The New Bishop

We got a new bishop today.
As I sat in my chair and heard the stake president release the old bishop, I was on pins and needles. I needed this. I had been looking forward to this day for a long time.

As the new names were read, I sunk back down into my chair. My faith had diminished and in it's place, I found myself doubting that this calling was from God.
It couldn't be.
Or could it?
Is this a test of my faith, to have a man called as bishop that I don't believe will be a support for my family?
Am I jumping the gun by not trusting my new bishop within seconds of him being called?

I don't know.

What I do know is that my loss of faith has less to do with the man called as it does the overall callings in my ward. I was taught from a young age that all callings were prayed about but what I've witnessed in the last 7 years in my ward is that the same people get the same :high" callings and everyone else is in primary or nursery.

Our new bishop used to be the second counselor in the bishopric before he was released and called as the Sunday School president. He is now our bishop. His counselors consist of members who have only held either bishopric or other auxillary callings in the past 7 years.

I want to trust "the system". I want to trust that he will be a safety net when I need a priesthood holder. But I don't.

I'm going to try, friends. I really am. I want to have faith. I don't want to abandon the church...and yet, a lot of times, all I want to do is abandon church. It isn't that I have issues with the doctrine. I've never had issues with the doctrine. But I've had so many faith-diminishing experiences with my church leaders.

The bishop that has been my bishop for the past 5 years has always known within 24 hours when a huge trial has hit...and never before has he reached out to me. I reached out to him when Peter went inactive and he counseled us and led me to believe that our trials were because of my infertility. He literally told me that I needed to stop being so emotional about my infertility because it was putting a rift in my marriage.

AS IF I COULD JUST TURN OFF THE HEARTACHE I WAS FEELING.

Since that day, he has never spoken a word to me. When Peter left me, he never reached out. He never even said hi at church. I haven't spoken to him in years and he walks past me every Sunday.

So I was hoping that I'd have some amazing Spiritual experience with my new bishop and I'm kind of disappointed.

I know it's rude. I feel guilty for having these feelings. I want to have faith in him. I want to trust that God knows I need church leaders who can help me in my struggles. I want to believe he is our bishop for a reason.

I hope I get there. I really, really do.

My Fuzzy Gray

I had a date last night.

My favorite date so far in the history of dating.

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

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

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

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

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

Anxiety hits.

Chest pains, sweat, heavy breathing...

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

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

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

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

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

I don't know.

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

I don't know.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.

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

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

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

I know what your answer would be.

But is that my belief? Is that my truth?

I don't know tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

Am I a Warrior?

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

Because this is just too hard.

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

It all makes me feel like I'm failing.

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

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

I should be able to be an adult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that just doesn't really sound like strength.

Because I am Not a Prostitute

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

 

Because some days will be really shitty.

 

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

 

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

 

Sometimes our safe places are compromised.

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

 

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

Because we are going to have to.

 

I was so happy yesterday.

My safe place was life yesterday.

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

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

Just give me a few days, please?

 

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

 

I hit a bump in the road.

 

 

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

 

Unfortunatly, I am not.

 

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

 

What. The. Fucking. Hell.

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

Is he really this much of an idiot?

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

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

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

Awesome, Peter. Thank you for that. youareaneffingasshole

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

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

This isn't.

None of these feelings are familiar today.

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

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

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

Not this time.

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

Today I am Wendy

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

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

Am I just an effing crazy person?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm done.

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

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

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

Like literal crazy.

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

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

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.

Dream Boy

This weekend was so overwhelmingly good and I think I've crashed from that intense high down to a sense of anxiety.

I had a date with Dream Boy. I asked him on a date. I really did. It was the bravest of brave choices for me and I fought my fear and asked him out.
We had a great time. He opened my door for me and asked if he could hug me at the end of the night and none of it was awkward. He made it not awkward.
We talked for five hours. We laughed and talked about serious things and explained our family dynamics a little bit.
I fell in love with the idea of being with someone like him.
A dream boy.
Not to be confused with a perfect boy. Dream Boy isn't perfect. But he is open and I like that I trust him.
Dream Boy has OCD and I'm sure he has many other faults. I'm not going to deny that. But the characteristics that I am most looking for in a man, he has.

I decided it didn't matter if he called and asked me out after Saturday. We had a good time and if that was a one time thing, I have no regrets. He's moving back to Utah in January anyway. It wouldn't ever work out.

But I find myself thinking about him every few minutes and dreaming of a future with him. I want him. I want him to want me. I want to believe that I deserve him and that he can recognize the goodness within me.

I find myself hoping he calls and wondering why he hasn't.

And this is why I hate dating. Because my heart starts to ache before I ever get a chance to breathe. I don't ease into relationships. I love with intensity and trust with ferocity. I am a giver and a pleaser.

I've learned how to be on my own and I'm stronger because of it---but my hell, can it just be over already? Can I date someone? Can I kiss someone?
I'm ready.
I'm ready to be in an interdependent relationship with someone who can take my whole self and their whole self and put those two wholes together.

I don't always feel completely whole and some days, I still fall apart. But I feel healthier than I have in a long time and stronger than I ever have been in my whole life. I feel like I'm ready to figure this next step out.

Can't it just be easy this one time? Can't I just have my Dream Boy and we can get married soon and we can build a life together? I'll move to Utah. I'll quit school for a while. I'll make sacrifices.

I just want this to work out.

But if it doesn't, please pray that my actual Dream Boy is somewhere out there. Please pray that he finds me or that I find him.

I'm ready for him. Please oh please pray that he is ready for me too.