Must... get... better... at... BLOGGING.
Must stop being hyper critical of myself. Must stop worrying about being judged.
I seriously have 4 or 5 posts in my drafts box from the last two weeks, because I'll start to write, then get nervous that I sound really stupid or am just not making sense... or that what I'm writing isn't important. I have a LOT that I've been wanting to blog about, I just end up feeling stupid when I sit down to write...
Anyways, I've had this realization that I've been meaning to write about/ponder. I don't think anyone likes being uncomfortable; but I absolute cannot stand it. I'm not talking about physical pain (which, ironically enough, I am very good at tolerating physical pain), but moreso emotional uncomfortableness.
What made me realize this is the fact that I do not feel comfortable in my body; I don't think I've ever felt comfortable in my body. The irrationalness has been thinking along the lines if you just get small enough, if you just get thin enough, you WILL feel comfortable in your body.
I became aware at age 4 that I was overweight, and that it was not desirable. I felt uncomfortable at age 4, in my body. Year after year, I thought that if I could get out of my pudgey little body and be a skinny, pretty little girl, I'd be happier and more confident, and that my classmates would like me. I was ashamed of being fat; I thought I was ugly. I was teased a lot. I became shyer and shyer, more introverted, because I was teased. I was obese by 13; I'd spend hours in front of the mirror, pinching my fat rolls and thinking if only I were thin enough to feel good and confident in my body, life would be so much better. At age 15, things changed; in less than a year, I went from obese to underweight. The damage had already been done by this point...
...I spent such a little amount of time at an actual "healthy" weight that I never really got a good look at myself as to what healthy should be. It doesn't matter; even underweight, I have nasty reminders that continue to distort the image I see in the mirror.
I have stretch marks. EVERYWHERE. All over my stomach, my thighs, the inside of my arms, my chest... yeah. Everywhere. They're disgusting. They make me want to rip my skin off. I don't have a valid excuse; I'd wear stretch marks with pride if I could say that my skin stretched to accommodate a baby. But it didn't; some of these stretch marks appeared before I could even get pregnant. How freaking sad is that?
It's fucking torture to have to look in the mirror, to desperately want to see what everyone else apparently sees... but have it ruined by the fact that my body is laced in stretch marks, a constant reminder of how big I once was, and constantly distorting my body image...
How does that relate to me being uncomfortable? Because of how it's tricking me into thinking I'm still fat, when I'm obviously not.
It makes me laugh, in a macabre sort of way, that there's those thinspo groups out there promoting ED's as a way of life, saying that "once you're thin enough, you can wear skimpy clothing, ect." Ha... newsflash, people: it does NOT matter how fucking skinny you get, you're still going to feel like a fat ass. I use to fantasize about wearing tight/revealing clothing once I was "thin enough"... and still sometimes do. But the reality is, I hide my body. I'm thoroughly ashamed of it. I still think I'm too fat (despite knowing otherwise) to be wearing form fitting or revealing clothing. Heck, that's one reason I love cold weather so much; it means I can hide in layers and hoodies.
Bottom line is, I still feel very uncomfortable in my body, and it makes me excessively anxious... hence me turning to manage it in some not so practical ways...
Showing posts with label eating disorder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eating disorder. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
I Sure As Hell Didn't See That One Coming
Note!: If you are currently struggling with an eating disorder... this post may be triggering. I won't mention numbers exactly, but there is some triggering stuff. Just an FYI.
I am stunned.
I was totally caught off guard last night. Vuni went to his parent's house for a little while yesterday evening, and when he came back, I could tell he was upset. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "My mom is really, really worried about you."
"Worried?... Why?"
"Because you're so skinny."
Ooof. Definitely didn't see that coming. At all.
And what really, really freaks me out is my thinking up until this point. I've mentioned in previous posts how my mother in law (Aren) and sis in law (Krisi) talk about dieting/exercise/weight loss around me all the freaking time, and how much it irks me. But I didn't exactly give the whole reason as to why; obviously, with my eating/body image issues, it's a sensitive topic to me anyways. Right. But the other thing, which I was afraid to admit... is I always worried that they talked about it excessively because they thought I maybe needed to lose weight. Maybe it was their subtle hints that I am too fat. Neither of them has ever commented on my weight/appearance... so it's always made me curious how they see me. Sadly, that very irrational part of my mind has always shouted, "Well, they think you're a fat ass, because you are one, duh."
So imagine my shock when, after all of this time irrational thoughts deluding my mind into thinking that they must see me as a blob, I hear that Aren is really worried about me being too thin.
It's things like this that make me realize just how utterly distorted my body image and irrational thoughts are. It terrifies me. How? How can I see a overweight, doughy body when everyone else sees the opposite? I just don't get it... and it's scaring the hell out of me.
I am stunned.
I was totally caught off guard last night. Vuni went to his parent's house for a little while yesterday evening, and when he came back, I could tell he was upset. I asked him what was wrong, and he said, "My mom is really, really worried about you."
"Worried?... Why?"
"Because you're so skinny."
Ooof. Definitely didn't see that coming. At all.
And what really, really freaks me out is my thinking up until this point. I've mentioned in previous posts how my mother in law (Aren) and sis in law (Krisi) talk about dieting/exercise/weight loss around me all the freaking time, and how much it irks me. But I didn't exactly give the whole reason as to why; obviously, with my eating/body image issues, it's a sensitive topic to me anyways. Right. But the other thing, which I was afraid to admit... is I always worried that they talked about it excessively because they thought I maybe needed to lose weight. Maybe it was their subtle hints that I am too fat. Neither of them has ever commented on my weight/appearance... so it's always made me curious how they see me. Sadly, that very irrational part of my mind has always shouted, "Well, they think you're a fat ass, because you are one, duh."
So imagine my shock when, after all of this time irrational thoughts deluding my mind into thinking that they must see me as a blob, I hear that Aren is really worried about me being too thin.
It's things like this that make me realize just how utterly distorted my body image and irrational thoughts are. It terrifies me. How? How can I see a overweight, doughy body when everyone else sees the opposite? I just don't get it... and it's scaring the hell out of me.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Suicide: From an Attemptee's Perspective, and Why It's Never Worth It
How true this meme is...
Let me start by clarifying, I'm NOT suicidal... but sadly, I've been there before.
It's the absolute worst place to be. I've never felt so hopeless, so consumed by overwhelming thoughts and pain.
It wasn't that I wanted to die. It wasn't that I wanted to hurt anyone who loved me. Quite the opposite.
I just didn't see a light at the end of the tunnel; I didn't see anything but endless pain. I didn't think my life would ever be happy and whole.
It's been over 5.5 years now, and thinking about the suicide attempt still makes me feel completely sick, in more ways than one. It's awful to think I actually did it; it's equally awful remembering what I was going through at the time.
Here's what happened in a nutshell:
It was Spring of 2006. I was living alone, a 2.5 hour drive away from home. I was 19 years old, going to school full time, and working almost full time, at a job I absolutely hated. I had one person who was a true friend... and another. An ex boyfriend. In all honesty... I had followed him.
The previous August, he and I were together. I found out he was moving away less than 3 weeks before he actually left. Our relationship (if you could call it that) was very rocky; K didn't treat me well at all, but didn't seem willing to just break up with me. I'm assuming his solution was to move away and wait until the last possible minute to tell me; I didn't even find out he was moving from him. One of his friends let it slip. K told me he didn't think he could make a long-distance relationship work, so we "separated on good terms." Being the idiot that I was, I applied to the same school, and in January, I moved up there, assuming he'd take me back. The next few months were absolute hell; I was lonely, anxious, and depressed, I was falling further and further into my eating disorder, and he was leading me on. I called K out on it once; I told him that if he was going to be playing games with me, we might as well cease contact with one another. He promised to shape up, but said he still wanted his "freedom" and didn't want to get back together "yet". Being the naive, innocent person that I was, I didn't see this as a glaring red flag.
In late April, I took a handful of Tylenol PM. I was mostly hoping it'd knock me out for a few hours, and I figured, if it did worse, then it did worse. I woke up the next day in the ICU. After all was said and done, I convinced everyone it was stupid mistake, I promised to do better, I looked into therapists and support groups, and I signed up for summer classes.
Exactly one month later, K and I were out to lunch, when he received a phone call. Whoever was on the other side, he was being very flirty with them. When he hung up, he seemed nervous, and said, "I have something to tell you..." He then proceeded to tell me that was this girl he'd been dating for the past few weeks.
I didn't feel like I could handle this. I ran, on foot. He tried to follow me, but couldn't keep up (he was wearing flip flops). After wandering around the streets for about an hour, I returned to the restaurant. He was gone, but he kept trying to call me. I kept ignoring him. I drove to a grocery store that had a Starbucks in it, purchased the largest bottle of Tylenol PM that they had, and an iced black tea. K was still trying to get ahold of me. I stopped at another store, and got a bottle of Advil PM. K was still calling. I took almost all of the pills. Finally, I answered his call; he begged me to go to his house. I don't know what made me go, but I did.
When I got there, he started crying, and saying that he was a flaky person who shouldn't be with anyone. He confessed to cheating on me (something I'd figured anyways) and was basically flipping out. He then begged me to stay at his house that night; he was going to work for the evening, and in the morning, we'd take care of things, whatever that meant. As he was leaving (I was really feeling the meds by this time), I followed him out to his car. I said, "I did something bad." He began to panic, remembering what had happened only a month ago; he grabbed me by my shoulders, and asked, "What did you do?! Tell me, what did you do?!" I stumbled over to my car, and handed him the keys. He opened it, searched frantically inside (I was really messed up by this point) and found the bottles. He pulled me into his car, and drove me to the emergency room. I spent the next three days in the ICU, the next five in a locked ward, and the day I got out... K and I talked for the last time. We agreed to cut off all contact one another. My parents brought me home that day; we returned a few days later, packed up my stuff, and I was home for good.
It's so difficult to explain everything that was going through my mind at the time. A lot of conflicting thoughts.
Bottom line was, I didn't want to die; I just had overwhelming, excruciating emotional pain that I didn't know how to deal with, and I wanted it to end.
I felt like I was failing my attempt at becoming an adult. I was torn, because for some reason I still don't understand, I was infatuated with this guy who obviously wanted nothing to do with me; he'd cheated and been emotionally abusive. The only reason he did what he did the day of the suicide attempt was out of guilt, fear, and pity. I hated how much of a fuck up I felt like, and I thought that if I no longer existed, I would be doing everyone a favor. It might be painful at first, but I figured that the "benefits" of me being gone would far outweigh this; I wouldn't be wasting anyone's money, and I'd never cause anyone pain again. But namely... I wouldn't have to deal with such feelings of being rejected, unwanted, and not enough. It was an EXTREMELY selfish thing to do... but at the time, I thought that if I was successful, it'd be better for everyone.
I also still don't know what made me follow K out to his car, and more or less confess to what I had done. The only thing I can think of is that the tiny sane part of me, deep inside, knew that I didn't want to die. Was it a desperate cry for attention? It looks that way, and maybe on some sub-conscience level, it was. At the time, up until I did "confess" to K about taking the pills, I seriously just wanted to escape from the pain I was feeling, in whatever way that may be. Perhaps because I was feeling so fucked up by that point, I realized the true seriousness of what I'd done; I knew that if K left, there would be no going back. I was losing it as it was. If he left, I would've passed out... and not woken up.
So why am I bringing all of this up now?
Well, recently, I've been dealing with some pretty damn fucked up feelings. And a lot of pain. I feel like a worthless failure, a waste of space/air/money, a total fuck up. My anxiety gets so overwhelming, and I often feel so hopeless, I wonder if things will ever be okay. I hate dealing with this; the anxiety, the pain and guilt it brings... I feel like I am suffocating, trapped in my body.
But I know suicide isn't the answer. I know hurting myself isn't the answer.
Even though I may often feel lonely, and trapped, I know that I have some insanely awesome people who love me, and they obviously love me for a reason. They've never given up on me; they believe in me, when I don't always believe in myself. I think I said it in my last post: I live for curling up in bed next Vuni. I know that no matter how shitty the day is- if I've had panic attacks, heard bad news, been put on a guilt trip, gotten in a fight with the mirror, felt utterly hopeless and useless... at the end of the day, I will be snuggled up, nice and warm, to the most amazing person I could ever imagine. I know that, while I am cuddled up to this utterly stunning human being, there are two people several miles away, who brought me into this world, are proud of me regardless of my fucked up past, and loved me with all of their hearts. I have a brother who has looked up to me his whole life. I have a professor who NEVER gave up on me. I have friends and family who truly care about me, even if I am flightly and strange. All of these people believe in me... even when I don't.
There's obviously a reason I'm worth caring about and believing in... even when I don't see it.
Do I have to see everything to believe in it? I wish I could- but I know I don't. At the time of my suicide attempt, I never saw myself being happy again. Low and behold, despite some of the shit I've since been through, I've also had the best times. Vuni has loved me like I never thought possible. Last year, consumed by alcoholism, I never imagined that I could go more than a day without several shots of vodka. To my immense shock, I haven't had a single drop of alcohol pass through my lips in the past 10.5 months. This summer, although I didn't show it, I often felt paralyzed with fear at the thought of another heart surgery... but I had to believe that it would be okay, and despite some complications, it was.
This has been one of the hardest lessons I've had to learn: sometimes, life really sucks, and it doesn't look like it's ever going to get better... but I HAVE to believe that it will. Because it does. It may be slow and gradual. There may be bumps and set backs and more pain and bullshit along the way... but eventually, it does get better.
"When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on," Thomas Jefferson.
I read this quote a long time ago; I feel this is what I've been living every day recently. I keep thinking that I can't take anymore bad news, any more anxiety or pain or guilt... but I refuse to losen my grip. I can't let go; I won't give up.
So for those of you, like me, who feel trapped, lost, out-of-touch, overwhelmed, riddled with shame and guilt, and just aren't seeing a light at the end of the tunnel... well, remember, just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Think about it- are you breathing right now? We don't see the very thing that is crucial to our existence, that courses through our bodies every second of every day of our lives. But it's there, just like the light at the end of the tunnel.
I've said it a gazillion times before: I have a long way to go. I have a lot of work to do. But in the mean time, I have to keep believing. I've tied a knot, and I am NOT letting go.
Note- if you are feeling suicidal, please, please get help:
Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743
Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438
Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673
Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272
Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000
Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Taking The Bad With The Good
Last weekend Vuni and I went on a short little trip; his ska band had an out-of-town gig that was a 6 hour drive away.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but for as long as I can remember, I have never truly been able to just relax on vacations and getaways, no matter how small they are. I feel riddled with guilt, for some reason; I worry about the kitties back home (I'm lucky enough to say that I've always had a cat in my life ;), but I also worry a lot about money... even if I know that certain money has been saved up/set aside for the trip! Ridiculous.
Anyway, we left town at about 12:30 last Saturday, with the guitarist, drummer, and a bunch of gear in tow. I was determined to learn how to crochet on this little trip. I sat in the passenger's seat with a crochet hook, a tiny pair of scissors, some yarn, a "Crochet for Beginners" book, and Vuni's iPhone so I could watch YouTube how-tos. About an hour before we hit our destination and with aching fingers, I more or less had the gist of it... but I also had to take many photo breaks:
Between crocheting and the breathtaking scenery, it did NOT feel like a 6 hour drive.
We arrived plenty early, so we secured a parking spot at the bar the band's gig was at, then walked downtown to find a place to eat. I wasn't too keen on this. Anyone with an eating disorder can confirm that vacations really agitate the ED... especially if you're really routine driven. Major step out of the comfort zone. But also... I really, really don't like going out to eat as it is. I just feel guilty.
I would've been content, in all honesty, going to McDonalds. (I love the Southwest Salads, sans chicken and dressing, yum yum!) We instead ending up at a fancy and expensive Italian restaurant... where I ironically ordered a flipping $8 Greek salad. After we left there, we wandered by an Indian cuisine restaurant, and I excitedly exclaimed, "Oh! Too bad we didn't see this place first!"
To which Vuni said, "Why? So you could get a salad at an Indian restaurant?"
This stung a little. I wasn't mad at Vuni, because, well, he spoke the truth. But it reminded me of the reasons why I don't like going out to eat in the first place:
1.) I'm terrified of ordering anything other than a salad. ED aside, and I'd probably still be too afraid to get anything besides a salad. I like that everything is fresh and uncooked, and I can easily and clearly see everything, unlike a casserole or something... mostly because I've been a vegetarian for a good majority of my life, and I'm paranoid about my food being cooked/prepared with any meat or meat products.
2.) The fact that I do always get a salad... and when we go to a nice restaurant, it usually is an $8+ meal. For freaking vegetables, sometimes some cheese and/or nuts, and a little dressing. Fuck I feel guilty...
Anyway, we headed back to the bar. Due to a bunch of bullshit band drama caused by ONE band member (mostly stemming from his under [drinking] age girlfriend), they got started an hour behind schedule. This wasn't cool to Vuni and I, who had another 2-2.5 hour drive ahead of us after the show (Vuni wanted to play in a poker tournament the next morning in a town that was 4 hour drive away, so we booked our hotel a city in between).
As I said in my previous post, I was being tortured by the urge to drink. It was a big bar, packed with people, and I felt super lame because this was a 21-and-over show, so I was probably the only person in the crowd not drinking.
Then, some freaking creep came and stood next to me. I edged away from him, but he moved closer and started talking to me; I could immediately tell he was pretty damn tipsy. He said something like, "Don't move, I wanted to come watch them with you," I gave him a quick half smile but didn't say anything. He tried talking some more, but I could hear him too well because the music was so loud. Finally I heard him ask if I knew the band, to which I proudly said, "yes, the bass player is my boyfriend." He didn't seem to like that- at all. His friendly demeanor changed to sullen, and he went quiet for a few minutes.
I tried edging away some more, but I really didn't want to move; I was right at the side of the stage, Vuni and I could easily make eye contact, I was close to the door and bouncer, and had easy access to the restrooms. A prime spot to plant myself. The creep kept edging closer to me though.
I'm not good at dealing with over-friendly, space bubble invading, drunk weirdos. Never have been. This guy was really creeping me out, too. He keep trying to talk to me, and then, started touching me. Putting his arm around me and touching me on the shoulder. I was getting really freaked out, and wanted to escape... but I also didn't want him following me, and I was too chicken to grab the bouncer's attention. I was able to seize my chance when he turned back to the bar to order another beer; I acted like I was heading to the bathroom, then I ducked down behind a crowd of people, and snuck out the door. I moved as fast as I could, went around the side of the bar, and waited a few minutes (with my thumb over the panic button on the car opener) to make sure I wasn't followed. Then I locked myself in the van, and waited until Vuni was finished. Needless to say, he was a little angry about my admirer. I was just creeped out, and happy to be away from him.
Vuni and I departed for our hotel, sans drummer and guitarist (they were staying there, and had other riding arrangements). We figured we'd arrive at our hotel sometime between 1:30-2 am.
We passed through several tunnels on the way there. Funny, we both held our breaths (yes, at ages 24 and 25) to make wishes at the end...
On this drive through the pitch black, listening and singing along to Weird Al (we've been on a major Weird Al kick since seeing him in concert not too long ago), and just enjoying one another's company, I fell in love with Vuni all over again.
I think maybe that's one of the important things about relationships not being perfect. Vuni and I have lived together for just over a year, and it's been our most difficult (out of 5) yet... but nights like the night of this drive make all of the hardships so worth it. I'm reminded of why we're in love; it's the reward a million times over for making it through the rough times. When we first started dating, and I had admitted to him all of the shit I'd been through and that I still had a long road ahead of me, he told me, "I'll be here for you, sitting in your passenger's seat." I don't mean to sound all sappy, but really, despite all of the crap I've dealt with, and how fucked up many other areas of my life are right now... I have Vuni. I love him SO much, it's unreal. Like, how is it possible to love someone so much that you can't describe it in any measurable quantity?
And since I'm being sickeningly romantic... I'll throw in a Twilight reference, and say that that drive, that night, had to go on my list of top favorite nights of my life. My heart was just overflowing with exhilarating, overwhelming love for this boy <3 It made dealing with the feelings of wanting to drink and dealing with that idiot at the bar SO worth it... plus there was the anticipation of locking ourselves in our hotel room :D
We arrived at our hotel shortly before 2 am. I swear I live for the loving, sexy, pre-sleep cuddle sessions with Vuni :D Our hotel was amazing, BTW:
I don't know what's wrong with me, but for as long as I can remember, I have never truly been able to just relax on vacations and getaways, no matter how small they are. I feel riddled with guilt, for some reason; I worry about the kitties back home (I'm lucky enough to say that I've always had a cat in my life ;), but I also worry a lot about money... even if I know that certain money has been saved up/set aside for the trip! Ridiculous.
Anyway, we left town at about 12:30 last Saturday, with the guitarist, drummer, and a bunch of gear in tow. I was determined to learn how to crochet on this little trip. I sat in the passenger's seat with a crochet hook, a tiny pair of scissors, some yarn, a "Crochet for Beginners" book, and Vuni's iPhone so I could watch YouTube how-tos. About an hour before we hit our destination and with aching fingers, I more or less had the gist of it... but I also had to take many photo breaks:
Between crocheting and the breathtaking scenery, it did NOT feel like a 6 hour drive.
We arrived plenty early, so we secured a parking spot at the bar the band's gig was at, then walked downtown to find a place to eat. I wasn't too keen on this. Anyone with an eating disorder can confirm that vacations really agitate the ED... especially if you're really routine driven. Major step out of the comfort zone. But also... I really, really don't like going out to eat as it is. I just feel guilty.
I would've been content, in all honesty, going to McDonalds. (I love the Southwest Salads, sans chicken and dressing, yum yum!) We instead ending up at a fancy and expensive Italian restaurant... where I ironically ordered a flipping $8 Greek salad. After we left there, we wandered by an Indian cuisine restaurant, and I excitedly exclaimed, "Oh! Too bad we didn't see this place first!"
To which Vuni said, "Why? So you could get a salad at an Indian restaurant?"
This stung a little. I wasn't mad at Vuni, because, well, he spoke the truth. But it reminded me of the reasons why I don't like going out to eat in the first place:
1.) I'm terrified of ordering anything other than a salad. ED aside, and I'd probably still be too afraid to get anything besides a salad. I like that everything is fresh and uncooked, and I can easily and clearly see everything, unlike a casserole or something... mostly because I've been a vegetarian for a good majority of my life, and I'm paranoid about my food being cooked/prepared with any meat or meat products.
2.) The fact that I do always get a salad... and when we go to a nice restaurant, it usually is an $8+ meal. For freaking vegetables, sometimes some cheese and/or nuts, and a little dressing. Fuck I feel guilty...
Anyway, we headed back to the bar. Due to a bunch of bullshit band drama caused by ONE band member (mostly stemming from his under [drinking] age girlfriend), they got started an hour behind schedule. This wasn't cool to Vuni and I, who had another 2-2.5 hour drive ahead of us after the show (Vuni wanted to play in a poker tournament the next morning in a town that was 4 hour drive away, so we booked our hotel a city in between).
As I said in my previous post, I was being tortured by the urge to drink. It was a big bar, packed with people, and I felt super lame because this was a 21-and-over show, so I was probably the only person in the crowd not drinking.
Then, some freaking creep came and stood next to me. I edged away from him, but he moved closer and started talking to me; I could immediately tell he was pretty damn tipsy. He said something like, "Don't move, I wanted to come watch them with you," I gave him a quick half smile but didn't say anything. He tried talking some more, but I could hear him too well because the music was so loud. Finally I heard him ask if I knew the band, to which I proudly said, "yes, the bass player is my boyfriend." He didn't seem to like that- at all. His friendly demeanor changed to sullen, and he went quiet for a few minutes.
I tried edging away some more, but I really didn't want to move; I was right at the side of the stage, Vuni and I could easily make eye contact, I was close to the door and bouncer, and had easy access to the restrooms. A prime spot to plant myself. The creep kept edging closer to me though.
I'm not good at dealing with over-friendly, space bubble invading, drunk weirdos. Never have been. This guy was really creeping me out, too. He keep trying to talk to me, and then, started touching me. Putting his arm around me and touching me on the shoulder. I was getting really freaked out, and wanted to escape... but I also didn't want him following me, and I was too chicken to grab the bouncer's attention. I was able to seize my chance when he turned back to the bar to order another beer; I acted like I was heading to the bathroom, then I ducked down behind a crowd of people, and snuck out the door. I moved as fast as I could, went around the side of the bar, and waited a few minutes (with my thumb over the panic button on the car opener) to make sure I wasn't followed. Then I locked myself in the van, and waited until Vuni was finished. Needless to say, he was a little angry about my admirer. I was just creeped out, and happy to be away from him.
Vuni and I departed for our hotel, sans drummer and guitarist (they were staying there, and had other riding arrangements). We figured we'd arrive at our hotel sometime between 1:30-2 am.
We passed through several tunnels on the way there. Funny, we both held our breaths (yes, at ages 24 and 25) to make wishes at the end...
On this drive through the pitch black, listening and singing along to Weird Al (we've been on a major Weird Al kick since seeing him in concert not too long ago), and just enjoying one another's company, I fell in love with Vuni all over again.
I think maybe that's one of the important things about relationships not being perfect. Vuni and I have lived together for just over a year, and it's been our most difficult (out of 5) yet... but nights like the night of this drive make all of the hardships so worth it. I'm reminded of why we're in love; it's the reward a million times over for making it through the rough times. When we first started dating, and I had admitted to him all of the shit I'd been through and that I still had a long road ahead of me, he told me, "I'll be here for you, sitting in your passenger's seat." I don't mean to sound all sappy, but really, despite all of the crap I've dealt with, and how fucked up many other areas of my life are right now... I have Vuni. I love him SO much, it's unreal. Like, how is it possible to love someone so much that you can't describe it in any measurable quantity?
And since I'm being sickeningly romantic... I'll throw in a Twilight reference, and say that that drive, that night, had to go on my list of top favorite nights of my life. My heart was just overflowing with exhilarating, overwhelming love for this boy <3 It made dealing with the feelings of wanting to drink and dealing with that idiot at the bar SO worth it... plus there was the anticipation of locking ourselves in our hotel room :D
We arrived at our hotel shortly before 2 am. I swear I live for the loving, sexy, pre-sleep cuddle sessions with Vuni :D Our hotel was amazing, BTW:
To the North...
To the South
We got ready, got coffee and gas-ola, and headed to the casino for Vuni's tournament. While he was playing, I was working on my crochet, and lo and behold... one of the dealers (I think that's what she was?) helped me out! She corrected my mistakes and answered my concerns... so I can OFFICIALLY say that I know how to crochet now :D
It's amazing all that happened on this short little weekend getaway. It's a reminder that, anxiety disorder or sane (me... and Vuni ;), you have to learn to take the good with the bad; but that being said... "the good" (ahem... GREAT/AMAZING/AWESOME/SPECTACULAR/WONDERFUL) makes the bad all the worthwhile <3
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
"Yes, you do have a choice; you're just making the right one."
So, the past few days have basically been Hell-in-Em's-head.
Friday started out shitty; I had to give a presentation on a study I did with one of my professors (Ellie); the last official thing I had to do for school. I know I've already graduated, but I agreed to this presentation when I signed up for the study back in May. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong that morning, did; from realizing that the pages were numbered incorrectly in my report, to the printer not being friendly, to wardrobe crisis, to not finding a parking spot (and thus having to park in a 15 minutes max slot, and pray that I wouldn't get busted by a lot attendant)... add on the fact that I was nervous as all hell. But to my immense surprise, once I got up to the podium and started presenting, it all went smooth. I just kept telling myself... you do NOT want to disappoint Ellie. That thought got me through it, and I did great; I actually amazed myself. I left the college feeling wonderful to finally be 100% finished, and to have rocked my presentation. I was happy, and felt a sense of relief.
Too bad it was so short lived.
Three hours later, I was at home, anticipating the little weekend getaway we had planned (Vuni's band playing out of town again), when the mail arrived: a single, fat envelope from Social Security. I hesitated, knowing very likely that their could be bad news in that envelope... and there was. A big, bold DENIED. My disability claim... denied. And even worse? My therapist never submitted her paperwork. I know she got it; I talked to her about it. So either she dropped the ball, or someone's lying about having not received it... which they could be. The letter also stated that they never received a report from my mom, however, she never got any paper work to fill out in the first place. Bottom line is, I'm for sure going to appeal it.
But in the mean time, this leaves me with more anxiety and desperation than ever. I was hoping, with school finally finished for me, that I could at least enjoy the weekend with Vuni... but fucking no. I get the denial letter in the mail. What the fuck? I spent Friday evening filling out two long ass online job applications (one for a school lunch lady... one for a dishwasher in a hospital cafeteria. Real glamourous; but shit, I'll take those over customer service any day).
I decided not to tell my parents about the denial right away, because even though I already felt awful about it, I figured waiting and at least trying to semi-enjoy the weekend, with keeping the news to just Vuni and I, would help a little.
Saturday night was Vuni's band's show. I really, REALLY wanted to drink. Or smoke. The denial letter was eating me away from the inside; I could have used going numb. But I can't be drinking. And as for smoking... well, I'm not worried about becoming addicted to it. I never have; the smell is too freaking nasty for me to tolerate. I smoke every now and then when I'm stressed, but it's never been an issue. I wanted a cigarette on Saturday night, before the show, when we were standing outside and everyone was smoking. HOWEVER- Vuni has been trying to quit. He's actually gone 3 weeks so far without one. Part of my mind (the bitchy part) was telling me, well, Vuni doesn't care about your drinking issues, he always drinks in front of you, so why should you be considerate to him? Because, if he were to smoke since I was doing it... I'd feel responsible. I'd feel like I was the one who threw him off of the wagon, regardless of reality. So no smoking.
I plan on doing a separate post on our little trip, but I have to throw this in: not only was I wanting to numb by drinking... I was nervous as shit being in a bar, in a different city, not knowing anyone but the people on stage performing... I felt extremely awkward and anxious. Some drunk asshole just had to come along and start hassling me. Awful. I'll elaborate on that in my trip post, but just know, he ruined the little bit of fun I was trying to have; I ended up "escaping" to the car.
The thought of cuddling with Vuni in the hotel room later was the only thing that kept me sane on Saturday night...
Clearly, this was not my weekend. I'm amazed that I didn't fall apart, or just snap... I honestly thought, when sending out all of my disability paperwork, that if I got a denial letter, I'd lose it. It would be THE END. I'm not sure what I thought I'd do, but I didn't think I'd just be able to... cope with it.
But the worst was yet to come.
Since we were gone all weekend, Vuni and I decided to go to his parent's house yesterday evening to do some laundry. I always feel slightly awkward going to his parent's house. I don't feel like I am good enough for them, especially these days. They're almost too "perfect," and in very subtle ways, they make it clear that I'm not living up to their idea of perfection. I've ranted about it before. So why I was expecting things to go smoothly last night is beyond me.
Vuni's mom put me on one of the worst fucking guilt trips of my entire life...
Vun had already gone downstairs to watch TV, so I was alone with MIL in the kitchen, still trying to eat dinner and arguing with myself that it was okay to be eating... okay that I was getting seconds of salad and cooked spinach (aren't ED voices just a treat? FML). With feeling ultra imperfect and trying to be comfortable eating, plus the crappy events of the past few days, I was already in a very vulnerable spot.
She began very slowly, by suggesting different things I should be doing. As in, trying to find a job type things. Suggesting I try this, suggesting I try that. Asking why I don't try to apply to Clear Channel, or one of the TV stations? Well, I've told her why before: most broadcasting companies, whether it's TV or radio, will not even consider you unless you've interned with them, or have years of experience. I know, because I've had classmates go into both. I re-explained this to her, to which she replied, "well, is it to late for you to do an internship?" I told her it most likely was, considering I've already graduated, and if I did by some chance get one, it'd be for little to no pay. "Well, why should that matter? You're not bringing in any money anyways, and you have the time to do it." She should have just slapped me; it would've been less painful.
It matters because I do not want to do either, so why the fuck should I waste my time?
"I know the economy's bad, but with you not having a job, it must just be so stressful for you guys,"
Okay, Captain Obvious, thanks. You know what? I know you guys don't exactly like me (right now at least); I realize I'm not good enough for your precious boy. I know that you want a perfect, preppy, athletic little white girl who just graduated from med school or something for your son. But you know what? For whatever reason, he wants ME. He loves ME. He sees beyond the mess and anxiety, and sees a person, a person that he obviously loves very, very much. Do you not think I feel guilty every single fucking day? Do you think I don't question, constantly, whether I really do deserve your son's love? And do you think that I'm totally unaware of what you guys think of me? I have an anxiety disorder; I'm not fucking stupid. I'm sorry I'm tainting your perfect lives; I'm sorry you don't think I'm good enough for your son. God fucking damn.
I suddenly couldn't finish eating. I dumped the rest of my food out, and tried to decide what to do. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to want to grab a knife from the drawer, lock myself in the bathroom, and start cutting. I wanted to HURT physically. I wanted to freaking peel my skin off; to scratch myself until I bled, couldn't feel any pain but burning. I thought about running away, but to where, I don't know. Going to Walmart and getting a giant bottle of Tylenol PM VERY briefly crossed my mind; I can't imagine my life without Vuni, but yet I hate myself for being such an apparent burden to him (at least that's what I'm getting from his mom).
No, no, no. I have nowhere to run. If I were to cut myself, I'd merely be left with scars reminding me of how horrible I felt last night. And suicide... it's just never an option. NEVER. It may be tempting when everything feels so hopeless, but I've learned that hopelessness isn't forever; and I don't want to die, I want things to fucking change. So what did I do? I text my mom, asking her for a picture of Penny (my little fur sister). She sent one a few minutes later, and I replied with "Thanks, I needed that, I've just been put on the biggest guilt trip of my life." She asked by who...
So I walked out the back door, with Vuni completely oblivious, and called her. I started walking down the street, and told her what happened. The tears finally fell. I also admitted that my claim had been denied, to which she replied, "Wow. I'm so proud of you... I never would have known, you're handling it so well." I told her how tempted I was to drink, to smoke, to cut... anything for release, but I also said I know that it won't do anything but set me back. I told her I feel like I'm suffocating, because I so badly WANT to temporarily numb myself by some bad behavior, but I'm tortured by the thoughts of how much it'd hurt her, my dad, and Vuni if I did so... which keeps me from doing it. I told her, "It's so hard, to not do these things, to just keep getting bad news, to feel this way... and to stay strong. But I'm at the point where I don't have a choice; I don't have a choice but to be strong."
to which she replied, "Yes, you do have a choice; you're just making the right one."
Up until this point, I didn't think of it that way; I just keep telling myself, if I don't be strong, I'm going to lose it all. While that may be true, it's also true that I am very much making a choice- and it is the right one. Sure, I still fuck up, and OBVIOUSLY have a lot of major issues that I need to work through- and I'm more than likely ALWAYS going to deal with the anxiety... but I'm finally making right choices? And moreso, choices that not only I'm aware of, but someone else is too?
Maybe not everyone feels I'm good enough; maybe not everyone sees progress. But it's good to know that one of the most important people to me sees it; and that it's not all just in my head... it may be small, but I AM making progress.
...maybe one day I'll be enough.
P.S. I know I sound extremely frustrated towards my (most-likely) in-laws; this does NOT mean that I do not love them, or appreciate anything they've done for me. I also realize I've made some fucked up mistakes in the past, and that they have a right to have been angry with me at those times; but my anxiety disorder isn't one of those things. It's not something I chose, it was something I was born with. Although I can understand being frustrated (because believe me, I'm fucking frustrated with my own disorder), I just wish that they could try to be more understanding/supportive... gah, nothing in life is ever simple, is it?
Friday started out shitty; I had to give a presentation on a study I did with one of my professors (Ellie); the last official thing I had to do for school. I know I've already graduated, but I agreed to this presentation when I signed up for the study back in May. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong that morning, did; from realizing that the pages were numbered incorrectly in my report, to the printer not being friendly, to wardrobe crisis, to not finding a parking spot (and thus having to park in a 15 minutes max slot, and pray that I wouldn't get busted by a lot attendant)... add on the fact that I was nervous as all hell. But to my immense surprise, once I got up to the podium and started presenting, it all went smooth. I just kept telling myself... you do NOT want to disappoint Ellie. That thought got me through it, and I did great; I actually amazed myself. I left the college feeling wonderful to finally be 100% finished, and to have rocked my presentation. I was happy, and felt a sense of relief.
Too bad it was so short lived.
Three hours later, I was at home, anticipating the little weekend getaway we had planned (Vuni's band playing out of town again), when the mail arrived: a single, fat envelope from Social Security. I hesitated, knowing very likely that their could be bad news in that envelope... and there was. A big, bold DENIED. My disability claim... denied. And even worse? My therapist never submitted her paperwork. I know she got it; I talked to her about it. So either she dropped the ball, or someone's lying about having not received it... which they could be. The letter also stated that they never received a report from my mom, however, she never got any paper work to fill out in the first place. Bottom line is, I'm for sure going to appeal it.
But in the mean time, this leaves me with more anxiety and desperation than ever. I was hoping, with school finally finished for me, that I could at least enjoy the weekend with Vuni... but fucking no. I get the denial letter in the mail. What the fuck? I spent Friday evening filling out two long ass online job applications (one for a school lunch lady... one for a dishwasher in a hospital cafeteria. Real glamourous; but shit, I'll take those over customer service any day).
I decided not to tell my parents about the denial right away, because even though I already felt awful about it, I figured waiting and at least trying to semi-enjoy the weekend, with keeping the news to just Vuni and I, would help a little.
Saturday night was Vuni's band's show. I really, REALLY wanted to drink. Or smoke. The denial letter was eating me away from the inside; I could have used going numb. But I can't be drinking. And as for smoking... well, I'm not worried about becoming addicted to it. I never have; the smell is too freaking nasty for me to tolerate. I smoke every now and then when I'm stressed, but it's never been an issue. I wanted a cigarette on Saturday night, before the show, when we were standing outside and everyone was smoking. HOWEVER- Vuni has been trying to quit. He's actually gone 3 weeks so far without one. Part of my mind (the bitchy part) was telling me, well, Vuni doesn't care about your drinking issues, he always drinks in front of you, so why should you be considerate to him? Because, if he were to smoke since I was doing it... I'd feel responsible. I'd feel like I was the one who threw him off of the wagon, regardless of reality. So no smoking.
I plan on doing a separate post on our little trip, but I have to throw this in: not only was I wanting to numb by drinking... I was nervous as shit being in a bar, in a different city, not knowing anyone but the people on stage performing... I felt extremely awkward and anxious. Some drunk asshole just had to come along and start hassling me. Awful. I'll elaborate on that in my trip post, but just know, he ruined the little bit of fun I was trying to have; I ended up "escaping" to the car.
The thought of cuddling with Vuni in the hotel room later was the only thing that kept me sane on Saturday night...
Clearly, this was not my weekend. I'm amazed that I didn't fall apart, or just snap... I honestly thought, when sending out all of my disability paperwork, that if I got a denial letter, I'd lose it. It would be THE END. I'm not sure what I thought I'd do, but I didn't think I'd just be able to... cope with it.
But the worst was yet to come.
Since we were gone all weekend, Vuni and I decided to go to his parent's house yesterday evening to do some laundry. I always feel slightly awkward going to his parent's house. I don't feel like I am good enough for them, especially these days. They're almost too "perfect," and in very subtle ways, they make it clear that I'm not living up to their idea of perfection. I've ranted about it before. So why I was expecting things to go smoothly last night is beyond me.
Vuni's mom put me on one of the worst fucking guilt trips of my entire life...
Vun had already gone downstairs to watch TV, so I was alone with MIL in the kitchen, still trying to eat dinner and arguing with myself that it was okay to be eating... okay that I was getting seconds of salad and cooked spinach (aren't ED voices just a treat? FML). With feeling ultra imperfect and trying to be comfortable eating, plus the crappy events of the past few days, I was already in a very vulnerable spot.
She began very slowly, by suggesting different things I should be doing. As in, trying to find a job type things. Suggesting I try this, suggesting I try that. Asking why I don't try to apply to Clear Channel, or one of the TV stations? Well, I've told her why before: most broadcasting companies, whether it's TV or radio, will not even consider you unless you've interned with them, or have years of experience. I know, because I've had classmates go into both. I re-explained this to her, to which she replied, "well, is it to late for you to do an internship?" I told her it most likely was, considering I've already graduated, and if I did by some chance get one, it'd be for little to no pay. "Well, why should that matter? You're not bringing in any money anyways, and you have the time to do it." She should have just slapped me; it would've been less painful.
It matters because I do not want to do either, so why the fuck should I waste my time?
"I know the economy's bad, but with you not having a job, it must just be so stressful for you guys,"
Okay, Captain Obvious, thanks. You know what? I know you guys don't exactly like me (right now at least); I realize I'm not good enough for your precious boy. I know that you want a perfect, preppy, athletic little white girl who just graduated from med school or something for your son. But you know what? For whatever reason, he wants ME. He loves ME. He sees beyond the mess and anxiety, and sees a person, a person that he obviously loves very, very much. Do you not think I feel guilty every single fucking day? Do you think I don't question, constantly, whether I really do deserve your son's love? And do you think that I'm totally unaware of what you guys think of me? I have an anxiety disorder; I'm not fucking stupid. I'm sorry I'm tainting your perfect lives; I'm sorry you don't think I'm good enough for your son. God fucking damn.
I suddenly couldn't finish eating. I dumped the rest of my food out, and tried to decide what to do. I had an almost uncontrollable urge to want to grab a knife from the drawer, lock myself in the bathroom, and start cutting. I wanted to HURT physically. I wanted to freaking peel my skin off; to scratch myself until I bled, couldn't feel any pain but burning. I thought about running away, but to where, I don't know. Going to Walmart and getting a giant bottle of Tylenol PM VERY briefly crossed my mind; I can't imagine my life without Vuni, but yet I hate myself for being such an apparent burden to him (at least that's what I'm getting from his mom).
No, no, no. I have nowhere to run. If I were to cut myself, I'd merely be left with scars reminding me of how horrible I felt last night. And suicide... it's just never an option. NEVER. It may be tempting when everything feels so hopeless, but I've learned that hopelessness isn't forever; and I don't want to die, I want things to fucking change. So what did I do? I text my mom, asking her for a picture of Penny (my little fur sister). She sent one a few minutes later, and I replied with "Thanks, I needed that, I've just been put on the biggest guilt trip of my life." She asked by who...
So I walked out the back door, with Vuni completely oblivious, and called her. I started walking down the street, and told her what happened. The tears finally fell. I also admitted that my claim had been denied, to which she replied, "Wow. I'm so proud of you... I never would have known, you're handling it so well." I told her how tempted I was to drink, to smoke, to cut... anything for release, but I also said I know that it won't do anything but set me back. I told her I feel like I'm suffocating, because I so badly WANT to temporarily numb myself by some bad behavior, but I'm tortured by the thoughts of how much it'd hurt her, my dad, and Vuni if I did so... which keeps me from doing it. I told her, "It's so hard, to not do these things, to just keep getting bad news, to feel this way... and to stay strong. But I'm at the point where I don't have a choice; I don't have a choice but to be strong."
to which she replied, "Yes, you do have a choice; you're just making the right one."
Up until this point, I didn't think of it that way; I just keep telling myself, if I don't be strong, I'm going to lose it all. While that may be true, it's also true that I am very much making a choice- and it is the right one. Sure, I still fuck up, and OBVIOUSLY have a lot of major issues that I need to work through- and I'm more than likely ALWAYS going to deal with the anxiety... but I'm finally making right choices? And moreso, choices that not only I'm aware of, but someone else is too?
Maybe not everyone feels I'm good enough; maybe not everyone sees progress. But it's good to know that one of the most important people to me sees it; and that it's not all just in my head... it may be small, but I AM making progress.
...maybe one day I'll be enough.
P.S. I know I sound extremely frustrated towards my (most-likely) in-laws; this does NOT mean that I do not love them, or appreciate anything they've done for me. I also realize I've made some fucked up mistakes in the past, and that they have a right to have been angry with me at those times; but my anxiety disorder isn't one of those things. It's not something I chose, it was something I was born with. Although I can understand being frustrated (because believe me, I'm fucking frustrated with my own disorder), I just wish that they could try to be more understanding/supportive... gah, nothing in life is ever simple, is it?
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
It's Not About "Will Power;" Anorexia = Irrational Thinking
So today I was lost in the world of internet, looking at different blogs, when I came across this young mother (19 or 20 I believe) of a 1 year old; she complains constantly about her post-baby body... to the point where one of her posts said something along the lines of "I wish I were anorexic so that I had more will-power." O_O
Excuse me?
You wish you were anorexic?
WHAT. THE. FUCK?
That was my initial reaction. I was furious, to say the least. Then... after I cooled down a little bit, I realized it was just more of an ignorant statement. I can't really be angry with her; sure, it wasn't a smart or considerate thing to say, but not everyone knows about/understands anorexia and other eating disorders. What makes it even worse? All of those fucking stupid "thinspiration" blogs. Seriously, "thinspo" blogs and websites have got to be one of my biggest pet peeves. Disgusting. Like why the hell would you encourage someone to be seriously so sick? I have been to the depths of hell in regards to an eating disorder; I would not wish it on anyone.
** And just my speculation... although I think people who run thinspo blogs obviously have some issues, I doubt the majority of them actually have EDs... I believe they have the "I want to lose weight/have an ED," hungry-for-attention, having an ED is "trendy" mindset. I just seriously can't imagine anyone who has truly dealt with this hell trying to encourage others to go through it.
These thinspo blogs talk about how it's about having control, being in control, will power, yadda yadda yadda. Sure. Maybe it's about "control" in a very surface way. You can resist the urge to eat and any cravings; but what is driving this "control?" Even if one has the best, healthy intentions in the beginning, it spirals out of control... the "control" that is spoken of is being driven by irrational fears.
The "control" is irrational thinking. It's not about having the will power to resist that slice of pizza, it's not about the ability to outright ignore hunger pains. It's a crazy, blown-out-of proportion irrational fear of losing control of a variety of things- eating, gaining weight, not being able to maintain a specific weight, ect. The fear becomes so, so intense that eventually, the battle turns; you're too afraid to eat, so afraid... even when you know that it's killing you, the fear is so overwhelming, you just can't bring yourself to eat.
It's been compared to addiction for a reason. Whether you want to admit it or not, you know the excessive drinking/drug use (or even over-eating) is killing you. You feel like shit. It's ruining your life. But you cannot stop. You tell yourself "today's the last day I ____ (drink/use/eat excessively)" only to find yourself saying the same thing the next day, and the next, and the next...
It's the same with anorexia/bulimia/eating disorder thoughts... only worse.
I can honestly say it's worse, because I've experience it. My anxiety has shrouded itself in several ways throughout my life; until age 14, I was an over-eater. Since then, the anxiety has manifested itself in anorexia, bulimia, and alcoholism. What has been the worst? What am I still dealing with? The eating disorder.
** I am not trying to minimize anyone's problems... issues are issues, no matter what they are. I'm saying for me personally, and based on what my therapist told me (that insurance companies are reluctant to cover ED patient due to low recovery/high relapse rates) EDs seem to be the most difficult to recover from.
I know how difficult it is to be overweight. I was there; by age 13, I had officially crossed the line from "overweight" to "obese." I distinctly remember that Dr. appointment; Dr. went off on my mom, telling her that I desperately needed to lose weight, or I was going to start having some serious health problems. Hahaha... health problems? What about my emotional health? Because this is when the ED voice really started. I'd had these negative voices in my head for years, but after this appointment, they exploded. I'd stand in front of the mirror for hours, agonizing, wishing desperately that I could see bones... I remember "sucking in" my stomach, and I still could not see a single rib bone. I didn't really have a neck. I had a few specific brands of jeans that I would get, because they were the only ones that made a size large enough for me. And yet... I wasn't really doing anything about all of this (besides crying in front of the mirror).
I remember wishing I had my mom's willpower; she ate healthy, exercised 4-5 times a week, and had a cute little figure as a result of this. So I had a good role model. I had every reason to start making changes. But I couldn't. Food was just too tempting. I would watch in awe as my mom would stop eating at 2 slices of pizza... while I was downing my 5th. I couldn't understand how my best friend could get the salad bar and a water, while I devoured a huge basket of fries, a sandwich, and a sugar-loaded bottle of juice. I desperately wanted to eat healthy... but I felt, just like I would 10-11 years later with alcohol, that I could not say "no."
Obviously, things changed.
Recently, after a family member inconsiderately and ignorantly commented on my weight and how I really need to start gaining, I told my mom, "You know what's weird? The prospect of gaining weight... the idea of eating enough to do so... it's scarier and would take so much more power than the idea of dieting and exercising to lose weight. As hard as that was, this is even more difficult."
She thought I was full of shit; she thinks it should be SO easy, that I can and should eat whatever the hell I want. That's okay; I can understand where she's coming from. But it doesn't change things for me. Comparing, side-by-side, what is harder for me... the willpower it took to start losing weight (which, I did in a healthy way, at first) or the power it takes to start eating and gaining weight, eating and gaining is hands down the harder of the two.
When I was overweight, I knew I was overweight, and I needed to change. I had a healthy goal weight; I had something to change for. But now that I'm "underweight"... for starters, I don't desperately want to be at healthy weight, like I wanted to when I was overweight. I don't want to be at a healthy weight at all. So there's not a goal I desperately want to get to; instead, it's something that I already have, but want to cling onto. For another, my mind is constantly confused and playing tricks on me. The numbers/sizes and doctors say that I am "underweight," and even my rational side tells me this... but the irrational thoughts and the mirror continue to scream FAT ASS! at me repeatedly.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm sick of the misconception that eating disorders (specifically anorexia/bulimia) are about "will power," and that it is something to desire, or that it's cool/trendy to have an eating disorder. If you want health problems galore, your relationships to go down the toilet, your social life ruined, little to no chance of succeeding in school/a career, the things you once loved (hobbies) to be distant memories, hours of agonizing in front of a mirror/the scale/at the gym/in the kitchen/bathroom/on the internet even, and a crazy, cruel, irrational voice constantly screaming at you and confusing you as to what is "best" for you, just so you can have the "will power" to lose the little bit of baby fat you gained... just, wow. Think before you speak/write, because eating disorders are not cool, trendy, a joke... and they're for sure not about having will power.
If that were the case, everyone suffering from one would have the "will power" to recover; anorexia is compromised of irrational thinking. The "will power" is nothing but a memory.
Excuse me?
You wish you were anorexic?
WHAT. THE. FUCK?
That was my initial reaction. I was furious, to say the least. Then... after I cooled down a little bit, I realized it was just more of an ignorant statement. I can't really be angry with her; sure, it wasn't a smart or considerate thing to say, but not everyone knows about/understands anorexia and other eating disorders. What makes it even worse? All of those fucking stupid "thinspiration" blogs. Seriously, "thinspo" blogs and websites have got to be one of my biggest pet peeves. Disgusting. Like why the hell would you encourage someone to be seriously so sick? I have been to the depths of hell in regards to an eating disorder; I would not wish it on anyone.
** And just my speculation... although I think people who run thinspo blogs obviously have some issues, I doubt the majority of them actually have EDs... I believe they have the "I want to lose weight/have an ED," hungry-for-attention, having an ED is "trendy" mindset. I just seriously can't imagine anyone who has truly dealt with this hell trying to encourage others to go through it.
These thinspo blogs talk about how it's about having control, being in control, will power, yadda yadda yadda. Sure. Maybe it's about "control" in a very surface way. You can resist the urge to eat and any cravings; but what is driving this "control?" Even if one has the best, healthy intentions in the beginning, it spirals out of control... the "control" that is spoken of is being driven by irrational fears.
The "control" is irrational thinking. It's not about having the will power to resist that slice of pizza, it's not about the ability to outright ignore hunger pains. It's a crazy, blown-out-of proportion irrational fear of losing control of a variety of things- eating, gaining weight, not being able to maintain a specific weight, ect. The fear becomes so, so intense that eventually, the battle turns; you're too afraid to eat, so afraid... even when you know that it's killing you, the fear is so overwhelming, you just can't bring yourself to eat.
It's been compared to addiction for a reason. Whether you want to admit it or not, you know the excessive drinking/drug use (or even over-eating) is killing you. You feel like shit. It's ruining your life. But you cannot stop. You tell yourself "today's the last day I ____ (drink/use/eat excessively)" only to find yourself saying the same thing the next day, and the next, and the next...
It's the same with anorexia/bulimia/eating disorder thoughts... only worse.
I can honestly say it's worse, because I've experience it. My anxiety has shrouded itself in several ways throughout my life; until age 14, I was an over-eater. Since then, the anxiety has manifested itself in anorexia, bulimia, and alcoholism. What has been the worst? What am I still dealing with? The eating disorder.
** I am not trying to minimize anyone's problems... issues are issues, no matter what they are. I'm saying for me personally, and based on what my therapist told me (that insurance companies are reluctant to cover ED patient due to low recovery/high relapse rates) EDs seem to be the most difficult to recover from.
I know how difficult it is to be overweight. I was there; by age 13, I had officially crossed the line from "overweight" to "obese." I distinctly remember that Dr. appointment; Dr. went off on my mom, telling her that I desperately needed to lose weight, or I was going to start having some serious health problems. Hahaha... health problems? What about my emotional health? Because this is when the ED voice really started. I'd had these negative voices in my head for years, but after this appointment, they exploded. I'd stand in front of the mirror for hours, agonizing, wishing desperately that I could see bones... I remember "sucking in" my stomach, and I still could not see a single rib bone. I didn't really have a neck. I had a few specific brands of jeans that I would get, because they were the only ones that made a size large enough for me. And yet... I wasn't really doing anything about all of this (besides crying in front of the mirror).
I remember wishing I had my mom's willpower; she ate healthy, exercised 4-5 times a week, and had a cute little figure as a result of this. So I had a good role model. I had every reason to start making changes. But I couldn't. Food was just too tempting. I would watch in awe as my mom would stop eating at 2 slices of pizza... while I was downing my 5th. I couldn't understand how my best friend could get the salad bar and a water, while I devoured a huge basket of fries, a sandwich, and a sugar-loaded bottle of juice. I desperately wanted to eat healthy... but I felt, just like I would 10-11 years later with alcohol, that I could not say "no."
Obviously, things changed.
Recently, after a family member inconsiderately and ignorantly commented on my weight and how I really need to start gaining, I told my mom, "You know what's weird? The prospect of gaining weight... the idea of eating enough to do so... it's scarier and would take so much more power than the idea of dieting and exercising to lose weight. As hard as that was, this is even more difficult."
She thought I was full of shit; she thinks it should be SO easy, that I can and should eat whatever the hell I want. That's okay; I can understand where she's coming from. But it doesn't change things for me. Comparing, side-by-side, what is harder for me... the willpower it took to start losing weight (which, I did in a healthy way, at first) or the power it takes to start eating and gaining weight, eating and gaining is hands down the harder of the two.
When I was overweight, I knew I was overweight, and I needed to change. I had a healthy goal weight; I had something to change for. But now that I'm "underweight"... for starters, I don't desperately want to be at healthy weight, like I wanted to when I was overweight. I don't want to be at a healthy weight at all. So there's not a goal I desperately want to get to; instead, it's something that I already have, but want to cling onto. For another, my mind is constantly confused and playing tricks on me. The numbers/sizes and doctors say that I am "underweight," and even my rational side tells me this... but the irrational thoughts and the mirror continue to scream FAT ASS! at me repeatedly.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'm sick of the misconception that eating disorders (specifically anorexia/bulimia) are about "will power," and that it is something to desire, or that it's cool/trendy to have an eating disorder. If you want health problems galore, your relationships to go down the toilet, your social life ruined, little to no chance of succeeding in school/a career, the things you once loved (hobbies) to be distant memories, hours of agonizing in front of a mirror/the scale/at the gym/in the kitchen/bathroom/on the internet even, and a crazy, cruel, irrational voice constantly screaming at you and confusing you as to what is "best" for you, just so you can have the "will power" to lose the little bit of baby fat you gained... just, wow. Think before you speak/write, because eating disorders are not cool, trendy, a joke... and they're for sure not about having will power.
If that were the case, everyone suffering from one would have the "will power" to recover; anorexia is compromised of irrational thinking. The "will power" is nothing but a memory.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Good Girl F*cked Up Biggest
Yesterday was my graduation party :) It got off to a rough start, thanks to my mom stressing out big time (although grateful, I told her not to overdo it!). Anyhoo, it ended up being pretty darn awesome :)
But as the party started to wind down, Vuni, my brother, Mick, and myself stood around munching the last remnants from the veggie tray and reminiscing about our teenage years, when I learned something that totally shook me up: my brother and his friends had done cocaine when they were younger.
This was over 5 (maybe even 6?) years ago; Mick has been clean & sober for years, and at almost 22, is a pretty damn successful merchandiser and journalism student. I'm so proud :)
I'm not at all mad at him for this discovery; it was so long ago, and he's left that life far behind, why should I be angry? I remember the time-frame when he was using drugs... it was really hard on my parents and I, but just assumed he was drinking and smoking weed. How naive am I?
The way this was reveled to me was even weirder; Vuni had recently told me about going to a party at Mick's friend Madi's house when he was younger (Mick, Vuni, and Madi all went to the same high school, Vuni a senior when they were freshmen). Vuni was only 17; Madi was 14, and she and her friends were doing cocaine at the party. While we were standing around yesterday, I told Vuni to tell Mick about this memory, since I was a little stunned to hear that Madi had done cocaine. Not only was my brother totally unfazed, but he revealed that he, himself, had at one time used it. I was utterly shocked.
"Did you know about this?!" I asked Vuni.
"Not exactly, but it doesn't surprise me,"
"So wait- out of the three people in this room, I'm the only one who has never done cocaine? I'm the only who's never done anything worse than smoke weed?!"
**Note- Vuni tried cocaine once roughly 10 years ago; that one experience was enough to scare him away.
"Yup."
"But.. what... how is that?"
"Because you are a good girl," Mick said.
"But it doesn't make any sense. I have always been the 'good girl'; I've never done anything worse than smoke weed, so why I am the one who fucked up worse than both of you put together?"
A day later, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. Neither of them became addicted, over-dosed, or ended up in jail. Currently, they're both successful, hard-working, rational adults. I, on the other hand, graduated 9th in my class, did not touch a hint of alcohol/smokes/drugs until a month before my 19th birthday, and was an all around goody two-shoes. I didn't go out. I didn't cause trouble. I didn't talk back or mouth off; I was sweet, quiet, self-motivated and respectful... essentially, I was a "perfect" teenage daughter, as my brother called me.
Flash forward 7 years, and I'm a big hot mess, minus the "hot." True, I've never ended up in jail. But I've overdosed and landed in the ICU twice. I became an addict, and probably came pretty damn close to losing my life. Seriously. It's been almost a year, and I still feel sick to my stomach think about all of the "what-ifs?"... someone once told me that they think I have a guardian angel or something. I must. Something.
But regardless... my point is, they're successful. They're flourishing. I'm not. I often feel like one big fat fuck up. Jobless. Terrified of the world. Directionless. Attention span less than a 7-year-old who drank a can of caffeinated soda rather than take his ADHD pill. Always anxious...
Where did this good girl go wrong?
The anxiety.
It all goes back to the anxiety. The overdose, the eating issues, the drinking, the panic attacks on-the-job, the agoraphobia becoming ever-worse... all of these things have kept me from being successful. All of these things are a result of my anxiety disorder.
Because you know what? I am a good girl. I'm not perfect. I have moments when I can be lazy, bitchy, ungrateful... but by the end of the day, I've always been a good girl with heart-of-gold intentions. Anxiety really fucks things- and the sad thing is, it's so much harder to detect than you'd think. It's always been "Em is just extremely shy, but sooo good," or "Em starves herself because she's in need of control," "Em overdosed because she didn't know how to deal with having her heart broken," "Em drinks to loosen herself up/help her sleep..."
NO. Em does all that shit because of her anxiety- to cope, escape, act on urges... whatever, it all goes back to the anxiety.
So maybe I still have a LOT of work to do in regards to the anxiety- but you know what? I'm proud that I can identify all of this. I'm proud that I can separate myself from my anxiety, even with the irrational thoughts bombarding me- that I really do know that I am a "good girl." A year ago, I would have just thought of myself as one big fuck-up, no questions asked; I would see myself as a "bad" person, and therefor "punish" myself in some way or another. I'm not exactly proud of where I'm at in life... but! I have been sober for almost 10 months, I've just graduated from college... and I've been turning my life around. I've never given up, like I have so badly wanted to.
So maybe I have fucked up; but I'm a good girl, and I'm doing what I can to fix it.
But as the party started to wind down, Vuni, my brother, Mick, and myself stood around munching the last remnants from the veggie tray and reminiscing about our teenage years, when I learned something that totally shook me up: my brother and his friends had done cocaine when they were younger.
This was over 5 (maybe even 6?) years ago; Mick has been clean & sober for years, and at almost 22, is a pretty damn successful merchandiser and journalism student. I'm so proud :)
I'm not at all mad at him for this discovery; it was so long ago, and he's left that life far behind, why should I be angry? I remember the time-frame when he was using drugs... it was really hard on my parents and I, but just assumed he was drinking and smoking weed. How naive am I?
The way this was reveled to me was even weirder; Vuni had recently told me about going to a party at Mick's friend Madi's house when he was younger (Mick, Vuni, and Madi all went to the same high school, Vuni a senior when they were freshmen). Vuni was only 17; Madi was 14, and she and her friends were doing cocaine at the party. While we were standing around yesterday, I told Vuni to tell Mick about this memory, since I was a little stunned to hear that Madi had done cocaine. Not only was my brother totally unfazed, but he revealed that he, himself, had at one time used it. I was utterly shocked.
"Did you know about this?!" I asked Vuni.
"Not exactly, but it doesn't surprise me,"
"So wait- out of the three people in this room, I'm the only one who has never done cocaine? I'm the only who's never done anything worse than smoke weed?!"
**Note- Vuni tried cocaine once roughly 10 years ago; that one experience was enough to scare him away.
"Yup."
"But.. what... how is that?"
"Because you are a good girl," Mick said.
"But it doesn't make any sense. I have always been the 'good girl'; I've never done anything worse than smoke weed, so why I am the one who fucked up worse than both of you put together?"
A day later, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. Neither of them became addicted, over-dosed, or ended up in jail. Currently, they're both successful, hard-working, rational adults. I, on the other hand, graduated 9th in my class, did not touch a hint of alcohol/smokes/drugs until a month before my 19th birthday, and was an all around goody two-shoes. I didn't go out. I didn't cause trouble. I didn't talk back or mouth off; I was sweet, quiet, self-motivated and respectful... essentially, I was a "perfect" teenage daughter, as my brother called me.
Flash forward 7 years, and I'm a big hot mess, minus the "hot." True, I've never ended up in jail. But I've overdosed and landed in the ICU twice. I became an addict, and probably came pretty damn close to losing my life. Seriously. It's been almost a year, and I still feel sick to my stomach think about all of the "what-ifs?"... someone once told me that they think I have a guardian angel or something. I must. Something.
But regardless... my point is, they're successful. They're flourishing. I'm not. I often feel like one big fat fuck up. Jobless. Terrified of the world. Directionless. Attention span less than a 7-year-old who drank a can of caffeinated soda rather than take his ADHD pill. Always anxious...
Where did this good girl go wrong?
The anxiety.
It all goes back to the anxiety. The overdose, the eating issues, the drinking, the panic attacks on-the-job, the agoraphobia becoming ever-worse... all of these things have kept me from being successful. All of these things are a result of my anxiety disorder.
Because you know what? I am a good girl. I'm not perfect. I have moments when I can be lazy, bitchy, ungrateful... but by the end of the day, I've always been a good girl with heart-of-gold intentions. Anxiety really fucks things- and the sad thing is, it's so much harder to detect than you'd think. It's always been "Em is just extremely shy, but sooo good," or "Em starves herself because she's in need of control," "Em overdosed because she didn't know how to deal with having her heart broken," "Em drinks to loosen herself up/help her sleep..."
NO. Em does all that shit because of her anxiety- to cope, escape, act on urges... whatever, it all goes back to the anxiety.
So maybe I still have a LOT of work to do in regards to the anxiety- but you know what? I'm proud that I can identify all of this. I'm proud that I can separate myself from my anxiety, even with the irrational thoughts bombarding me- that I really do know that I am a "good girl." A year ago, I would have just thought of myself as one big fuck-up, no questions asked; I would see myself as a "bad" person, and therefor "punish" myself in some way or another. I'm not exactly proud of where I'm at in life... but! I have been sober for almost 10 months, I've just graduated from college... and I've been turning my life around. I've never given up, like I have so badly wanted to.
So maybe I have fucked up; but I'm a good girl, and I'm doing what I can to fix it.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Catharsis: "Un-Friending" for My Sanity
Once upon a time, in land far far away in cyberspace called Facebook, I was adamant to send and receive as many friend requests as possible, change my status multiple times a day, and upload new pictures of myself frequently. Not anymore.
Why?
I absolutely despise what I believe Facebook has become: a place to be nosy as all hell. A place where you can pretend to care about someone because you're their "friend," but really, all you want is to dig up dirt on that person... you don't give a damn about them for real.
I've been guilty of doing that- I'm sure we all have- but it's been a long time.
At first, I was naive and thought it was a good thing, the way Facebook reconnects people and allows you to keep in touch with them. And yeah, it is a good thing- when it works out. For example- I have a friend whom I never really lost touch with, but we've grown apart. We've been friends since we were 8 years old, because our moms are extremely close. He and I are not close friends now, but I love him like a cousin, and I'm pretty sure he'll always be a part of my life... so he is my Facebook friend. We can check up on each other, because even though we're not super close, we genuinely care about each other, you know?
But then, there's people from high school who have added me. High school might as well have been called "Hell School"; my agoraphobia and anxiety, plus the stupid stereotypes of popularity contests and such made my high school experience a miserable one. I actually liked the learning and studying part; it was the social aspect that made it awful. By my senior year, I was hiding out in the library during lunch and only had two friends that I regularly talked to.
So at first, I thought it was kind of neat that people from high school would add me... and then I realized, they don't give a damn about me any more than they did in high school. They didn't want to "reconnect;" they wanted to stick their noses in my business and know if I'd gone the route of success, or was screwing up. I'm not saying I'm innocent as far as being mildly interested in what people are doing now... but I don't send them friend requests just so I can nose around their lives. Pathetic.
What breaks my heart is that I was close to a teacher in high school, Anna. When I graduated, she told me we couldn't stay in touch, at least initially, because of the weird conflict of interest thing. I thought that was a load of crap, but whatever. Earlier this year, nearly 7 years after I graduated HS, to my surprise, she sent me a friend request. I happily accepted. I sent her a message telling her how I was and asking her how she was, only to get a very vague response. Okkkay... so I sent her reply saying we should go get coffee and catch up. She agreed, but didn't give me a time as to when she was available, so I replied with "let me know when you have time." No response. I have heart surgery in June, and Vuni posted via my account to let everyone know that I'd come out from surgery ok. I get a message from Anna several days later, asking a bunch of questions about the surgery. WTF? I give a few vague answers, and once again, tell her that although I'm recovering and can't drive for awhile, my mom could pick me up and I could meet her for coffee to catch up. A week goes by. No response. Furious and hurt, I de-friended her. I couldn't believe it. This situation was absolute proof to me that she did not give a shit about me, but that all she wanted was to butt into my business. I was seriously so hurt.
Another thing that really, really bothers me is when I have been responsive to friends (commenting on their status or pictures) and they never extend the same courtesy. I realize (unlike MANY people) that FB is not a popularity contest, but when I interact with someone, I expect them to interact back with me at least every now and then. A perfect example is a kid named Rick that I went to school with. I loved the kid, thought he was funny and enjoyed commenting on his goofy statuses on FB... but I don't know that he EVER said anything to me on there. Finally, I decided I was sick of this one-sided "friendship" and since I was nearing my graduation and figured I wouldn't be seeing too much of him anymore, I unfriended him as well.
And then, there's friends like Jackie. Jackie was a lot like Rick; I felt as thought the friendship was pretty one sided, especially because Jackie lives half-way across the country, so our "friendship" was pretty much all in cyberspace.
What bothered me about Jackie is... she's WAY too personal. Now, you're may be thinking, Em what the hell? You're spilling all of these crazy thoughts of yours and insane situations you've been in, and you're criticizing someone for being TOO personal? Yes, but let me explain.
My blog is my blog, and it is specifically to share my experiences and thoughts as I try to navigate through life, dealing with both a severe anxiety disorder and potentially life-endangering heart conditions (what a combination...). It's here for people to read, if they want to. If they search for my blog, and decide they want to read it.
That is precisely why I had to delete Jackie; seeing as that things were already rough, with her not contributing much to our "friendship," I just got sick and tired of reading and seeing everything she was posting. She's a health snob- to the max. And while not excessively wealthy, she sure as hell acted like she was made of gold. So part of this is my own jealousy, and I can admit that. But it's a little hard to log onto FB and see her specifically bashing people who drink coffee from 7-11, just because she can afford a $4 cup of "real" Chai tea from Peets every day. It hurts just a little bit when she specifically talks shit about processed foods, just because she can afford to shop at Whole Foods and Trader Joes (while I shrink into the corner with my 18 cent cup of ramen...). And it makes me cringe in sadness and shame when she says that the only place she will buy her jeans at is Nordstroms. I bought a pair of jeans for the first time in months last week. Wanna know where I got them? From the thrift store. What set me over the edge is when she bashed aerobics videos... what the actual fuck? Good for you, that you're a stay at home mom, and can not only afford a membership to the poshest (her word, not mine) fitness club in your city, but that you have all the time in the world to go there and work out whenever, since they also have a super-amazing daycare. My mom, who works full time as 2nd grade teacher, and is involved with extracurricular stuff with the school, maintains quite a nice little body for being almost 50 years old and having a number of health problems... by getting up at 4:15 every morning and working out to various aerobics videos.
I'm not bashing Jackie for having certain opinions about things; what bothers me is that she is constantly sharing these opinions that are, quite frankly, offensive. They are to me (and I know I'm not the only one, as I have seen some people call her out on things here and there). It's not that I don't think people should share their opinions, but I think people need to think before they share their opinions because, let's face it, no matter what your privacy settings are, Facebook has become a pretty public "place." I actually had to delete one of my own cousins (this was several years ago) because she was shamelessly (and without thinking) posting stuff on political/social issues that I found EXTREMELY offensive. Even moreso, I was appalled that she'd just openly post this stuff on FB when she knows that a lot of our family doesn't share similar beliefs; to me, it was worse than if she were to stand on a crowded street corner with a sign and a megaphone.
So you see, I am not clogging up the NewsFeed of everyone who is on my Friends list with why my life is so much better than yours because I can afford everything to be all natural and top-notch (ha) or proclaiming that you are going to go to hell if you're sinning in ways a-b-c/x-y-z.
And then... these friends are the kinds that not everyone has: the triggering ones. People with eating disorders, you know what I'm talking about. For those of you who don't, "triggering" is pretty much as it sounds, someone who, through words or actions (and sadly, appearance) makes the ED voices go off like crazy. Makes you feel fat, want to lose weight, want to not eat, yadda yadda. I haven't had too many of these friends, but thought I'd bring it up, especially because I just de-friended one.
I was very torn about having to unfriend Stevie. I've known her for almost 5 years; we were in treatment together. She is a very sweet girl and a good person, but I've been driven to the edge. Again, part of it may be jealous or envy, but it blows my mind that she has been to some of the top treatment facilities in the country... and she makes no effort to get better. None. She constantly gushes about how she has the "best family in the world!," whom also happen to be very wealthy. She graduated from high school 3 years ago, but has only made it through 1.5 semesters of college. She has never had a job. So... I don't get it. Loving family, no financial worries, no job (so no job stress), and no school stress since her family is obviously (and rightly so) more concerned about her getting healthy before she continues her education. I obviously don't know the whole situation, but I know that I can't be the only one who would love to be in her position. How many people would love to be able to afford the best treatment? Would love to not have to worry about your job, or finances, and could just go and stay in treatment as long as it takes? Stevie spent almost 7 months at her most recent treatment center; a few months after her discharge, she looked as sickly and frail as she did pre-treatment facility. She's been to 5 different treatment facilities with multiple stints in 2 of them since I've known her.
It makes me so angry that Stevie has all of these great opportunities that so many people with eating/mental disorders could only dream of having, and she doesn't even make an effort. Doesn't give a damn, doesn't try. Well, I'm sick of it. It's frustrating as all hell, it's triggering to me, and I don't want to watch her kill herself; especially not when she has all of the money, tools, and support to get through this. So I de-friended her.
I don't know if all of this is a result of the agoraphobia/anxiety having worsening immensely over the past 1-1.5 years, or just the fact that it's the truth (ie, some "normal" people feel the same way). I've become very "quiet" on my FB, and don't post as much pictures as I use to, but regardlessly, I don't want looky-lous who don't give a damn about me nosing around my stuff. I'm sick of one-sided "friendships." I'm sick of FB being a world of too-much-info, where people blurt out random things without thinking about what they're saying and how it might affect their friends. And I for sure have no room for people in my life who are just going to trigger my ED thoughts. Seriously, Facebook seems like a big, online high school, full of drama, immaturity, and acting before thinking.
So why don't I just delete my account? Because... there are some people, specifically long distance, who I want to be FB friends with. I actually did voice my desire to possibly delete my account to one of these friends, but she convinced me otherwise.
I went on a massive deletion spree the other day; and I can say, with a MUCH shorter friend list... I'm feeling a hell of a lot better. Some people I didn't think twice about deleting. Others, like Jackie and Stevie, were much more painful. I actually questioned myself after the matter: did I do the right thing? In my heart, I know I did. Neither girl is a bad person by any means, but they're not good for me. When I get more frustration and anger out of a "friendship" than I do joy and there's no indication that things will improve... that's a sign it's time to go.
For anyone who uses Facebook for networking, I understand that :) For anyone who is the polar opposite of me (ie, not all uptight and paranoid) and doesn't mind casual FB friends, I give you kuddos. But that's not me. I have a hard enough time with people in real life; hiding behind my computer, I don't need crap in my online life. My FB friends don't need to be people I see often or am even very close to... but they have to be people I care about, and whom I know care about me too.
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