her for 2.5 years) and how much pain I was trying to unload. I can look back at that moment and marvel that I am here---that I am not only breathing but smiling and focusing on so much of the good in life.

God has been working miracles within me. I have faith that the journey I am on is exactly where He wants me to be.
I have faith that whatever I decide will only bring my children and I closer to God.

Forgiveness, for me, starts when I am able to see the perspective of the other side and feel empathy for the other person's pain.
I first felt this a week after Peter told me about his pornography addiction. I remember him sobbing on the phone and apologizing over and over again. I wasn't yet able to forgive him in that moment but it was my first glimpse of empathy for him. I realized how scared he had been for years leading up to the day he left.
And God allowed it to happen many more times in the past two years, from realizing my family was trying to grasp the reality of divorce just as much as I was to realizing that the hateful comments I've read about myself came from a place of love and protection for another person in their lives.

We can choose what we want to see. 
We can choose to see the hate and label it as such or we can try and look through it to see the fear or the protection behind the choices people are making.

Today I choose to look beyond and find empathy for everyone around me.

We are all fighting battles. We are all trying to do what we believe is right.

Forgiveness is freeing and I am choosing to be free. 

The Grief Cycle

Never is an awfully long time.

I've been studying the stages of grief, not really for school but because I'm a nerd and like to read my textbooks if I feel like they can help me in certain situations.
And I thought that I had passed the stage of anger.
I really did.

I hit a breaking point a few weeks after my recent friendship d-day where I was angry. So effing angry.

But I was proud of myself. I did not allow my anger to burst out of me and poison the surrounding friendships we both shared. I did not gossip. I did not fight for my side to be told.
I got help.
I spoke about it in therapy. I spoke about it to my parents. I spoke about it with my best friend who does not know these other friends.
I didn't want relationships to be poisoned just because I was experiencing anger.

Ironically, that was not emulated on both sides.
My friendships were poisoned.
Regardless of what I had or hadn't done, I became very unpopular in a lot of people's eyes.

And maybe this is me trying to force my way through to acceptance. Because hell, I know I don't want to hit the depression phase. I'd rather just skip it.
But the acceptance isn't coming. The anger is raging. My mind is more clear now. I can look back and see what has transpired these past few months and I am angry that so many people left me. I am angry that I gave my heart to so many people who misused it.

I want to lash out. Oh heaven only knows how much I want to lash out.
Because it isn't fair.

Unintentional mistakes shouldn't turn you into a monster. And when they do, it hurts.
It hurts like fucking hell.

And it's worse than Peter's betrayal because frankly when he left me, I didn't trust him. He hurt me in so many ways but I already knew he was struggling and a bit crazy.

But when I gave my heart to friendships that I believed were firm and when I think back on all of the times I had strived to be an amazing friend, only to have it shatter into a million pieces, I cannot help but be so angry.

Angry that some of you chose to take a side when this wasn't even about our relationships. This had nothing to do with our support group.

Two people had an issue and for some reason, it turned a majority of my support group away from me.

How am I supposed to trust support groups anymore? How am I supposed to feel like I'm equally as worthy of support when THIS, this is what happens?

This is NOT what I envisioned a support group to look like. This is NOT what I envisioned my life would be like.

Shit isn't supposed to get harder in a support group.

But it can and it does.

Because among a group of hurting women who find themselves barely staying afloat most of the time, maybe support isn't healthy. Are we even healthy enough to support each other without going bat-shit-crazy if we feel like others aren't reciprocating?

That is my ginormous question of the day.

What the hell kind of support group deserts you when you need them most? And what the hell kind of extremely close friend decides that you are THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD after all of the things you've done for her?

You hear about this shit happening to other people but when it happens to you, the pain is almost unbearable.

I've never felt betrayal like this. Ever.

And that is saying something because I am divorced from a porn addict.

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.

How to Care

Sometimes the demons get to my head and spread to my heart and I believe them.

Luckily, this isn't all of the time.

But it still happens.

I feel like such a failure for being single tonight. I feel like I'm fitting in less and less with the people around me. I feel like my two best friends are closer to each other and are pulling away from me---or maybe I'm pulling away from them. I don't know.

I had a counseling appointment this week where we made goals. One of the goals was taking care of myself---learning to put myself first sometimes.
I had been telling my counselor how I refuse to stand up for myself if I think it'll mean hurting someone else's feelings. I can't do it. Having a "talk" with my friends about how I'm feeling left out seems like a conversation where they will be offended or hurt in the end. After explaining all of this to her, she looked at me and said, "Wendy, then who is going to protect you? Who is going to take care of you?"

And the answer is simple.

No one.

I am not a priority in anyone's life. I don't have a spouse who puts me first. My children rely on me daily. My friends help sometimes. I seem to always be putting myself last on the list so that I can make sure everyone else is pleased and happy.

It's really exhausting.

But I do it because it seems like the right thing to do. I like helping other people. Honestly, a part of me hopes they'll help me in return---sometimes this happens and sometimes it doesn't---but either way, I'm still a rescuer. I don't know how to NOT be a rescuer.

I don't know how to put myself first.

I feel like I've been last on everyone else's lists for so long that there seems to be no hope for ever being a priority to anyone.

I feel so full of doubt and grief tonight. My counselor says grieving what's happened won't ever completely go away. I didn't really like the thought of that. I didn't like thinking about the fact that divorce is now a part of my story and that my trauma affects me often.

I feel like this will never end, like I will always be this Broken Wendy that everyone sees me as. I'll never be whole again. I'll never be strong enough to help others in a healthy way while still making sure I'm helping myself.

Instead, I'll kill myself making sure everyone else is receiving help and love and service. I'll slap a smile on my face and tell my friends nothing is wrong. I'll pretend that I've beat my eating disorder and that I don't give a damn if I never get married.

And on the inside, I'll be screaming and crying and feeling hopeless.

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.

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

I'm fighting.

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

I have avoided the mirror but I'm fighting.

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

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

What am I doing?

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

So what am I doing?

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

So what the hell am I doing?

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

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

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

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

That sounds so sad.

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

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

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

Because I am a warrior.

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

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?

Exhaustion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It isn't always going to be this hard.

Right?

I Am More Than Just Wendy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm drowning and I'm here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emotional Emotionless

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

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

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

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

So then I was mad.

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

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

No.

Hell no.

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

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

This isn't fair!!!

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

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

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

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

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

You have goodness, Wendy.

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

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

I just don't know how.

OCD: Comfort and Anxiety

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he hated it.

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

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

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

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

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

Because honestly, I don't always notice it.

It's just the way I am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Wendy Isn't Brave

Sometimes divorce hits me like a dark cloud.

It's been over 6 months since I received those final papers in the mail but some days, it just hits me all over again and I think,
"Really? This is my life?!"

And it is my life. I can't escape this awesome hell I've been thrown into.

It's 11pm. I was laying in bed an hour ago when I realized I had some online homework due by midnight and an hour later, I find myself at my blog, not sure what I'm releasing tonight but feeling drawn to this page and the safety I feel here.

My trip went well. As nervous as I was, Peter wasn't as much of a jackass as he is capable of being. When he dropped the kids off, he actually said how he feels like he is just coming to grips with how hard divorce is while I seem to be moving on and bettering my life.

The biggest part of me wanted to smile and say, "HELL TO THE YEAH, I'm moving on without you!!!". But there was that scared little girl that reminded me, "Wendy, you haven't acted on your eating disorder in days. You know you're gaining weight. You know you're not good enough for anyone. You were barely good enough for an ass hole like Peter. Don't kid yourself."

And although tonight I still haven't acted on my eating disorder, I don't feel good about it. I feel like a worthless piece of shit who was abandoned by her eternal partner. I feel like all of the good things I see aren't good because I am stupid and stupid people are undeserving of all things good.

I want to act out. I want to be the girl with the eating disorder who everyone compliments because she is losing weight and looking skinnier. I want to be the girl who releases stress at the gym instead of the girl who has been way too busy to get to the gym at all in the past few weeks.

But I don't want to be the unstable girl with the addiction. And that means I need to make this really hard decision to continue on a path toward punching Ed in the face and believing he is the liar that he is.

It is a really hard decision. I don't want to make this decision. I don't feel like I'm capable of doing it. And even if I am capable, I don't want to do it. Because I don't have any other security blankets around my broken heart. All I have is my obsession with weight and my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder which is stupidly out of control. The second I give those up, I feel a hell of a lot more vulnerable.

And OH MY HELL, I hate Hate HATE being vulnerable!!!

This life I live, although it holds some very rewarding and wonderful things, is really hard. It is messy and hard and I don't always feel up to the challenge of fighting against it. A lot of times, I just want to give up and throw the effing towel as far away as I can.

Because although tonight I sarcastically told Peter that divorce has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, that isn't true. He knows it. I know it. Our kids sure as hell know it. But we are all a part of this big huge mess that is a result of a lot of stupidity and really shitty decisions. We are all hurting and confused and tonight, I want to forget it all. I want this mess erased from my mind. I want someone to EMDR the hell out of my brain and take away this psychotic pain that I DON'T LIKE FEELING. But I doubt that's how it works.

I'm fearful that healing will take so much of my vulnerability and emotional capabilities and I'm just not sure I have that in me. I'm not sure I can become the person who is healthy enough to heal. I'm not sure I can open up to anyone---not even my counselor of TWO YEARS---and show people how much this hurts and how scared I am.

I'd rather just act tough and sarcastic and brave. I'd rather people believe the liar inside of me that thinks I'm just fine right now. It seems easier and less scary.

I can't be the amazing person everyone thinks that I am. I don't know how to believe that I'm actually her.

I am Wendy today and Wendy isn't brave.

Say Something

For years and years, I was screaming on the inside, "SAY SOMETHING, PETER! SOMETHING! ANYTHING! Tell me how you REALLY feel. Tell me what you want me to do!" as he made decisions that ultimately destroyed our marriage.

I didn't always understand those inner thoughts. I wondered why I was such a controlling, paranoid wife, thinking my husband was lying all the time when he promised he wasn't.

And when Peter left me and A Great Big World came out with the song, Say Something, every word spoke true to the things I was feeling.

"You're the one that I love and I'm saying goodbye. Say something, I'm giving up on you!"

The very first time I heard that song, I was a few weeks out from d-day and I wasn't sure what was going to happen. That song came on the radio and I started to cry as each word came closer and closer to the pain in my heart.

A few days later, my sister called and said, "Wendy! Have you heard the new song Say Something? I was bawling in the car thinking about your heartache right now and I felt like you could've been singing every single one of those words." And she was right. Every word was my story.

"Anywhere I would've followed you. Say something, I'm giving up on you!"

After years of wanting him to say how he feels to me and getting nothing in return, I wasn't sure how divorce would change that. I wasn't sure about the levels of communication and how we would both deal with the new boundaries that had to be set.

And at first, it was a mess. I tried to let Peter be a part of our family, even though we had filed for divorce. We went on hikes, we watched movies late at night...and one night, we had sex. There are days I'm still in disbelief about that because it was all so...awkward...and I felt like a whore. So it was after that night that I knew I needed changes for the safety of my heart.

Boundaries.

I started reading the book Boundaries that was recommended to me by my eating disorder therapist. I recognized some traits in the beginning of the book that were DEFINITELY me.

I was so sick of fighting that I decided to allow Peter back into my life more than was healthy for ME. I was making those decisions for the well being of our children and for his well being but in the process, I ended up more confused and hurt.

Ever since I talked to Peter about the boundaries I needed to set, there has been a frustration about him that I didn't fully understand. I knew he had changed when he left me. He seemed darker and less of the man I had married. But this was different. Peter was angry at me for taking away his kids and his opportunity to have the best of both worlds.

His anger has changed him into someone I don't recognize.

Tonight, Peter told me he wouldn't be able to contribute to our son's preschool bill for a month or two and I started to walk away in frustration and he exclaimed, "Calm the fuck down, Wendy!"

In front of my four year old.

Oh hell no.

My anger was at a boiling point but there was nothing I could do because I am about to head out of town and Peter has the kids by himself for four days.

On top of that, I started working this week and school started two weeks ago. I am now leaving that precious four year old FIVE days a week.

This is just a mess. All of the shit going on is a mess. I feel so much guilt and shame. I feel so much weight on me to be this perfect mother and this perfect friend and this perfect daughter and I JUST CAN'T DO IT! I cannot please everyone. But that won't stop me from trying.

Last night, I had a melt down. Like a scream-into-my-pillow-yelling-swear-words melt down. And I wrote in my journal how sometimes I feel like dying would be easier than all of this.

And that is the damn truth. I cannot even tell you how often in the past year I've layed in bed shaking from the fear of being responsible for two little children and myself all on my own. There isn't anything to describe what this feels like to me. It is just a whole bunch of hell and the responsibility feels like it's too much sometimes.

I couldn't even tell my counselor today how I wrote that sentence in my journal because even THINKING about dying makes me feel shame...because I would never truthfully kill myself or even want to die and ruin my children's lives more.

But when I get so buried in fear and shame, I can't think of anything else that would release my pain.

Please tell me this gets better. Tell me I will find hope and that I won't always hate myself and that I will be able to afford to take care of my kids on my own and that I will stop feeling so anxious about life.
Please?

Because I just can't keep having break downs and feeling so scared for the future. I can't keep doubting myself and wondering if things will ever get better.

I just can't.

But I'm so afraid to feel and give emotion to my pain because I don't believe it will ever go away if I let it out. I feel like being strong and COURAGEOUS means to keep myself in check at all times and never let my emotions run free. I cry sometimes but ONLY when I'm alone and I always shame myself for being weak and out of control.

I'm so afraid of what my pain really feels like.


Since music is therapy, I recorded Say Something for you tonight. And with that, I am off on an adventure with my friends for four days. Please pray that my kids won't miss me too much and that I'll be able to relax and trust that they're in good hands.

Angry Words

In counseling on Tuesday, I kept saying the made up word EFFING and after a while, my counselor asked, "Wendy, do you ever just say the real F word?"

And it got me thinking because the real F word is always in my mind. I'm not kidding. Always. When I get angry or something happens, I think it every time. This never used to happen but since I'm now an angry person, it does.

So this week, I released the F word into my journal a few times. I wrote it and felt the power behind it even though it's just a stupid word. I felt like it finally got my point across of how ugly this all feels. No other word can quite describe how messy this all is for me. No other word has been able to describe my pain and anger.

It sounds kind of weird. It's just a word. But because it is a word I used to never ever say, it holds an ugly power and helps me process the way I'm feeling.

The physical letter I wrote Peter the other day was full of language and hatred and I was writing it as a step toward my healing. I knew I was going to burn it. I scribbled almost illegibly through two sheets of paper and when I was done, I read it to myself out loud.

And then I burned it. I took a lighter and set it on the concrete outside and I watched it go up in flames until all that was left were a few black ashes.

I came inside and damnit, I was still angry. I was hoping that magical letter would just erase my anger but it didn't. It couldn't.

I punched my pillow over and over and yelled out some of the ugly feelings I've been feeling lately and then I crashed in my bed, sweaty and tired from the physical and emotional torment.

So here's the thing, ladies and gents, I woke up a little less angry the next day. I woke up a little less distressed and hopeless.

Physically proclaiming my anger wasn't a fix-it-all but it helped me process through a few of the hundred angry feelings I'm feeling. It helped me to know what to scribble in my journal because often times, I don't even know where my anger is coming from or what I should write down. But that night, I knew it. I knew there were some really painful things I haven't faced regarding how our divorce happened.

There is so much trauma that came with being the parent who had to endure the nightmares and the puffy eyes and the million questions. I did it alone. Not only was I forced into a new reality where I was alone in my marriage, I was parenting children through some pretty significant trials and I did it alone.

And although I can happily report that my children are doing much better these days, I am still traumatized from those first few months of our separation because Peter was never man enough to sit down with our children and explain everything together. He left me to pick up the pieces of their shattered worlds. They blamed me. They physically lashed out at me. They called me hurtful names and begged to see their dad. And because they couldn't always see him, I was the bad guy for a while. Because they didn't understand the choices that were made or how divorce works, they thought I was keeping them from someone whom they love very much.


I won't mask my anger any longer because in a year, I don't want to be doing this all over again. So today I will stay angry at him and at my parents and I will continue to process these feelings so that someday, I can allow the atonement to take this pain away from me. I feel so strongly tonight that there will be a day where that happens.