still in the hole. warning: some very fucked up thoughts and feelings. read at your own risk of becoming depressed by my bitchassness life

I haven't showered since Tuesday. I don't remember the last time I ate something and didn't purge it. Oh yeah, that's right, as I write I'm seriously gorging myself on Bojangles and beer and waiting until the precise moment when I can throw it all up. As if that will make me feel any better.

My sponsor called earlier and she always has perfect timing. Her recommendation: IP. Ha, yeah right. I'd rather die. And that's not me being dramatic. I'd seriously rather die. I don't care about getting better at this point. How things change from one day to the next....And so she begged me to call Shish and tell her just how bad things are for me in this very moment. Except...Well, it was easy to tell my sponsor stuff. I'm not sure why. I guess because she's been there....done that. But it is different with Shish. She doesn't understand. And now I'm ashamed and embarrassed to go see her on Tuesday because I told her I was thinking of taking the whole bottle of ambien. Not just thinking about it...but fingering all twenty-three pills. And I promised on my integrity and our relationship that I flushed them down the toilet. And I feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world. Because I have no integrity. I didn't flush the pills. I poured the pills out of the bottle into my hand and then I flushed the toilet and then I gave my word. And then I gave my word again. And she said she trusted me. But I wanted to know that if I wanted to take them tomorrow night, that I'd still have them. And I think more than anything now I'm just a liar. She will never have a reason to believe me or trust me or even respect our relationship. And although she doesn't know it, I've really come to appreciate her and all I want in the world is for Shish to make it better, but that's placing too much on one person. She single handedly can't make me better. I have to work too...but I'm so tired. And so I cannot face her on Tuesday without telling the truth or without flushing the pills in between now and then. And yes, the very reason why I called her is because there's a part of me that longs to be free. But it's so small and so weak and every single fucking thought says...JUST GIVE THE FUCK UP.

You'll never be able to love yourself. Your family will never love you the way you need them to. You cannot go out in the world and be who you want to be without their love. And their love comes first. I promise that's how it feels. Your parents are supposed to love you first...and then you grow to love yourself...and them. And she asked if I could envision a life worth living without them...and the answer is no. It isn't worth living with them and it won't be worth living without them because I long for them to scoop me up and hold me and take care of me and love me and encourage me and protect me. And all they do is hurt me. And since it's pretty much game over for me...what can I do? Nothing gets me out of bed in the morning...OR afternoon. I know I shouldn't say this...but I really do not care about anything. The one thing I feel burning inside right now is to make them PAY. And not just pay...but like wake up every single day with the kind of load I have that makes them spend over half the day in bed and the other half longing to escape. I want it to hurt in their sleep. I want it to hurt so badly that they're crying in the shower and at the grocery store and in the car and at church and every fucking moment for the rest of their lives. And that will make me happy. That is what I care about. It is the only thing I care about...getting them back. I want my mother to spend the rest of her life ruined because of what she has failed to do for me. I want her to never be able to look herself in the mirror, the same way I cannot meet my own eyes. I want whatever time my father has left here to be sheer misery. Not physical pain...but I want them to fucking know that they did this to their daughter. And I want someone to tell my story...to let all these parents know that they're walking around killing their children because they are too fucked up themselves to be the involved parents that they need to be. I want all these parents or people who are thinking about procreating to have to fucking read a manuscript on what not to do or say and watch the real life of someone who has been devastated not by drugs or violence or war or poverty...but by family. I just want everyone to fucking think about how much they affect everyone around them by their silence and complacency or ego and their own pain. And yeah, I realize I'm one of those persons. And the thing is...I have thought about it. I'm am choking on tears that can't even run down my face, they're just stuck in my throat because I hate that something so beautiful as life has been wasted on someone like me. Someone who cannot see the good because there is just too much bad. And I hate that there are people in this city, not to mention around the world, who's lives SUCK so much worse than mine. But the reality of it is...this is as bad as I care to see it get. That's it. It can fucking be WORSE tomorrow night...but I can't deal with that anymore than I can deal with my life today.

But there is a list of people who will never forgive me if I check out. And I can't bear to think that they'd carry that pain around with them forever. And of course, what hurts even more is that if one day they did get over it. That's what I thought to myself tonight when Shish said she would be devastated if she didn't see me on Tuesday. That she just wouldn't be sad...that she would be devastated. And this was after she spent thirty minutes talking about how things get easier to bear...how life gets better. I thought...yeah, you'd be devastated, but you'll choose to live on somehow. It won't be the end of the world for you. You'll find a reason to live. I think that's true for everyone really. That they'd find something and they'd get over it. And they'd be sad for a while when they thought of me in passing...but life goes on. I guess in the end there are only two people I care enough about not to hurt that much. My older nephew and my goddaughter. The only reason I woke up at 3 pm today was to pick my nephew up from school. And the four hours we spent together were spent bathing him and feeding him and reading to him and sounding out letters and cuddling and swinging him around (not smart with my back and he's so tall for his age!) but I kept doing it just to hear him squeal. It was an afternoon he'll surely forget, but I don't think I'll forget it. Seeing the older dog chase him around the house (and this dog is 14 years old and does not even RUN for steak)...well it was just something really special to experience. Both he and the dog crashed around 7...tired from all the little things in life and it was just wonderful sitting and watching this nephew of mine sleep. And I wanted so desperately to protect him and hold him and make sure nothing in life ever caused him an ounce of hurt...especially his parents. And I felt helpless...because I knew I couldn't make that kind of promise. The love I have for him is so pure and tangible and yet...it doesn't matter. I can't even promise myself not to let someone hurt me...not me or my family or my friends. There are things I can control and yet...I've walked back into this house again expecting things to be different because I need them to be. It's foolish. How can I say I'm a victim...when I keep crawling back for more?

Shish is all for IP obviously although she wants to talk about it some more on Tuesday to make sure I'm ready for this kind of commitment. But now that I've said all of this here...I almost feel like it's not what I want. Yes, I'd be safe there and I might actually get better; but I don't want to leave Shish. I never understood that feeling of just wanting to lie on one's therapist's couch and never leave...and as uncomfortable as it makes me feel at times...she is the only one in my non-virtual world that takes two hours out of her week to connect with me and see me and care for me and call me out on my shit. But I hate now that she is seeing a bit more of who I am. No one could like that...So weak and ready to give up and throw life away because it's overwhelmingly tough. So completely shallow and self-absorbed and I hate that she sees that. I feel like she'll start seeing me the way my father does...and begin to think its true. That my life has been a waste.

But not to worry friends, I plan to stuff everything back down inside with lots of food and yuengling and I'll certainly purge it when it gets to be too much. I think I'm really over the edge right now because I've forgotten to take my zoloft for the past three days and clearly it makes me a whole lot worse when I forget to take it. Obviously something I need not ever do again. Tomorrow, I'll just wake up and take my medication and eat breakfast (or lunch) and do everything that I was supposed to do today. I still haven't mailed the presents I bought for my roommates. That would involve waking up and showering before 6 pm and it's something I haven't been able to accomplish this week. But I have ice skating plans with Best and Elle (her daughter and my goddaughter) tomorrow. And for now...that's as good a reason as any to make it through the night. Who wouldn't wanna see my ass fall on plastic ice repeatedly tomorrow afternoon? I certainly don't plan on missing it.

Last night Marianne Williamson was on Oprah and she said something about how all these life experiences will make us into the person we want to be if we just grow into that person. That once we get to that age, whatever it may be, that we'll understand that it was all a part of the process and we can't get to where we will be if we don't make it through where we are. Obviously, it was a helluva lot more eloquent...but I almost bought it. The thing is...I can imagine that life...whenever I end up there...but either it's too far away, it takes too much work to get there...or I don't think it's real. Actually, it's a combination of all three. I know I'm only 24...but my entire lifetime has been this. It's the only life I've known. I have quite the imagination...but I'm also a realist.

being honest with Shish

I canceled my appointment with Cruella (the nutritionist) last night because I do not feel it's particularly helpful to discuss my eating behaviors in the midst of all this bitchassness (sorry...last time in this post I swear.) I actually hadn't intended on going to see Shish either. Tuesday's session was really way too much for me emotionally, bringing everything just right beneath the surface and I've pretty much spent a lifetime making sure it stays way deep inside. When I want it out, I know how to do it and I'm well aware that this is the very reason why I'm in therapy, so I can stop binging and purging, but I couldn't bear another session like that. I actually had a dream (that seemed SO real) because there were fragments from Tuesday's session mixed in with things that are sure to come up at some time in the future. It was painful and embarrassing and even worse than Tuesday's session so I woke up quite aware that I didn't want to experience that. However, plans changed. Shish actually called me after learning that I canceled on Cruella and asked me to come in. Being put on the spot like that really shook me up and so I showed up but it was quite clear that I wasn't happy about it. I suppose for the first forty minutes I was as evasive and guarded as I'd ever been. At one point I even asked to leave but we started talking about why I wanted to leave and ended up connecting and ending the session on a very satisfying note.

In a nutshell, here's what happened: I admitted that I withdrew from her because I wanted to avoid getting too close to her for three reasons: I didn't want to become too dependent on her because I know she will not always be there and I should grow and no longer need her at some point, I can talk to my friends and have them care about me because its a reciprocal relationship but it's not like that with her and so it feels strange, and most importantly it hurts to the core that she cares or at least shows that she cares more than my mother. When Shish is enraged or seems as if she is really hurting for me I hate it. I hate it because I don't want her to do that. I need my own mother to do that and I know I've said this before and I know I have to live with not having a family but it is a helluva lot easier said than done. It is easy to push Shish away because I've really never had anyone just listen and provide empathy and try to help me work through it face to face. And let's face it...I have some amazing friends. But even they get tired of everything that goes on in my life. Not that Shish doesn't get frustrated with me at times for letting her in once in a blue moon and then shutting the door in her face. And because I had heard it here already, I know it is perfectly acceptable to accept love and care and respect from people even though I want it from my parents. And so when she explained to me that she would still care and work with me so that I'm ok with it, I felt a teeny bit of relief. And then she said that our relationship wasn't dependent at all but a place where I can come and connect with another person and leave some of the pain and baggage with her. And in that, there was definitely more relief because I often times feel like I can't take the pain or baggage to my friends because it is too much for anyone to deal with and she is a professional. So maybe that is why she can help.

Shish also said that I'm this person that walks around life that is so polite and nice and friendly and smart and no one would ever have a hint that anything was going wrong in my life. That it's somewhat chilling to her that I can really keep it together without people seeing it which is so strange to hear because I feel like everyone can take just one look at me and see that I'm falling apart. Of course she knows that I'm falling apart or that I have fallen apart but not even she suspected that things were this bad. So she's asked me to bring the suitcase full of all my shit and let it all out and leave it there because I can't keep carrying it with me everywhere I go. I just can't ever imagine that happening. I can't imagine that if I ever brought everything out of the suitcase and exposed it that I would then leave it there and never carry it around with me again. But she said it was the only way to have a life worth living and she told me to just believe her anyway. So I suppose...I can keep trying.

Phoenix said the only way out is through. And I know that's true it's just torture. I can't think of another word...something that leaves you completely defenseless and vulnerable and naked and sad and angry and hopeless and seriously ready to give in. It's torture.

My homework for the weekend: Find a safe place to stay...something a little more permanent. Apply to at least 3 jobs a day. And although it was unspoken, I know I'm supposed to continue eating something and keeping it down once a day.

Now I'm off to respond to the most amazing comments you guys left on the last entry. May I just sincerely say that I appreciate you all so much...that I include you in my prayers and thoughts and so even when I'm not present I'm thinking of you individually and collectively. And it feels wonderful to know that you all care about me. I totally accept it now and it doesn't make me want to withdraw from here. So tonight I actually feel a bit better. Nothing really has changed except...well I don't feel like giving up.

here Shish, here's how I feel.

I'm just so fucking tired of it all. How is it that life can be like this? So unfair to some people. So devastating. The thing is there is nothing anyone can say or do to ever remedy the past. It's happened and some people can forgive and "kill 'em with kindness" (Best's advice) and some people can't or won't get over it and move on with their lives. I think I can't. I think I'm one of those people who really could have done or been anything, but then bitchassness (yes, I stole this from P. Diddy) got in the way and now I'm standing in the way of the bitchassness.

And well...treatment isn't working. Let's be very real about this here. From one perspective it can look like "progress" but really I'm just caught in a cycle. In a matter of months I've become estranged from my parents, dropped out of law school, spent a shitload of money on therapy, contemplated taking my life, and I'm still the same fucking way I've always been. That's not progress. It's insanity is what it is. On the days I'm doing great I'm really proud of myself for having done this but there are not enough of those days. This was just a huge fucking mistake. I'm sitting in Panera Bread and I'll probably be here until closing because I have nowhere else to go. (Best & her daughter have strep and if there's one more thing I don't need in my life...it's to get sick. Especially since today is the FIRST day in over a month that I haven't experienced back/pelvic pain or felt really sick.) Actually, I started this post on Tuesday but now the pain has come back. So lovely this life of mine.

So I told Shish about everything that's happened in the two and a half weeks that she missed out on. That actually wasn't the hard part because I had already gone into everything that happened on here and with a couple of my friends. And strangely enough, I did express anger at the situation when relaying the situation to my friends and there was a lot of sadness in my voice. My old roommate said the sadness was tangible and she felt it all the way in Missouri. But when I talked about it with Shish I was very matter of fact about everything even though I could feel my insides burning inside. I could feel my heart being twisted about. I could feel every muscle in my body tense up and I do mean every muscle, but it was too hard to say anything about how I felt. Shish wanted to talk about how it felt to hear all of those things and how it felt to tell her and everything I was thinking and she wouldn't take "Nothing" for an answer. And I was enraged. I am enraged. And I am hurt and frightened because I don't know where Chewy and I are sleeping tonight. And I feel completely let down and alone and betrayed. But saying all of those things doesn't take those feelings away and so I didn't say anything. Because I couldn't cry anymore although I did shed like two tears near the end at which point I told her I was done. In the end...it doesn't matter how I feel about anything. And so I had to listen to her tell me that it was ok and safe to open up to her and still I refused. It's not her either. It's just the idea that no one can really ever help this sort of thing. I mean she can certainly encourage me to find a job so I can move out and never return. And she may even convince me at some point to eat regularly and I may one day be recovered. But there is no cure for what I have. There's no fucking label for what's going on inside of me. And so I am really truly at that point where I just don't care. I just want it all to stop.

I cried on Saturday night when arguing with my mother and I'm so fucking tired of crying. It hurts too much when you realize that you're wasting time and energy crying over things that will never change. And even though what happened with my parents was the worst possible scenario, everything is still the same. My dad is still an abuser. My mom still doesn't give a fuck. My sister's still a bitch. I'm still holding everything inside because what the fuck am I supposed to do with it? Just throw it away? Just pretend that it's not the absolute most fucked up thing ever and make a life for myself anyway? What makes it even worse it that I think I'm seriously entitled to self-destruct now. I think I've fucking earned it. And a better lifetime movie would be if I ended up living that happily ever after but that's just a bunch of shit. Yes, there are people out there in the world with Cancer and HIV and living in war torn countries and they've seen the most horrible tragedies in the world. And there is no way I could ever ever understand that and their pain is greater than mine by far. But people do not have the right to tell me to get over it. No one has the right to say that things could be worse. Because yes, it's true, shit can always get worse. But what is the point in saying that? To make you appreciate your sufferings and what little little things there are in life that make you smile? Because the way I see it, yes, new events can take place tomorrow and completely change my life for the better or worse but I couldn't FEEL any worse than I do in this moment. I could not be at a lower moment than I am and yet I said that back in January. And here I am...it apparently wasn't true. I fucking know that things could be worse because I am the one living in this life where every time something starts to get better and I start to breathe and smile and laugh and be encouraged and hopeful and willing and ready for the work that lies ahead with this recovery and of reclaiming my life...every time it feels that people are praying for me and I start believing that I can have that life worth living, it escapes me. It's fucking gone and even it comes back it will never stay long enough for me to internalize that feeling and let it grow inside of my mind and heart. It will leave again and leave me even more devastated, even more empty, even lower than the last time and this is not a way to live.

It breaks my heart that just last week I was not here. In this fucking place. It breaks my heart that last week I actually reread the first two months of my blog to see how I ended up so full of despair back in January. That I could remember the feeling well but I couldn't understand how it had happened. which is a good thing I guess...maybe in a few months I won't be this way. But all it means is that I always get a moment to catch my breath before my head's forced under water again.

girl talk

I have the appointment with Shish scheduled for tomorrow morning. I'm not going to cancel it or anything but I think I'll just let her know that I can feel myself retreating back to wherever I was before I started therapy. I have this hope that I will someday get to a place where I'm not like this but like 95% of me is resigned and has accepted that this is just simply life. My plans for what I'm going to do tomorrow after the session are very undefined. I know I'm not going home but I'd like not to have to drive back out here (90 minutes from home...I'm staying with a friend) especially since I desperately need an oil change and my gas is burning so fast! Argh. Best offered to help in any way she can but I just feel like this isn't any one else's thing to do. Best is a mother and lives with her parents and although they made space for me and Chewy before I really don't want to go back to that again. I fought so very hard back in January to do what was best for me and I feel like almost two months have passed and I'm still paddling in circles.

Stuck.
Hurt.
Afraid.

I purged today too. Binged last night twice and just felt sick about the whole thing. Today I just simply wanted to binge and purge and that's what I did. An entire pizza and it was only cut short because my friend came home early from work. This is no kind of life to live. To wake up and watch three hours of Britney Spears' Fall from Grace, binge and purge, smoke, and do absolutely nothing with my life. So no, my father had no right to say those things to me but how much of what he said is true. I've dropped out to sleep all day. I don't care about anything. I am a quitter. I'm a 24 year old woman who isn't wanted by anyone. I'm not doing anything with my life. I'm selfish and self-centered and once upon a time, I was a beautiful person. Not anymore. I don't like what I see when I look at the mirror and I don't like what my life has become. So how to change that? Or has it gotten to the point where it's just something that I'll live with.

Tonight my friends insisted that my entire problem is because I'm not sexually active. And although they totally mean well (and I think my roommates entirely support my decision to drop out of the dating game) this isn't the first time we've had this conversation. For me, it is simply a way for me to protect myself (by being so guarded) and to make sure that I don't end up in the same situation I had with Jack, or a situation similar to my mother's. It is impossible to go through life without having been affected by the shit one has gone through. (Maybe I need to listen to Lesson Learned again...) So I can be inspired to get past the past.

My friends here don't know about the eating disorder. So they think the only issue is that I'm unhappy with my life because of law school and the whole man situation (which I didn't even indicate was an issue!) I'm not interested in having a man situation, which was the reason why they were so concerned. Truth be told I've only had one "relationship" if it can even really be called that. Jack and I were hanging out, never had been on an official date because we were in college and kickin it is just what everyone did. And I hooked up with some guys after things were completely over with him but I haven't dated since 2005. I was incredibly heart broken when things ended with Jack. And I kept hanging out with him six months after I should have ended things. It was tragic. It was the hardest period of time in my life. Or one of them actually because things got significantly worse after it was over. Friendships were on the brink of disaster because I refused to end things with him and my friends as loving as they are would not accept us. But I was "in love" and couldn't bear to admit that I had made a mistake. So I spent the next year and a half seriously not getting over what had happened to us and what had happened to me. And of praying for a way for us to be together again. Seriously, I know how pathetic I was back then and I am immensely more ashamed of that 2 and a half year period of being with him and longing to be with him than I am of my eating disorder. So that's some shame!

The entire ordeal of falling in love with a guy, being raped by this person, continuing to pursue this guy because I so desperately just wanted him to love me with just a smidgen of the amount of love I had for him, finding out that he had a girlfriend, continuing to sleep with him, and then sleeping with other guys to get over him left me without the desire to do anything but cry and drink. That was it. I blame myself for everything that went wrong because I stayed in a relationship that was seriously abusive and so completely unhealthy. I stayed because I fell for him, because I wanted him to fall for me, because once I had sex with him after the rape I felt so fucking ashamed because it showed me exactly the type of girl I am. Things would be so much different if I had just had a spine or a voice or some balls and if I loved and respected myself just a little bit. But I didn't. Jack raped me and that still wasn't enough. How can that not be enough? How does someone have sex with a man who raped her? Who refuses to end things because she doesn't want to admit the truth? Someone who is just like her mother and who will do anything to keep a man. Finally, I got to the point when I realized that not only was hooking up with him or any other guys without an emotional connection was something that I never wanted for myself. But I knew I could never ever be so vulnerable again. That was a mistake that I could clearly never repeat again. And I haven't. I can't fall in love with someone because what if they hurt me and I didn't leave. What if he saw that he could treat me however he wanted once I was hooked? Clearly, if I didn't fucking press charges against Jack and continued to sleep with him, then I have no point where enough is enough.

So I think that's pretty much it. I'm afraid of love and being cared for and of being hurt and of being unacceptable and of intimacy and of being abandoned and of food and of myself. So afraid that instead I just throw up these walls even in the midst of getting help because somewhere along the way I accepted this kind of life. And no...I'm not happy, but it's also safer this way. I guess I think I'm protecting myself but I can look objectively and see that I'm still being hurt. But I also have no fucking clue as to how I can stop it. If there's ever a moment when I think maybe I won't be like my mother or my sister or plenty of my friends who involve themselves with assholes, I remember the worst time of my own life when I clearly demonstrated that the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. People do what they know and I don't have enough faith to try to learn anything different.

Side note: my father was "cleaning" my room today while I was out and found my prescription for Ambien. Cleaning my room? Really. Snooping which is one of his favorite past times is what it really was. Anyways apparently my mother only told him that I was depressed and that's why I needed the sleep aid but he sent me an email apologizing for everything. He said he loved me and that he could never be disappointed in me and that he understood what I was going through. Obviously, things a daughter would love to hear from her father but I don't believe him. It's too late. It should never haven taken this for him to be kind. I should never have to pack my belongings and leave my home because my own mother isn't strong enough to do whatever it takes to make me stay.

Will I ever get out of this fucking hole?

i want to stop treatment. i'll tell Shish on Tuesday. its not effective. its not making things better. she can't help me. i have an abusive father and negligent mother. I have no family because I'm choosing to say I don't deserve that. i can't be healed. that cant be healed. and i wish it could be something i could just get over or deal with (more about that later...what my sister said.) I wish it was something i could let go of and forgive but I'm fucking hold on for dear life and its killing me. I can't forgive him. I can't forgive her. I need something in my life to make up for that. And unfortunately it's something that's just as abusive and depressive. What I need to do is completely rid them of my life. That's the only way I can heal. Maybe then I'll be able to consider forgiveness.

what was supposed to be an ordinary saturday...actually turned out to be a pretty typical saturday with a psycho abusive person living in this house.

Trust me when I say I've written so many posts since Wednesday or Thursday but I just haven't gotten around to publishing them. And what really makes me sad is the one I just wrote was so fucking positive. So clear in my thoughts and organized and really at a place where I was content with where I am. Last night I hung out with Best and some other friends. We drank beer and watched Intervention (exact same plans as last friday night) and I had a really good time. And I still managed to get home before dawn because I knew my mother planned on working at seven am and the older nephew was spending the night unexpectedly. He would have been alright with just my dad there but he doesn't really like my dad too much. I wonder why! So I get home around 5 am and I'm really tired from the beer and the late night and I'm in so much pain but I know I can't take any of the medication because I wasn't even supposed to drink. The kid is up EARLY wanting to go home and eat breakfast and watch cartoons and cuddle and I'm just not in the mood. So I go back to sleep. He comes back later and says "Papa told me to tell you to get your lazy --- up!" He didn't actually say the word because he knows it's a bad word. But he was all like, you know what the missing word is right? You understand? I can't say it. But you get it? He's too cute. Still, I slept. I mean come on, as far as I was concerned, I still hadn't gotten eight hours.

Sometime between 11:30 am and noon my dad opens my bedroom door and is furious. I don't even really want to rehash that whole event but basically here's what I heard today. Round One: He's so disappointed in me. I am the biggest waste of time ever. I'm selfish, trifling, and lazy (he said that like eight times) and he's glad he can really see me for who I am. I am nothing. I'm so self-centered and selfish. Who do I think I am that I need a break from school? Who do I think I am that I have the right to be tired of anything? I'm so silly. No one will ever want me. No man will ever want me. I used to be beautiful. Now I'm disgusting. I need help. I need help. Because I'm not the person I'm supposed to be. I'm the worst possible daughter. Worst. Because I have a sick father and I only care about myself. I only care about nothing. Because I am nothing. There are no more illusions about me. There is only the truth and everyone will know it.

Yeah. And guess what. I didn't cry. At a few points I really felt them coming and I had to tell myself that I was done crying him. I didn't look at him for the first twenty minutes. It was simply him ranting and raving with my six year old nephew across the hall hiding in the corner. So then he left and he came back and started up again and then I was fed up because it was over. And finally I said: Why don't you just leave then? Just go. Seriously. Just get out! Why are you still talking? What are you still going on and on? Shut up!

Round two: Make me shut up! Make me! What are you doing to do about it. [Then he charges at me and is furious and raises his hand. ] I was sitting in bed, rather defenseless, and laughed and said You better not! And he's all like I better not! I better not! Don't you ever tell me what to do. I've sacrificed everything for you. For nothing. You're 24 and you tell me what to do! I'm not leaving. You leave. You go. You leave. You think you run this. I run this. You don't tell me I better do anything. I'll kill you.

And the thing is. I still didn't care. I meant it totally shocked me that he was about to him me because he hasn't done that since I was a kid. It shocked the HELL out of me that he said I'll kill you. And I know it was the rage...but there are some things one could never say to their child unless of course they're strung out on drugs. I could only smile (which made him so much madder.) I could only smile because I was so unaffected. There was no sense in being devastated that this asshole could do this to me. I actually wanted him to hit me. I wanted him to hit me so I could fucking call the police and have his ass thrown in jail. It pisses me off that that sort of thing would end up in domestic relations court...and you get less time for hitting FAMILY than you do a stranger. I would have loved to tell my mother when she arrived home that her fucking addiction was in the county jail and that I was pressing charges and GLAD to have him out of my life.

And still I didn't put him in his place. I'm still considering it. I still want to just let this motherfucker know that HE is the reason why I need help. That he doesn't deserve to have me in his life and I certainly don't deserve someone like him in my life. That I can't even put to words who is he. There are no words for it. I wanted to tell him that we would not fulfill his wishes and not have a memorial service for his family. I want to have a memorial service now...only to piss him off. And I know that's not right. I know that's so fucking wrong. But I almost don't want to cremate him either. I just don't. What he wants most is something I'M in control of and maybe I only feel like this today, but I wouldn't feel guilty.

I pretty much told my mother what happened. I left out the I'll kill you part. Although I am going to tell her as soon as I get up out of bed. I do not need this. I do not need this. I do not deserve this. I do not have to live in this kind of environment. And this is EXACTLY what I said what would happen. Exactly. I knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. I knew it. I knew it would be fucking hell on earth in this house and she wouldn't listen to me. She didn't care. She cared more about HIM and HERSELF than about hearing me. Her only response was that she thought things would be better since he's so sick. BUT WHAT THE FUCK. HE'S HAD CANCER SINCE 2001 and he's ALWAYS BEEN LIKE THIS. YOU CANNOT USE THE EXCUSE HE'S DYING, HE WON'T BE AN ABUSIVE MAN ANYMORE. HE WILL. PEOPLE DON'T CHANGE.
BUT SHE DIDN'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME. SHE DIDN'T CARE. SO YEAH. IM PISSED (I think that's clear with all the capital letters) but I almost want to call the police because that whole "I'll kill you" remark was a threat. And I'm so fucking tired of sleeping at other people's houses. This is MY home. Fuck what either of them say. I have a right to be home and have a safe place to live.

A PRESCRIPTION!

A bacterial infection. That's what I have. Oh yeah. So I'm on antibiotics and I can't drink alcohol for ten days! Ordinarily this wouldn't be a problem (and it still isn't) but I've kind of gotten into a routine here at home where we go out and drink on the weekends and I've really enjoyed it. But oh well.

I don't actually believe that it is a bacterial infection because it's not supposed to be painful I'm just supposed to feel really sick. And I do feel sick but it also really really hurts. But the doctor has an M.D. from what I suppose is an accredited medical school so we'll just hope the antibiotics work. I go see my medical doctor at the ed clinic tomorrow and I'll fill her in on all the symptoms. I kind of feel like the doctor didn't believe that my pain was debilitating. Like he was all like, yeah well a bacteria infection can produce some discomfort and I was like umm...I FUCKING COULDN'T TAKE A SHOWER OR SIT DOWN OR STAND UP OR SLEEP. That's not discomfort. In fact, I went to urgent care this afternoon because I started having ABDOMINAL PAIN.

I wrote this really long post last night about all the history of all this pain but it's REALLY long. So long story short, I've had the pelvic pain three times before. Stabbing excruciating pain that drops me to the ground because I don't have what it takes to stand up. Once in 2003 when I was studying abroad. It lasted for about 20 minutes. Tops. I thought something was stabbing away at my vagina. Later in 2006, the pain didn't strike like lightning. I felt some discomfort down there. It felt like a weight was sitting down in my vagina and it stabbed a bit when I sat down or stood up or laughed or sneezed or whatever. Later that same day it felt like my vagina was having a heart attack. OH MY GOSH. I fell down on the floor of my friend's apartment and my friends took me to the ER. After waiting for seven hours without being seen by a doctor we had to leave because I needed to catch a flight. By the time I got home the pain was gone. Still I went to see my gynecologist who offered me no explanation. That really sucked. But what could I do? All the tests were normal and so I went about my merry way.

From time to time I would get the feeling that something hurt down there, that I was carrying some weight or whatever. Basically, I know something is wrong down there but I sincerely doubt it's a bacterial infection. Still I'll take the antibiotics and just hope it really has just been an infection all those times. When I looked back on those three separate occasions, the first and the last, I had been eating a different diet and drinking a lot of alcohol each of the times. I'm not sure if diet played a part in how much pain I felt but if so then I might need to do a better job about cutting somethings out of my diet. In France, I was eating red meat multiple times a week but I hadn't had it before then in like eight years and of course I was drinking wine every single day. When I was visiting friends I can't remember anything specific about what I had been eating but I'm quite sure I was drinking a lot of alcohol. And this past month I've been eating a lot of sausage! I just had this intense craving for a sausage biscuit one day and I've been eating them very regularly. And I rarely eat pork. I mean it had been even longer than beef. And I've been drinking a lot of alcohol lately. Mostly on the weekends, but a glass of wine or a beer during the week if I'm out with friends.

My only problem with thinking it's what I've been eating or drinking is that I've always drank a lot of alcohol although I have cut back this year and so it doesn't really explain it. But for now...I'll just take tons of advil and sleep with a heating pad and take these meds. On the plus side of things: I haven't purged since last Tuesday. I think that's true. Purging HURTS my throat and my pelvis on levels that exceed the scale and so I can't. I think all the pain is actually really affecting my appetite too. I haven't been hungry in a really long time. I went to the grocery store and was almost sort of hoping I'd go crazy and buy binge foods (so that I could tell that I was feeling my "normal self") and the only thing I wanted was cranberry juice. So clearly, I can tell...I'm ill.

A wonderful weekend.

A wonderful weekend. No better word for it. Many good times were had and it left me in a really safe and positive place inside. Friday night I binged at dinner. I know you're thinking...that's not a good thing. But actually I didn't purge. So I was proud of that. And well technically it would have been really really bad if I had purged because it hurt to swallow and my lymph nodes were all swollen. But I also hadn't purged since Tuesday night so I'm kind of on a roll. I'm on a roll and my dad has moved back into the house. And we had a major fight. And I drank so much alcohol that I had a hangover. But I still never purged. Ordinarily, I would be just devastated by this. That I consumed so many calories (and I did feel like I could just see the pounds piling on) and didn't purge. I'm really proud of myself for taking care of my physical health in all of this. Sure, it totally helped that I'm sick and purging really hurts right now but I still chose not to do it.

Back to Friday night: Intervention episodes and I'm so hooked now. I had never seen any of them before then, although I had heard a lot of good talk about the series. My friends and I drank cerveza and tequila and ate chocolate. Not a single time during all of this did I think "You shouldn't do this." Instead I was thinking, "I'm so glad I'm out being social and having fun." We had lunch on Saturday afternoon when everyone woke up and although I was feeling guilty and sick to my stomach, I decided I wanted to eat lunch. I needed to eat lunch. So I did. And I felt better! Then Best straightened my hair! We had talked about it a few weeks ago and she said she'd do it. It took 5 hours!!! I knew it would take a very long time because when I went to get it professionally straightened it took FOUR hours. But that included the washing and drying process. So I'm pretty impressed with Best's styling capabilities. She was really excited that it turned out so nicely. It's definitely straight although I'm having some difficulties with my ends frizzing up. Oh, and since I hadn't had a trim in 10 months, she had to cut off a couple of inches. It was a shock to see all that hair on the floor, but it was dead hair and it looked just awful. It looks and feels so much better now. And I have bangs now too! (This might seem confusing to people who've seen my pic on gmail because my hair is straight & I have bangs. But for the past year and a half my hair's been natural: tightly coiled.)

Saturday night we went out dancing in the capital city and I had a fabulous time. I felt really confident although I was a little paranoid about my hair frizzing up at the club. After two songs I left the dance floor because I could feel my bangs curling up! Then I remembered why I rarely straighten my hair...because I hate spending every waking thought on my HAIR. Although, it's a good break from constantly worrying about my body shape. After the party let out, my friends were all engaged in separate conversations with guys and I felt really awkward. For about ten seconds I started to feel like no one was talking to me because I'm fat and not as pretty or you name it and then I stopped. First, I didn't think a single guy was attractive and I wasn't interested. And secondly, when I left the house that night, I knew I looked really great and I reminded myself that I didn't need a guy that I wasn't interested in giving me attention to make me feel pretty. I already gave myself the stamp of approval before I left the house. Plus, I wore a pair of jeans that I hadn't worn in three months and they were SUPER loose. Not that appropriate for the club...but I sure felt great about that!

After the party Best and I stayed up talking until 4:30 am. We'd both been drinking and so I really can't even remember all that was said or how we got on various subjects but I had a warm feeling inside. So warm that I woke up with it. Or maybe that was just the alcohol...We shared how we have some of the same fears and insecurities about life and love and while I'm not sure how to help Best...actually I do know. Just by being there. How she has been there for me since I've come back. She admitted that it was extremely difficult for her to have me in the house since we hadn't been friends in about seven months but that she knew it was the best possible place for me to ever be. It was hard for me to even drive to her house that first night but I'm really glad I did. We're friends again and although it's quite evident that there's no going back to what we were before, it's only because we're different people now. Or at least I am. I know we talked about so much more because it was over two hours...so I'll just have to give her a call and find out what was said! (So many exclamation points...and on a Monday too!) Best really encouraged me to take some writing classes at the local community college and I'm planning on doing that this summer.

I've spent a lifetime not doing things that I wanted because I was afraid of failing or doing things I didn't want to do because I didn't want to let my family down. It's really a good time for me because I get to sit and explore all the possibilities. And then all this talk of what I want to do with my life got me to thinking about who I want to be. So interesting because I've always thought about who I didn't want to be: my mother. I've always felt that in my heart and I spoke about this in my very first session with Shish. Crazy, huh? Now I see that in this process of not being me, but only trying not to be her (or my dad) that I've ended up like them. How did that happen? I'm laughing at it now because every thought about who I want to be or how I want to act or anything about me has always been about NOT being them. And honestly, I have great reasons for wanting to be the exact opposite of every thing they represent...but I've been really neglecting myself by just focusing on certain things. They are certainly models of who not to be...but there is always some good with the bad. They're love for me is still good. But, once I realized I was doing this, I thought about how much of what I want is based on what I don't want. How much of who I am is based on who I don't want to be and not sincerely because it's something I really want for my life. I'm nowhere near being the self-accepting and respecting and loving person that I want to be. But that's ok too.

It's not all or nothing. I'm not some horrible person because I have this problem (and a host of others) and it really helped me to see that when talking with my parents I realized they're not evil. I can love them and hate them and neither of them cancels the other out. That makes it easier to breathe inside the house because I don't feel guilty about being such a bad daughter and I don't need validation from Shish or anyone that its ok to feel this way. I told my mother on Saturday night (before the club) that I had been trying to get her to be on the same page as me for years. And I really have. And to no avail. I manipulate and pull strings and attach strings and cry and act like a real bitch to get her to understand. But we're not even reading the same BOOK. She will never understand me because thank GOD I will never understand her. I'm ok with that. I'm ok with never understanding her. I do not ever want an abusive relationship that lasted for decades and ruined our family to make sense in my mind. That would really hurt me more than anything. All those years of needing an explanation and of asking why did you do this or why didn't you do that: Pointless. Pointless. Nothing either of them could say would ever make me go "AHA!" and pick up their book. No fucking way.

Is it giving up on her? Or him? I haven't figured that out yet in my mind. People are not willing to change for others, only for themselves. Maybe it isn't giving up on them, but giving up on hoping that they will ever be anything but themselves. Maybe it's giving up on fighting my family and accepting that I'm the lucky one in this whole thing because I see things so differently. So if I think about what I really want in life, what I can actually have in life realizing that I can't go back in time and undo what my family has done, I want to get to a point where I am no longer angry at them. I really do. Right now I'm still very angry and I carry it around in my heart everyday. I thought if I understood then I could forgive and stop being angry. I thought I'd be ready for relationships and be able to be intimate and the list goes on and on of things that I thought would be better if I just understood (including recovery.) But that's so fucking misleading. Just like being thin will not make me any happier or guarantee that I'll fall in love or find a great job or have a loving family. And neither will understanding. I don't know what will make me forgive them and let go of all of this anger. Can I forgive and still be angry? I don't think so. I think I can say I forgive you and I'm not angry but I want nothing to do with you...but even that's not absolute forgiveness. I'd still carry something inside. One would think time would be enough. Or love. But apparently, it takes more than that to forgive and to heal.

Maybe there are no answers! Maybe the point is to just keep asking questions. The right questions. Not questions about the past...but about how to make it all better for the next day. My mother doesn't ask any questions. My father asks all the wrong questions. My sister doesn't even listen to the question. And I get so stuck because I can't find the right answer but sometimes I forget that there might be several right answers...or that I'm wasting my time on the wrong question. Like instead of "Why me?" "Why bulimia?" "Why this fucked up family?", I should ask, "Will I be willing?" "Can I try something new?" "What will recovery take?" "Can I fight everyday for my physical and mental health?" It's a little different than traditional education. One must know how to add before one can multiply. One has to understand how numbers work together in order to divide. One has to understand the rule of law before applying it to cases. It makes sense!

But for now I can walk around knowing that I don't need to understand to take action. I have a new question: What next? What can I do next to make myself a better person in my recovery, in my studies, in my professional career (whatever that is...)

P.S. Still no idea what's going on with my lower back pain & pelvic pain. I see my doctor at the ED clinic on Thursday so hopefully she'll have time to figure out what's going on. It's bearable at times throughout the day but then sometimes I'll do something and the waves of pain will start up again.

oh no! the other shoe fell...

I cried last night and again this morning. Not enough tears because I can still feel some of the sorrow inside, but it was a fantastic start. Usually I cry because I'm angry. Hardly ever when I'm sad. I was so glad to cry sad tears just to finally get it all out. One of my roommates sent me the Griffin & Phoenix dvd for our little holiday and I watched it last night. I had seen the last hour of it last year and I absolutely loved it! But I completely forgot the movie existed. This proves just how much my roommate listens to me because she bought me that dvd and I couldn't even remember why I loved it so much! But she did! I guess it helps that after I went on and on about how wonderful of a love story it was that she simply wrote it down. Erin LOVES this movie. Very smart of her. I swear, with friends like my roommates...it's just amazing.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone! I love Valentine's Day! I really do! I have never ever ever had a boyfriend or a valentine either! I just love celebrating all types of love and although it's supposed to be the romantic love that people get giddy over...I really just enjoy being around people I love and appreciate. I spoke with another roommate today who texted me at like 2 am but I was up of course because I had only been awake for like 12 hours so far. We talked for a while and having a hearty dose of laughter right after bawling my eyes out for 90 minutes was really good for my spirits. It also took my mind off of the fact that I had eaten and not purged. Not purged because my throat feels like its as raw as sandpaper and it hurts to swallow. I swear...I am always sick! Because I REALLY wanted to purge. Because honestly I really just wanted to run away! But run where? I'm 24. I can't run away.

So it started Wednesday morning actually. The buildup of the other shoe dropping. There's a bit of tension between everyone in our family right now for very obvious reasons. Everyone was getting along ok but you could just tell at some point we were gonna go at it. My dad needed to go see his psychiatrist and wanted to borrow my car. But I said no. I had good reasons actually. I haven't gone anywhere since Friday because I need an oil change and tires and I have no gas. And I'm sick. But really I just didn't want him to use my car. So there was kind of a little discussion as to how he would get there and excuse me for being a bitch when I say...I DIDN'T CARE! So it's like 7:30 am and to just avoid the situation I put on some shoes and leave the house. I looked pretty awful too! I mean I had just woken up but my sleep was awful because of my back and I could feel myself getting sick. I was sneezing and my throat felt sore and so I headed to the grocery store to pick up some vitamin C. I mean it was 7:30 in the morning! Where else was I gonna go? So I return to the house and everyone's gone. Relief. I take some medicine and head back to sleep for like five hours. This sleep is a little better actually and I wake up feeling really groggy but at least I can breathe!

I am angry at my mother because I knew this would happen. And now she tries to make me feel guilty because I don't want him there. Want to know why? Today he barged into my room around 2 pm (I had just woken up...and I realize it's extremely lazy of me to be sleeping in bed all day and not doing anything with my time but I am sick. Not just the eating disorder and depression. But the back pain which has moved a little south and is now pelvic pain on top of which I have come down with something in a matter of days. I went from feeling better with the back to having some new kind of pain down there to being able to live with it to having ringing in my ears and colored phlegm. So excuse me if I'm just trying to stay alive before I start interviewing for a new job. Especially since I don't know what kind of job I want!)

Whew! Went off on a tangent there but back to the point. Ok so he comes in and asks me what I'm doing. Like I was pretty confused. Because clearly I was in bed and he could see that. And then he's like so you drop out of law school to stay in bed. And I said...No. And then he's like what's wrong with you? Last year was the worst year and you had roommates and took the bus to school. This year you have your own apartment and a car and you were doing well and then you drop out? Why? And I DID NOT WANT TO HAVE THIS CONVERSATION WITH HIM BECAUSE I KNEW IT WOULD NOT BE GOOD. Then he's all like, "I'm dying and my last memory of you is going to be of you sitting in this house doing nothing with your life. A drop out. Why couldn't you just finish? If you didn't fit in then you need to adapt. You can't walk around expecting everyone to accept you the way you are!"

Yeah. Acceptance. That's actually what I am expecting. I don't think I went into details about why I hated law school, other than the fact that I was pressured into doing it by my father. But all the students were really conservative. I mean REALLY conservative. And that doesn't bother me because I do have friends who are die hard Bush fans even to this day (which is really quite unbelievable.) But the kind of kids who make cracks about affirmative action in your face and make you feel really uncomfortable in class when we're discussing property rights and someone seriously tries to defend slave holder's rights for damages because they were stripped of their property without compensation. The kind of kids who have no shame in being bigots and yet we're all in Constitutional Law together. The kind of kids who think that Great Britain should get reparations because we Americans stole their land from them BEFORE we give reparations to American Indians. Yeah. So on top of not really wanting to be a lawyer but just deciding, oh what the hell, it's a JD, I'll find something useful to do with it...I was constantly faced with that mentality. EVERYDAY.

More of his rants: "You need to straighten you hair! And dress more conservatively. You're giving up on your dreams for NOTHING! And don't say that I put my foot in your ass and made you do this. You wanted it! And now you're giving it up because you didn't fit in? What a waste! What a waste! Why? WHY? WHY?

Me: I wanted a break. It's just that simple.

Him: YOU NEED TO GO BACK TO SCHOOL! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR LIFE NOW? WHO IS GOING TO HIRE YOU WHEN YOU LOOK LIKE THAT? (He's referring to my size and my hair because I don't straighten it) THIS HAS ALL BEEN SUCH A WASTE. I CAME BACK TO SEE YOU AND I HAVE TO SEE YOU LIKE THIS. JUST A WASTE. TELL ME THAT EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY. THAT WE HAVEN'T DONE ALL OF THIS IN VAIN. THAT THERE WILL BE SOMETHING WORTHWHILE TO COME OUT OF MY LIFE.

Me: No. I don't need to tell you that everything is going to be ok. Tell yourself that. I can't tell you that it wasn't a waste. You either know it or you don't. That's not my job. I can tell myself that everything is going to be ok and then I have to believe it and keep saying it. But I'm not going to tell you anything. Tell yourself.

HIM: TELL ME! (He's sobbing at this point. And I do feel bad because if I take myself out of my shoes for a minute and realize that a father doesn't want to leave his family without knowing they'll be ok...and dropping out half way doesn't really signify that ANYthing is ok. So I feel his sadness. I do. I really do feel his pain. )

But after he said this: "My last memory of you will be of you being a drop out and sitting in this house doing nothing." I thought to myself...he doesn't have to remember me that way. But he will. His last memory of me can be something great...like me saying I was unhappy and I wanted something more in life. Or it could be me at home hanging out with the nephews and being that motherly figure they so desperately need. Or it could be of me from years ago when I was the perfect daughter and did everything I was asked because I was afraid he'd stop loving me. Or maybe he isn't dying now and I'll find a job and he'll have something else to complain about...some new memory that won't be as fulfilling for him as me being miserable in law school. I guess I'd rather not give him the memory of a bulimic daughter. Although as FUCKING PISSED OFF as I am right now this is what I wanted to say this:

I hate you. You have made my life a living hell. But I also love you very much. But whatever I do is not good enough for you and I'm really tired of never being enough. If your last memory of me is of being a failure or a quitter and being a loser and not doing anything of my life, then imagine what my last memory of you will be like. A bully. A tyrant. A horrible father. Controlling and abusive and hurtful and mean. And I'm really glad that I had this chance of seeing you again before things take a turn for the worse with your cancer because you are my father and you raised me and there's love in that. But I've seen you and you've seen me and neither one of us can stand to look at the other right now. And here's this for a last memory: I have always wondered how much better my life would have been if you hadn't stayed with my mother. If you had just abandoned our family, my life would be different. And although I can't go back in time, I swear, I'd just like to see a glimpse of what my life would have been like without you. Maybe I wouldn't have an eating disorder. Maybe I would never have graduated from college or gone to law school. Maybe I'd have perpetuated the cycle and had an assload of kids before I was twenty and ended up in an abusive relationship anyway. But I'm thinking I'd know what love is. I'd know how to receive it and to give it. Maybe I wouldn't put attachments to everything. Maybe I wouldn't put up walls with everyone because I'm afraid they're going to walk out on me if I don't do what they want. Maybe I would respect family and dream of having one and not be frightened of fucking my kids up. Maybe I'd be engaged right now to the man of my dreams or maybe I'd still be single. Maybe I would have fought harder the morning I was raped. Maybe I would have reported him and not gone back to him just because I wanted some man to love me and accept me. Maybe I would have known that I didn't need that. Maybe I would know my worth. Maybe not. Maybe I'd still be in the same exact place right now either way. Unsure of myself and my capabilities, afraid of love and relationships, estranged from my family, a law school drop out, and trying to recover from bulimia. But there's no point in going back in the past. This is what our lives look like RIGHT now. Nothing will change that. I'm not in law school and asking why won't put me back. You're a horrible father and you're dying and you're not willing to even try so I don't need to imagine how together I would be without you in my life.

Obviously I said none of this. BUT I WANTED TO SAY IT ALL. Instead I said that there's no sense in asking questions because the answers won't give us what we want. He wants to know why I dropped out? No...He doesn't. He just wants me to go back. So he's asking the wrong question. And since there's nothing he can say to get me to go back and to make himself happy, then there's nothing else to talk about as far as I'm concerned. I have plenty of questions that he will never answer, mostly because I'll never ask, because it does no good. It's all about the past. It's all about why? And how could he? And why didn't he? And why should I have? Wanna ask me about the future? What kind of work am I interested in? I can talk about that...but I don't even care to let him in for that much.

So I cried a lot this afternoon. And I cried in the shower and after the shower. And I grew angry because I knew he wouldn't accept this decision and I knew he would be cruel again at some point. And I told my mother this but she doesn't understand. She will never understand. And I will never understand her. I think that's very true. I am on trial here for wanting to be free of this drama. I am being asked to defend my actions but no one else is being asked to defend themselves. They are judging me and making me out to be the bad guy here and I am not wrong. I am completely justified in saying FUCK OFF because it hurts too much to be around you. I am well within my rights to say I know you're dying and I love you but I cannot live with you or have a relationship with you because it is killing me. It doesn't mean that I love you any less, it means I'm trying to save myself and save whatever we have left and keep that good. I can't go back 24 years and change anything and neither can he! My mother can't pretend like none of the bad ever happened. But I also need to find a way of living with it...of I guess living my life like it never happened so I can forgive and not be so angry.

I'm thinking of two quotations right now...the first I really internalized after I read it a few summers ago, it was somewhere in Anna Karenina but I'm pretty sure Leo Tolstoy didn't write it

"The past isn't dead. It isn't even past."

I agree. I loved it when I read it. The past totally lives on...for forever.

But then today while listening to Lesson Learned (a cd I've had for a month) I finally heard one of the lyrics and felt comforted.

"It's called the past cuz I'm getting past and I ain't nothing like I was before. You oughta see me now."

And there was just this sense of...I CAN GET PAST THIS. I'm EXCITED to get past this. I want to fucking hurt my mom and dad so much...but MORE than that I REALLY wanna be able to look back on this year and say to myself that I'm nothing like I was before. And not just with eating, but with life. I mean it too! I can have the life I want and I don't have to let the past twenty four years have anything to do with the future...except to be a reminder...motivation for not living with fear.

So yes...a very long post indeed. But a lot has happened. Happy Valentine's Day to me and everyone else out there. I'm off to eat dinner and drink wine with friends and eat chocolate and surround myself with love.

And I shall not purge today. It's Valentine's Day!

tuesday's drama

Tuesday started off pretty well. I'm talking early morning hours. It was our roommie holiday and I spoke to one of the roommates right after 1 am. I had already opened one gift -- a really nice perfume set from Sephora. Fancy. Then I was off to bed feeling the lower back pain again and before long I was pulled from my deep slumber awakened by my cell phone ringtone -- Rehab.

Yeah. I'm planning on changing it. Like right now.

So how did this happen? Maybe I went into it already but just to clear my mind of all this bullshit and for the record there was a travel agent person on the other end of the line. So put my father on who said that his radiation treatment wasn't working and that they were sending him back to NC. He needed someone to come get him. But it's a six hour drive and my lower back hurts and it was raining and cold and I need new tires and so I said no. I couldn't. The woman insists it's not a problem and she books him a ticket on Greyhound. And she makes me promise capital P that I'll pick him up and provide him with a place to stay. I was pretty confused. Why was I being asked to make such promises? So I looked up this organization that she worked for and apparently they make travel arrangements for homeless people.

Ummmmm....At this point I call my mother who seemed shocked to find that he was returning home. But she didn't seem too amazed at the whole "homelessness" issue. I know it's only been two weeks but really? Where was my father living all this time? What has he been doing? Why wouldn't he just go live with other family members? Now he seems so much sicker. He has a horrible cough and I can't count how many times he's thrown up. It bothers me on so many different levels, guilt and then frustration and of course rage and really I just don't understand.
Beforehand my mother was all I'll give him two or three days to rest and then he'll go with other family. But now she's backtracked a bit. And I'm not a complete cold hearted bitch. The coughing and apparent weight loss are not lost on me. And of course I'm really angry and tired and just completely thrown for a loop here but I'm done trying to control everything and being another kind of manipulator in this family. No more demands from me to my mother about what I need and who I can't live with because that is lost on her. And that's ok. I'm interested in recovery and forgiveness (at some point) and acceptance and self-love and self-respect and no one else in my family is ready for it.

A month after withdrawing (or making the decision to withdraw) I'm still really comfortable with that decision. I'm able to see the steps I've made forward and I'm able to look at what's happened here today and see that I've learned a valuable lesson. I'm really glad I'm taking the time out now to say I'm not happy with my eating disorder or my family or my friends or my relationships or my career path and I have no answers and no certainty that I'll end up at some fabulous place but I'm putting my foot down and saying enough. I need to remind myself of that tomorrow and the day after. So I guess now the plan is to find a job and one that pays fairly well because I am moving out. I AM MOVING OUT. I need to do this for me and I should never have moved back in here. But I'll forgive myself for needing this place of refuge for the past two weeks.

At least the anxiety is gone. There is no anticipation about when he'll arrive because he has arrived. I suppose that means no more nightmares...although I'm pretty sure my dreams will still be frightening so never mind. But on a more positive note, I spoke with my other two roommates this evening and I'm a lot calmer than I was twelve hours ago. Off to bed I go...

let's just say I saw this one coming...

Any guesses as to what I'm referring to? Come on. Take a guess. I bet everyone else saw this coming too.

My father is on his way back. I guess he'll be here in about six hours and my chest is so tight and I feel like its trying to squeeze itself until it bursts.

I don't believe he's been in a hospital. I don't believe that for one second. I don't have any idea where he's been or what he's been doing and I do care. I do. Its just that I had been breathing again. I ate two meals yesterday with no purging and now I just want it all out. I do wish to see him again because I was upset with how things ended back in January. But I said back in December that my mother would do whatever she could to get me back in the house...to redeem herself or to make herself feel like a good mother and then he'd be back.

So I knew it and I did it anyway because I have no income and I have Chewy and I didn't want to impose. I did it because I was ready to forgive my mother for everything for giving me space to recover here. I should have listened to my sponsor...to my friends...to my gut. But then I hurt my back and things just sort of slid into place.

She wants him back. I know she's relieved. She wins. I'm here and I'm stuck and he's coming home and this is exactly what she wants. And I feel like a idiot for taking this chance...for hoping...for believing I could get my life back in this house. Because I can't. And realized...really accepted it a couple of days ago.

My entire day hs been fucked up. I was supposed to go take the roomie gifts back and go to the library to read and look for a job and...get out of the house. And take a shower and put on clothes and chi my hair. And take a long walk. Today was supposed to have been a good and productive day. Today I was supposed to eat something small every few hours.

But today has turned into a nightmare. Really. I'm angry and sad and I want to hurt them. So spiteful of me. Never forgiveness. Just thinking of ways to make their hearts hurt...to make breathing hurt.

insanely long

People have been hitting on a few subjects that are close to my heart recently on the culdy. At times it physically hurts to read about everyone's pain. At times it stings because I'm becoming more aware about how I use my eating disorder. And then there are the times I relate so much to your words that I would rather continue to bury my own shit than deal with it. When I first began this blog it was just an attempt to record my recovery process. I never thought some issues would ever surface. Bulimia was , for me, an out of control binging and purging and restricting thing I did pretty much everyday or every other day and I just wanted to stop. Recovery didn't mean eating regularly (and it still doesn't) but it did mean self-acceptance. I knew I needed that. Recovery didn't mean discussing my relationship with my parents or my friends or men...or my sister. It's gone from difficult to talking about food and behaviors to intense discussions about things unrelated to school. In five months I've gone from restricting all day and binging and purging at night to attending EDA meetings (I need to find one here) to telling my doctor and getting help and telling my mother and eating something mid-day and not purging it. Progress is coming slowly but surely. Still very slowly though. And yes, I have managed to somehow withdraw from school.

Writing all these steps I have taken in less than six months time is really out of this world. I would have never in this lifetime imagined I would drop out of school, tell my mother about my problem, be in outpatient treatment, and still have lasted this long in it! I can either continue to stick with it and get everything out on the table now...or in twenty years. Now sucks. But I can't give my life to this eating disorder and depression anymore. I have to fight it, which means actually yeah...trying to eat more regularly but also being really honest about the past and recovering from that as well. I guess that's good. I can accept that goal for myself. In my wildest dreams I did not expect to find this here. This world of support and compassion and understanding where I could come and write and unleash the day's events or events from the past that are still having a presence in my everyday life.

I've been thinking a lot lately, not writing as much, not doing really anything but just keeping to myself because sometimes it feels contagious. I don't want anyone who knows me and loves me to see me like this. I don't want to spoil the fun or bring my depressive mood into someone else's house or life. And pretending like I'm really ok just pisses me off to a higher plane because I'm really not ok. So there are the people who I know worry about me and keep me in their prayers but I even feel like I'm stealing something from them because they might breathe a little easier if they weren't concerned for my physical and mental well-being. But I suppose that is life. The alternative would be to have people who didn't care for me at all and for me to not care about anyone and so I think I'll take what I have and just appreciate it. And not to be redundant, but I am ridiculously alone in life. In this house. With my mother. If we speak twenty words to each other on a single day then it is a good day. There is nothing to say. Not ever. And I recognize that there can be silence that feels comfortable and safe and soothing even, but it is not like that here. I sleep until the afternoon and I do whatever until early evening at which point she comes home and shuts herself in her room. And I am shut in mine. We rarely cross paths. So last night I began thinking about this state of loneliness that I've had for what seems like forever and I can remember times when life wasn't this way.

I never had this feeling at BEST's which I can understand and appreciate but it also somewhat bothers me. I breathed easier in her home and perhaps it's because there was so much love in the house and there always has been. A sense of family and even though they have their own family drama as we all do, it was welcoming and nurturing and even when I was home alone in the house the dread never crept back into my inner being. That week was lovely. And I knew I could feel that way forever, not happy or content, but really and truly ok. So what bothered me? Well, BEST walked away from me and this last incident wasn't the first time. She turned her back on our friendship at a really hard time in my life and there's nothing she can do really to make up for it. I can forgive her or I can choose to be angry and hurt. But I want both. I want to forgive her but I'm also still hurting. There's no way around the hurt but I still respect this friendship and love my friend.

My senior year of college when I lived with my three roommates I did not feel this way. Interestingly enough, it was a pretty rough year of my life. Perhaps it was simply because we all truly loved each other. We drank together and partied together and studied together and lived together and cried together and wrote poetry together and if there was ever a moment (and there were plenty of moments) that could have sent me over the edge, there were three strong caring women who never relented in letting me know that they would always be there for me. We've become even closer in the past three years since we graduated which is why I suppose finding the perfect gift is really important to me. Because even when life literally sucked and I had no idea how to put one foot in front of the other they never left me alone. And because they put one foot in front of the other for me.

So there we have it. Moments when I am really and truly ok: with BEST and my roommates. And now Shish. My heart has stopped aching there. I noticed it during our last session when even when things got uncomfortable I didn't crumble inside and want to run bawling into the nearest toilet. I left and didn't have the slightest urge to go binge and purge. I didn't feel humiliated or embarrassed. I felt like I didn't want to leave because I didn't want to go back to feeling the way I always feel. I know I mentioned earlier that I'm ready to let Shish in and talk about other things in life I'm been dealing with (or better stated...not dealing with.) But there's some fear in that as well. I can't pretend like it doesn't hurt when people walk away and that's certainly what I've experienced from people who "love" me. And those quotations don't mean that I believe people cannot truly love me or that they do not love me. I guess it just means that I am now understanding that people cannot love you the way you need them to love you. They can only love you with all they have and it has nothing to do with you. Or me.

For the first eighteen years of my life I grew up with the notion that my mother did not love me the way she loves my sister. Actually, I still feel like she loves us differently. As a 24 year old woman now I can understand a bit better why she did certain things for my sister but 5 year old Erin and 15 year old Erin still hurts. As a 24 year old, I still get upset when my mother plans a family dinner for my sister's birthday and doesn't think to invite me. Or rather specifically doesn't invite me. Especially when there is no family dinner for my birthday. And I can honestly acknowledge that my mother might actually be more financially supportive of me now (because I'm a transitioning student) but there are still those moments like that when I know my rank in this family. On her dying day she would maintain that she has no favorites or that if she really had one that I would be the favorite now. And that may be so. Perhaps now. Or at least before she found out about my eating disorder and now she's aware that her favoritism has had long-lasting effects. But my mother and sister have a bond. A special relationship. A sick and twisted give and take relationship and my mother is manipulated and my sister is completely over the top and I would not trade places with my sister. Not ever. I just know that it's there. This preference for her. How proud she is of her and of me. But it is always her first. Because this is her first daughter. Because her biological father did not raise her, she felt she had to love her even more to make up for it.

And maybe I have it all wrong. My sister certainly seems to think I'm the favorite and I understand her arguments. They make sense. I guess that's because just as anyone in the world would know with a single glance into our family that my sister is my mother's favorite, they would also know I am my father's. No questions asked. And he often denies it and it's futile. It's a fact. Not to be doubted. And so knowing this. Knowing that whatever I do, I can never be my mother's favorite means I have to stay my father's favorite. My mother's love is unconditional. I promise. She will love us just the same no matter what we have done. She will believe the words that come out of our mouths even if the entire world calls us a liar. But if she had to choose one to believe over the other, even knowing with tangible proof that I am right, she will choose my sister (and then behind my sister's back try to make it up to me.) So anyways, I guess I'm really beginning to understand why I'm so devoted to my father and still so angry at my mother. Because I'm her daughter. But she never made me feel special the way my father did. Because she tried so much to make my sister feel special and loved and I felt like I did not matter. For a very long time I felt like she just didn't care and that's why she sat silent being not such an innocent by-stander. And so I can try to tell myself that she did care and she does love me but I'm not able to erase my childhood.

So here I am caught in this web of family bullshit because my father loves me and expects me to be who he wants me to be and his love is attached to this ideal. His love is real and tangible and it makes me feel awful when I don't have it and smothered when it's too much. His love is attached to me being this person who I can never be and quite honestly someone I never want to be but I still crave his love. To be daddy's little girl, to be the princess, the apple of his eye...and also to be myself. I know how to be the former, I've had years of practice playing that role but I know nothing of the latter. Nothing. It's hard to sit here and think about what I want to do with my life now that I'm free...when I'm not. I'm thinking about going back to law school or just getting a job with a firm to make him happy because then he will love me even more for doing this. And I know...I know that it isn't right of me to do this. I know that law school still wouldn't be enough because he already commented on how I should be a medical doctor.

I did not grow up feeling safe in our family home. But I grew up knowing that my father loved me and wanted the world for me and did everything for me. Without it, I'm a wreck. With it, I'm a mess. So now I'm alone and feeling unloved and unsure of what I really want in life. Really, I want loving relationships with people without fearing that they are going to walk away from me or love me any less when I'm not who they want me to be. I guess in the end I'm still more like my mother than I'd care to admit. I'd be willing to do anything for that love, even be someone that I don't like.

weekend ouchies!

Yesterday afternoon I was talking on the phone with my sponsor and decided to go out into the backyard for some privacy. It's been really nice here for the past few days although its dangerously windy now. Anyways, I always stand on this tree trunk that's not even a foot off the ground. Or I used to stand on it years ago. It was covered with leaves and I couldn't tell that it was hollow.

Yeah. Hollow. I stick one foot on the trunk and I fall in up to my knee! I imagine had anyone seen me it would have been quite the sight! I have this really long scrape on the side of my leg and I ruined a pair of canvas shoes that I had just purchased on wednesday night! Talk about pissed...

I still needed to go out shopping because my college roommates and I have a roomie holiday once a year and the gifts should be in the mail by now. So I'm walking around with my damaged back and increasingly painful leg and I just can't take it anymore. The pain. The stress of shopping. The annoyance because it was so crowded at the mall. And let's face it...a handful of blackberries doesn't provide any energy and that's all I had eaten by 8 pm. I was really tired and annoyed and then I felt pathetic.

When did I become this person who can't even go shopping at the mall? When did life just get so "hard" that my immediate thought to remedy whateveris going on is to binge and purge? How did it go from purging bad foods to purging all food...to binging and purging because I'm so exhausted from shopping?

And I wondered about that as I drove to buy food! Those questions did nothing to stop me. The only thing I'm really glad about is the fact that I can't eat as much in a binge as I used to. Now I get really uncomfortable after not even real binge. I'm sure it was well over 1000 calories, but nowhere near what it could have been. And I still felt ok because I know I still didn't eat too much, even with the binge.

And good thing I'm going back to the doctor on friday (my family med doctor) because something is seriously wrong. The pain in my lower back...I feel it down there. It's kind of hard to explain. But it feels like I'm carrying a weight around in my vagina. Not all the time, just when I get up from sitting or sit down. And if I sneeze...or blow my nose. And like when I purge. I guess its the combination of bending over (because it hurts like hell then too) and like not to go into too many details, but when I'm forcing it to come up I feel like somethings pressing up against something down there and its desperately trying to come out! I noticed this a while ago really. But it was always in combination with the lower back pain and so I just sort of grouped it with that.

One would probably think I'd stop purging and just really try to eat things that I won't purge...but my jeans had gotten really lose...to the point where I could really notice and of course I was thrilled. And then yesterday they fit pretty perfect around the waist again.

Yeah. Ridiculous. And to leave on a positive note, I ended up buying books for my roommates, books they won't read or enjoy but I couldn't bear to have to go shopping agan today. So tomorrow the only thing I should stress over is getting the car maintenanced and applying for a job. And hopefully I'll be smart and eat something throughout the day so I'm not so vulnerable after a "full" day of stuff to do by nightfall.

"I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today."

I love my blog because I love writing about how this recovery process is going. Sometimes it's really difficult to be real knowing that there are people out there reading this. But on the flip side of that, reading how honest you all are in the cul-de-sac invites me to do the same. I like going back and seeing how my perspective has changed from week to week and month to month and it encourages me to push through the rough times because even though in the midst of it all it may not seem that I can make it through it, past evidence proves the contrary. Today, I can't even imagine the pain and desperation I felt a month ago when I was "working" on my final papers and contemplating dropping out of law school that drove me to think about doing something foolish. I know I was really in that place but now it seems like I'm safe again and maybe I'm not as far away as I think I am, but it feels good to smile and laugh and live again.

I also like writing because it helps me work out things that I don't say to Shish in therapy. It allows me the opportunity to recap what we did explore and talk things through with myself and get feedback from you guys. And more importantly, I feel like I come here first because it is just me and my thoughts and I can get them out and work through how that makes me feel (even if it just means I'm binging and purging more) and then I can take it to Shish. Or Cruella. But it prepares me for therapy in the sense that I am at least putting it "out there" and not pretending like I'm not having certain thoughts or feelings.

Today, I felt like I Shish and I have gotten to that point where I feel safe and able to talk about things no matter how difficult in therapy. I didn't bring up the fact that she forgot about giving me the reading material because it no longer seemed important. I will bring it up at some point, perhaps when she asks for the fourth time. At first I struggled with letting her get to know me because I didn't want her to just see me as this girl with an eating disorder. And then I struggled with talking about things other than food because I didn't want her to see the real me and not like me! And then I felt myself longing to drop my guard so she could care and help guide me into this better life worth living and I felt like I didn't need to be too dependent on her because she won't always be my therapist. But the walls are slowly coming down. Sometimes my blood still boils when she brings up family or food but I understand that this really is her job and she's just trying to help me because she cares. And no, she can't always be there for me, but she can get me to a place where I don't need her. And as scary as it's going to be getting to that place...it really is something I want. I do want to be recovered and I need to be constantly reminded that that means eating regularly. I need to not keep everything inside because I think that is a very real reason why I struggle with this eating disorder now. I binge and purge to punish myself and to relieve stress and to escape. I do it to control things when I feel like nothing else can be controlled. Sometimes I get so incredibly angry it just feels like the only way to let it all out. Sometimes I purge simply because I do not believe I should have eaten a piece of grapefruit! Sometimes I feel so ridiculous after therapy for needing therapy for this eating disorder because it's ridiculous to write out a meal plan for the week with the goal of being to keep down one meal a day...that it shames me and sends me into binging and purging. And then of course, I want to be thin because I erroneously believe that life will be worth living if I were thin.

I have no idea why I suffer from this eating disorder. There are plenty of explanations I'm sure that more than likely stem from family dynamics. My mother and I discussed my binging as a child (although neither of us called it that back then) and her questions made me realize how silly it is for me to think I need to have these questions answered first before starting to make real progress. Knowing what led me to this point and who is to blame will do nothing to remove this eating disorder from my life. Knowing what triggers me will help. Knowing why I use it will help. So, the only thing I can do is work out my anger issues and control issues and food issues and body image issues and self esteem issues and try to make sure I'm not in the same place five years from now by trying every single day. (I pray I come back and read this entry when I'm restricting!!!)

Really, I don't understand the importance of going through the past. Or maybe I should say that I didn't understand it. But today (well yesterday too after watching Oprah: The Secret Behind the Secret) I understand that it's really more about forgiveness. I hold a lot of resentment towards a lot of people in my life, mostly myself. It's hard to forgive people who owe me love and respect. It's hard to forgive myself for not being the person I should be, for not giving myself enough love and respect, for thinking that being thin will somehow miraculously make me the person I want to be. It's not that simple. Being that person is more than about what size I wear, it's about how I treat myself, how I love myself and right now I'm fucking up and I have been for a long time.

Shish and I have talked about the domestic violence in my family, the physical & emotional abuse, my mother's apparent favoritism while I was growing up with my sister, and feeling like I had to be the