Pushover

When I take breaks from writing here, it usually means I'm doing better. It usually means I don't have the need for my anonymous self to write freely and safely.
But partly it has just had to do with how busy I am with school and work and being a single mom.

I've been trying to work on my healing and I think I'm doing quite well---but I'm hesitating to let it all happen, to let go of the past and try to build the future. It's scary to let go because that pain I have is a mask. It is a shield that seems to protect me from my future pain. I already know what this pain feels like so I'd rather just continue feeling it instead of being hurt all over again.

I want to let go of the lies. I want to let them roll off my back. I should expect them by now but for some reason, I don't. For some damn reason, I still find myself wanting so badly to trust that the words coming out of Peter's mouth are truthful.

I think one of the things that pisses me off the most is that Peter used to always tell me I was a pushover when it came to other people. He always told me I forgave way too easily. His sister and I had a hard relationship because she was often jealous of us---I never understood why---so she would spread rumors about us to the rest of the family. Every time our family relationships would blow up in our face, I would fight and yell and write her letters of disappointment and a few days later, I would forgive and forget. I just wanted our families to be connected and I knew I couldn't let my pride get in the way or we would end up estranged from everyone.

So I always forgave...and Peter didn't. He has not gotten along with his sister at all in their adult lives because of some of the things she has done. He always hated when I would forgive her but I couldn't NOT---she was my family.

Now that I realize how many times Peter had/has lied to me in the past eight years, I just want to smack him. Because although he labelled me a pushover for forgiving others, he expects me to let go of the past shit he has put me through. And I want to do it...I want to trust that he tells me the truth. Sadly, most of the time I DO trust that he is telling me the truth---and many times, I find out later the words coming out of his mouth were lies.

Like the smoking. I really, truly hate the smell of cigarettes and myself and our two children have asthma---but when Peter left me, he started smoking but last August, he promised me he had stopped.

I wanted to believe him...and so I did.
Until today.

Today when we were both at an activity for one of our kids, I could tell he had been smoking. I wanted to say something, to start a fight that I would later regret, but I didn't. I pushed my pride aside {once again} because I wanted our children to have a good day.

So maybe I am a pushover. Maybe I seem weak when I trust over and over again. But I don't look at it that way. I think my ability to forgive makes me strong and brave. I haven't yet forgiven Peter but Peter's lies have been far worse than anything his sister or any other person in my life has done. I figure he lied for 7 years so I get the next 7 years to heal and forgive. I honestly don't think it'll take me that long but if it does, that's ok.

This is my process. I get to decide how it goes. Peter doesn't get to dictate my side of our divorced relationship. If I want to push him away and cut off any relationship with him, I have the freedom to do that.

I am in charge of how I act.

And no matter my choices, Peter doesn't get to negate my bravery.

End. Of. Freaking. Story. 

Truths

Lately I've been trying so hard to recognize my pain and validate it instead of stuffing it deep down inside of me. 

It isn't easy.

In fact, a lot of times I find myself fighting to stuff it again because of how deep rooted the feelings start to go. 

Last night, I was laying in my bed watching Gilmore Girls and I turned on my side and gathered up the pillows around me and started to cry. The empty feelings were taking over. I was panicking about this being my life forever. It started to seem like this already has been my life forever. I forgot what it feels like to have a partner laying down next to me as I fall asleep. I started to ache and miss the physical affection. 

I struggle with the physical aspects of divorce a lot. It's not something I like to open up about outside of therapy. In fact, I don't even LIKE to open up about it in therapy...but I try to.

There are times I struggle so hard to NOT seek out a random guy and sleep with him. 

This has been extremely shameful for me, especially this past year of being on my own. 

To give you a preface, I was almost always the "initiator" in my marriage---actually in my entire relationship with Peter. The tiniest little thing could turn me on and cause my body a very real, physical reaction. 

I have never liked this about myself...because I felt like that wasn't the way a woman should be. It made me feel dirty. 

Last night, I was so lonely that a thought came into my mind that I never thought I would have to fight off. I thought about viewing pornography.

I didn't do it. I know the effects. I know the damage. I won't allow that to become a part of my life. But even just having that thought brought me shame and discomfort. I didn't like it. I didn't like that MY thoughts had gone there. Because I felt like thinking about it was an automatic transgression. 

I am trying to understand myself and validate that this is hard...emotionally AND physically. But I'm not there yet. I am not to the point where I can look at this as an outsider and say, "Wendy, this is normal stuff. Your struggle is real here. It's ok that you want to have sex. Your physical body was built that way. This is all ok. This is all more normal than it feels." Because it feels anything but normal. 

Pornography wouldn't bring me what I really desire...emotional connection. My intimate life with Peter, when existent, was always good---from my wedding night to the weeks before he left me. I know my heart misses the connection I used to feel. I know what I'm missing is the love I used to feel from Peter and the love I used to have for myself. I often feel so alone because none of my friends can make up for the connection I lost when Peter and I separated. It is different.

And it may never come back.

I'm struggling to feel like I'm normal, even though the word normal is totally relative to whatever specific situation we are discussing. Normal seems like an abstract word to most but for me, normal just means the picture I used to have in my mind of where my life would be at age 27. My life is anything but normal. I often feel so out of place and so lost. I get hurt so easily by the things people who love me say...even the things they say out of love. 

And when I'm hurting, there is no one I trust enough to talk to about the hurt---other than my therapist. And that relationship isn't the same as a marriage. What I'm lacking is a marriage with someone who I feel I can trust my heart with. I know this isn't my reality and it may not be yours either but it's what I want. It's what I ache for. 

I hope there comes a day where my validation of feelings comes more naturally. I want to love myself. I want to be gentle with myself. 

I just wish it wasn't so damn hard.

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.

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.

The Reality of Failing Friendships

Sometimes I find myself really hating Peter.

It doesn't happen often and it doesn't usually last long but there are times I hate him for what he's done to my life.

Because amidst the oh-so-blessed days, there is a whole pile of shit waiting to be dealt with. And sometimes, I can't take it.

Peter has ruined aspects of my life I didn't think he could touch. He didn't knowingly do this but his choices have made a lot of my relationships harder.

My best friend posted on The Book of Faces today a meme about something I wasn't understanding. She said something to our other friend about "not being able to wait until Saturday".  And I got a little anxious because I started to feel left out.

I sucked it up and pretended to be joking when I asked what her comment about "Saturday" meant.

I knew it was probably nothing and that I was acting like a freak but my anxiety took over.

A while later, I got on my iPad and saw that she had replied.
Awesome.
She said they are going to the movies on Saturday. The three of them and their husbands for her husband's birthday.

My first reaction was to hate Peter. To hate our divorce and how it has affected my other relationships. I hate being left out because I'm single. These are my BEST FRIENDS.

And then I started to have a panic attack about the reality of my friendships. 

Last year, for this same friend's husband's birthday, they gathered a group of couples and went bowling---and I went too. I had a great time and loved that my friends didn't feel weird about inviting their awkward single friend along.

So since it's now been another year and I got left out of this birthday event, I started to wonder if my friends really like me as much as I like them.

Am I just the sad, single charity case? Do they hang out with me as a service? Am I really an equal friend to them? 

I was trying to process these feelings but the more I thought about it, the more anxious I became.

My friends are incredible. 
But in that moment, I wanted to pull away from them. I wanted to curl up in a ball and never speak to them again to protect my heart from the inevitable abandonment ahead.

Because everyone ends up abandoning me in the end.

And because I have abandonment issues, I often wonder if people are genuinely there for me or if they just feel bad for my situation.


All of this...from a simple post on Facebook.

I don't want to blame these feelings on the fact that I haven't taken anxiety med's in 3 days and won't be able to get a refill on them until next Wednesday because I would be feeling this way regardless...but I'm also sure the fact that I am emotionally unstable isn't helping the process.

I feel so much shame in regards to my friendships. I've had so many failed friendships and I am always worried I will push someone else away. Obviously, I am the common denominator in my friendships failing. I look around and see so many people who have been friends for years upon years. There has to be something wrong with me that people won't stick around after a few years.

And since I'm coming up on the 3 year mark of meeting my best friend, I keep thinking it'll all blow up in my face soon. Because people don't always stick around.

And then I think about the fact that I've been a part of the Togetherness Community for over a year and when those people get to know me well enough, that'll be over too.

Because what do I give to a friendship? Awkwardness? More work? Service opportunities?
Am I even helpful? Am I even a genuinely good person to be around?

I want to believe I am worthy of best friends but life has shown me that best friends leave you.

And I'm so scared. I'm so so so so scared to lose my friends.

I want to trust that people understand and that they love me because of who I am but I don't really like who I am so it's really hard to trust that other people will like me 'as is'.

The shame spiral started a few hours ago. It has subsided a little bit thanks to some wonderful friends who talked me through it. But it isn't gone. The anxiety feels like a hangover and I don't want to reach out to anyone else because the more needy I am, the less people will like me.

Life feels so unsafe tonight. So shaky and unstable and scary.

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.