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.

He Still Loves Me

Peter told me he still loved me on Sunday.

It was one of those moments where that tween phrase “I can’t even!” seems to fit perfectly.

He said it was hard to be around me because often times, he still has strong feelings for me. And I just sat there and wondered what that even means to me.

Because it DOESN’T mean I want to date him or marry him.

And it DOESN’T mean things are fixed.

He also said that his feelings for me are often the reason he doesn’t treat me well “because it’s so hard and confusing to be around me so he can’t control his feelings.”

Umm…

I asked him how that was MY fault---that he gets to treat me like shit because he likes me? How does that even make sense?

My mind went to the stories of little girls getting their hair pulled by the boy who had a crush on them---stories that SCREAM rape culture.

Stories of inequality for women---because if he’s mean to you, that means pay attention to him because he likes you.

Barf.

So much barf.

I’m still trying to process these feelings---and honestly, I don’t even know what it means to process these feelings. I don’t know what that looks like or feels like. I don’t know how to do it.

I’m just so frustrated. With myself. With Peter. With this entire situation of divorce and everything that has tail-spun out of control since then.

I don’t want to go back to “back then” but I’m angry about where we are right now also.

I think summer is just hitting me really hard. It’s easier to be a working mom when my kids are in school because I don’t feel like I’m missing out on as many things with them.

I hate the stress of getting babysitters and my kids complaining that we aren’t doing much this summer because mom has to work.

I remember the summers when I stayed home, when we would do swim team and water parks and vacations and the Harkins summer movie passes.

We no longer do those things---because mom works.

And I resent Peter for that. Because if he loved me, WHY THE HELL are we in this situation right now?!

Back then, I told him I would fight for him and he didn’t believe me.

And now this is our life.

This is our life because of addiction and lies and secrecy. 

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.

Doing It Alone

I often feel alone, like no one can fully understand or wants to hear about what I'm feeling at every given moment.

Like I'm stuck inside this body that I hate with a spirit that is misunderstood by others.

Like no matter how much good I try to do, people will still point out the bad.

I stare at the people who love me and wonder why they love me and when they are going to realize how unworthy I am. When are they going to leave? When are they going to find a flaw they can't handle?

I feel alone as a mother. I feel like no one understands this difficult journey I am on to safely and bravely raise my children in a world filled with so many evils. I feel like everyone is judging me for worrying so much about my almost-kindergartner. But nobody knows him like I know him.

Nobody sees what I see.

The anxiety, the lack of listening skills, the daytime bathroom accidents, the OCD tendencies, the portrayal of ADHD in his little kid mind.

Everyone thinks I'm overreacting.

That is, everyone besides the babysitter who told me after one day of watching him that she could no longer do it because of how difficult he is.
I wasn't mad or offended---just sad. Sad for my little guy who needs love in different ways. Sad for my little guy who will probably be misunderstood in school and receive the label of "problem child" by teachers and classmates.

Sad for my little guy for potentially going through what his mom went through as a kid.

I feel like nobody understands our family, like we are outcasts no matter where we go.

We don't fit in at church. Church is hard. Everyone is nice but I still struggle with it. I still want to run away from it most days.

We don't fit in with our extended family. We are the only ones without a dad/husband at Sunday dinners. We are the only ones without a dad/husband for family vacations.

I'm worried we won't fit in at the new school. Or at the old school. Or anywhere.

I stood back as we watched my daughter walk in to her school building this morning and I felt alone. I felt like we were standing there and looking around at all of the families and I watched her worried little face turn away from me and walk into the school and I wanted to run after her and take her home.

Because mainly, that's my solution for all of this. I know I love my children and I know they love me and sometimes I just want to run away with them and stop worrying about all of the other things in life.

There are too many things.

What I really want is for my children to be more loved than I felt I was as a child. I want them to feel accepted and wanted. I don't want them to go through the things that I've been through.

And I wish other people understood that. I wish they could see that the choices I am trying to make for my children aren't just some obsolete worrying that I've made up in my head. These worries are valid and real.

If I'm going to be alone, I'll be alone. I'll deal with it and work through it. But not my children. I don't want their life to look like mine when they are adults. I want more for them.

I'd give them the whole world if I could. I'd do anything for them.

And I feel like I'm fighting for them by myself.

Because Peter has his own shit. He quit his job and started a new one and isn't doing the "dad" thing very well right now. It comes and goes. But right now, he only takes them 5 days a month and he told me with the new job that he can't see them in between his every other weekend (which is not what is on our parenting plan). And when I try to tell him how worried I am about our children, he yells at me because he assumes I'm blaming him.

And it's really frustrating. It's frustrating to make doctors appointments and therapy appointments and to not have him on the same page as me. It's frustrating to feel like they play with dad and do all the hard stuff with mom.

But this is divorce life. This is the life I chose to live when my addict-husband ran away. This is the life I get to live forever and ever.

And today I hate it. I hate how hard it is to feel alone when you're trying to make parenting decisions. I hate worrying about whether my children are going to be ok.

I hope they are. I will do everything it takes to make sure they are.

With or without Peter.

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.

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.

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.

Am I a Warrior?

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

Because this is just too hard.

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

It all makes me feel like I'm failing.

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

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

I should be able to be an adult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that just doesn't really sound like strength.

Because I am Not a Prostitute

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

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

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

 

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

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

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

 

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

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

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

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

Just give me a few days, please?

 

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

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

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

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

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

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

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

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

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

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

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

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

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

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

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

Not this time.

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

Today I am Wendy

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

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

Am I just an effing crazy person?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm done.

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

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

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

Like literal crazy.

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

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

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

I'm fighting.

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

I have avoided the mirror but I'm fighting.

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

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

What am I doing?

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

So what am I doing?

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

So what the hell am I doing?

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

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

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

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

That sounds so sad.

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

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

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

Because I am a warrior.

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

What Is Brave?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No bueno.

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

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

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

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

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

My Burden

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

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

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

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

All damn week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The problem is that I do doubt myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He Wants Me

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

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

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

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

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

No. It isn't a possibility.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We will be just fine without him.

I will be just fine without him.

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

We Are Not Ok

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Peter Pan

Dear Peter Pan,
I wrote you a letter last night and it was painful to put into words how I really feel about you at this moment. Because I don't love you and I feel like there is a hole in my heart where I used to. It's empty and hardened and I am not sure it will ever be able to open up to someone again.

I feel it is important to write you and tell you some of the things I have been feeling since you've returned from your summer job.

I am angry. I see you and my chest tightens and my eyebrows furrow. I have realized that I resent you for deserting your children for an entire summer to go find yourself. And maybe it's selfish but this doesn't have as much to do with the kids as it has to do with me. I don't have the luxury nor do I want the luxury of leaving my children for an entire summer to go figure my shit out. Parenthood just doesn't work that way.

This summer, I spent countless hours awake at night just to get some time to myself because my days were spent caring for our children and babysitting other children to pay our bills. I didn't get to take time where I could reflect on my life without the worry of children. And I'm realizing this resentment goes beyond just this summer because there has never really been a time where I could reflect on this mess of a life we've made without factoring in the worries I have for our children.

When you left me, you broke them and you weren't there to pick up the pieces. Those hours upon hours of comforting our sensitive daughter while she cried in her bed or raged about her unfair life were all spent with me. I have helped her find security in her very insecure world. I was there when she yelled at me and blamed me for kicking her daddy out of our house. I was there when she begged and pleaded with me to get remarried soon so she would have a daddy again. I was there when her friends asked why her daddy no longer lived in our home and she burst into tears because IT JUST ISNT FAIR THAT THEIR DADDIES GET TO COME HOME EVERY NIGHT.

Divorce has shredded our hearts. We are piecing them back together but it isn't easy. And the hurt I have felt over your decisions and how you treat me now is a hurt I never could have imagined.

You have betrayed me in the deepest way possible. I wasn't first in your life. And now that we have been living life separately for a year, I can see that you are baffled that we can't just be friends. I can see that it doesn't make sense to you why I get angry and hurt so easily. I can see that you don't understand why I act like you know nothing about our children---because you chose a life that takes you away from their lives and you aren't there for them when you should be.

I loved you once upon a time. I gave you my heart. And now you are just the father of my children. Now you are your own person and you can feel negatively about marriage or women or whatever you'd like and there is nothing I can do to change your mind.

But I hope someday you take responsibility for your actions and understand that marriage can be a beautiful thing. Our marriage could've been a beautiful thing. It didn't have to end. We could've been warriors together but instead, I am now my own kind of warrior. And because I do it alone, I will fight for our children and for myself so that we can make this hell work.

We will make it work without you. I just hope you can learn from your decisions and become stronger on your own too. I pray you learn to fight for the things you are passionate about instead of giving up when things get hard. I pray you learn that your children have broken hearts and they need a dad who will be there when they need a shoulder to cry on. I pray you learn that I loved you for you and I would've fought for you if you would've given me the chance.

I pray you can someday know that there IS a God and that He loves you. He loves you regardless of your actions. He loves you for you, unconditionally. I pray there is a day where you let Him into your life because I know how incredible you can be if you would just let Him love you.

I am angry and sad that things ended. I hate the permanence of your decisions but someday I am going to be a stronger Wendy. Someday I am going to believe in the person my God intended me to be.

I hope you can learn to do the same.

Sincerely,
Wendy

Triggers

My story fits in nowhere, which kind of makes it fit in everywhere.

That's logical, right?

I don't like so many things about my story tonight. I don't like that triggers have started in places there were no triggers before.

What the hell? It's been a year. That isn't fair!

I got through the aftermath of Pan leaving me so quickly...but I didn't get through it at all. Like at all.

I was used to being single right away...but I'm still not used to being single at all.

It was a plague that started within the tiniest part of my being and eventually consumed me.

It consumed me, friends. It got to the point where I had to physically stop myself from driving to the store on my weekend without kids to buy alcohol. And although I did that very good thing that one time {last week}, I am not healthier now than I was then.

Because all I want to do is buy alcohol on my weekend without kids next week. And my brain says, "It's no big deal. It's one time. And for a few hours, you will not feel the things you are feeling and that will be wonderful." It would be wonderful. For a few hours, it would be wonderful. But the aftermath would be horrible. I already know that.

I can't become an addict like him. I am already wrapped up in my own world of addiction. I cannot use the same supplements he used to rid myself of pain. I just cannot.

But I also cannot keep living without healing. I cannot walk around throughout the day like everything is A-OK and expect that to heal me. It won't heal me!

What will heal me? God? A therapist? Anti-depressants?

The triggers have gotten to a point where I can't shave my legs without feeling some sort of anxiety. Because holy shit, I DIDN'T SHAVE MY LEGS ENOUGH AS A MARRIED WOMAN AND PETER ALWAYS, ALWAYS ASKED ME TO DO A BETTER JOB WITH PERSONAL HYGIENE. And that makes me part of the problem. That makes me the very reason Peter left and looked at pornography and didn't love me anymore.

I should've listened. Not respecting his simple request of shaving my damn legs is part of the reason that I am now a single woman. It has to be. Even if it wasn't the actual act of shaving my legs, the fact that I didn't respect Peter enough to do something that was NOT A HUGE DEAL makes me selfish.

But that only seems logical in my head---not in my heart. Because my heart says I tried and that I am a good person and that I am strong. My head says none of those things.

I kind of feel like vomiting but that is probably impossible since I haven't eaten in a long time. And not making-myself-throw-up-vomiting but holy-hell-my-stomach-is-in-knots-vomiting.

I hate coming on here and complaining. I want to come here and tell you how awesome things are. And the truth is, awesome stuff is still mixed in my life. It isn't all bad. It isn't all triggery and failure and crying. I've been having fun with my kids and laughter with friends but I still have a lot of healing to do.

There is so much that is still one big mess. And I'm sorry if everything seems so negative on my blog. I am genuinely sorry. This isn't me. I know I keep saying that but it isn't. I am a laugher, a smiler, and a helper. I know I am those things.

I know I used to be those things.

Am I still those things? Am I ever going to be the girl I thought I was?

Twenty-Seven Days

I stare at the same bed, in the same room, in the same house. It was once ours.
Ours.
What does that mean to me now? What does any of it mean?
I am 27 days from my d-day anniversary. Twenty-seven days from the day my life would forever change. Twenty-seven days from my worst fears becoming my new reality.
Things have been extremely hard. I can feel that anniversary looming over me like a constant dark cloud. I have been on the verge of tears for five days now but they have yet to be released. I cannot release them. I cannot give in to the tears or the heartache because I'm worried I will completely fall apart.
But I'm already falling apart. I am already on the verge of another breakdown. I am already shutting down and giving up and worrying and obsessing. My OCD is getting the best of me. My eating disorder is getting the best of me. My heartache is getting the best of me.
It all hurts. Everything hurts today. Everything feels so real and painful.

Twenty-seven days until the anniversary of the day Peter said I was not good enough. Twenty-seven days from the day Peter looked me in the eye and told me he didn't love me anymore. I don't care if he was lying or not---it is a dagger to my heart and I cannot forget that pain. I cannot forget what it felt like to have my eternal partner look me in the eyes and tell me he didn't love me. The only other thing I have engrained in my memory from that day was right after the "I don't love you anymore." He looked at me and said, "I don't care about you anymore, Wendy.". He no longer cared. The person who promised he would always care no longer cared.

So when other people promise me they will never leave or that they will always care, how am I supposed to believe them? How am I supposed to feel like I can trust anyone or get close to anyone again?

I am a mess when it comes to letting people get close. I am a mess when I believe people are annoyed or don't love me or have found someone better. I hope now you'll understand why. I hope you can see why I act needy and annoying and afraid of abandonment.

I am a broken woman still. I thought a year could make a difference. I thought I would be OVER THIS MESS but I am not. I am still weak. I don't feel like a warrior. I feel like an overweight, obnoxious, and heartbroken woman. I feel traumatized. I feel worthless. I feel like my children would be better off raised by someone who actually plays with them and doesn't yell. I feel like every guy I could potentially like is off-limits because I am not good enough for any of them.

I wonder if I'll get to a point where I am good enough. I wonder what that would look like. Hell, I wonder what not having an eating disorder would look like. I wonder what not being divorced would look like.

I wonder what not being me would look like---because it seems like it might look better than this.

Twenty-seven days will go by quickly and soon, I will have to face the anniversary of the worst day of my life. And yet, it already feels like I'm facing it. It already feels so close and so painful and so fresh.
I can't stand it today. I can't stand the thought of where I was and where I am. I can't see hope today. I wish I could erase all of the pain and fear from my life but today, I can't. I'm not strong enough to overcome this fear.

Tonight I Struggle

There is so much fear involved with an eating disorder. Recovery and addiction both involve fear. Neither seems 100% free of it.

I am calling out for help tonight through my blog that I'm sure 3 people read. I fear what my brain says tonight. I fear that I have cut almost all of the strings I had attached for safety.

I was sick this weekend and unwillingly threw up a few times. I went to church today still feeling a bit nauseous so I didn't eat beforehand and I slept in and missed an hour of church---did I mention church starts at 10:00am?

As I walked the halls, I was getting stopped over and over again by women asking me how I've lost so much weight. At first, I felt awkward. Would they like to know what my real secret has been? But after the first two stops, I started to feel good. I felt a little more confident and a lot more beautiful. I felt the attention and I soaked it in.

And I couldn't bring myself to keep food down the rest of the day.

So tonight I tried to reel in my safety nets by reading my journal and as I read a few key entries, I remembered.

I remembered the night I blacked out in my own bathroom and all I could do was crawl into my bed and hope I'd be awake the next morning.

I remembered the times I would be running at the gym and my vision would blur as I pushed my body beyond what it should've been capable of doing.

But most of all, I remembered the night I broke. I had gone out to eat with my sister and although I needed to go to the grocery store before picking up my kids, I stopped at home to purge what I'd eaten because I had become so obsessed with my eating disorder that I couldn't handle letting food sit in my body. As I walked through the store that night, I could hardly stand up straight. I felt weaker than I'd ever felt before. I feared passing out and I prayed over and over that it wouldn't happen in public. I couldn't walk more than a few feet without needing to stop and talk myself through the moment so I'd stay coherent. I was scared. I was more scared than I ever remember being.

And in my moment of weakness, I hurt the heart of a friend. I panicked and became selfish because I was worried about my body functioning. I feared my own self and it was the biggest wake up call I'd had up until that point. In that moment, I was my own enemy.

I thought I had lost a friend that night and I thought I had lost myself. But instead my friend did things she shouldn't have had to do and she talked me through my hell and trusted that I would want to recover.

I lived through that experience and I'm grateful for that. I am grateful for friends and recovery and God. I am grateful for my second and third and fifteenth chances.

Tonight I need to be reminded of why I'm recovering. I need to be reminded that I don't want to be back there. I am much happier where I am right now. I share those experiences to show you why I'm fighting. Those are very painful and vulnerable experiences for me to share. When each of them happened, I swore I would never tell a single person. I was ashamed of who I was and the choices I was making. I was ashamed of the selfishness because that is not who I am.

I am not a selfish person. I love helping other people. I hate the person my eating disorder turns me into. I don't want to be her. That isn't the real Wendy.

But it is so hard to fight when I'm surrounded by people who care so much about appearance. It isn't their fault---it's just the world we live in. I find myself sucking my stomach in as far as I can handle it and pinching the fat under my arms and sticking my chin out, all in an effort to look a certain way so people will like me.

I wish I could trust that people like me no matter what. It's just scary to trust that when I struggle to like myself.

I am trying. Tomorrow is a new day and I'm going to try my damndest to be strong and fight the things ed tells me. I want to challenge them. I really do.

I promise I'll keep trying.