For the first time in my life, I feel as if I am without words.
There is so much going on inside my head, but I cannot seem to find a way to let the thoughts spill. It's really frustrating. I feel very guilty. Last night was one of the worst nights I've had in a while, and its so silly because I had a really great day. But last night...ugh. I was on the verge of giving up because a part of me is still very convinced that I will never be normal. My head was spinning and all I could keep thinking about was how close I was to dying and was starting to believe that I would have been better off that way. Because quite honestly - while I may not be an exhuasted, emactiated corpse anymore - my life still sucks. There are no rainbows and sunshine for me - no magic burst of happiness. While I wasn't expecting that per se, I guess I was hoping that at least things would feel better than they do right now.
Being stuck at home all day is truly taking its toll on me mentally and emotionally and at times I don't know if I can deal with it anymore. I get unbearably anxious during the day and spend most of my time waiting for tomorrow to come in hopes that it will be better. Sometimes, it is better. Other times, not so much. I've noticed myself isolating more and more though. The amount of attention I've been recieving is overwhelming, especially given that I have spent nearly a year in solitude. This is where anorexia jumps in. "You can't handle this. You can't handle life. You aren't ready. Just let go. Give up. It will be easier." or the ever popular "You're just everyone's favorite whore. No one really likes you. They just see right through you. Everyone sees the truth but you. You are worthless." Even though I know these thoughts are meaningless, they are still very painful to have and it takes a LOT of energy for me to combat them. I've spent so many years believing it all to be true, so it makes sense that it will take a long time to get it to stop.
I realized the other day that my pattern of self-destructive habits has been an on-going thing, starting from when I was around eleven years old (first bout of AN). Sometimes I can't tell if anorexia was the worst of it. I suppose in terms of mortality, it is. But God, I have so many scars. Sometimes I look in the mirror and cry because they are never going to go away. I've covered some up with my tattoos. Beneath my chest piece lies 35 slash marks from when I was 15 and essentially cut my chest into ribbons. On my left thigh - 22. Most are only faint white lines that can only be seen really if pointed out. But at least six of them are thick, raised lines that are quite noticeable. At least the burn marks are gone though, right? When I was 15, after my parents realized I was cutting, I resorted to burning myself with a lighter. One night, I burned the word "disgrace" into my right calf. I am so glad that it is not visible anymore, having to explain THAT one would be a doozy. Further more,I have finally forgiven myself for what happened and realized that I was barely 15 and it wasn't my fault, I was taken advantage of. I hardly ever talk about it. Most therapists have assumed that was the starting point of my eating disorder even though I know it wasn't - I was already "spiralling back down the rabbit hole" when it happened. Maybe it made things worse, but it certainly was not the cause. And trying to explain that to a therapist who is all hopped up and gung-ho to find that singular ignition point - well. It doesn't work. And I hate when people say "Ohh no wonder!" because that's not what caused it. It's very hard to be taken seriously after people know - they focus on that one event in my life and anything I say afterwards gets disreguarded. And I don't know why I've told you all about this. I guess maybe for as much as I have forgiven myself and him alike (We are friends now actually as he has cleaned up from drugs and truly is a different person than he was 5 years ago) it has had a huge influence on my ability to have relationships or lack of such ability, at least. :sigh:
It's such a beautiful sunny day and I should be feeling so much happier but I'm not. Maybe its just that time of the month? Or maybe its because five of our fish have died in the past two days? I swear, they're suicidal. At least Crusher is still alive. His full name is actually Crusher, the Almighty Master of the 40-gallon Tank. He's the size of a quarter and my brother bought him for me in 2005. He's a survivor, kinda like me I guess. I'm crossing my fingers that he won't die too. I'd be heart broken.
I did have some cheerful-looking and comforting breakfasts the past few days. I'll share.
Cherry Pie Oats: 1/2 cup oat bran cooked in vanilla soy milk, cinnamon, 1/2 banana mashed in. Topped with crushed almonds, walnuts, dried cherries, rest of the 'nana and coconut flakes.
Banana Bread Oats: 1/2 cup oat bran cooked in vanilla soy milk, cinnamon, large overripe banana mashed in, 1/4 cup raisins (some cooked in, some on top) 2=walnuts (some crushed in, some crumbled on top and a scoop of cinnamon raisin swirl.
All accompanied by a cup of coffee with Vanilla Caramel cream. <3
Well, its early yet I suppose, so the day may still be salvaged. I don't know, but I'll hope. There must always be hope.
Why Can I Only Love the Broken?
1 week ago