I Hate Today

It's just that I hated today in so many ways.

This whole weekend, actually. 

And I keep letting dumb shit get in the way of my happiness.

I'm frustrated and anxious and possibly depressed and trying to fight but not really fighting at all.

I hate August. 
I hate change.
I hate so many of my shifting relationships right now. 
And I hate how the old ones changed and were ruined and have left me with a deep pit of anxiety that seems to bleed on the new relationships.

Relationships suck sometimes. 
People suck sometimes. 

And some days I just feel like there's no one who understands me.
Like my situation is too unique and the things I've gone through have intertwined too many elements for anyone to understand exactly how I'm feeling.

Some days, I'm still angry about the past 18 months of my life. Or maybe the past 3 years. Or maybe the past 28 years.

Some days, I am angry that I'm alone and that my support group shifted so drastically and that the majority of my closest friends are in seemingly 'easy' relationships with comfortable lives.

People don't understand. And if I try to explain it, it's not going to come out right.
Because sometimes, even when people are trying to be kind, they end up being hurtful.
Like that time last week when my sister said that I should be grateful because there are some easier things about being a single mom of older {as in 'non-baby' age} kids. And I just felt pissed and hurt and totally invalidated.

Because although I do it every day of my life right now {mostly because I literally don't have another choice unless I want to just give up---which I don't}, being a single mom is not an easy thing. Even without the work and school and other things, being a single mom would still be hard.

I would give up the every other weekend breaks for having a partner who was here at night.

So I hate today. And I really hope I don't wake up hating tomorrow.

But I've decided to let these feelings sit and not to fight them off.

It's ok that I hate today. That doesn't make me a bad person and it doesn't make me ungrateful.

But I Miss Her

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

Mostly it is heartache. Mostly it is pain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

I Fail

I come here when it gets hard. And it keeps getting really hard.

I've had some of my worst days and that just isn't fair. My eating disorder days were supposed to be my worst. My husband leaving me was supposed to be my worst day. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

But my crying has become a broken record. It keeps happening. Damnit, it keeps happening!

My brain feels hazy, like it would if I were on drugs---but I'm not---and I wish I was. I wish I wasn't hurting so badly for no apparent reason. I wish I wasn't a horrible mother. I wish I wouldn't say mean things to my kids. I don't deserve them and today proved that they would probably be better off being raised by someone else---someone more patient, someone less broken.

I know I take on too much responsibility. I know I "can't do it all". Everyone tries to remind me of this. But when I say no to people, I become more of a failure. I'm so worried people won't like me if I don't help them. I'm so worried people will abandon me if I don't bend over backwards and put a brave face on every single day.

They'd get sick of me. They are getting sick of me. No one likes to be around negativity and right now, that seems to be all that I am. Who am I, really? Because Wendy isn't strong or brave or nice or compassionate.

I'm not really worth anyone's time. I know the real me---and you don't---so if you like me, you probably just haven't gotten to know me well enough. Because the real me is full of flaws and full of failures and she gets afraid and mean sometimes. She says really dumb things a lot. She goes too far with jokes and sarcasm. She isn't good.

I don't trust anyone---and even just that little fact makes me even more rude. How rude that I can't trust people who have born their souls to me? How can I not trust people who confide in me about some of life's most sensitive subjects? So by not trusting, I'm failing. I'm failing by not being strong enough to trust the people around me who have proven they are trustworthy.

I barely got through today and unfortunately, it isn't over yet. If my kids weren't with me, I'd probably highly consider drinking because I am not strong enough to succeed tonight.

I was exhausted at work and I kept nodding off in my office. And then the headache started. And then I got back to my kids and they were crazy and rude and all over the place. I told my friend I don't like kids today---and I probably shouldn't be their mom. How can someone so unworthy be a mother to two of life's most precious gifts? I'm not good enough for them. They'll realize it someday.

I was impatient all afternoon. My four year old and I butted heads. A friend came to give me a break before I literally snapped and my son said to her, "I'm coming to your house because my mom and I are being mean to each other today. She said she never wants to speak to me again." And he was telling her the truth. I did say that. And I hate that I said that. I hate how much I failed as his mother today. I hate that he could potentially remember today for the rest of his life. I hate who I am today.

My house is a mess and I can't keep up with this life. But if I accept help, I'm a failure. Lots of single moms have jobs, go to school, raise their children successfully, and keep their damn house clean. I'm just not good enough at all of those things so something always falls through the cracks.

Today two of those things fell through the cracks as I released my impatience onto my children.

I failed at being the kind of person I want to believe that I am.

And because of that, I hate myself today.

Alone

Tonight I am alone. I am here in my house with no one else; no kids, no friends, and no spouse. I feel an emptiness that I don't experience very often because quite honestly, my friends have been incredible 'Wendy Builders'. They do more than their share to build me up.

But as it is, tonight I am alone.

Most of my friends are on date nights. As I see the pictures on Facebook, my heart hurts a little because I don't have that. I don't know if I'll ever have that again. And I can't expect my friends to drop their husbands for me. That isn't fair.

I have no one tonight. There is no one I can call to come over and laugh with me. I need to get used to that but tonight it hurts. Tonight it feels so incredibly painful. I miss the really good parts of marriage. There were times when I had that. There were times when I didn't feel alone. I'm thankful so many of my friends are able to experience that---it just gets hard for me because I don't really have many single friends. All of my close friends are married. 

I hate that I'm alone. I've always hated being alone. I wish it was easy for me to relax when my kids are gone but it's hard to have a quiet house and have no plans. It's hard to feel like an outcast among some of the people I am closest to.

Things with Peter have just gotten progressively worse the past few days. If you want to know the truth of my inner thoughts, I've considered reverting to my alcohol days because I want to erase the pain I feel. I hate being angry with Pan but I am. I can't stand him. And although I shouldn't have to deal with him often, I do. We have kids. They need both of us. We are supposed to communicate.

But communicating is the opposite of what we are doing. Peter has mixed up pick-up times on three different occasions this week and then when I wasn't home or we weren't ready for him, he got angry with me. I know I told him the right times but he sure as hell believes that I am crazy and I get reprimanded because of the mistakes that I didnt actually make.

I just hate this phase of life right now. I hate the pain I've been feeling. I hate being lonely. I hate my anger. I hate that I'm even considering making stupid decisions because what the hell? These are the types of things Peter does to deal with stuff---and I don't want to be like Peter.

I want to follow the guidelines of my church that I believe so strongly in. I want to be a good example for my kids and keep my brain healthy so that I can take care of them. I want to be the best me---not revert to a worse me than ever before. That is NOT the goal right now.

But I'm drowning. Nothing is saving me right now.  Nothing has worked to get me out of this funk I've been in since Peter's return.

Did this really all happen just because Peter returned? Does he really have that much power over me? Ick. I hate the thought of that.

Apparently, I hate a lot of things tonight.

Mostly, among these jumbled up words, I just feel like saying how much I want to give up. I feel so hopeless toward recovery and feeling better about myself. I hate my eating disorder---but when I am this low, it is the only thing that I turn to. I don't like admitting that but it's the truth and I want this blog to be full of truths.

Tonight I am lonely and there's not much anyone can do. I don't need much, really. I just need to sit in this low spot for a while and hope that someday I'll be strong enough to pull myself out of it. I just need to get to a point where I'm closer to succeeding than I am to giving up. And if I never get there, I guess there is always the hope that this life isn't the end and my Heavenly Father will be there to wrap me in His arms when I've done all I could do.

Will there be a day where I don't feel like giving up as much as I do right now? Will there be a day when the encouraging words I hear from others actually sticks and I actually believe it? Because I never do. I never trust that what they're saying really, truly applies to me. That kind of advice is for strong, brave warriors. I am not that. I am nothing. I am a drowning woman who was left by the one person who should've stuck by her side. I wasn't good enough for seven whole years. I wasn't appreciated. I wasn't beautiful enough. I wasn't anything enough.

I don't think I'll ever be enough.

Beautiful Days Are Possible

Today has been beautiful so far.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But talking helps. Honesty helps.

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

Recovery looks possible today.

Worthless

Betrayal hurts. It effing hurts.

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

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

A smile.
A damn smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Addiction Tore Our Family Apart

Let's talk about that scary word today: Addiction.

Addiction has been a part of my family ever since I can remember. As a little girl, I would hear stories of my late grandfather who was an alcoholic and did some very hurtful things to my grandmother and my mother. I used to view him as the bad guy because I had no idea what addiction meant; I only knew addicts usually did horrible things to other people.

I've heard the stories of aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins who have had severe depression and how it "runs in our family" and when I was ten years old---yes, you read that right? TEN---I was medicated for depression without really knowing what I was taking. No one ever explained to me that my parents thought I was depressed. All I knew is that I played checkers with a funny guy every week (my therapist) and I started taking a medication every night to help me make better choices. I was 13 or 14 years old when I saw a commercial promoting Zoloft and realized that is the same drug I was taking. I was kind of hurt by it all because let me tell you, I was not a severely depressed 10 year old. I know what severe depression feels like and at the age of 10, I was not that. I was a 10 year old who wasn't getting enough love and attention and got accustomed to anger issues to act out and be noticed. Big difference, friends. Big difference.

I struggled with real addictions as a teenager but nobody took them seriously. Nobody. There was no one around to say, "Hey Wendy, you are killing yourself!" There was no one around to tell me all of the hard truths I needed to hear. You are damagaing your kidneys. You could have a heart attack. You could end up in a treatment center. You could end up dead. I wish I hadn't blocked out so much of my childhood because I like to tell the story of how I just stopped throwing up and starving and how it wasn't too much of a struggle but the truth is, I don't remember. I remember pain. I remember struggle. I don't remember what got me through it all.

Before getting married, I knew my 'then boyfriend' had an addiction to pain medication and to me, it wasn't a red flag because he didn't seek out the drugs. He was given them for an injury. He had me believing the "poor me" story he told. He had me believing a hell of a lot of things.

Seven years later and I'm learning more about addiction than ever before. Not only have I learned that addictions are scary and real, I've learned how much they can harm a family.

My family was ripped in two by addiction. My children will forever be affected because of addiction. Pornography addiction, alcoholism, drug addictions, and even my eating disorder; it's all real and it's all hurting them.

My ex-husband chose addictions over his family. Leaving was easier than facing us; the people who used to be his biggest cheerleaders. For years, he chose pornography or alcohol or drugs over us. He chose not to be present. He chose to manipulate me into believing that there was something wrong with me. He chose to treat me like I wasn't good enough for him. He chose to lie and cheat and degrade me. And then he made the ultimate decision to leave---at a time where I knew nothing about his addictions, not a single one of them. And it's taken 8 months for me to find out some truths and I'm sure more truths will surface in time but for 7 years, I had no idea I was living wit an addict.

I thought I was bad. I thought I must not be a good wife because my own husband couldn't see the potential in me.

He left and I chose an eating disorder to cope. I chose addictions. I hate that I chose to be like him in this way. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to ruin our family.

There is a difference for me now versus my eating disorder as a child. Now I have friends who tell me Im ruining my kidneys, who remind me I could die, who tell me heart attacks are real. Today, as I was holding my precious red headed boy and kissing him on the cheek, my friend said, "If you want to leave that boy for 75 days, keep it up." {Hello, fear of God, Meet Wendy!} and my heart started pounding because she is right. I don't want her to be right this time.

Because the reality is that a treatment center is a future step down the hell path I'm taking. A treatment center is an option I don't want to get to. I have one more counselor to try and if I can't get my crap under control, I'll check myself into a center---you know, on the off chance that I can convince myself this is that big of a deal because I fight with myself about whether it is bad or not.

I would sit here and stare you in the face and tell you that my eating disorder did not tear us apart though. I am not denying the issues. I am not trying to hide what is happening to my body and my brain. But I did not leave my family because of addiction.

As I was sitting on the couch across from Peter Pan on Monday and asking about his addictions and telling him he needed to get help, I asked him why he left. Why would addiction cause him to leave? Why wouldn't he try and confide in his WIFE? Why did he think he couldn't trust me? Or why didn't he want to trust me?

After learning of the pornography addiction, I wanted to scream at him, "WHY WASN'T I GOOD ENOUGH? WHAT DOES A PORN STAR HAVE THAT I DON'T HAVE?" but I didn't. I didn't yell or scream or even cry. I still haven't cried. I have been getting anxiety a lot in the past 2 days but no tears have fallen from my face.

His pornography addiction validated my feelings of inadequacy. Everyone tells me it isn't me. They tell me he would've looked at pornography no matter what I look like or how much I weigh but it is SO HARD to believe them. It is just so hard.

Yesterday was my worst day. I told myself all day that I didn't deserve food. I told myself all day that I wasn't good enough for food. The only thing I was good enough for is hunger. So be hungry, Wendy. Suffer these consequences you didn't place on your own head. Show the world that you can be better and prettier. Show Peter that you can be loveable and gorgeous. And at night, I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle the hunger so I ate. And when I ate, I couldn't handle food in my body and so I threw up. And it was the first time I felt like my body could not take what I was doing. I need to stop explaining right there because it's too much for me to be that real. Even anonymously, I can't be that real. But it was a horrible night.

Have I ever told you when and how I started my eating disorder addiction again after Peter left me? Because it wasn't right away. I'll share that story with you another time. It's a crappy one and you will get angry but that's ok. It's ok to be angry because people say stupid things. Even nice people say stupid things. {That story is now blogged about here.}

All I know today, this very minute, is that addiction is real. Pornography addiction is real. Alcohol addiction is real. They tore my family apart.

My family is now two families because of addiction. My family is forever changed because of addiction.

Abort! Abort!

Have you ever experienced that feeling of a train heading right toward you as you stand in the middle of the tracks? Do you stare it down or jump out of the way?

Right now, that train is probably 200 feet from me and I'm still standing in the middle of the tracks, playing metaphorical chicken with an object that could ruin my life.

That is how I felt tonight when my mom called me. I was on my way home from Sunday dinner at her house and when I saw her name pop up on my cell phone screen, I knew why she was calling.
Because I was distant at dinner. I was spending my time on Facebook or texting my friends. I was disconnected from the people I love that were physically all around me.

This disconnection didn't start tonight. It's been happening slowly for months. My insecurities from childhood and marriage seem to be consuming me and I don't know how to make the change.

As a child who needed extra love and attention, I never felt fully loved or care for. I was always a problem and I was often reprimanded for things that didn't make sense to me.

As a teenager, I finally came clean about my eating disorder and the very first thing I remember my dad saying to me was, "You know you'll never have a flat stomach, no matter how much weight you lose. It's just our genetics."

As an almost engaged 19 year old, I was listening through the door when my almost fiance asked my dad if he could marry me. I then got to listen as my very own father warned my fiance about my anger and stubborness and how hard it would be to be married to someone like me.

Then as a newly abandoned wife, I was super privileged to receive phone calls and non-supportive talks from both of my parents about how it was imperative that I try hard to bring my lost husband back to his family.

I think it was around this time that I lost it. I started to wonder if they thought I had been the reason he left. I started to worry about who they really wanted to stay loyal to. I stopped trusting them.

I wasn't as distant in the beginning because I relied on them so much but as I've learned more independence, I've subconciously distanced myself from them. I can see it and so can they. My mom has commented on this before and I've assured her that nothing is wrong because I fear telling her the truth.

Not many times has the truth actually 'set me free' when it comes to my relationship with my parents. I usually feel worse after a truth-telling session with them.

But to be quite honest, as a friend pointed out this weekend, maybe they weren't ready for the truth then and maybe they are now. It's been a while since I've shared deep truths with my parents or other family members. I'm afraid.

The eating disorder is my biggest fear but I also fear sharing the truths of my feelings about divorce and shame and depression and anxiety. I fear the truth because if they react in an unsupportive manner, I can almost guarantee our relationship would be ruined forever---and I'm torn because it's becoming more ruined anyway. The distance is hard and the more I distance myself, the more my mom pressures me and when I feel pressure, my brain sends this, "Abort! Abort!" signal off.

I am staring at the train and I'm still deciding what choice comes next. Will I keep standing here or will I jump out of the way at the last second?

My Own Addiction

As a young girl, I didn't deal well with stress. My life outside of my home was so different than my life in my bedroom when I was alone.

Many nights, I would cave from the pressures of teenage life and eat an entire bag of chocolates, only to purge it all minutes later.

On particularly low nights when bulimia just didn't do it's job well enough, I would cut into my thighs to feel a physical pain to mask my emotional pain.

I thought about suicide a few times but it wasn't something I ever really considered because in my optimistic mind, "What if tomorrow is better than today?" and luckily, there were many of those better days ahead.

Outside of my home, I lived a life of happiness where everyone assumed I was free from pain. I secretly purged a lot of meals or starved myself to try and become the girl I wanted to be and my obsession with bulimia grew.

I tell you this to open your eyes to where I'm at now; divorced, hurting, and obsessing over the things I can control.

At least that's what I thought I was doing when I thought this was what control felt like.

After Peter walked out on me with words that cut like daggers, I found myself keeping secrets from the world once again. Everyone assured me how strong and amazing I was but I knew they were wrong because they had no idea.

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No one understood. How could they? Because how could I possibly not be taking care of myself when I need to take care of me in order to care for my kids?

Selfishness. I must be so utterly selfish that I would obsess over my eating to deal with the hurt in my heart. My main focus should be my childrens' pain. I shouldn't be ruining my health for a cause that won't bring me a lasting happiness.

Stupidity. Everyone knows it's stupid to starve yourself or cause yourself to vomit on purpose. It's just stupid. There can't be a good enough reason to do that.

I wasn't good enough. I wasn't good enough for him and I'll make sure I'm good enough the next time. I'll be damned if a man will ever leave me again!

I'm in control. I'm controlling what I eat, when I eat, and if I eat too much, I'll just control the hell out of that too. It's all in my control. No one gets to tell me what to do and my eating disorder cannot abandon me like he did.

Let's go ahead and put the focus on that control a little bit.
What am I controlling?

At first, I thought I was completely in control of my weight loss and everything this has entailed. I told my counselor that it wasn't a problem because I wasn't afraid, I was in charge this time.

Our dialogue has stayed open about this for months because I wanted to show her I was right. I mean, look at me! Thirty pounds is kind of a big deal when you're overweight and feeling worthless beyond worthless.

But a few months ago, she gave me a challenge to eat one meal a day---one simple meal. I did it successfully for a few days before getting angry and reverting back. I was losing my control!!! I needed my "choice" to not eat.

Soon after, my obsession grew so much that I feared passing out at the gym one day. But I was still in control!
I came to a point last month where I started fearing the very thing I thought I loved.

Now this is an extremely hard thing to talk about because it isn't a story about back in the day. It isn't something I once struggled with and can now talk about because it's all over.

My eating disorder is a constant companion and I lose almost every day. I can't tell you that I'm always fighting because right now, I'm not. But I'm starting to grasp how NOT in control I am and I don't like being out of control.

That is my start. That is where I focus because focusing on the entire healing process is overwhelming. I can't do this all at once and I can't even do it one step at a time. Right now, I take 1/4 steps or maybe 1/2 steps. I do little things to off set what my brain tells me is the right choice.

Control is lost on me and that puts me in a shame spiral. How stupid that I chose this. How stupid that I can't stop it. How stupid that I'm not strong enough. How stupid that I'm still overweight.

Shame is a nasty thing and it accompanies my eating disorder. It always has.

Today I will try not to shame myself. And someday, I hope to be able to tell you that things are good.

In the meantime, don't worry too much about me. I'm getting help in all the right places and that is a very hopeful thing.

One day at a time, Wendy. One day at a time.