Do we forgive those who have hurt us?
The people who walk out when we need them the most.
Those who forget us when we are struggling.
Ones that look the other way when we reach out.
What about the times that they have tried to make amends?
The moments when you think that maybe things could change.
Times when it feels like the relationship can be fixed.
When both parties are willing to admit that they were at fault and move on.
Then, they are met only with a stonewall that neither party is willing to climb.
Where a compromise can never be met.
Blame is placed and responsibility is denied.
He claims no wrong doing.
She knows differently and places that blame inward.
When years go by and no words are exchanged.
The relationship continues to fall apart.
Each moves on with their lives without consideration of the other.
A thought is triggered and someone reaches out.
Contact is restablished.
Another discussion is had.
More walls are built.
Communication breaks down.
More years go by.
Memories and nightmares remain.
Then, an unexpected message asking for forgiveness.
He acknowledges that maybe help is needed.
She is left asking why now?
Why not a year ago?
What's the point?
Will it help alleviate the pain that's been caused?
Are answers finally going to be given?
Would it change anything?
Does it really matter?
Words have already been said.
Feelings have been hurt.
The damage has been done.
One has been left a broken person,
Because she has placed all the blame on herself.
So, should she forgive him?
She spends days debating the answer.
Ruminating on thoughts and feelings.
Then, she gets an answer:
The person that she should forgive is herself.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Sunday, February 1, 2015
One Year Later: A New Perspective
One year ago today, I made the decision to seek treatment for my eating disorder.
February 1, 2014. I woke up this morning feeling lower than I had in a very long time with a hangover so bad that I could barely see straight. I hadn't eaten in 4 days, but I had consumed about a bottle and a half of Jack Daniel's in that time. I woke up unsettled and uneasy. I could feel my heart skipping beats, my head spinning, and constant waves of nausea. I had just finished another night of blackout drinking to help alleviate the depression and anxiety I was overwhelmed with. I had been reeling from a break up that I knew was coming but was still having a difficult time accepting. I lay in bed staring the ceiling debating if I would get up or if I would take the bottle of heart pills on my night stand. I could not bear to stand the weight of my eating disorder, my alcoholism, and the bad person I had become. I reflected on how things had gotten so bad.
7 months before, my supervisor was encouraging me to seek treatment. In July, I went to one session with a therapist. I was recommended for intensive outpatient treatment, as I was refusing to leave my job, but I never went back. I had spoken with friends about my eating disorder 7 months before. I was scared about what power it was beginning to have. I knew that I needed help at that point, but I wasn't ready to truly admit it. Shortly after, I entered into a relationship that I was convinced would help distract me from my eating disorder and fulfill this void that I had had for years. In reality, that relationship became my downfall.
From September until January, I put on a brave, happy face to those around me, but no one knew how truly volatile things were in my relationship. My eating disorder behaviors were not only ignored, but they were encouraged. Multiple times a week, I was being told that I needed to go to the gym to tone up. I needed to grow up and move on from my trauma. I just had to deal with these things by working through them, regardless of the flashbacks. My skipped meals went without comment. My drinking escalated quickly as I joined his lifestyle. Soon, I was eating one, maybe two meals per day and drinking enough whiskey that I couldn't remember the hurtful words. I isolated from friends, only seeing them at the bars. I withdrew from my outside world. I went to work and to my relationship. I had no life of my own outside of that. So, when this relationship ended, I had no idea how to live a life outside of my eating disorder or my relationship. I was nothing, and I felt like it.
February 1, 2014. As I stayed in bed, I thought about the people in my life; the ones who tried to reach out and stand by me, even when I was pulling away. I thought about the people I had lost to suicide. I thought about what my loved ones would say if they were the ones who had to stand by and watch me being lowered into the ground, as I has done for so many of my friends before. I decided that I couldn't put my people through that, especially when no one truly knew what was going on. I got out of bed, talked with my roommates, and went out with them to try and have a positive day, but there were so many different thoughts going on that I had no idea what to do.
I had to think about what my options would be. My biggest was making the choice between continuing to live in this downward spiral or finding some way to get out of it. In all of my previous bouts with anorexia and depression, I always had some type of life transition that allowed me to cope with things better. There was always a light at the end of the tunnel. This time, that light was gone. All I saw was darknesss. If I didn't commit suicide today, I would create a plan that would help alleviate as much of the pain as possible for those around me. I had no doubt in my mind that that would be what happened if I didn't make a change, but there's always that little voice that says "What if?"
What if I made the choice to live differently? What would that even look like? How would I even get there? Could I actually admit what was going on? What would my family say? What would my friends say? Can I give up everything? Can I accept the help that I had been giving to others for so long? Is this really what I should do? Where would I even go? Could my life really be different? What if I failed? What if I can't ever get better? What if this is what the rest of my life is supposed to look like? What would it take to make that change? What if I actually did it?
February 1, 2014. I made the choice to contact my family to let them know what was going on. I wasn't sure what to say or what would happen, but I had to be honest. I spoke with both my brother and my mom to tell them about my suicidality and my eating disorder. I had to admit how bad things were and to what extent. I had to have support to make this change. I have the best family, because they were willing to help me do that.
My family accepted this information with listening ears and open hearts. Had they not done so, I have no doubt in my mind that I would no longer be here. They worked with me to figure out what my best option was and talked about the things that would need to be taken care of: my job, my apartment, my life in Milwaukee. I coordinated with them about what the first steps needed to be. Ultimately, that decision was that I would look into taking a leave of absence from my job in order to seek medical treatment in St Louis and return to Milwaukee after that. It was the first step to a major life change.
I had to contact my job to let them know what was going on. My supervisor was incredibly understanding, but very taken aback, as she had no clue what was going on. I had only been at this job 2 months, so she didn't know my struggles but was willing to support me in any way. She volunteered to contact the company to determine how much leave I would receive and to direct my coworkers in covering my clients. She agreed that I should leave Milwaukee for care in order to avoid personal/professional conflicts and to be with family. She helped ease my mind that maybe I was making the right decision. I spoke with my roommates saying I would be gone for a little while, but I would be returning. I would leave all of my belongings in Milwaukee and take a bag on a train to St Louis to be with my family for a little while.
February 1, 2014. My roommates and I returned home where I grabbed a pile of clothes off my floor and shoved them into a bag. I couldn't even think straight, but they helped me get organized enough in order to make it through the day. They took me to the train station in downtown Milwaukee. I said goodbye and walked in knowing that I couldn't look back. I sat in the lobby tearing the corners off my paper train ticket, waiting for them to call boarding for my train to Chicago. Finally, that time came. Boarding that train was the most overwhelming experience, but some part of me knew I needed to do it.
I sat on that train and thought about who I needed to tell. I contacted my best friends via text to let them know what I was doing and why, and received nothing but love and support back from them. I cried and stared out the window at Milwaukee and Wisconsin passing by. I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I made the decision to share my journey with those close to me, because it was important to me to be honest, not only with myself, but others too. I knew I had hurt people in this process, and it was important for me to be honest about it so that I might be able to redeem myself in some way to these people. I said goodbye to the life I had known. I got to Chicago, waited anxiously for my next train, and finally boarded for the last leg of my transition.
On my train to St Louis, I couldn't do anything but sleep. I was so emotionally drained and mentally exhausted that my body could not stay awake anymore. For 6 hours, I slept and dreamed of the life I might be able to have; a life that didn't involve obsessing over calories, weight, size, shape. For once, maybe I could have a life that involved being happy. I arrived in St Louis exhausted, but happy to finally be able to get some rest. I was at the end of the longest day of my life, but it would ultimately be the first day of the rest of my life.
February 1, 2015. Today is a vastly different day from the one a year ago. I woke up without a hangover (although, this cold can go away anytime now). Even though I feel a little under the weather physically, I am in a much better place emotionally.
I am grateful for the new life I have here in St Louis; a life that never would have happened if I had not made the call to my family. This life does not include: a negative relationship, drinking everyday, restricting myself to 500 calories or less, obsessing over each calorie, hating myself if I go over, body checking every time I see a mirror, suicidal thoughts, melting down if something doesn't go the way I planned, and so many other negative things. My new life is one that I never was really sure I ever deserved, and I'm still not 100% convinced that I do.
February 1, 2015. Today, I am still struggling with some aspects of my eating disorder. My body image can range from "This is okay" to "How did you ever let yourself get this fat?" It depends on the day or the circumstances, but I do have far more better days than bad ones now. I do sometimes struggle with complete meal plan fulfillment, but I try to be honest with myself and my dietician about it. I still have physical problems as the result of restricting. My stomach might not ever be the same, but I am taking the steps to figure out what I can do. My heart condition will always be there, and I have to accept that. Overall, I have learned how to battle ED when that voice gets too loud, rather than caving in and following through on behaviors.
February 1, 2015. I have more love and support from people than I ever would have imagined when I posted that note on Facebook a year ago. So many people, even some I barely knew, reached out to me when I left for treatment and throughout the process. I cannot thank those people enough for that. My family is amazing, and I never would have followed through with treatment or the requirements of it had they not been so supportive, but one of the best parts about coming to treatment was the people I have met during and after this process.
The people I met in treatment are some of the most courageous people I know. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you have a problem, let alone commit yourself to daily intensive therapy to confront and work through it. That's what makes those people so wonderful. My friends from treatment are truly the ones who have kept me accountable. We have a certain level of comfortability with each other to reach out and say, "I'm really concerned about you. Are you okay?" These are the ones that supported me the most when I went back to IOP at the end of the summer. I would not have felt as comfortable going back had they not supported me in it.
Also, the people I have met outside of treatment have also been so supportive of my recovery and making sure I stay on track. My coworkers have helped keep me sane in a stressful job that has derailed me a few times. They've also made sure we go get margaritas and food when things are really bad. They bring laughter and joy to my life. I also am especially grateful for the one coworker who led me to the best support a girl could ask for.
I couldn't ask for a better partner, because he is always there for the support when I need it and has also taken the time to learn about my eating disorder behaviors to help ensure that I stay on track. I couldn't have imagined this relationship in my wildest dreams, so I feel so incredibly lucky that he's in my life now.
February 1, 2015. Today, I look forward to the future. I know that so many of the things I have now are because of my choice one year ago today, and I know that in order to keep these things, I need to keep working at recovery and not give into ED. Today, I have love and happiness, things that definitely were not there previously. I have the last year to look back on and recognize that, even though it doesn't often feel like it, I have made leaps and bounds of progress. For the first time, I have taken control of my life and made the decisions I had to in order to get myself in a much better place, and it feels pretty damn good.
February 1, 2014. I woke up this morning feeling lower than I had in a very long time with a hangover so bad that I could barely see straight. I hadn't eaten in 4 days, but I had consumed about a bottle and a half of Jack Daniel's in that time. I woke up unsettled and uneasy. I could feel my heart skipping beats, my head spinning, and constant waves of nausea. I had just finished another night of blackout drinking to help alleviate the depression and anxiety I was overwhelmed with. I had been reeling from a break up that I knew was coming but was still having a difficult time accepting. I lay in bed staring the ceiling debating if I would get up or if I would take the bottle of heart pills on my night stand. I could not bear to stand the weight of my eating disorder, my alcoholism, and the bad person I had become. I reflected on how things had gotten so bad.
7 months before, my supervisor was encouraging me to seek treatment. In July, I went to one session with a therapist. I was recommended for intensive outpatient treatment, as I was refusing to leave my job, but I never went back. I had spoken with friends about my eating disorder 7 months before. I was scared about what power it was beginning to have. I knew that I needed help at that point, but I wasn't ready to truly admit it. Shortly after, I entered into a relationship that I was convinced would help distract me from my eating disorder and fulfill this void that I had had for years. In reality, that relationship became my downfall.
From September until January, I put on a brave, happy face to those around me, but no one knew how truly volatile things were in my relationship. My eating disorder behaviors were not only ignored, but they were encouraged. Multiple times a week, I was being told that I needed to go to the gym to tone up. I needed to grow up and move on from my trauma. I just had to deal with these things by working through them, regardless of the flashbacks. My skipped meals went without comment. My drinking escalated quickly as I joined his lifestyle. Soon, I was eating one, maybe two meals per day and drinking enough whiskey that I couldn't remember the hurtful words. I isolated from friends, only seeing them at the bars. I withdrew from my outside world. I went to work and to my relationship. I had no life of my own outside of that. So, when this relationship ended, I had no idea how to live a life outside of my eating disorder or my relationship. I was nothing, and I felt like it.
February 1, 2014. As I stayed in bed, I thought about the people in my life; the ones who tried to reach out and stand by me, even when I was pulling away. I thought about the people I had lost to suicide. I thought about what my loved ones would say if they were the ones who had to stand by and watch me being lowered into the ground, as I has done for so many of my friends before. I decided that I couldn't put my people through that, especially when no one truly knew what was going on. I got out of bed, talked with my roommates, and went out with them to try and have a positive day, but there were so many different thoughts going on that I had no idea what to do.
I had to think about what my options would be. My biggest was making the choice between continuing to live in this downward spiral or finding some way to get out of it. In all of my previous bouts with anorexia and depression, I always had some type of life transition that allowed me to cope with things better. There was always a light at the end of the tunnel. This time, that light was gone. All I saw was darknesss. If I didn't commit suicide today, I would create a plan that would help alleviate as much of the pain as possible for those around me. I had no doubt in my mind that that would be what happened if I didn't make a change, but there's always that little voice that says "What if?"
What if I made the choice to live differently? What would that even look like? How would I even get there? Could I actually admit what was going on? What would my family say? What would my friends say? Can I give up everything? Can I accept the help that I had been giving to others for so long? Is this really what I should do? Where would I even go? Could my life really be different? What if I failed? What if I can't ever get better? What if this is what the rest of my life is supposed to look like? What would it take to make that change? What if I actually did it?
February 1, 2014. I made the choice to contact my family to let them know what was going on. I wasn't sure what to say or what would happen, but I had to be honest. I spoke with both my brother and my mom to tell them about my suicidality and my eating disorder. I had to admit how bad things were and to what extent. I had to have support to make this change. I have the best family, because they were willing to help me do that.
My family accepted this information with listening ears and open hearts. Had they not done so, I have no doubt in my mind that I would no longer be here. They worked with me to figure out what my best option was and talked about the things that would need to be taken care of: my job, my apartment, my life in Milwaukee. I coordinated with them about what the first steps needed to be. Ultimately, that decision was that I would look into taking a leave of absence from my job in order to seek medical treatment in St Louis and return to Milwaukee after that. It was the first step to a major life change.
I had to contact my job to let them know what was going on. My supervisor was incredibly understanding, but very taken aback, as she had no clue what was going on. I had only been at this job 2 months, so she didn't know my struggles but was willing to support me in any way. She volunteered to contact the company to determine how much leave I would receive and to direct my coworkers in covering my clients. She agreed that I should leave Milwaukee for care in order to avoid personal/professional conflicts and to be with family. She helped ease my mind that maybe I was making the right decision. I spoke with my roommates saying I would be gone for a little while, but I would be returning. I would leave all of my belongings in Milwaukee and take a bag on a train to St Louis to be with my family for a little while.
February 1, 2014. My roommates and I returned home where I grabbed a pile of clothes off my floor and shoved them into a bag. I couldn't even think straight, but they helped me get organized enough in order to make it through the day. They took me to the train station in downtown Milwaukee. I said goodbye and walked in knowing that I couldn't look back. I sat in the lobby tearing the corners off my paper train ticket, waiting for them to call boarding for my train to Chicago. Finally, that time came. Boarding that train was the most overwhelming experience, but some part of me knew I needed to do it.
I sat on that train and thought about who I needed to tell. I contacted my best friends via text to let them know what I was doing and why, and received nothing but love and support back from them. I cried and stared out the window at Milwaukee and Wisconsin passing by. I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I made the decision to share my journey with those close to me, because it was important to me to be honest, not only with myself, but others too. I knew I had hurt people in this process, and it was important for me to be honest about it so that I might be able to redeem myself in some way to these people. I said goodbye to the life I had known. I got to Chicago, waited anxiously for my next train, and finally boarded for the last leg of my transition.
On my train to St Louis, I couldn't do anything but sleep. I was so emotionally drained and mentally exhausted that my body could not stay awake anymore. For 6 hours, I slept and dreamed of the life I might be able to have; a life that didn't involve obsessing over calories, weight, size, shape. For once, maybe I could have a life that involved being happy. I arrived in St Louis exhausted, but happy to finally be able to get some rest. I was at the end of the longest day of my life, but it would ultimately be the first day of the rest of my life.
February 1, 2015. Today is a vastly different day from the one a year ago. I woke up without a hangover (although, this cold can go away anytime now). Even though I feel a little under the weather physically, I am in a much better place emotionally.
I am grateful for the new life I have here in St Louis; a life that never would have happened if I had not made the call to my family. This life does not include: a negative relationship, drinking everyday, restricting myself to 500 calories or less, obsessing over each calorie, hating myself if I go over, body checking every time I see a mirror, suicidal thoughts, melting down if something doesn't go the way I planned, and so many other negative things. My new life is one that I never was really sure I ever deserved, and I'm still not 100% convinced that I do.
February 1, 2015. Today, I am still struggling with some aspects of my eating disorder. My body image can range from "This is okay" to "How did you ever let yourself get this fat?" It depends on the day or the circumstances, but I do have far more better days than bad ones now. I do sometimes struggle with complete meal plan fulfillment, but I try to be honest with myself and my dietician about it. I still have physical problems as the result of restricting. My stomach might not ever be the same, but I am taking the steps to figure out what I can do. My heart condition will always be there, and I have to accept that. Overall, I have learned how to battle ED when that voice gets too loud, rather than caving in and following through on behaviors.
February 1, 2015. I have more love and support from people than I ever would have imagined when I posted that note on Facebook a year ago. So many people, even some I barely knew, reached out to me when I left for treatment and throughout the process. I cannot thank those people enough for that. My family is amazing, and I never would have followed through with treatment or the requirements of it had they not been so supportive, but one of the best parts about coming to treatment was the people I have met during and after this process.
The people I met in treatment are some of the most courageous people I know. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you have a problem, let alone commit yourself to daily intensive therapy to confront and work through it. That's what makes those people so wonderful. My friends from treatment are truly the ones who have kept me accountable. We have a certain level of comfortability with each other to reach out and say, "I'm really concerned about you. Are you okay?" These are the ones that supported me the most when I went back to IOP at the end of the summer. I would not have felt as comfortable going back had they not supported me in it.
Also, the people I have met outside of treatment have also been so supportive of my recovery and making sure I stay on track. My coworkers have helped keep me sane in a stressful job that has derailed me a few times. They've also made sure we go get margaritas and food when things are really bad. They bring laughter and joy to my life. I also am especially grateful for the one coworker who led me to the best support a girl could ask for.
I couldn't ask for a better partner, because he is always there for the support when I need it and has also taken the time to learn about my eating disorder behaviors to help ensure that I stay on track. I couldn't have imagined this relationship in my wildest dreams, so I feel so incredibly lucky that he's in my life now.
February 1, 2015. Today, I look forward to the future. I know that so many of the things I have now are because of my choice one year ago today, and I know that in order to keep these things, I need to keep working at recovery and not give into ED. Today, I have love and happiness, things that definitely were not there previously. I have the last year to look back on and recognize that, even though it doesn't often feel like it, I have made leaps and bounds of progress. For the first time, I have taken control of my life and made the decisions I had to in order to get myself in a much better place, and it feels pretty damn good.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Connecting
Today in session, my therapist and I began going through my timeline, which is a super brutal undertaking. We didn't get into any of the major stuff, but we spent a lot of time discussing my childhood and how that has impacted me as an adult. We all know that childhood has a tremendous impact on everything in our lives; however, she brought up many points that I had never thought about before in terms of different types of connecting. There are many different types of connecting. The two biggest ones we focused on today were how I connect myself to my emotions and how I connect to other people.
As I have said in previous posts, I have an extremely difficult time connecting with my emotions. I do everything in my power to not feel them. So, when going through my timeline, my therapist and I are really working on figuring out where that all started. Honestly, I'm not really sure I know at this point in time. I think, to some extent, it has always been there. Growing up as a military kid, you experience these major changes that you can't cry about. It also becomes a norm after a while. You get used to saying goodbye. You learn not to cry, because you're getting a fresh start in a new place. It becomes easier. Your emotions become less heightened after each move, each new place, every new face. It becomes routine. So, in many ways, I feel like I am desensitized to emotions. Also, after so many years of stuffing everything, it's just second nature at this point. There are definitely some topics that are so triggering to me that stuffing everything just doesn't work. We spoke briefly about those topics today, but I only teared up at them. I'm really nervous about how deeply my therapist pushes a lot of these issues. I think it will be really helpful, but I am also really nervous. There's just a lot there I haven't touched in a long time, so who knows what is all behind that Eating Disorder wall that's been up for the last 10 years. I think it will truly help me learn to connect to myself more in the long run though.
Connecting to other people has always been a pretty easy thing for me. I consider myself a pretty social person, very extroverted. With that though, I keep a lot of myself locked away. Any time I have unveiled these small parts of myself, especially anything trauma related, those people leave or hurt me with that information later. So, my issues with abandonment kick in, and the wall gets higher. Then, it turns into a "Why bother?" situation. If I continually unveil these small pieces of myself to others and they walk away, they take those pieces with me, and it breaks me down in the process. Sheltering myself and my heart have always seemed like the best options. Even when I meet people who I truly connect with and feel like I can share those pieces with, I am always so terrified to say anything about my issues that I shut down. I literally can't even say what's wrong sometimes, because I am so terrified of it. I just get weird. That's not fair to the people in my life or the relationships I have/had. I like to think I am doing better with it, but who knows. I don't think I'm a good judge of that.
Overall, I think recovery is all about connecting. For me, I have begun connecting to the identity I have never truly had. I am working on connecting with others better. I am attempting to connect with my emotions for the first time in a long time. I am connecting my rational mind to my body. I am connecting my mind to messages of positivity. It's all about the connections. My connection with my recovery will ultimately be the only way to defeat my eating disorder. If I am not in sync with that connecting, ED will sneak in, and I will relapse. There truly is strength in connections.
As I have said in previous posts, I have an extremely difficult time connecting with my emotions. I do everything in my power to not feel them. So, when going through my timeline, my therapist and I are really working on figuring out where that all started. Honestly, I'm not really sure I know at this point in time. I think, to some extent, it has always been there. Growing up as a military kid, you experience these major changes that you can't cry about. It also becomes a norm after a while. You get used to saying goodbye. You learn not to cry, because you're getting a fresh start in a new place. It becomes easier. Your emotions become less heightened after each move, each new place, every new face. It becomes routine. So, in many ways, I feel like I am desensitized to emotions. Also, after so many years of stuffing everything, it's just second nature at this point. There are definitely some topics that are so triggering to me that stuffing everything just doesn't work. We spoke briefly about those topics today, but I only teared up at them. I'm really nervous about how deeply my therapist pushes a lot of these issues. I think it will be really helpful, but I am also really nervous. There's just a lot there I haven't touched in a long time, so who knows what is all behind that Eating Disorder wall that's been up for the last 10 years. I think it will truly help me learn to connect to myself more in the long run though.
Connecting to other people has always been a pretty easy thing for me. I consider myself a pretty social person, very extroverted. With that though, I keep a lot of myself locked away. Any time I have unveiled these small parts of myself, especially anything trauma related, those people leave or hurt me with that information later. So, my issues with abandonment kick in, and the wall gets higher. Then, it turns into a "Why bother?" situation. If I continually unveil these small pieces of myself to others and they walk away, they take those pieces with me, and it breaks me down in the process. Sheltering myself and my heart have always seemed like the best options. Even when I meet people who I truly connect with and feel like I can share those pieces with, I am always so terrified to say anything about my issues that I shut down. I literally can't even say what's wrong sometimes, because I am so terrified of it. I just get weird. That's not fair to the people in my life or the relationships I have/had. I like to think I am doing better with it, but who knows. I don't think I'm a good judge of that.
Overall, I think recovery is all about connecting. For me, I have begun connecting to the identity I have never truly had. I am working on connecting with others better. I am attempting to connect with my emotions for the first time in a long time. I am connecting my rational mind to my body. I am connecting my mind to messages of positivity. It's all about the connections. My connection with my recovery will ultimately be the only way to defeat my eating disorder. If I am not in sync with that connecting, ED will sneak in, and I will relapse. There truly is strength in connections.
Friday, September 26, 2014
A Letter to ED
ED,
When I first met you 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I knew you would be trouble. You came into my life when I felt like things were getting out of control. After years of being anxious, you came into my life to calm me down from the life changes that were happening around me. For the first time in my life, I found the one thing that made me feel safe and protected. The first meal I skipped, I knew I was hooked. Your voice in my head encouraged me to keep going with empty promises that I thought would be fulfilled. The promises of love, adoration, and fulfillment had me completely indentured to you, and I was willing to follow you everywhere. Even in the times when I left you behind, you would always find your way back in. To me, you were the perfect relationship: something that would never leave me, always support me, and give me the self-love that I desperately needed. Little did I know how much you would destroy my life.
You came into my life at a very opportune time. After a year of being horrifically bullied, I had just finished a year at a brand new school where I found friends that supported me, classes that challenged me, and a new love: theater. I was finally beginning to work on my identity in high school. It was time to become more independent and figure out truly what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. Then, life happened, as it always does. My father was leaving again for a year long tour in Kuwait. It always felt like abandonment to me, even though it was just the lifestyle of being a military brat. Not only did I fall into my typical pattern of shutting down, but I was lost. I was stuffing everything so deep inside of me that it became invisible. I was able to continue being with friends, doing theater, and doing well in school, but all that stuffing caught up to me and I felt empty. Then, I had a health class that talked about eating disorders. Anorexia stuck out to me as this beautiful concept. I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about it, and maybe even try it. That curiosity led to the internet where I saw "thinspiration" and saw that maybe I could be one of those girls that were being supported and praised just by being thin. That didn't seem so hard to me, especially because I was already on the thin side. It was all so tempting, and I fell head over heels for you.
That year, I lost enough weight to feel fantastic about myself. I was getting responses from friends and family about how great I looked, because I was thin, but in shape. I felt in control of my life for the first time in years. I was able to decide how I wanted my body to look and the ways I would do that, which was skipping meals and counting calories. On the outside, I showed everyone how great I was doing, but on the inside, a battle was raging on. That year, I was cutting, exercising, and spending hours listening to you tell me that I still wasn't enough and that I wouldn't be until I lost more weight. On top of that, my constant need for change was starting to creep in. I was maintaining in a sick twisted world, because I had all of these unfulfilled needs. It didn't matter though, because I was thin. You were my best friend, and there was nothing else that mattered. Finally, my life became more in control. My father returned from Kuwait. We were moving to the DC area, and I was able to let you go. I had to to focus on my friends and making the most of my time before another move, because I had learned that once you say goodbye, things change. Relationships will end. Your best friends then won't be your best friends later, because you'll lose touch. So, I had to focus on my friends, because I felt that they wouldn't be there later. I would have a new life in Maryland, and I would leave it all, including you, ED, behind. Little did I know that I had been ingrained with triggers, and you would show up when I would least expect you.
In March 2006, you were there for me when I experienced my first major loss. After weeks of communication and crazy talk, Mark was gone. Suicide is a tricky concept, especially when you're 14. Even trickier when someone would say you contributed to the reasons for it. Again, at 14, I had no capability of processing what was happening. Then, you were there, just when I needed you again. You came in and comforted me in a way that no one else could. My friends were so supportive, but I had no idea how to verbalize what was going on. Also, my life was so busy that I stuffed it, put on a brave face, and kept going. ED, you were there to help me cope with this loss, and it helped me survive in order to keep doing well.
After a few months of being with you again, we had a new struggle to face: health problems. Starting in 8th grade, I had always been told that I had asthma, but inhalers never seemed to work. This came to head my junior year when I would begin hyperventilating during classes with no warning. After seeing multiple doctors, spending hours in the emergency room, and just freaking everyone out, I needed some answers. You took a seat on the back burner, so I could have enough energy to see everyone and get some help. Luckily, one doctor randomly knew about Vocal Chord Dysfunction, and I was able to regain control. With that diagnosis, I felt like I was able to better handle my health issues, and didn't need you to help me control my life. I was capable of doing it again. So, we parted ways again... for now.
Recovery is a beautiful thing. I spent a year and a half living this beautiful life with my friends in Maryland. Then, we moved back to Wisconsin, and for the first time in my life, I returned to those best friends that I had desperately missed. For the first time, those attachments weren't broken. I spent my senior year with my closest friends and began looking at new opportunities to have this great life in college. For the first time, I felt confident without you. I was in control of my destiny, and nothing was going to stop me... Or so I thought.
My dream of going to college was slightly derailed for a variety of reasons. All of a sudden, I found myself applying to a local 2 year college to work on credits rather than moving across the country to start fresh. On top of that, my life at home was spiraling out of control quickly. My grandmother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. My dad became this completely different person: one I didn't recognize, let alone had respect for. Then, October came and so did you.
October 2008 is potentially the worst month of my entire life. My father left to live with his parents leaving behind a grieving family trying to grapple with our first grandparent with cancer. My grandmother deteriorated quickly. Everything was falling apart. I did what I always do. I took 17 credits, worked at McDonalds and the VFW, and was involved in 2 musicals. Stuff it and keep going. It all came to a head the last week of the month. My grandmother died. This lead to actions and words by my father that made me lose all respect for him, and the beginning of the end of our relationship. When you grow up a daddy's girl, that's an impossible concept to even try and comprehend. Also, I started to take care of everyone else, but not myself. I worked as hard as I could to make sure that everyone else was handling these losses, and I put on my brave face and kept going. There you were to support me while I was supporting everyone else. You always knew exactly when I needed you to help me out. I relapsed and quickly got out of control.
Relapse is difficult, because not only do you fall back into these behaviors, but there's a significant amount of guilt and shame that come with it. I was also so ashamed of running back to you, because I knew on some rational level what I was doing to myself, but you felt safe. This relapse was particularly easy though, because no one noticed. It was me and you. You took care of me while I was taking care of everyone else. It was a beautiful partnership. This one lasted for a long time before we broke up again.
I met someone who finally threatened your relationship with me. I fell head over heels for someone else, but you were always there. You would tell me that I wasn't good enough for him... that he would never love me, because he was still in love with someone else... that the only way I would be good enough was to be thin. I did the dance between you two for as long as I could. You were there for me when he didn't know how to be. You helped me through losing Peter and Logan. You always did when I lost people. But, he was there for me in dealing with my father and trying to figure out what kind of relationship we could have, if any. He began to support me the way you always did. The first year was a constant battle in my head between who I should listen to. In the end, you won, but not for long.
My study abroad in Spain could not have come at a more opportune time. After taking a break from my romantic relationship, I needed some time to figure me out. I ran away to Madrid to see if I could have a life without him and without you. The 4 weeks I spent in Spain were the foundation to my identity. For the first time, I was in control of what I was doing, and it was an amazing feeling. After spending 6 years at that time with you always there in some capacity, I was able to let you go. I returned from Spain happy and healthy. I went back to my romantic relationship and was prepared to take on anything without you. This was short lived unfortunately.
Fall 2010 was another difficult time. I was randomly passing out, feeling like my heart was beating out of my chest when I would stand up, and just constantly miserable. It's really difficult to be in and out of doctor's offices and the Emergency room when the person who has promised to love and support you refuses to be there. Luckily, I didn't need him, because I had you. You became that love and assistance that I needed while sitting in emergency rooms by myself. You were there for me when I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and told that I would probably be on medication for the rest of my life. Without you and my mom, I probably never would have gone to those appointments. You only went to take advantage of my POTS, but you were still there. Then, as my relationship was falling apart and choices were made that drove us even further, you became stronger and stronger. My friends and family were so supportive, but it just felt like you were the only one who understood. I could hear all around me that I needed help, but I just couldn't seem to get away from you. My relationship ended, but you were still there. You faded a bit when I was able to spend time with my friends and become back in touch with my life outside of my relationship. Then, I had a life of fresh starts, and away you went.
Moving to Milwaukee in Fall 2011 was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. I was originally going to commute for graduate school, but decided that I needed a new place to figure out what my life would look like since it would be nothing like I had planned. I was beginning a new life in a new school, meeting new people, and living in a new city where no one knew my dirty laundry. It was exhilarating. I didn't need you, because I was in control of my choices. Even when I lost 2 amazing people in my life a day apart, I was okay. One of those losses led me to someone who understood my relationship with you. Finally, I had someone who understood, and I didn't need you. I lived another beautiful year and a half in recovery. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than being in a full blown relapse. I had moments of weakness where I would dabble in behaviors and miss our relationship, but I knew that I needed a new life. I was doing well without you, and I wanted to stay that way. It did until I graduated with my Master's.
ED, you have always served as a wall between whatever identity I have and the things I have never dealt with. You have always protected me from feeling the things I never wanted to feel. You helped me stuff all of those traumatic events deep down inside of me. You made sure that, if I got overwhelmed by emotions, I wouldn't have to deal with them. We would skip a meal, and I would be fine. You did your job, and I was able to manage my life better... or so I thought.
After getting my Master's, I wasn't strong enough to hold back all of these feelings and memories from flooding me every day, especially when working as a therapist. Every day, I was speaking to people with some similar experiences to my own. It became draining to just be me and work with clients. There you were. Our relationship began again, but it wasn't unnoticed this time. Working with other clinicians, your presence was easily seen by my supervisor, who really pushed me to go to therapy. I went for one session, but I never went back. I was okay with that though. So were you. I had pseudosessions with my supervisor, which helped me be okay for a while, but you were still there. I entered a romantic relationship that challenged, but encouraged you as well. This built and built until one day, the switch went on. I knew I couldn't stay with you, but I knew I needed help to get out of it. With the help of my family, I got on a train, left everything behind in Milwaukee, and decided to look for a new life without you.
The first 2 weeks of treatment, I was still holding onto you. I would openly tell people that I would be there for a short period of time to go back to work in Milwaukee. In other words, I realized I had made a mistake and wanted to stay with you. Slowly but surely, rational me started kicking into gear, and I knew that I couldn't continue this relationship or I would lose my life. After experiencing so many losses, I couldn't put others through that. It also didn't seem fair to my friends who lost their lives too young. Here I was actively destroying my own life by choice. In the memory of my friends, that's just not fair. After 12 weeks in treatment, I was feeling okay with letting you go, but was still battling with depression. I felt like I had ruined my life by not being with you. It was my hardest break-up of all, but I have a new life in recovery.
Recovery is never perfect though. I ended up running back to you when I felt out of control, but I recognized it and got back into treatment. I always go back when I don't feel like I can handle things. But the truth is, I absolutely can. I don't need you to make me feel worthy of love, because I have friends and family who love me. I don't need you to help gain control, because I am capable of making my own choices and can handle when the unexpected happens. I don't need your voice in the back of my head telling me how awful I am, because there's no evidence of that. I just don't need you. So goodbye, ED. I will not miss you. This life in recovery isn't easy, but it's worth it.
Good riddance,
Heidi
When I first met you 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I knew you would be trouble. You came into my life when I felt like things were getting out of control. After years of being anxious, you came into my life to calm me down from the life changes that were happening around me. For the first time in my life, I found the one thing that made me feel safe and protected. The first meal I skipped, I knew I was hooked. Your voice in my head encouraged me to keep going with empty promises that I thought would be fulfilled. The promises of love, adoration, and fulfillment had me completely indentured to you, and I was willing to follow you everywhere. Even in the times when I left you behind, you would always find your way back in. To me, you were the perfect relationship: something that would never leave me, always support me, and give me the self-love that I desperately needed. Little did I know how much you would destroy my life.
You came into my life at a very opportune time. After a year of being horrifically bullied, I had just finished a year at a brand new school where I found friends that supported me, classes that challenged me, and a new love: theater. I was finally beginning to work on my identity in high school. It was time to become more independent and figure out truly what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. Then, life happened, as it always does. My father was leaving again for a year long tour in Kuwait. It always felt like abandonment to me, even though it was just the lifestyle of being a military brat. Not only did I fall into my typical pattern of shutting down, but I was lost. I was stuffing everything so deep inside of me that it became invisible. I was able to continue being with friends, doing theater, and doing well in school, but all that stuffing caught up to me and I felt empty. Then, I had a health class that talked about eating disorders. Anorexia stuck out to me as this beautiful concept. I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about it, and maybe even try it. That curiosity led to the internet where I saw "thinspiration" and saw that maybe I could be one of those girls that were being supported and praised just by being thin. That didn't seem so hard to me, especially because I was already on the thin side. It was all so tempting, and I fell head over heels for you.
That year, I lost enough weight to feel fantastic about myself. I was getting responses from friends and family about how great I looked, because I was thin, but in shape. I felt in control of my life for the first time in years. I was able to decide how I wanted my body to look and the ways I would do that, which was skipping meals and counting calories. On the outside, I showed everyone how great I was doing, but on the inside, a battle was raging on. That year, I was cutting, exercising, and spending hours listening to you tell me that I still wasn't enough and that I wouldn't be until I lost more weight. On top of that, my constant need for change was starting to creep in. I was maintaining in a sick twisted world, because I had all of these unfulfilled needs. It didn't matter though, because I was thin. You were my best friend, and there was nothing else that mattered. Finally, my life became more in control. My father returned from Kuwait. We were moving to the DC area, and I was able to let you go. I had to to focus on my friends and making the most of my time before another move, because I had learned that once you say goodbye, things change. Relationships will end. Your best friends then won't be your best friends later, because you'll lose touch. So, I had to focus on my friends, because I felt that they wouldn't be there later. I would have a new life in Maryland, and I would leave it all, including you, ED, behind. Little did I know that I had been ingrained with triggers, and you would show up when I would least expect you.
In March 2006, you were there for me when I experienced my first major loss. After weeks of communication and crazy talk, Mark was gone. Suicide is a tricky concept, especially when you're 14. Even trickier when someone would say you contributed to the reasons for it. Again, at 14, I had no capability of processing what was happening. Then, you were there, just when I needed you again. You came in and comforted me in a way that no one else could. My friends were so supportive, but I had no idea how to verbalize what was going on. Also, my life was so busy that I stuffed it, put on a brave face, and kept going. ED, you were there to help me cope with this loss, and it helped me survive in order to keep doing well.
After a few months of being with you again, we had a new struggle to face: health problems. Starting in 8th grade, I had always been told that I had asthma, but inhalers never seemed to work. This came to head my junior year when I would begin hyperventilating during classes with no warning. After seeing multiple doctors, spending hours in the emergency room, and just freaking everyone out, I needed some answers. You took a seat on the back burner, so I could have enough energy to see everyone and get some help. Luckily, one doctor randomly knew about Vocal Chord Dysfunction, and I was able to regain control. With that diagnosis, I felt like I was able to better handle my health issues, and didn't need you to help me control my life. I was capable of doing it again. So, we parted ways again... for now.
Recovery is a beautiful thing. I spent a year and a half living this beautiful life with my friends in Maryland. Then, we moved back to Wisconsin, and for the first time in my life, I returned to those best friends that I had desperately missed. For the first time, those attachments weren't broken. I spent my senior year with my closest friends and began looking at new opportunities to have this great life in college. For the first time, I felt confident without you. I was in control of my destiny, and nothing was going to stop me... Or so I thought.
My dream of going to college was slightly derailed for a variety of reasons. All of a sudden, I found myself applying to a local 2 year college to work on credits rather than moving across the country to start fresh. On top of that, my life at home was spiraling out of control quickly. My grandmother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. My dad became this completely different person: one I didn't recognize, let alone had respect for. Then, October came and so did you.
October 2008 is potentially the worst month of my entire life. My father left to live with his parents leaving behind a grieving family trying to grapple with our first grandparent with cancer. My grandmother deteriorated quickly. Everything was falling apart. I did what I always do. I took 17 credits, worked at McDonalds and the VFW, and was involved in 2 musicals. Stuff it and keep going. It all came to a head the last week of the month. My grandmother died. This lead to actions and words by my father that made me lose all respect for him, and the beginning of the end of our relationship. When you grow up a daddy's girl, that's an impossible concept to even try and comprehend. Also, I started to take care of everyone else, but not myself. I worked as hard as I could to make sure that everyone else was handling these losses, and I put on my brave face and kept going. There you were to support me while I was supporting everyone else. You always knew exactly when I needed you to help me out. I relapsed and quickly got out of control.
Relapse is difficult, because not only do you fall back into these behaviors, but there's a significant amount of guilt and shame that come with it. I was also so ashamed of running back to you, because I knew on some rational level what I was doing to myself, but you felt safe. This relapse was particularly easy though, because no one noticed. It was me and you. You took care of me while I was taking care of everyone else. It was a beautiful partnership. This one lasted for a long time before we broke up again.
I met someone who finally threatened your relationship with me. I fell head over heels for someone else, but you were always there. You would tell me that I wasn't good enough for him... that he would never love me, because he was still in love with someone else... that the only way I would be good enough was to be thin. I did the dance between you two for as long as I could. You were there for me when he didn't know how to be. You helped me through losing Peter and Logan. You always did when I lost people. But, he was there for me in dealing with my father and trying to figure out what kind of relationship we could have, if any. He began to support me the way you always did. The first year was a constant battle in my head between who I should listen to. In the end, you won, but not for long.
My study abroad in Spain could not have come at a more opportune time. After taking a break from my romantic relationship, I needed some time to figure me out. I ran away to Madrid to see if I could have a life without him and without you. The 4 weeks I spent in Spain were the foundation to my identity. For the first time, I was in control of what I was doing, and it was an amazing feeling. After spending 6 years at that time with you always there in some capacity, I was able to let you go. I returned from Spain happy and healthy. I went back to my romantic relationship and was prepared to take on anything without you. This was short lived unfortunately.
Fall 2010 was another difficult time. I was randomly passing out, feeling like my heart was beating out of my chest when I would stand up, and just constantly miserable. It's really difficult to be in and out of doctor's offices and the Emergency room when the person who has promised to love and support you refuses to be there. Luckily, I didn't need him, because I had you. You became that love and assistance that I needed while sitting in emergency rooms by myself. You were there for me when I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and told that I would probably be on medication for the rest of my life. Without you and my mom, I probably never would have gone to those appointments. You only went to take advantage of my POTS, but you were still there. Then, as my relationship was falling apart and choices were made that drove us even further, you became stronger and stronger. My friends and family were so supportive, but it just felt like you were the only one who understood. I could hear all around me that I needed help, but I just couldn't seem to get away from you. My relationship ended, but you were still there. You faded a bit when I was able to spend time with my friends and become back in touch with my life outside of my relationship. Then, I had a life of fresh starts, and away you went.
Moving to Milwaukee in Fall 2011 was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. I was originally going to commute for graduate school, but decided that I needed a new place to figure out what my life would look like since it would be nothing like I had planned. I was beginning a new life in a new school, meeting new people, and living in a new city where no one knew my dirty laundry. It was exhilarating. I didn't need you, because I was in control of my choices. Even when I lost 2 amazing people in my life a day apart, I was okay. One of those losses led me to someone who understood my relationship with you. Finally, I had someone who understood, and I didn't need you. I lived another beautiful year and a half in recovery. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than being in a full blown relapse. I had moments of weakness where I would dabble in behaviors and miss our relationship, but I knew that I needed a new life. I was doing well without you, and I wanted to stay that way. It did until I graduated with my Master's.
ED, you have always served as a wall between whatever identity I have and the things I have never dealt with. You have always protected me from feeling the things I never wanted to feel. You helped me stuff all of those traumatic events deep down inside of me. You made sure that, if I got overwhelmed by emotions, I wouldn't have to deal with them. We would skip a meal, and I would be fine. You did your job, and I was able to manage my life better... or so I thought.
After getting my Master's, I wasn't strong enough to hold back all of these feelings and memories from flooding me every day, especially when working as a therapist. Every day, I was speaking to people with some similar experiences to my own. It became draining to just be me and work with clients. There you were. Our relationship began again, but it wasn't unnoticed this time. Working with other clinicians, your presence was easily seen by my supervisor, who really pushed me to go to therapy. I went for one session, but I never went back. I was okay with that though. So were you. I had pseudosessions with my supervisor, which helped me be okay for a while, but you were still there. I entered a romantic relationship that challenged, but encouraged you as well. This built and built until one day, the switch went on. I knew I couldn't stay with you, but I knew I needed help to get out of it. With the help of my family, I got on a train, left everything behind in Milwaukee, and decided to look for a new life without you.
The first 2 weeks of treatment, I was still holding onto you. I would openly tell people that I would be there for a short period of time to go back to work in Milwaukee. In other words, I realized I had made a mistake and wanted to stay with you. Slowly but surely, rational me started kicking into gear, and I knew that I couldn't continue this relationship or I would lose my life. After experiencing so many losses, I couldn't put others through that. It also didn't seem fair to my friends who lost their lives too young. Here I was actively destroying my own life by choice. In the memory of my friends, that's just not fair. After 12 weeks in treatment, I was feeling okay with letting you go, but was still battling with depression. I felt like I had ruined my life by not being with you. It was my hardest break-up of all, but I have a new life in recovery.
Recovery is never perfect though. I ended up running back to you when I felt out of control, but I recognized it and got back into treatment. I always go back when I don't feel like I can handle things. But the truth is, I absolutely can. I don't need you to make me feel worthy of love, because I have friends and family who love me. I don't need you to help gain control, because I am capable of making my own choices and can handle when the unexpected happens. I don't need your voice in the back of my head telling me how awful I am, because there's no evidence of that. I just don't need you. So goodbye, ED. I will not miss you. This life in recovery isn't easy, but it's worth it.
Good riddance,
Heidi
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Gratitude
When I was working as a therapist, one of my favorite/most powerful groups with my recovering addicts was a discussion and activity on gratitude. America has such a work yourself to death type attitude, which is something I have adopted as well, with serious costs. So, sometimes we need to take a step back to look at the little things we miss when being so busy. It helps us to gain insight that things might feel crazy and out of control, but we really do have good things in our lives to be grateful for.
In this group, we would talk about gratitude: what it is and what it means to us. Clients would often say that these things got lost in focusing on their recovery, especially because the things they were grateful for would often be the things that they were most terrified to lose if they relapsed. It led to the realization that we sometimes are so anxious about losing these things that it leads to us pushing them away. So, we can take a step back to say what we're grateful for in order to appreciate what is always there through our struggles. I would have clients take a brown paper lunch bag and 10 slips of paper to list the things they were grateful for. We would then go around one by one to share some of the things we listed. So, in dealing with my anxiety today, I am listing my 10 things:
1) My family. They drive me completely and totally batshit crazy sometimes, but honestly, I would never have gone to treatment without their support. They allowed me to pick up and leave everything to come to St Louis from Milwaukee. They helped cover my rent. They communicated with my job to figure out my time off. They actively participated in family days to learn more about how to help me. I am grateful that we are a close unit, which wasn't that way for the majority of my life, and how they look out for me regardless of circumstances or how much I screw up.
2) My friends. The people who keep me most sane. I am very lucky to have developed the friend group I have in my adult life. It is made up of so many unique crazies, but I wouldn't have made it through most of my trauma without them. Honestly, their love and support has kept me around for as long as I have. In my darkest nights, I have talked with friends who have listened to me cry, freak out, and process what has happened. They have also given me wonderful memories, laughter, and happiness. I consider my friends my second family, and I wouldn't be able to get through all this without them.
3) Therapy. I am grateful for the opportunity to be on the other side of the counselor/client relationship. That hour of time every week to help me actually say the things I have stuffed for so many years has been life changing. I try so hard to not feel emotions that it is comforting to have a safe outlet where I can share them when I am ready. Some days, I really hate it. I hate being pushed to actually share my feelings, because it makes me very uncomfortable to experience such strong emotions; however, I know in the long run it's helpful.
4) Work. I am lucky to have wonderful coworkers and a job that allows me to leave every day to go to treatment. It has also given me a place to live independently and be on my own again.
5) Traveling. In moving so many times, I am lucky enough to know people all over the world. So, I can travel to go see these people or just to get some time on my own. My study abroad experience was one of the most life changing opportunities for me. I picked up and left Wisconsin by myself to spend 4 weeks in Madrid where I knew no one. Traveling either with friends or by myself allows me to take risks and help build my identity.
6) Music. One of my primary coping skills. It is such a powerful thing that can be used for coping, memories, parties, and so much more. I am grateful for something so simple that I can just put on and take a mental break from the world.
7) The past. While I really hate reminders of the past, especially at shitty moments, it has truly shaped me into the person I am today. I have learned that while I can't change it, I can take those life lessons and adapt them to current day situations. History repeats itself, and if we don't learn from it, nothing changes.
8) Love. I truly wish that everyone can experience love in their lifetime, because there are so many different types of it. The love we have for friends, family, relationships, life, etc. changes a person. One of the core beliefs of my eating disorder is that I am unloveable. One of my best challenges of this is looking at the outpouring of love I received through my journey in treatment and continue in my daily battles. Even though I might not be "in love" now, the opportunities are there in due time, and I am optimistic for what may come.
9) Education. My education is very important to me. I worked very hard to get my Bachelor's in 3 years and at 20 and even harder to get my Master's at 22. While I am not really using my degrees at my current job, it is something that no one will ever be able to take away from me. I earned those degrees and can celebrate that accomplishment. It may just be a sheet of paper, but it symbolizes a part of my identity that I hold very close to me.
10) Life. At 23, I have come close to successfully taking my own life multiple times, even as recently as this year. While life has not been the easiest, I am grateful to have one, especially when thinking of the friends I have lost theirs too soon. I am grateful to have the opportunities to learn from my mistakes and figure out this life one day at a time. Losing it to my eating disorder can't be an option anymore. I think I am learning that being thin doesn't mean life is better. If anything, my eating disorder makes my life worse, because I take all these things for granted.
Today I chose to be grateful and remember that life with my eating disorder makes these things that much harder. I am grateful to be on this journey in recovery, even though it isn't perfect. It's life.
In this group, we would talk about gratitude: what it is and what it means to us. Clients would often say that these things got lost in focusing on their recovery, especially because the things they were grateful for would often be the things that they were most terrified to lose if they relapsed. It led to the realization that we sometimes are so anxious about losing these things that it leads to us pushing them away. So, we can take a step back to say what we're grateful for in order to appreciate what is always there through our struggles. I would have clients take a brown paper lunch bag and 10 slips of paper to list the things they were grateful for. We would then go around one by one to share some of the things we listed. So, in dealing with my anxiety today, I am listing my 10 things:
1) My family. They drive me completely and totally batshit crazy sometimes, but honestly, I would never have gone to treatment without their support. They allowed me to pick up and leave everything to come to St Louis from Milwaukee. They helped cover my rent. They communicated with my job to figure out my time off. They actively participated in family days to learn more about how to help me. I am grateful that we are a close unit, which wasn't that way for the majority of my life, and how they look out for me regardless of circumstances or how much I screw up.
2) My friends. The people who keep me most sane. I am very lucky to have developed the friend group I have in my adult life. It is made up of so many unique crazies, but I wouldn't have made it through most of my trauma without them. Honestly, their love and support has kept me around for as long as I have. In my darkest nights, I have talked with friends who have listened to me cry, freak out, and process what has happened. They have also given me wonderful memories, laughter, and happiness. I consider my friends my second family, and I wouldn't be able to get through all this without them.
3) Therapy. I am grateful for the opportunity to be on the other side of the counselor/client relationship. That hour of time every week to help me actually say the things I have stuffed for so many years has been life changing. I try so hard to not feel emotions that it is comforting to have a safe outlet where I can share them when I am ready. Some days, I really hate it. I hate being pushed to actually share my feelings, because it makes me very uncomfortable to experience such strong emotions; however, I know in the long run it's helpful.
4) Work. I am lucky to have wonderful coworkers and a job that allows me to leave every day to go to treatment. It has also given me a place to live independently and be on my own again.
5) Traveling. In moving so many times, I am lucky enough to know people all over the world. So, I can travel to go see these people or just to get some time on my own. My study abroad experience was one of the most life changing opportunities for me. I picked up and left Wisconsin by myself to spend 4 weeks in Madrid where I knew no one. Traveling either with friends or by myself allows me to take risks and help build my identity.
6) Music. One of my primary coping skills. It is such a powerful thing that can be used for coping, memories, parties, and so much more. I am grateful for something so simple that I can just put on and take a mental break from the world.
7) The past. While I really hate reminders of the past, especially at shitty moments, it has truly shaped me into the person I am today. I have learned that while I can't change it, I can take those life lessons and adapt them to current day situations. History repeats itself, and if we don't learn from it, nothing changes.
8) Love. I truly wish that everyone can experience love in their lifetime, because there are so many different types of it. The love we have for friends, family, relationships, life, etc. changes a person. One of the core beliefs of my eating disorder is that I am unloveable. One of my best challenges of this is looking at the outpouring of love I received through my journey in treatment and continue in my daily battles. Even though I might not be "in love" now, the opportunities are there in due time, and I am optimistic for what may come.
9) Education. My education is very important to me. I worked very hard to get my Bachelor's in 3 years and at 20 and even harder to get my Master's at 22. While I am not really using my degrees at my current job, it is something that no one will ever be able to take away from me. I earned those degrees and can celebrate that accomplishment. It may just be a sheet of paper, but it symbolizes a part of my identity that I hold very close to me.
10) Life. At 23, I have come close to successfully taking my own life multiple times, even as recently as this year. While life has not been the easiest, I am grateful to have one, especially when thinking of the friends I have lost theirs too soon. I am grateful to have the opportunities to learn from my mistakes and figure out this life one day at a time. Losing it to my eating disorder can't be an option anymore. I think I am learning that being thin doesn't mean life is better. If anything, my eating disorder makes my life worse, because I take all these things for granted.
Today I chose to be grateful and remember that life with my eating disorder makes these things that much harder. I am grateful to be on this journey in recovery, even though it isn't perfect. It's life.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Flashbacks of the Past
To me, one of the most difficult things I have been coping with is memories of the past. It seems like triggers for flashbacks have been everywhere lately. Reminders of the past keep coming up everywhere and unexpectedly. I just feel like crying all day, so it's been increasingly difficult to just sit and work when my mind is in 20 different places. So how do we deal?
My biggest issue this week has stemmed from my most serious relationship, which ended over 3 years ago now. We got engaged really quickly when we were really young, but it just seemed completely right. We grew together over the years and dealt with some really heavy shit together. Our relationship ended up deteriorating my senior year of college after we suffered a pretty major loss together. Things were never the same after that. Enough time has passed now that I can look back and know that that wasn't the right relationship for me. I don't miss him or our relationship, which is why today has been very difficult.
He has a new son, who was born yesterday. Of the details I do know, I understand that it was with a very different relationship than the one we had, but he is the father that he never got to be with me. It's incredibly strange for me to feel so overwhelmed by this, because I have been over and done with our relationship for a long time now; however, it just brings back a lot of memories to what happened with us.
It brings me back to the talks of us having a family together, of getting married, and having that life together that we dreamed of. It reminds me of what we lost and the grief that we experienced in vastly different ways, which ultimately drove us apart. It's those life transitions that you can't avoid but that happen for the right reasons. It's just hard to flashback to those moments when you thought you had that and were set for life. You believe that nothing could ever go wrong, and you can take on the world because that person will always be on your side. And then you lose it...
I honestly and truly believe that things happen the way they are supposed to. I know in my heart that the things that happened in that relationship helped me to grow into a stronger person and cope with things better today. It's just overwhelming when you are sitting at your desk and your mind wanders back 4 years to these moments. They feel so real and powerful.
Today, I am grateful for the ability to look upon my past and current self with kindness. I am allowing myself to feel and mourn the loss of things that could have been and never will be. I am trying to focus on the current and not the past. If it was meant to be, it would have happened. It didn't, so it wasn't meant to happen with those people or at that time. I move forward with this knowledge and try to take things one day at a time.
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