No one but her knew.
She should have known.
Why would you know?
You didn’t know.
The one who knew didn’t seem to care?
Would you have cared?
What would you have done?
Would you have saved me?
I was told, “What happens in these four walls, stays in these four walls”.
An abusers silencing line.
“I love you.”
“Be a good girl.”
“Rub my back.”
A “nap” he called it.
“We all have to live here.”
“Stop causing trouble.”
“Stop your crying.”
“You fat bitch!”
“…lose 10 ugly pounds…”
“…just cut your head off.”
Laugh at me.
No one hears a thing.
You didn’t know.
No filters, just 24 hrs alone with the love of my life, our Tesla, and nature.
When I look at this picture I feel like I’m staring at a stranger. I mean I clearly know it’s me, but I feel like I don’t know her at all.
When I look at her I feel the same emptiness I felt when I was her. I feel like I look at her and am instantly reminded that when I used to be her, I’d look in the mirror and imagine the new me. When I would look in the mirror though I felt like I was a skinny girl trapped in a fat body. I wanted to get out of the one I was trapped in for so long, be the “skinny” person that I felt I was inside. I tried so hard to explain this to my doctor and others, no one heard me.
No matter how many things I tried I couldn’t loose weight. Probably because of my combined eating disorders, the ones that make me starve, binge, restrict, monitor, and so on. You don’t have to be skinny to have anorexia or bulimia either. Those conditions along with about 4 other eating disorders can overlap, mix together, and never be the “classic” type.
I’m certain that my family doctor growing up would feel terrible if he knew how much he missed. I seriously remember telling my doctor with every single new “diet” he wanted me to try, “I don’t eat enough calories for this weight gain”, then he’d look at my 300 pound mother and hear her say, “oh yeah she eats.” Sometimes I’d argue with her, he never believed me.
This person in the photo is hard for me to recognize. I wanted to be anyone, but her. I hated her. She was me though.
I look at her now and I still feel empty. I still feel like I don’t know who she is then or now. I can’t tell you what she really likes or doesn’t like. I can’t tell you what brings her joy or fulfillment. I can tell you that she always wanted to be a doctor and still does, but knows it’s impossible to achieve at this point, just like they said then.
I try new things and distract myself, but it’s all I ever do is find distractions to occupy my time. Once I learn how to do it, then I’m done and bored and need to move one. I can never keep on one thing.
I know that the person in the photo is still here although that body isn’t.
It’s a struggle for me. I have no clue who I am or what I like. I never had money and still I really don’t. I stay home unless I’m invited along. I always assume I’m not invited or not wanted so unless someone specifically asks me to join them I will not even recommend that I go. I will just silently hope they want to include me.
I find that I’m happiest doing stuff with people when they invite me along. I stayed home a lot by myself growing up. I never really got to experience things, and everything I did enjoy doing was criticized. And heaven forbid if someone didn’t enjoy themselves doing my thing, I was the most terrible person for picking such a “stupid” or “boring” thing.
If I drew, it wasn’t as good as my brother and I needed to “realize” he was the artist and I wasn’t, “he had a book published you know?” Yes, in elementary school and it was cool, but why couldn’t I be an artist too? So I stopped drawing. Now anytime I try to draw, I’m so overly critical I can’t even enjoy it, I know it’s their voices inside me I hear as my own, but damn!
I was criticized for reading books. I was criticized for wanting to learn. I was criticized for being smart. I was criticized for so many things. I can’t help but wonder if the ridicule had stopped what I’d be like today.
When I try to crochet I can’t get through it, all I can remember is who taught me it, when she taught me it, and all the ridicule I got for being a 20 something year old who crocheted. I mean my ex-husband was just as cruel as my step-dad, and always justifying the cruelness as a “joke” and I needed to “lighten up”. So I stopped. Now when I try to accomplish a project I can’t.
As a matter of fact writing this, I’m thinking I need to get rid of all my crochet stuff, because clearly it is a trigger for me, and the only reason it’s taking up space in our house for 3 years without being touched is because I bought it all, and I can’t bring myself to part with it. I don’t touch it, I don’t think about touching it, and when I do nothing comes out of it.
When I was growing up I was taught a couple things about who I was.
I was told I needed to grow up, get a good job, and make enough money to buy my parents a house and to take care of them. I was encouraged that if I couldn’t make the money to marry someone with money to take care of me. I literally learned that I was just a meal ticket or someone else’s “problem”. Wouldn’t you know I married someone who thought the same thing?!
I was trained to be the care giver that I was asked and expected to tend to things on the private parts of one of my parents. I was always forced to rub “daddys” back (which is not what I called my step-dad). I was given the task of popping boils on backs and rubbing feet.
I was hungry all the time. So much so that I’ve trained myself to not feel hunger and now I never feel hungry it seems like. I literally can go days without eating and not think twice about it, that’s always been normal for me. Food insecurity and ridicule will do that to you I suppose, especially if you’re already struggling to eat because of un-dealt with and unknown Autism at the same time, which causes its own set of eating difficulties with textures and smells and colors and so-on.
When I began working it was all theirs and I couldn’t do anything for me. I payed their bills and asked for scholarships for church events. I hated how poor people saw me as. I hated how bad with money people thought and still think I am. Even though I’m not and I wasn’t. People still think I’m “unpredictable” with money and just going to use it all.
Because of them and how they were with their finances, when I was a minor, I have this stigma attached to me that I must be bad with money as well. I carry their shame just by association. I wish people understood that I am not them. That I am trustworthy. That I was their child and their shame is their shame. Their mistakes are their, not mine.
I see the person that people thought was “in charge” and “ran the show”. I see the person who rebutted with, “I pay the bills, their not in control, so someone has to be in control.” The truth is I wasn’t in control of them, I was trying to be in control of my own life. Now I understand that was a safety mechanism. A survival skill if you will. I subconsciously saw a need to protect myself from my parents long before I ever realized it. Growing up in this it is your “normal” it’s not to you are shown different that you realize it was not “normal.
So this woman in this picture knew only wanting to be a different person. She was and is still so empty inside. The only good inside her is the way she loves people, and even that she fails at. I may always be there person who just goes along for the ride and enjoys whatever is at the end of that ride.
I may always be the person who hopes you’ll think of something I’ll like and we’ll do what you come up with. I am in no way shape or form looking for things to do. I would hate for someone to do something with me and they not like it, so if I just do what they like there can be no problem. I can’t be shamed or hurt because they didn’t have a good time. I didn’t pick not my problem.
I won’t sit around and ask people to spend money on me. I actually get very upset and take it to heart when people spend money one me. I will always tell them that they don’t need to get me anything and I will lock my wish list down so no one can see it. I feel guilt when people buy me gifts. I feel like I have to buy them something in return or they’re are expecting something in return at the very least. I’ve also have found that gifts can be hung over your head later on and used as a way to make you feel guilty later.
I don’t listen to new music. I don’t follow pop-culture; I didn’t have cable, internet, or phone growing up. I didn’t have those things until I moved out really. So we’re talking about post 2003. I don’t know what to be interested in and often ask “what do you look at?”, “what do you read?”, how do people find stuff to read or be interested in?”
I’m 35 damnit! Shouldn’t I be more than just somebody’s mother? I mean I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but you’d think that’s all I was made for, to care for people. I don’t have a list of favorite places to eat and I’ve learned to cook restaurant quality food because I never got to go to them.
Today I see this picture and think to myself, “I’ve changed so much, yet the one way I’ve needed to change I can’t.”
I can’t change who she is at her core. She is just as lost and empty as she was then. Even more so now because there is no one to care for. There is no grueling intense schedule of trying to mom everyone. There is nothing but trying to figure out me. Quite honestly I don’t think I can be me without someone to care for.
I’m so empty inside. I can tell you that my favorite thing is mint green and that’s about it. I can’t tell you anything more than when I’m upset I’m like The Hulk—you definitely wont like me when I am angry, a little reference to Marvel Comics for all you fans out there. That’s pretty much all I can tell you about me.
I’m not certain there is really anything good about me. I’m not feeling depressed right now, so that statement isn’t a depression thing, it’s a true feeling, I’ve felt long before this picture was taken, so way before now.
I feel as if everyone expects me to change something about me. That I’m never okay just being me. It makes me feel more stress when I’m stressed, making the my response worse. Constantly trying to watch and correct myself, never being okay just being me. That I always have to fix something. That I’m always too much for people. I’m too loud. I’m too outspoken. I’m too quiet. I talk to much. I don’t speak up enough. So-on and so-on. There is always something about me that needs to be fixed.
So when I see this picture I’m reminded I have come a long way. I also see fat. I see ugly. I see empty. I see broken. I see just someone staring at a camera. Not knowing how to love herself, but loving so many others.
I see a picture that makes me sad because I’m reminded of just how much I don’t know me. Just how much I can’t speak up. Just how much I won’t ask for. Just how lonely I am. Just how empty I am. Just how much I don’t know how to get my needs met.
I’m reminded that no matter how far I’ve come, I’ll always still be me; broken, burden, crazy, empty, lonely, loud, “motormouth”, obsessive, outspoken, unfiltered…
Chaos stole my memories.
I thought I would be writing a victory blog tonight about how I didn’t weigh myself today.
Well I can’t do that now.
My anxiety about my weight won, obviously. It’s such a subconscious thing for me. I used to never consider owning a scale because of this problem of always watching the numbers.
I don’t think it helps me to know how many ounces I gained or lost in the last 24 hours. I think it only drives my eating disorders further.
Today I blew it by going into our master bath to use the bathroom in the middle of the day. That’s the bathroom with the scale. I stepped on it to see that I gained weight, then went about my day.
As I’m writing about my struggle with the scale I realize that almost every time I use our master bathroom I step on that scale. I’m not sure what it is my brain is doing here, but I know it’s time for it to learn a new behavior. A new way of thinking.
I’m sure this “need” to weigh myself frequently is stemming from the fact that I’ve gained weight since having my gastric bypass reversed in December. I know it is a much needed weight gain, consciously, but I don’t think the subconscious has gotten the message.
I’m sure the fact that I was bullied not only at school, but at home as well for my weight. The same people who would tell that my bullies were wrong, or that I was wrong when I called myself names were in fact calling me names too.
One can only take being called “fat” so many times. One can only take being told, “I know how you can loose 10 ugly pounds…cut your head off.” So many times. I guess those things no matter how much you work through them just are deep rooted and stay that way.
4 years of CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) and I’m still uncovering things I have to work on. Clearly this is another part of my subconscious that I have to correct. It isn’t easy.
Alot of the times, like just now, I have to talk through something to figure out where to begin the healing journey. While writing this blog I figured out one thing that probably is fueling my need to weigh myself.
I’m not certain where to begin. I’m positive I’ll figure it out though. I know not having access to a scale will cause me anxiety and panic, so removing it from the house is not an acceptable answer. Constantly obsessing about my changes in weight is not an acceptable answer either.
Now if I could just figure out the whole eating disorder recovery thing I’d be extremely happy!
I’m seriously starting to think that the best thing for me would be not to eat. I mean when I do nothing good happens. Dizziness, nearly fainting, fatigue, and much more. I’m so over eating. It’s so hard to figure out what causes this, but I’m sick of it.
Eating! I love eating when I like the food that is.
Eating is a double-edge sword for me though. Food is something that does and always has caused me a great deal of anxiety. Something that has always been misunderstood and mislabeled as “picky eating”. Picky eating is putting it mildly for me, it is way more than just being picky and not liking certain foods, its a huge source of anxiety for me that most do not, have not, and will not ever understand.
I’m not exactly certain what fuels the anxiety besides being on the Autism Spectrum. I wish I knew because I would fix it. I find that being able to express just how badly food makes me feel is helping. It is really hard to overcome this eating problem I have, but I keep trying. I am constantly reminded to eat and to buy foods that I like when I go to the store, but that is a major anxiety trigger for me. I have no clue what I like and I care too much about how much things cost.
I try so hard to buy myself foods when I go grocery shopping for the family, but it doesn’t go very well. My heart starts to pound hard and fast, my palms begin to sweat, and I begin to feel disoriented…it is not a fun feeling. I try to keep calm and not panic, “It’s only food you crazy woman!” I shout inside my head at myself to no avail.
I stand there looking at all the options in front of, to the side of, and to the back of me. There are too many choices. I am over-whelmed! What will I choose? When I do choose something how much will it costs? “Can I just choose something without worrying about the cost for once?”, I think to myself. The answer of course is, “No!”.
If I get over those things and I choose to to ponder the thought of trying this new item, the panic gets worse.
What will it taste like? What is it supposed to taste like? What will the texture be? What will the color be? Oh, and for the love of God please don’t let it have a strong smell! Like seriously my nose is too sensitive for that? How do I prepare it? Will I like it? What happens if I don’t like it? Is there a consequence for that? If there is a consequence for not liking it, what will it be?
Will I enjoy this new food item? Will I waste it? I hate waste! Gosh I hope I like it. I don’t want to waste food when there are starving people in this world. I don’t want to waste money for obvious reasons. I definitely don’t want to waste my time like this panicking over food. Man, I hate waste! I really, really, really dislike waste…
There are just way too many unknown variables in this equation. I am not certain how I am supposed to choose for me. Feeding others is easy. Feeding myself is hard.
As I learn to get back to me I am finally figuring out how to cope and not let my mind keep me down. The only lost battle with PTSD, Anxiety and Depression, is the one we choose to not over come. It’s so hard to overcome it. It doesn’t go away and there is no magical cure. I would argue that it doesn’t go away you just have to learn to cope with it when you struggle, but you have to learn to live to be free.
I have some eating disorders that cause me to struggle with food majorly. It is way more than a picky eater. I have a struggle with multiple different types of eating disorders, meaning that I have symptoms of multiple different types of eating disorders to some degree or the other. This eating disorder thing really sucks!
I am a huge fan of the Tasty videos and recipes, heck I am a fan of recipes in general, but Tasty is where it is at for me. Any way, I purchased the the official Tasty cookbook “Tasty Dessert” (you can purchase it here through my affiliate link for about $12 https://amzn.to/3gf4ejM). I figured for once instead of just collecting and holding cook books, magazines, and recipes I would actually use them.
A big part of my eating disorder is being scared of trying anything new. I don’t know what it supposed to taste like, what it will taste like, what the texture is (I have a texture issue), I don’t know if i’ll like it, I am not certain what happens if I don’t like something, I feel bad if it goes to waste if I don’t like it, and so-on. It’s a hard thing to live with.
I figured I’d start the learning with everyones favorite food group…dessert! Believe it or not I don’t and will not eat everything I bake or cook, so part of this journey is to try everything I make. If you’d like to join me in this journey click the link and buy your copy today.
I make a % of each sale made through the link above