One overheard comment about obese people and I'm in crisis tonight. It's bumming me hardcore as the comment came from my very best friend. Our daughters were video chatting and I don't think she knew I could hear her conversation with her husband in the background. It hit me hard.
I'm eating on plan, but it will be a long night of journaling and self care, maybe a cry.
I think what made it worse is that they were repeating "horror stories" that they had been told by the personal trainer they just hired. It's one thing to know that she and her husband feel this way, it's another to know that a professional is talking about his clients to other clients. It makes all those worst-fear moments seem true, that someone who was supposed to be supporting me really did think negative things about me when I wasn't around
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Happy Mad, Giddy Sad
My mother bought everything on my oldest son's Amazon wish list. EVERYTHING. We are to dole the items out for his upcoming birthday and Solstice/Christmas. This has saved us tons of money as he's pretty much done for holiday shopping. And he'll be happy as hell.
I tripped over the box as I was putting trash out tonight. On top was the cereal-box small package that we had ordered him. We spent $25 on him and that was a huge sacrifice. The massive box beneath was from my mom. I knew it was coming. She'd said that she was going to buy it all, but something in me didn't believe her.
I opened that box. I cussed and laughed. I cussed and cried. I cried and felt sick. I have no one to tell. Everyone has there ideas of what I should think of my mother. I don't. Is this overcompensation because of Karen's lost children? Is this her trying to make up for shitty childhoods? Hers and mine. Is this just her way of saying she misses us? I know this was not an easy purchase for her. Especially after giving us $750 to get the Subaru inspected.
I don't know what to feel. I'm feeling everyting. An urge to forgive and love as hard as I can. Sure. Guilt that we could never have made him happy without her help. Guilt that we're poor. Guilt that I can never fix him or make him hygienic or thin or smart or well. Guilt that we don't see my mother as often as we used to. Justin will be angry. He has it in his head that she favors Gabriel and treats his kids like crap. He's full of it. She drowns them in gifts and is always happy to see them.
I've binged until I was coughing up food for 3 days straight. Yesturday was a really good day. I was productive as all get out. Full day of homeschool, cooked proper meals, bathed the kids, chatted with Gabe, cleaned the house, and wrote a bit on my novel. I still had thirds at dinner though. I had to stop myself from putting a finger down my throat to clean the sin of it from my body. I think if I start purging, I won't stop and my teeth will fall out of my head. Today, I had plans to be just as gung-ho productive, but got off on the wrong foot. The Comcast guy was late installing the phone line, so I missed playgroup with the kids, and Justin yelled at the kids (embarrassing me in front of the phone dude), and the phone couldn't be hooked up in the right spot so now there are cables tacked to my doorframe (ugly, white trash looking). And then the router crashed for an hour and I was on the phone with Comcast while the kids screamed and threw food and the dog was barking. Ollie missed his nap and has now fallen asleep at 730pm. We got a shut off notice for garbage service..... and the day was trashed. So we didn't hike, or read poetry at dinner, or cook pancakes together, or do any school today. My mood was sunk. I didn't drink tonight, but I wanted to. I ate pretty average today, lighter than the past 3 days, but I still feel like crap. Dinner always does that to me. I feel bad when I eat dinner, as if it's a meal I'm not allowed to have. Maybe because it's always heavy: stews, casseroles, pasta, potatoes, thick cheese.... Maybe I should opt for a salad... but I know that I'll still sneak bites of the real dinner and end up feeling like I binged.... I wish I could shut the house down at 5pm and just forget about dinner. I'd love to be alone for like 4 hours straight then tuck the kids into bed with a kiss and play games on my phone or read a book until I passed out.
I tripped over the box as I was putting trash out tonight. On top was the cereal-box small package that we had ordered him. We spent $25 on him and that was a huge sacrifice. The massive box beneath was from my mom. I knew it was coming. She'd said that she was going to buy it all, but something in me didn't believe her.
I opened that box. I cussed and laughed. I cussed and cried. I cried and felt sick. I have no one to tell. Everyone has there ideas of what I should think of my mother. I don't. Is this overcompensation because of Karen's lost children? Is this her trying to make up for shitty childhoods? Hers and mine. Is this just her way of saying she misses us? I know this was not an easy purchase for her. Especially after giving us $750 to get the Subaru inspected.
I don't know what to feel. I'm feeling everyting. An urge to forgive and love as hard as I can. Sure. Guilt that we could never have made him happy without her help. Guilt that we're poor. Guilt that I can never fix him or make him hygienic or thin or smart or well. Guilt that we don't see my mother as often as we used to. Justin will be angry. He has it in his head that she favors Gabriel and treats his kids like crap. He's full of it. She drowns them in gifts and is always happy to see them.
I've binged until I was coughing up food for 3 days straight. Yesturday was a really good day. I was productive as all get out. Full day of homeschool, cooked proper meals, bathed the kids, chatted with Gabe, cleaned the house, and wrote a bit on my novel. I still had thirds at dinner though. I had to stop myself from putting a finger down my throat to clean the sin of it from my body. I think if I start purging, I won't stop and my teeth will fall out of my head. Today, I had plans to be just as gung-ho productive, but got off on the wrong foot. The Comcast guy was late installing the phone line, so I missed playgroup with the kids, and Justin yelled at the kids (embarrassing me in front of the phone dude), and the phone couldn't be hooked up in the right spot so now there are cables tacked to my doorframe (ugly, white trash looking). And then the router crashed for an hour and I was on the phone with Comcast while the kids screamed and threw food and the dog was barking. Ollie missed his nap and has now fallen asleep at 730pm. We got a shut off notice for garbage service..... and the day was trashed. So we didn't hike, or read poetry at dinner, or cook pancakes together, or do any school today. My mood was sunk. I didn't drink tonight, but I wanted to. I ate pretty average today, lighter than the past 3 days, but I still feel like crap. Dinner always does that to me. I feel bad when I eat dinner, as if it's a meal I'm not allowed to have. Maybe because it's always heavy: stews, casseroles, pasta, potatoes, thick cheese.... Maybe I should opt for a salad... but I know that I'll still sneak bites of the real dinner and end up feeling like I binged.... I wish I could shut the house down at 5pm and just forget about dinner. I'd love to be alone for like 4 hours straight then tuck the kids into bed with a kiss and play games on my phone or read a book until I passed out.
Monday, October 23, 2017
Chemistry Class
I had a hard-nosed chemistry teacher in high school. She went over the top to explain how careful we had to be with the equipment. She told us how much everything cost and how much the bill to our parents would be should we break anything.
She was spacing us out for a test once and she told me sit at a lab desk. I don't know if my clothes smelled particularly cat-like that day or what, because not many students were placed as far away as I was. Probably. I was always covered in fur, piss, fleas, and my own body odor.
Anyway, as I sat down, a large glass something knocked to the floor. I visibly cringed, shoulders hunched, face mangled. My head fast-forwarded to my mother berating me for the cost of the thing. In my head, she had already told me how worthless I was and made my insides crumple. The chemistry teacher refused to meet my eye. She just said, "Oh.... I'll clean that up. Don't worry." And that was the end of it.
Could she tell from my face that we were perpetually poor? Could she tell that that $15 item was the difference between life and death? Maybe. I sometimes got the feeling that the staff "knew" I was not an average kid. My shoes and backpack smelled. My hair was unkempt. My clothing was always covered in fur from cats sleeping on beds, chairs, and clean laundry baskets (which my mom thought was adorable). God, even our towels were always covered in fur. You'd go to dry off after a bath and be plastered in fur and flea dirt. It makes my stomach turn just thinking about it.
Another time, our physics class went to Kennywood to label the physics properties that the rides had. It was a well known trip that everyone went on. But it wasn't free. You had to pay whatever dollars to go. It was a discount, but I remember that I didn't even ask my mother. The amount was unthinkable. My teacher noticed that I was not getting on the bus and the only thing he could manage was to say, "Not going, Stace?" I just shook my head. Maybe he thought I would cry? Maybe he thought I'd ask for help?
Living in poverty is trauma. It's having to always take less than you need. It's always wearing the wrong clothes. It's having to cut up your English poster from last quarter to make homemade index cards for your biology presentation. It's not being able to care that you didn't do your Spanish project (and failing because of it) because you couldn't afford the color photo copies and the video rental you needed to do it. It's never knowing who to ask for help. It's looking pathetic when you do. It's admitting that you have nothing to offer and no value as a human. It is pretending not to like things because you might need a few dollars or a supply that you don't have. It's pain. It's tears. It's damaging.
And what I couldn't get from the adults in my life, I got from food. Food was love. Food was my babysitter. Food was celebration. Food was condolences. Food was a cure for boredom.
It's hard to forgive. It's hard to reprogram.
She was spacing us out for a test once and she told me sit at a lab desk. I don't know if my clothes smelled particularly cat-like that day or what, because not many students were placed as far away as I was. Probably. I was always covered in fur, piss, fleas, and my own body odor.
Anyway, as I sat down, a large glass something knocked to the floor. I visibly cringed, shoulders hunched, face mangled. My head fast-forwarded to my mother berating me for the cost of the thing. In my head, she had already told me how worthless I was and made my insides crumple. The chemistry teacher refused to meet my eye. She just said, "Oh.... I'll clean that up. Don't worry." And that was the end of it.
Could she tell from my face that we were perpetually poor? Could she tell that that $15 item was the difference between life and death? Maybe. I sometimes got the feeling that the staff "knew" I was not an average kid. My shoes and backpack smelled. My hair was unkempt. My clothing was always covered in fur from cats sleeping on beds, chairs, and clean laundry baskets (which my mom thought was adorable). God, even our towels were always covered in fur. You'd go to dry off after a bath and be plastered in fur and flea dirt. It makes my stomach turn just thinking about it.
Another time, our physics class went to Kennywood to label the physics properties that the rides had. It was a well known trip that everyone went on. But it wasn't free. You had to pay whatever dollars to go. It was a discount, but I remember that I didn't even ask my mother. The amount was unthinkable. My teacher noticed that I was not getting on the bus and the only thing he could manage was to say, "Not going, Stace?" I just shook my head. Maybe he thought I would cry? Maybe he thought I'd ask for help?
Living in poverty is trauma. It's having to always take less than you need. It's always wearing the wrong clothes. It's having to cut up your English poster from last quarter to make homemade index cards for your biology presentation. It's not being able to care that you didn't do your Spanish project (and failing because of it) because you couldn't afford the color photo copies and the video rental you needed to do it. It's never knowing who to ask for help. It's looking pathetic when you do. It's admitting that you have nothing to offer and no value as a human. It is pretending not to like things because you might need a few dollars or a supply that you don't have. It's pain. It's tears. It's damaging.
And what I couldn't get from the adults in my life, I got from food. Food was love. Food was my babysitter. Food was celebration. Food was condolences. Food was a cure for boredom.
It's hard to forgive. It's hard to reprogram.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
The Stress Overfloweth
So, Tonya is moving. I'm oddly okay with it because it will give me an excuse to travel again. Gabe and I used to travel all the time, but that has slowly disappeared. No more camping, no more holidays out of town, no more spontaneous weekends in St. Louis or Baltimore. Traveling to Virginia and North Carolina sounds like fun.
The move is still triggering me a bit. We had a week wherein we thought we might move into their old house (why do we house stalk them???), but it fell through and a huge burden of worry was removed from me. The house is larger overall, but the living space has it's own ugliness in the sense that the kitchen is non-existent, the bedrooms are small, and the entire house is just laid out wrong. I would have adjusted. It is a beautiful house that would have allowed us more room for homeschool, a mancave, a guestroom, and double the yard... but it was in Emlenton and I have fallen in love with Leeper. I really enjoy living across from the cemetary. I adore driving through the forest on my way into town. I love that our location puts Cooks Forest at our feet. We have quiet neighbors and a manageable yard. Our house is bursting at the seams, but we will manage, we always do.
I am stressed over my car. My mother gave it to me (it cost her nearly $900 to do so!) and it has been my trust old girl for several months... but the inspection is a month overdue. I told my mom I couldn't afford to take it in. She gave me $250 to deal with it. Well... it is going to cost closer to $500. She mailed us more money yesterday. I have guilt over our inability to fully support ourselves and know that every dollar she sends kills her. So, in a month where I have needed $750 from her yet we have no plans/ability to spend time with her, I live in a confusing cloud of guilt, sadness, need, and anger.
It bothers me that my brother once accused me of being a fat lazy burden on my mother. I am obese. I don't like to be told what to do or to be made to do uncomfortable things. I am a burden. I don't want his ugly words to be correct. I don't want to be this undesirable thing. My mother uses short sentences around me. She cuts me off or leaves the room. She likes Gabe and tolerates my babies, but I never get the sense that she loves me. Maybe she's just incapable of showing it. I'm not great at that myself.
She did have a shitty, abusive, overcritical father. Everyone has an inner demon.
Money is tight and clashes with my desire for all the things. It's stupid, but that's a major stressor. Some things I want, like a goofy bumper sticker are whims that I stubbornly don't want to let go. Other things, like the car, flea meds for the dog, surgery for the cat, a storage shed... these are things I feel are needs. And they are huge chunks of money. And we can't handle everything right now on top of Solstice coming up, Halloween costumes, booze for Thanksgiving, and the boys' birthdays.
Another stressor.... I can never tell if Margie and Chucky enjoy being at our house. I want to invite family up for Oliver's 2nd birthday, but is it just going to turn into a THING? If I invite my mom up for it, does that mean that she won't come up for Thanksgiving? I'd rather have her up for the holiday, maybe do presents for the boys then. But does that mean that I just don't have a party for Ollie? The Ochs won't be here. Margie is sketchy. Val may come up, but won't have a gift, will make the day about her, and if any of my family DOES show up she will be unwanted. They all hate her. She's a pain in the ass about wanting to insert herself into our family and is very vocal about it. She gets the cold shoulder from my mom, Chucky is short with her, and Margie is either over caring or short with her, depending on the mood. And I don't want Doug here chatting about cars all night while I'm supposed to be paying attention to my kids and family. They hog fucking attention, those two. Ugh, and my sister is downright mean and degrading to her.
None of the people in my inner circle mesh, save for our parents. So maybe I don't invite Val. But I don't think any of our parents will show! So, is poor Ollie getting the shaft again?
Then, there's the paranoia that I'm going to plan for a nice family Thanksgiving that no one will show up for. Karen venomously defends our brother as if I was in the wrong for being harassed, threatened, and cut off by him. I was "wrong" to tell him that his lies and fantasies were indicative of mental illness and that he should talk to someone about them. He's a narcissist, so of course he got all over-the-top mean and violent. And then everyone blamed me. Karen is in the realm of thinking that I'm a horrible bitch for not lying down for Jon and she takes it out on Gabriel. My god, who doesn't take shit out on Gabe???
Anyway, I am thinking that Karen will try and get my mother to spend the holiday with Jon and Patsy instead.
So, I think I'm depressed. I binged Monday and had diarrhea the whole next day. Wednesday, I ate properly, but still had overwhelming guilt that I had somehow binged. I wonder if it';s because one of the foods I ate is a trigger food (although I ate a normal portion and then threw the rest out). Addiction married with guilt and anger is a crazy life to live.
The move is still triggering me a bit. We had a week wherein we thought we might move into their old house (why do we house stalk them???), but it fell through and a huge burden of worry was removed from me. The house is larger overall, but the living space has it's own ugliness in the sense that the kitchen is non-existent, the bedrooms are small, and the entire house is just laid out wrong. I would have adjusted. It is a beautiful house that would have allowed us more room for homeschool, a mancave, a guestroom, and double the yard... but it was in Emlenton and I have fallen in love with Leeper. I really enjoy living across from the cemetary. I adore driving through the forest on my way into town. I love that our location puts Cooks Forest at our feet. We have quiet neighbors and a manageable yard. Our house is bursting at the seams, but we will manage, we always do.
I am stressed over my car. My mother gave it to me (it cost her nearly $900 to do so!) and it has been my trust old girl for several months... but the inspection is a month overdue. I told my mom I couldn't afford to take it in. She gave me $250 to deal with it. Well... it is going to cost closer to $500. She mailed us more money yesterday. I have guilt over our inability to fully support ourselves and know that every dollar she sends kills her. So, in a month where I have needed $750 from her yet we have no plans/ability to spend time with her, I live in a confusing cloud of guilt, sadness, need, and anger.
It bothers me that my brother once accused me of being a fat lazy burden on my mother. I am obese. I don't like to be told what to do or to be made to do uncomfortable things. I am a burden. I don't want his ugly words to be correct. I don't want to be this undesirable thing. My mother uses short sentences around me. She cuts me off or leaves the room. She likes Gabe and tolerates my babies, but I never get the sense that she loves me. Maybe she's just incapable of showing it. I'm not great at that myself.
She did have a shitty, abusive, overcritical father. Everyone has an inner demon.
Money is tight and clashes with my desire for all the things. It's stupid, but that's a major stressor. Some things I want, like a goofy bumper sticker are whims that I stubbornly don't want to let go. Other things, like the car, flea meds for the dog, surgery for the cat, a storage shed... these are things I feel are needs. And they are huge chunks of money. And we can't handle everything right now on top of Solstice coming up, Halloween costumes, booze for Thanksgiving, and the boys' birthdays.
Another stressor.... I can never tell if Margie and Chucky enjoy being at our house. I want to invite family up for Oliver's 2nd birthday, but is it just going to turn into a THING? If I invite my mom up for it, does that mean that she won't come up for Thanksgiving? I'd rather have her up for the holiday, maybe do presents for the boys then. But does that mean that I just don't have a party for Ollie? The Ochs won't be here. Margie is sketchy. Val may come up, but won't have a gift, will make the day about her, and if any of my family DOES show up she will be unwanted. They all hate her. She's a pain in the ass about wanting to insert herself into our family and is very vocal about it. She gets the cold shoulder from my mom, Chucky is short with her, and Margie is either over caring or short with her, depending on the mood. And I don't want Doug here chatting about cars all night while I'm supposed to be paying attention to my kids and family. They hog fucking attention, those two. Ugh, and my sister is downright mean and degrading to her.
None of the people in my inner circle mesh, save for our parents. So maybe I don't invite Val. But I don't think any of our parents will show! So, is poor Ollie getting the shaft again?
Then, there's the paranoia that I'm going to plan for a nice family Thanksgiving that no one will show up for. Karen venomously defends our brother as if I was in the wrong for being harassed, threatened, and cut off by him. I was "wrong" to tell him that his lies and fantasies were indicative of mental illness and that he should talk to someone about them. He's a narcissist, so of course he got all over-the-top mean and violent. And then everyone blamed me. Karen is in the realm of thinking that I'm a horrible bitch for not lying down for Jon and she takes it out on Gabriel. My god, who doesn't take shit out on Gabe???
Anyway, I am thinking that Karen will try and get my mother to spend the holiday with Jon and Patsy instead.
So, I think I'm depressed. I binged Monday and had diarrhea the whole next day. Wednesday, I ate properly, but still had overwhelming guilt that I had somehow binged. I wonder if it';s because one of the foods I ate is a trigger food (although I ate a normal portion and then threw the rest out). Addiction married with guilt and anger is a crazy life to live.
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
My BFF is moving
A residual stressor for months down has been the fact that my best friend's husband got a very nice new job in North Carolina. I've known they were going to move. I've smiled and given encouragement. Justin and I attended their last-hurrah style get together and drank and listened to music into the night.
Today thought, she told me they got a house. They're leaving the 25th. So, 12 days. I don't if we'll be over in that time. We have a busy schedule and she's painting and packing. I'm going to miss them. It will be hard on Evelyn, too. Her best friend in the world is Kyleigh and 4 year olds don't do distance well.
I am happy for them as they've taken a gigantic leap in life. Ben will now be making about $70k a year, nearly three times what we make. Tonya will finally get her hair done, her nails done, her kids in all the best extra curriculars. They will have nice furniture and new cars. Well done.
Meanwhile, we keep plugging away at treading water. I know that the program tells us to keep to our own business, tend our own lives. It's hard when you have dreams just as big but no chance to leap. Justin insists he'll start truck school in February, but Tonya's right in that I don't know if he'll actually do it. And then, will he end up OTR? Will I end up a single parent anyway?
I kinda hope that we visit in NC a few times and Justin finally agrees to check out jobs down there. I know he's still clinging to the idea of Arizona. And maybe I'll just get hit by bus tomorrow.
So, I have been pondering what sort of training astronauts go through for isolation. I figure I'll be pretty much alone for the next 6 months. I'll have the outings with the kids, but after the Ochs leave and since I've pretty much written off my mom for a few months, I don't think a single human being will be to the house until maybe spring. Sure, Val will drop by once a month or so, but that's not much. And all she does is talk about whatever fight Doug's been in recently, try to sell me MLM, or play on her computer. It's not like it used to be when we'd watch movies and cook. Now, Doug calls all night and she can't focus on anything long enough to digest a film.
I even asked Justin if I could join MOPS, until I found out it's a Christian thing. No thanks.
Margie comes up, but she's always awkward and can't wait to beat sand home.
And while it's fine to throw myself a mini pity party, the real problem is the kids. I don't want them to be isolated and anti-social. With the Ochs gone and the Dunkles busy and Chucky/Margie if-y and my mom on the outs... I'm starting to think that I shouldn't throw Ollie a birthday party. It seems like I'm cheating him, but why dump $200 into a Daniel Tiger themed celebration if no on is here to see it?
So, I'm sad today. Worry has taken over.
Today thought, she told me they got a house. They're leaving the 25th. So, 12 days. I don't if we'll be over in that time. We have a busy schedule and she's painting and packing. I'm going to miss them. It will be hard on Evelyn, too. Her best friend in the world is Kyleigh and 4 year olds don't do distance well.
I am happy for them as they've taken a gigantic leap in life. Ben will now be making about $70k a year, nearly three times what we make. Tonya will finally get her hair done, her nails done, her kids in all the best extra curriculars. They will have nice furniture and new cars. Well done.
Meanwhile, we keep plugging away at treading water. I know that the program tells us to keep to our own business, tend our own lives. It's hard when you have dreams just as big but no chance to leap. Justin insists he'll start truck school in February, but Tonya's right in that I don't know if he'll actually do it. And then, will he end up OTR? Will I end up a single parent anyway?
I kinda hope that we visit in NC a few times and Justin finally agrees to check out jobs down there. I know he's still clinging to the idea of Arizona. And maybe I'll just get hit by bus tomorrow.
So, I have been pondering what sort of training astronauts go through for isolation. I figure I'll be pretty much alone for the next 6 months. I'll have the outings with the kids, but after the Ochs leave and since I've pretty much written off my mom for a few months, I don't think a single human being will be to the house until maybe spring. Sure, Val will drop by once a month or so, but that's not much. And all she does is talk about whatever fight Doug's been in recently, try to sell me MLM, or play on her computer. It's not like it used to be when we'd watch movies and cook. Now, Doug calls all night and she can't focus on anything long enough to digest a film.
I even asked Justin if I could join MOPS, until I found out it's a Christian thing. No thanks.
Margie comes up, but she's always awkward and can't wait to beat sand home.
And while it's fine to throw myself a mini pity party, the real problem is the kids. I don't want them to be isolated and anti-social. With the Ochs gone and the Dunkles busy and Chucky/Margie if-y and my mom on the outs... I'm starting to think that I shouldn't throw Ollie a birthday party. It seems like I'm cheating him, but why dump $200 into a Daniel Tiger themed celebration if no on is here to see it?
So, I'm sad today. Worry has taken over.
Billy
One morning, while living in the crappy house in Antioch, I was woken up by a golden retriever jumping on me and barking in my face. I was terrified. We did not have a dog. I got up and ran to my mother, who was sleeping on the fold out sofa with a person I'd never seen before. I told her that a dog got in the house. She laughed and told me it was just Billy's dog.
I was in second grade. And I had no idea who Billy was except that he was big, had a beard and tinted glasses, and was in bed with my mom. She told me to go back to bed. I remember feeling displaced. Whatever small amount of care I got from her was suddenly given to this man.
My memories are fuzzy at this age. I know I get things out of order, but I also know that meeting this man was the start of a long chain of trauma and bad memories for me. My mother gifted me a collection of photos from each year of school, once. You can see a drastic transition in my weight and appearance after 2nd grade.
I remember that the house was large, had a sunken living room, and a huge fenced in back yard. We lived directly across from a lake. I don't think Billy had a boat, or if he did, we never used it. There was a yard full of conifers in the front.
We had a sitter at this house. I think her name was Anita. She had a boyfriend. I think his name was Tom. She was ginger and short, he was tall and balding with a mustache. I have memories of them talking about their genitals and making me go on walks to other people's houses. There were geese that pecked me near one of them. Its all so foggy, but I think these people hurt me. My mother says that she fired the woman when she heard her tell her own son that "I brought you into this world, I can take you out." I don't know if that's true.
I have memories of having a panic attack. I don't know what triggered it, but I couldn't breath and couldn't stop crying while we were driving. My mother parked the car in Billy's driveway, turned around, and smacked me across the face. Her ring split my lip wide open. She got out and left me in the back of the car. I remember being suddenly silent. Shock? I noticed blood on my hands and check my lip in the mirror. It was cut wide open and swelling up. I knew she'd get angry again if she saw it. I remember internalizing that. It was my fault and I was only going to get in trouble again. So I stayed in the car for an hour, squeezing the blood and water out until my lip was flat again. It was dark by the time I went inside. She didn't speak to me that night.
Karen and I had a joint birthday party in the front lawn while we lived there. Aunt Linda came in her flight attendant uniform and tried to cheer me up. She was always reaching out to me when I was little. I probably should have told her what was happening. I didn't. At this particular birthday, I was attacked by a swarm of wasps that were nested in the ground at the base of a tree. My mother scolded me for crying and wanting to stay in the house. I lost my brand new Barbie's glitter shoes during the attack. I was shamed for that, too. Linda left.
I remember always trying to please Billy. I made him a club sandwich (from my first cook book) and put toothpicks in the halves, like the book said. He bit into a toothpick and I got in trouble.
My mother made mandarin chicken for dinner once. She liked to try new foods, sometimes. He told her that little oranges did not belong in his food and forbid her from making it again. Fucking idiot. It was MANDARIN chicken. Putz.
I remember him punching the wall and throwing my mother. I remember there being blood in the kitchen sink one day and my mom told me to never mind it. I remember trying to run away. I remember having nightmares where the house was on fire and I crawled to my mother's room to wake her but I couldn't speak. In my dream I screamed as loud as I could but no sound would come out. I remember having panic attacks. I remember stealing. I remember trying to teach my cousin how to have sex (where the fuck did I get that from??) at 8 years old.
I have nearly zero memories of the back yard except that it was large, fenced in, and the grass was tall and dry enough to irritate my legs. I must have been out there though, as I have memories of crying at the fence and memories of looking up at the back of the house to where the bathroom window was. My mom says we never went out there. She's wrong.
I was sent away to Pennsylvania for a summer, while we lived with Billy. Last year, I asked my mom about the time we lived with Billy, saying that I had a hard time remembering some things. She brushed it off, saying nothing happened. Then why the fuck did she send me away? I think she knew something was up. When I got back, Billy's golden retriever looked like a completely different dog. Mom said I was making things up, but that sticks with me. He'd poisoned his own cat while we lived there and I sometimes wonder if it really was a different dog.
Billy would drink beer on the roof and shoot a rifle over the lake on the 4th of July. I watched him point it at the dog. He terrified me.
He didn't take care of the house. My mother did all of it. The yard was always over grown and dying. There was a bunch of crap tarped to the side of the house. I think it was our stuff because the furniture in the house was all Billy's.
I had two friends over once and they were so scared of Billy that they came into the bathroom with me when I had to pee. This was shocking to me, as I didn't like people seeing me any kind of naked. I was already ashamed of my body and hated it.
I remember not doing well in school during 3rd grade. I was in trouble all of the time. The teacher was old and horribly mean (She'd go out of her way to point out my disheveled clothes or unkempt hair. She'd yell at me in front of everyone and ban me from recess.) I started wetting my pants at school by the end of 3rd grade and into 4th. I was too afraid to ask to use the bathroom. I once felt my bladder release in the middle of class, overflowing my chair and soaking my red overalls. The 4th grade teacher was nice about it. She cleaned me up and the nurse helped me change. I had to keep a change of clothes in the class after that. A grungy kid found them once and held my underwear up for all to see. The teacher was mortified, but that was nothing compared to the betrayal I felt. I stopped wetting my pants at school and started wetting the bed at home. Billy told my mom he'd start beating me if I didn't stop. I remember hiding and bawling. He terrified me, as I'd seen him punch holes in the wall and throw my mom before.
I had dreams of being able to twirl fast as a tornado and flying far, far away.
I remember trying to be good, the best girl I could be, but it was never good enough.
I remember that my brother started having problems, too. He was beat up by his boy scout den. He was cornered in the school lobby and punched in the face. He would poop in the bathtub. Billy just said he was pathetic.
Once, I saw Billy grab the back of my mother's chair and flip it with her still in it. She fell down the steps into the sunken living room. I remember moving a few days later. We moved back into the ramshackle house in Antioch. Things didn't get better for us, but Billy was mostly gone.
She started working two jobs and trying to sell MLM on the side. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. We were a burden to her. She had black-outs from exhaustion. My cousin things my mother was binge drinking, not exhausted. To him, I say that we didn't have money for alcohol, so I doubt it. The worst was when never showed up to pick us up from CCD. The priest crammed us in the back of his sports car (making sure to tell us that his car wasn't meant for kids and taking us home was highly inconvenient for him). When we got home, my mother was passed out on her bed (which was located in the corner of the dining room). She was still in her coat, keys still in her hand from dropping us off that morning. The priest stayed just long enough to make sure she was awake, but she was not okay. She couldn't even remember having taken us to church. She couldn't remember work the previous day. She was convinced that she was dying and laid all of that on us. She wanted me to remember to bury her beside her father and what bank her accounts were at. I was maybe 10.
Billy came back into our lives from time to time. I still tried to please him, but he never stayed. He helped my mother build a giant swingset in our yard. Another time, he took us all to Chuck E Cheese. But we never moved back in and eventually he faded away.
I was in second grade. And I had no idea who Billy was except that he was big, had a beard and tinted glasses, and was in bed with my mom. She told me to go back to bed. I remember feeling displaced. Whatever small amount of care I got from her was suddenly given to this man.
My memories are fuzzy at this age. I know I get things out of order, but I also know that meeting this man was the start of a long chain of trauma and bad memories for me. My mother gifted me a collection of photos from each year of school, once. You can see a drastic transition in my weight and appearance after 2nd grade.
I remember that the house was large, had a sunken living room, and a huge fenced in back yard. We lived directly across from a lake. I don't think Billy had a boat, or if he did, we never used it. There was a yard full of conifers in the front.
We had a sitter at this house. I think her name was Anita. She had a boyfriend. I think his name was Tom. She was ginger and short, he was tall and balding with a mustache. I have memories of them talking about their genitals and making me go on walks to other people's houses. There were geese that pecked me near one of them. Its all so foggy, but I think these people hurt me. My mother says that she fired the woman when she heard her tell her own son that "I brought you into this world, I can take you out." I don't know if that's true.
I have memories of having a panic attack. I don't know what triggered it, but I couldn't breath and couldn't stop crying while we were driving. My mother parked the car in Billy's driveway, turned around, and smacked me across the face. Her ring split my lip wide open. She got out and left me in the back of the car. I remember being suddenly silent. Shock? I noticed blood on my hands and check my lip in the mirror. It was cut wide open and swelling up. I knew she'd get angry again if she saw it. I remember internalizing that. It was my fault and I was only going to get in trouble again. So I stayed in the car for an hour, squeezing the blood and water out until my lip was flat again. It was dark by the time I went inside. She didn't speak to me that night.
Karen and I had a joint birthday party in the front lawn while we lived there. Aunt Linda came in her flight attendant uniform and tried to cheer me up. She was always reaching out to me when I was little. I probably should have told her what was happening. I didn't. At this particular birthday, I was attacked by a swarm of wasps that were nested in the ground at the base of a tree. My mother scolded me for crying and wanting to stay in the house. I lost my brand new Barbie's glitter shoes during the attack. I was shamed for that, too. Linda left.
I remember always trying to please Billy. I made him a club sandwich (from my first cook book) and put toothpicks in the halves, like the book said. He bit into a toothpick and I got in trouble.
My mother made mandarin chicken for dinner once. She liked to try new foods, sometimes. He told her that little oranges did not belong in his food and forbid her from making it again. Fucking idiot. It was MANDARIN chicken. Putz.
I remember him punching the wall and throwing my mother. I remember there being blood in the kitchen sink one day and my mom told me to never mind it. I remember trying to run away. I remember having nightmares where the house was on fire and I crawled to my mother's room to wake her but I couldn't speak. In my dream I screamed as loud as I could but no sound would come out. I remember having panic attacks. I remember stealing. I remember trying to teach my cousin how to have sex (where the fuck did I get that from??) at 8 years old.
I have nearly zero memories of the back yard except that it was large, fenced in, and the grass was tall and dry enough to irritate my legs. I must have been out there though, as I have memories of crying at the fence and memories of looking up at the back of the house to where the bathroom window was. My mom says we never went out there. She's wrong.
I was sent away to Pennsylvania for a summer, while we lived with Billy. Last year, I asked my mom about the time we lived with Billy, saying that I had a hard time remembering some things. She brushed it off, saying nothing happened. Then why the fuck did she send me away? I think she knew something was up. When I got back, Billy's golden retriever looked like a completely different dog. Mom said I was making things up, but that sticks with me. He'd poisoned his own cat while we lived there and I sometimes wonder if it really was a different dog.
Billy would drink beer on the roof and shoot a rifle over the lake on the 4th of July. I watched him point it at the dog. He terrified me.
He didn't take care of the house. My mother did all of it. The yard was always over grown and dying. There was a bunch of crap tarped to the side of the house. I think it was our stuff because the furniture in the house was all Billy's.
I had two friends over once and they were so scared of Billy that they came into the bathroom with me when I had to pee. This was shocking to me, as I didn't like people seeing me any kind of naked. I was already ashamed of my body and hated it.
I remember not doing well in school during 3rd grade. I was in trouble all of the time. The teacher was old and horribly mean (She'd go out of her way to point out my disheveled clothes or unkempt hair. She'd yell at me in front of everyone and ban me from recess.) I started wetting my pants at school by the end of 3rd grade and into 4th. I was too afraid to ask to use the bathroom. I once felt my bladder release in the middle of class, overflowing my chair and soaking my red overalls. The 4th grade teacher was nice about it. She cleaned me up and the nurse helped me change. I had to keep a change of clothes in the class after that. A grungy kid found them once and held my underwear up for all to see. The teacher was mortified, but that was nothing compared to the betrayal I felt. I stopped wetting my pants at school and started wetting the bed at home. Billy told my mom he'd start beating me if I didn't stop. I remember hiding and bawling. He terrified me, as I'd seen him punch holes in the wall and throw my mom before.
I had dreams of being able to twirl fast as a tornado and flying far, far away.
I remember trying to be good, the best girl I could be, but it was never good enough.
I remember that my brother started having problems, too. He was beat up by his boy scout den. He was cornered in the school lobby and punched in the face. He would poop in the bathtub. Billy just said he was pathetic.
Once, I saw Billy grab the back of my mother's chair and flip it with her still in it. She fell down the steps into the sunken living room. I remember moving a few days later. We moved back into the ramshackle house in Antioch. Things didn't get better for us, but Billy was mostly gone.
She started working two jobs and trying to sell MLM on the side. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. We were a burden to her. She had black-outs from exhaustion. My cousin things my mother was binge drinking, not exhausted. To him, I say that we didn't have money for alcohol, so I doubt it. The worst was when never showed up to pick us up from CCD. The priest crammed us in the back of his sports car (making sure to tell us that his car wasn't meant for kids and taking us home was highly inconvenient for him). When we got home, my mother was passed out on her bed (which was located in the corner of the dining room). She was still in her coat, keys still in her hand from dropping us off that morning. The priest stayed just long enough to make sure she was awake, but she was not okay. She couldn't even remember having taken us to church. She couldn't remember work the previous day. She was convinced that she was dying and laid all of that on us. She wanted me to remember to bury her beside her father and what bank her accounts were at. I was maybe 10.
Billy came back into our lives from time to time. I still tried to please him, but he never stayed. He helped my mother build a giant swingset in our yard. Another time, he took us all to Chuck E Cheese. But we never moved back in and eventually he faded away.
Tuesday, September 12, 2017
My Mother: a dichotomy
It's coming up on 10 months since I took action towards recovery. Since I admitted that I am an addict. In that time, I have come to look at my childhood through a very different lens. I took the angelic spotlight off of my mother and have chosen to see the ugly parts.
To preface, I think she tried. I think she was broken, though. She had a terribly abusive father and cold mother. She had her dreams torn away from her over and over. She was lonely and raising three kids in absolute poverty. She had moments where she tried to go above and beyond. She'd surprise us with a Disney VHS (that was big news back then). She led girl scout troops and boy scout troops. She'd work until midnight and still remember to put Easter baskets together. She took in my aunt and cousins when they were destitute (a really fun summer!). She took us to Chuck E. Cheese on a whim once. But there was always anger behind the things she did.
She neglected us. She hit us. She shamed us. She blamed us. She had nervous breakdowns and tantrums in front of us. We were dumb. We were lazy. We were feral. She had zero respect for us. And I still don't get any.
Today, when I visit my mother, she walks away from me mid sentence. Straight up leaves the room. Even when I think she's listening, I know she's not hearing me because she never retains any information I pass along. If I put a rule in place, she breaks it to "be nice" to my kids. I understand that grandparents get this sort of freedom. But it's way more than candy before dinner or staying up an hour past bedtime. She tells me that Justin and I need to be responsible and independent, but then guilt trips me when I say no to something. For example, we both were excited to garden this year. She doubled her garden plot (which I'm genuinely happy about, her garden does very well). My garden was a bust. We discovered that the yard floods and everything I planted during 3 different attempts all washed away. Anyway, she grew a large plot of corn. When it was ready to harvest, she suddenly told me that I needed to come pick it because she grew it "for my family". Since we moved, the drive to my mother's is longer and I had zero gas money, but she added that 'I did it for you' whimper and so I felt compelled to find time in our schedule to spend the day in Butler. To be fair, Evelyn got a kick out of picking corn and my mother did slip a $20 in my purse when I wasn't looking. Gabriel did nothing but stay inside and play video games (another issue I have with my mother). I guess my beef with the situation as that she tried to manipulate and guilt me instead of just asking us to come hang out.
The other side of our interactions these days is that my mother is always willing to give me things. She always has a little cash or a piece of furniture for me. I guess she has her own journey and her way of dealing with our horrible past is to give me things. She has never turned down a request. But I'm at the point where I want to heal things and confront things, not just numb them with material things. She is very giving when it comes to my kids as well. She drowns them in gifts at birthdays and Christmas. Everyone tells me to be grateful, but it's hard when I know the complicated web of hurt and guilt that these motions are made from.
Our household vocab word for the week is DICHOTOMY. It's something divided into two parts wherein the parts are polar opposites or conflicting. For me, my mother is a dichotomy.
Side 1 is that I love her and understand that she was angry and alone and sleep deprived and hungry for like 95% of my childhood. She'd been beaten often as a child without any warning and I understand that it takes 2 generations for something like that to leave a family. It's what she had been taught to do and so she beat us. I don't always think she wanted to. She stopped at some point, maybe because we'd gotten older.
Side 2 is that regardless of the cause, I was shamed, guilted, beaten, and crushed into the ground. I was told to do things that were way beyond my scope of understanding and maturity. I never should have been made to sleep in the back of a station wagon in a scary parking lot. I never should have been shamed for falling asleep while going to school and working at 14. I never should have been ridiculed by my own mother. I was left with sitters who hurt me, belittled me, isolated me, and taunted me. I should never have been left in charge while my mom went out to the bar. I had a million warning signs of severe trauma and clinical depression but was never treated nor was any of it even recognized. I was neglected and alone when I should have been cared for.
We lived with a boyfriend of my mother's for a while, Billy. Things were bad. I didn't know it then, I guess I normalized it, but looking back, a majority of the trauma I can remember happened there.
He's the boyfriend who laughed and threw away the father's day card I made for him at school. I remember that I was a horribly behaved child after we moved out. I remember binging after we moved out. I remember being latch-key kids after we moved out. We were alone when we woke up and I almost always missed the bus. I remember the vice principal taking me into his office and telling me all the horrible things that would happen to me if I was late again. I internalized all of it. I was bad. I was lazy. He never bothered to ask if anything was wrong. I never told him I was alone in the mornings and all of my clothing was covered in cat fur, cat piss, and there were fleas in my bed. I never told him that I didn't brush my teeth or hair in the mornings, only put it in a pony tail because there was no one around that taught me to care about my appearance. No one taught me how to use a pad or a tampon. No one taught me how to style my hair or put on makeup. My gym teacher told me about deodorant, so there was that. The vice principal never knew that when I did miss the bus, that I had to walk all the way back home, call my mother at work, wait for her to get home, and then have her drive me in (berating me the entire drive).
No one knew that when we got home, the house was empty then too. I would head straight for the fridge. Make 2-3 plates in a row. Mom was gone on the weekends, too. I would spend all day in my nightgown, eating and watching tv. There were times when my mom would take Jon and Karen out to do things, but leave me. I was either too old for the event or the boyfriend didn't like me or there wasn't room in the car. Whatever. Once, after she left, I remember having what my therapist now describes as a classic anxiety attack. I was about 10 or 11. I remember suddenly sweating and being dizzy. I laid on the floor in the living room, feeling the walls moving in. My tongue swelled up and I cried and cried. I was alone. I begged her to take me anywhere when she got home. I tried to explain what was happening to me. She brushed it off.
I remember my mother having meltdowns and memory loss from the stress of single parenthood. While living with Billy, my mother rented out the house she actually owned. It was a shack of a place. The tenant complained that the pipes were freezing in the bathroom. She couldn't afford to have anyone come work on it, so she bought straw and spend an hour outside packing it into the crawlspace and building up the wall outside with this hay. When she came back to the car, her hands were so sore and frozen that she couldn't move her fingers. Her fingertips were blue and she was crying. She had a full blown meltdown and I had to tell her to calm down. I warmed her hands up and told her we could go home and get a hot bath and curl up on the couch. I was maybe 8.
We never had decent clothes. Everything was a hand-me-down from cousins and stained beyond recognition. Everything was sweatpants and t-shirts. I never got glasses when I needed them. Charlotte bought me a pair when I was sent away for the summer. I remember suddenly being able to see the tile in the restaurant floor and could see my grandmother's face while sitting across from her. I had those glasses for 4 years. They were held together with a twist tie by the time I got another pair. They didn't work anymore, either. I had to sit in front of the class and push them up against my eyes to read the board. We never got vaccinations, we never got cold medicine or Tylenol. I had bursitis (swelling and fluid around torn cartilage) in my knee that went undiagnosed for half a year, until my gym teacher demanded to know what was going on with me. I had torn it slipping on ice because I had 3 year old sneakers and my glasses didn't work.
Today, a school official would have called CYS. Today, I would have been removed from my mother's care and put in a home. I might have been further molested. I might have had a dog and a pool. Instead, no one cared. No one helped. And I was more damaged every single day.
Now, my mother worked a lot and I get that we were poor and these things were just want a single mom in the 80s and 90s did... but that meant that I was alone with my younger siblings nearly 24/7. We had half a dozen sitters over the years, but they never lasted long and honestly they were all terrible. We were bullied, cornered, hit, threatened, and things were always horrible. When we werent' with a terrible sitter, we were alone. I binge ate, as far back as I can remember. I would tally every single item of food in the house and start to eat them all, one by one.
We were beat with a belt and called 'monsters' because the house was always messy. But you know, she never once showed us how to clean up. She left us alone and then complained that the house wasn't clean.
More recently, in the years that I've known Justin, I became a person who forgave my mother everything. I sought her approval constantly. I defended every thing that came out of her mouth and every action she took to help or hinder us. I jumped when she said so. I did everything, went everywhere she told me to. Until this past year.
And now, things are wretched. She undermines me, constantly with the children. I say no soda, she buys it. I say "Gabriel is grounded from his Xbox for the summer." she buys him a brand new one. I don't talk to my brother for six years, tell the story of our estrangement for six years, tell her that Gabriel is not to see my brother for six years.... and then she allows him to write Jon a letter. And gives the man who threatened to kill Justin our home address. When I push it with her, she hands the conversation over to Karen and pretends not to know anything about Jon and I not speaking for years.
That sent me over the edge. I have been binge eating for a week solid. I started my period 10 days early over it. I cut all my hair off. I really don't know if I can see her for the holidays this year. She's so non-confrontational that she'll probably just have Karen tell me they're spending Thanksgiving with Laura and Patsy, instead. She's probably working for the day of our Solstice party. And I'm so angry that I'm okay with it.
To preface, I think she tried. I think she was broken, though. She had a terribly abusive father and cold mother. She had her dreams torn away from her over and over. She was lonely and raising three kids in absolute poverty. She had moments where she tried to go above and beyond. She'd surprise us with a Disney VHS (that was big news back then). She led girl scout troops and boy scout troops. She'd work until midnight and still remember to put Easter baskets together. She took in my aunt and cousins when they were destitute (a really fun summer!). She took us to Chuck E. Cheese on a whim once. But there was always anger behind the things she did.
She neglected us. She hit us. She shamed us. She blamed us. She had nervous breakdowns and tantrums in front of us. We were dumb. We were lazy. We were feral. She had zero respect for us. And I still don't get any.
Today, when I visit my mother, she walks away from me mid sentence. Straight up leaves the room. Even when I think she's listening, I know she's not hearing me because she never retains any information I pass along. If I put a rule in place, she breaks it to "be nice" to my kids. I understand that grandparents get this sort of freedom. But it's way more than candy before dinner or staying up an hour past bedtime. She tells me that Justin and I need to be responsible and independent, but then guilt trips me when I say no to something. For example, we both were excited to garden this year. She doubled her garden plot (which I'm genuinely happy about, her garden does very well). My garden was a bust. We discovered that the yard floods and everything I planted during 3 different attempts all washed away. Anyway, she grew a large plot of corn. When it was ready to harvest, she suddenly told me that I needed to come pick it because she grew it "for my family". Since we moved, the drive to my mother's is longer and I had zero gas money, but she added that 'I did it for you' whimper and so I felt compelled to find time in our schedule to spend the day in Butler. To be fair, Evelyn got a kick out of picking corn and my mother did slip a $20 in my purse when I wasn't looking. Gabriel did nothing but stay inside and play video games (another issue I have with my mother). I guess my beef with the situation as that she tried to manipulate and guilt me instead of just asking us to come hang out.
The other side of our interactions these days is that my mother is always willing to give me things. She always has a little cash or a piece of furniture for me. I guess she has her own journey and her way of dealing with our horrible past is to give me things. She has never turned down a request. But I'm at the point where I want to heal things and confront things, not just numb them with material things. She is very giving when it comes to my kids as well. She drowns them in gifts at birthdays and Christmas. Everyone tells me to be grateful, but it's hard when I know the complicated web of hurt and guilt that these motions are made from.
Our household vocab word for the week is DICHOTOMY. It's something divided into two parts wherein the parts are polar opposites or conflicting. For me, my mother is a dichotomy.
Side 1 is that I love her and understand that she was angry and alone and sleep deprived and hungry for like 95% of my childhood. She'd been beaten often as a child without any warning and I understand that it takes 2 generations for something like that to leave a family. It's what she had been taught to do and so she beat us. I don't always think she wanted to. She stopped at some point, maybe because we'd gotten older.
Side 2 is that regardless of the cause, I was shamed, guilted, beaten, and crushed into the ground. I was told to do things that were way beyond my scope of understanding and maturity. I never should have been made to sleep in the back of a station wagon in a scary parking lot. I never should have been shamed for falling asleep while going to school and working at 14. I never should have been ridiculed by my own mother. I was left with sitters who hurt me, belittled me, isolated me, and taunted me. I should never have been left in charge while my mom went out to the bar. I had a million warning signs of severe trauma and clinical depression but was never treated nor was any of it even recognized. I was neglected and alone when I should have been cared for.
We lived with a boyfriend of my mother's for a while, Billy. Things were bad. I didn't know it then, I guess I normalized it, but looking back, a majority of the trauma I can remember happened there.
He's the boyfriend who laughed and threw away the father's day card I made for him at school. I remember that I was a horribly behaved child after we moved out. I remember binging after we moved out. I remember being latch-key kids after we moved out. We were alone when we woke up and I almost always missed the bus. I remember the vice principal taking me into his office and telling me all the horrible things that would happen to me if I was late again. I internalized all of it. I was bad. I was lazy. He never bothered to ask if anything was wrong. I never told him I was alone in the mornings and all of my clothing was covered in cat fur, cat piss, and there were fleas in my bed. I never told him that I didn't brush my teeth or hair in the mornings, only put it in a pony tail because there was no one around that taught me to care about my appearance. No one taught me how to use a pad or a tampon. No one taught me how to style my hair or put on makeup. My gym teacher told me about deodorant, so there was that. The vice principal never knew that when I did miss the bus, that I had to walk all the way back home, call my mother at work, wait for her to get home, and then have her drive me in (berating me the entire drive).
No one knew that when we got home, the house was empty then too. I would head straight for the fridge. Make 2-3 plates in a row. Mom was gone on the weekends, too. I would spend all day in my nightgown, eating and watching tv. There were times when my mom would take Jon and Karen out to do things, but leave me. I was either too old for the event or the boyfriend didn't like me or there wasn't room in the car. Whatever. Once, after she left, I remember having what my therapist now describes as a classic anxiety attack. I was about 10 or 11. I remember suddenly sweating and being dizzy. I laid on the floor in the living room, feeling the walls moving in. My tongue swelled up and I cried and cried. I was alone. I begged her to take me anywhere when she got home. I tried to explain what was happening to me. She brushed it off.
I remember my mother having meltdowns and memory loss from the stress of single parenthood. While living with Billy, my mother rented out the house she actually owned. It was a shack of a place. The tenant complained that the pipes were freezing in the bathroom. She couldn't afford to have anyone come work on it, so she bought straw and spend an hour outside packing it into the crawlspace and building up the wall outside with this hay. When she came back to the car, her hands were so sore and frozen that she couldn't move her fingers. Her fingertips were blue and she was crying. She had a full blown meltdown and I had to tell her to calm down. I warmed her hands up and told her we could go home and get a hot bath and curl up on the couch. I was maybe 8.
We never had decent clothes. Everything was a hand-me-down from cousins and stained beyond recognition. Everything was sweatpants and t-shirts. I never got glasses when I needed them. Charlotte bought me a pair when I was sent away for the summer. I remember suddenly being able to see the tile in the restaurant floor and could see my grandmother's face while sitting across from her. I had those glasses for 4 years. They were held together with a twist tie by the time I got another pair. They didn't work anymore, either. I had to sit in front of the class and push them up against my eyes to read the board. We never got vaccinations, we never got cold medicine or Tylenol. I had bursitis (swelling and fluid around torn cartilage) in my knee that went undiagnosed for half a year, until my gym teacher demanded to know what was going on with me. I had torn it slipping on ice because I had 3 year old sneakers and my glasses didn't work.
Today, a school official would have called CYS. Today, I would have been removed from my mother's care and put in a home. I might have been further molested. I might have had a dog and a pool. Instead, no one cared. No one helped. And I was more damaged every single day.
Now, my mother worked a lot and I get that we were poor and these things were just want a single mom in the 80s and 90s did... but that meant that I was alone with my younger siblings nearly 24/7. We had half a dozen sitters over the years, but they never lasted long and honestly they were all terrible. We were bullied, cornered, hit, threatened, and things were always horrible. When we werent' with a terrible sitter, we were alone. I binge ate, as far back as I can remember. I would tally every single item of food in the house and start to eat them all, one by one.
We were beat with a belt and called 'monsters' because the house was always messy. But you know, she never once showed us how to clean up. She left us alone and then complained that the house wasn't clean.
More recently, in the years that I've known Justin, I became a person who forgave my mother everything. I sought her approval constantly. I defended every thing that came out of her mouth and every action she took to help or hinder us. I jumped when she said so. I did everything, went everywhere she told me to. Until this past year.
And now, things are wretched. She undermines me, constantly with the children. I say no soda, she buys it. I say "Gabriel is grounded from his Xbox for the summer." she buys him a brand new one. I don't talk to my brother for six years, tell the story of our estrangement for six years, tell her that Gabriel is not to see my brother for six years.... and then she allows him to write Jon a letter. And gives the man who threatened to kill Justin our home address. When I push it with her, she hands the conversation over to Karen and pretends not to know anything about Jon and I not speaking for years.
That sent me over the edge. I have been binge eating for a week solid. I started my period 10 days early over it. I cut all my hair off. I really don't know if I can see her for the holidays this year. She's so non-confrontational that she'll probably just have Karen tell me they're spending Thanksgiving with Laura and Patsy, instead. She's probably working for the day of our Solstice party. And I'm so angry that I'm okay with it.
Wednesday, April 12, 2017
Rabies Shot
I don't remember how old I was, but we were living in Antioch and I was gradeschool aged. One of my mother's cats, Junior, was attacking a chipmunk. I "rescued" it from him, only to have it bite my finger twice. I ended up at the doctor's office facing a shot of some kind in case of Rabies.
They asked me to hold still, be brave, but that it would hurt. I couldn't do it. In the face of being asked to allow an adult to approach me and hurt me, I went berserk. I flailed, hid, ran, screamed. It took my mother and multiple staff members to hold me down and allow the shot to be administered. Afterwards, I told my mother that it didn't hurt that much. She scoffed and treated me as if I'd been ridiculous.
But I was a child and had zero ulterior motive. It is only recently that I understand why I probably had that response. I remember trying to be still and brave for a second and then starting to hyperventilate. It was a blind, uncontrollable, almost PTSD type response to the idea of allowing a man to approach me and hurt me with my permission.
If I haven't said it before, I will say it now. I believe that I was molested or raped by a babysitter's boyfriend while we lived with Billy.
I do not need to qualify or prove this to anyone. I need to process and heal. It is difficult and I keep seeing my childhood in a new light as I realize that I was most likely a victim. I do not blame my mother.
They asked me to hold still, be brave, but that it would hurt. I couldn't do it. In the face of being asked to allow an adult to approach me and hurt me, I went berserk. I flailed, hid, ran, screamed. It took my mother and multiple staff members to hold me down and allow the shot to be administered. Afterwards, I told my mother that it didn't hurt that much. She scoffed and treated me as if I'd been ridiculous.
But I was a child and had zero ulterior motive. It is only recently that I understand why I probably had that response. I remember trying to be still and brave for a second and then starting to hyperventilate. It was a blind, uncontrollable, almost PTSD type response to the idea of allowing a man to approach me and hurt me with my permission.
If I haven't said it before, I will say it now. I believe that I was molested or raped by a babysitter's boyfriend while we lived with Billy.
I do not need to qualify or prove this to anyone. I need to process and heal. It is difficult and I keep seeing my childhood in a new light as I realize that I was most likely a victim. I do not blame my mother.
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Blooming Atheism
Ever since starting this journey, I have been working towards total honesty. One thing that has become obvious to me is that I'm not a Pagan anymore. I have lost faith. I still adore the mythology and love the holidays as they track the year and give me inspiration. I still think this is a terrific community to raise children within... but I do not believe in the sacred.
This has left me wondering if I should continue on with my In the House of Mama Stacey blog. I can pull off the Martha Stewart side of it, but can offer zilch as far as rituals or "magick".
I have gone so far as to consider selling off my many books and witchy items, but Justin says this is only a phase. I can give nothing to psychics. I don't believe in tarot anymore. I really think it is all observation and advice.
I feel better embracing psychiatry and science. I roll my eyes at just about every Pagan post that comes through my FB feed. I have cut myself off from Jan and no longer feel the need to hold rituals at the sabbats. I love celebrating the sabbats, but an altar and dinner is good enough for me.
I can't tell anyone, though. I don't want to make an announcement on my blog in case Justin is right. I don't know. I have no atheist friends to talk to. I really just want to vent and rant about all these religious idiots that make rules and condemn people and mutilate the world because of some outdated religious nonsense. I want to tell off people at Pride Day or people in my Pagan groups. I hate "woo". I roll my eyes at pictures of crystals and shake my head at requests for chants and lit candles when someone is sick.
Don't pray for me... help me. Get off your butt and help me.
Monday, March 20, 2017
269lbs
I have been better about binging. I over ate mashed potatoes one day. I ate some chocolate one day. I ate 2 more slices of pizza than I should have, one day. Otherwise, I've been pretty good about having a solid breakfast, eating lunch around 2pm, and then sitting down for dinner with the kids (often with a salad to ensure I start with vitamins and minerals). I have been feeling good; my mental health has been stellar. I handled a few situations which would have normally melted me down or caused panic attacks.
Today, I put on a pair of pants that did not completely cut me in half. I wore a blue knit shirt and a headband. I looked smooth and well put together, this morning. So, I got cocky and stepped on the scale. It has not budged and I should have known better. I feel better, even if that ugly number is still there. #keepmovingforward
Today, I put on a pair of pants that did not completely cut me in half. I wore a blue knit shirt and a headband. I looked smooth and well put together, this morning. So, I got cocky and stepped on the scale. It has not budged and I should have known better. I feel better, even if that ugly number is still there. #keepmovingforward
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Compulsive Shopping
I went to Dubois to pick up some garden edging I'd bought off Facebook. I knew there was a Ross (Dress for Less) in the area. I have a bad history with that place. I have spend entire paychecks there. The clothes I want to fit, but never do. The trendy stuff I want Gabe and Justin to wear, but they never do. The pretty statues and candles that I want to fill our home with, that look awkward on our outdated furniture. I used to stalk the one in Butler, near my mom.
I used my GPS to find the store and walked in, knowing I could spend a little and Justin wouldn't care or was numb to it anymore. I found a garden statue for Evie, $7. There were a few, but I was trying to keep the price down. I found $5 spring placemats for the dining room. Not a must have, but our old ones are shredding. I found a 4pk of Nuby cups for $10. Those were actually on our "tax money" list, so I didn't feel bad buying them. I wandered the aisles trying to find something spectacular. Something that would give me that HIGH that shopping gives me. I was trying to fill some hole of anxiety or impatience. I could find nothing. I even put a few things back. I even walked away from kid shoes on clearance for $2.50. I walked away from funny coffee mugs. The big ones.
As I was checking out with my few purchases, I caught myself desperately searching the snack food. I NEEDED something. I hadn't gotten my buzz. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I stopped. It was lunacy!
I left that store only with truly cheap and useful things. I had not gouged us. I had not binged. I had seen a dangerous pattern in my behavior, though.
Compulsive shopping is like pie. I cant leave pie alone, if its in the house. Cakr either. I think perhaps it was a good thing that we moved so far from everything. I can no longer wander walmart for 2 hours buying too much junk.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Sia & Maddie
Sia has a whole series of music videos featuring Maddie Zeigler. In them, this little girl is raging against traumas like inner anger, self-hatred, lonliness, hiding your emotions, etc. There is a bunch in the series. The latest show 2 young girls racing through a train lot, finding one another, and trying to escape. There is another where Maddie I'd trying to evacuate children from a run down house that is dangerous in many ways, burning/crumbling/filthy. She encourages them to dance, run, express themselves, and fight back.
The story in all of these, and the many others, obviously mirrors the emotional journey of injured children. I cry while watching them, sometimes.
Thursday, February 2, 2017
I Was Never Important
When I was in 8th or 9th grade, I was diagnosed with bursitis of the knee. It came about after slipping on something at work and landing square on my knee. I was already obese. My mother fought me to see the doctor until my gym teacher noticed my limp, my pain, and that my knee was swollen to twice its normal size. When she finally took me in, the doctor laughed at how sick I was vs the 2 doses of ibuprofen she allowed me each day. That's just one of MANY times my mother minimized me or guilt-tripped me when I was sick or injured.
There was the time I was suffering from suicidal thoughts and severe clinical depression and she told me I should just shake it off. She said that I could just decide to feel better if I really wanted to.
There was the time I was in labor and she was my lamaze coach... and she JUST LEFT. I was alone and in labor and she left me there. She has never visited me in the hospital after childbirth nor come to see my infant children. She has rushed to see my sister after every child.
There was the time my tooth was killing me and the local dentist told me I needed a root canal. I was working and willing to pay for it, but I still wasn't driving at 19, so asked for a ride. My mother threw her hands up and scolded me in front of co-workers for needing her to drive me to another city to get the work done.
There was the time my tonsil was so swollen that it was obstructing my throat. It was my brother's high school graduation and I was visiting from Pittsburgh. I woke her up early the day after bringing me home. I could barely breath or swollow. She scolded me for needing to be taken to the ER when today was about Jon. I was dehydrated and out on iv antibiotics for the day.
One night, when Gabe was about 3 and we were living with Mom after losing everything in Oil City. I woke up having muscle spasms in my upper back and was hyperventilating. The spasms were so severe my back was arching. I had to send my frightened boy into her room to get me some help. Instead of calling 911, as my lips turned blue, she tried to plug in a heating pad near me and put it on my back. I gasped for her to call 911 and she rolled her eyes. EMTS put me on oxygen and raced me to the hospital.
There was the time, while still in high school, that I had such a bad toothache that I took 30 aspirin in a single day. It was enough to let me sleep for a few hours, but when I woke I couldn't feel one side of my face. I told her that I felt funny and my face was numb. My face was lopsided. She told me it was just swelling and that I'd be fine. Meanwhile, my sister swollowed 8 nightquill capsules a few days later and we were rushing her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped. I ended up with partial paralysis in the left side of my face, to this day.
There were other times of neglect that simply made me feel like I was an unworthy person, that I had no value. When I was starving in Pittsburgh, after being kicked out of the school I couldn't go to because I couldn't buy the bus pass to get into the city because I-still-do-not-understand-how-i-was-supposed-to-live-there...my mom visited and saw my situation. The next week she mailed me a $10 and told me to spend it wisely because it was a huge sacrifice for her. Gee, thanks mom.
Monday, January 30, 2017
Reset
I am not satisfied with my sponsor. She nit picked my Plan of Eating and I slipped into complete diet mode. Weighing my food and focusing on it so much completely screwed me up. I am returning to my normal 3 plates/3 portioned snacks plan.
I am also telling Cathy goodbye. She brought some things to my attention, but I don't feel a strong connection and she works from a books I don't own and has a perspective I can't align with. I need to feel my pain so that I can process it. I can't just blink it away and focus on now. That's what causes the eating.
I don't know if I have the guts to tell her I'm moving on today, but I will have to soon. I have not logged food nor spoken to her in days and I've lost 4lbs.
She DID remind me that I need a Plan of Action (exercise) and I am working on that as I will need to include the children.
I am also telling Cathy goodbye. She brought some things to my attention, but I don't feel a strong connection and she works from a books I don't own and has a perspective I can't align with. I need to feel my pain so that I can process it. I can't just blink it away and focus on now. That's what causes the eating.
I don't know if I have the guts to tell her I'm moving on today, but I will have to soon. I have not logged food nor spoken to her in days and I've lost 4lbs.
She DID remind me that I need a Plan of Action (exercise) and I am working on that as I will need to include the children.
The Time I Wanted My Rapist to 'Hurry Up' So I Could Get on With My Day
I was not raped in this instance. I want to say that up front. This whole thing was me.
I was 18, living in Pittsburgh with no money. I had a boyfriend who actively tormented me in a million ways, until his real girlfriend came to town. It was those times he'd send me home for the week to starve in my apartment with my 4 pieces of furniture. I would listen to U2 and Alanis Morissette and wait for him to message me, again.
On the ride home, once, the bus driver was older and took a wrong turn. I knew it was a wrong turn as I'd been on this route a hundred times. But, I thought, I'll just get off the bus whereever and try to walk home, no matter the distance. And why did I think that? Why didn't I tell him straight away? I'd paid for the ride. I knew he was wrong. But I sat there and let the mistake unfold at my own cost.
At some point he realized his mistake and turned down a narrow street in order to turn around. While backing the massive bus up, he hit a telephone pole. He looked up at me in the overhead mirror and said "Oops." in this awkward way that made my skin crawl. He parked the bus and undid his seat belt.
At this point, I considered that he may try to rape me. And my immediate thought was that I should just let him so that he will drive me the rest of the way home. Not that I should call for help. Not that I should fight back. Not that I should run away. I should just lay there in exchange for a ride home.
Of course, nothing like that happened. He stepped out of the bus and asked a guy to help him turn the bus around. He corrected the route and dropped me off just a few minutes later than usual.
Why would I think so little of myself? Why would my go-to response be to lie there and not make a fuss? Why would I think it worth a ride home to be obedient while a man violates me?
I need therapy.
I was 18, living in Pittsburgh with no money. I had a boyfriend who actively tormented me in a million ways, until his real girlfriend came to town. It was those times he'd send me home for the week to starve in my apartment with my 4 pieces of furniture. I would listen to U2 and Alanis Morissette and wait for him to message me, again.
On the ride home, once, the bus driver was older and took a wrong turn. I knew it was a wrong turn as I'd been on this route a hundred times. But, I thought, I'll just get off the bus whereever and try to walk home, no matter the distance. And why did I think that? Why didn't I tell him straight away? I'd paid for the ride. I knew he was wrong. But I sat there and let the mistake unfold at my own cost.
At some point he realized his mistake and turned down a narrow street in order to turn around. While backing the massive bus up, he hit a telephone pole. He looked up at me in the overhead mirror and said "Oops." in this awkward way that made my skin crawl. He parked the bus and undid his seat belt.
At this point, I considered that he may try to rape me. And my immediate thought was that I should just let him so that he will drive me the rest of the way home. Not that I should call for help. Not that I should fight back. Not that I should run away. I should just lay there in exchange for a ride home.
Of course, nothing like that happened. He stepped out of the bus and asked a guy to help him turn the bus around. He corrected the route and dropped me off just a few minutes later than usual.
Why would I think so little of myself? Why would my go-to response be to lie there and not make a fuss? Why would I think it worth a ride home to be obedient while a man violates me?
I need therapy.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
I Hate Waking Up
My body is so stiff. I waddle and weave, my stomach catching on the corner of the dresser. I can't lift Oliver, my back is so stiff and compressed. I see the way these 600lb women have to shift and build up momentum to get out of bed and I'm exactly the same. I sometimes think it would be better if I didn't wake up.
Ugh! What am I saying? I have a family to take care of. I have so much to live for... and yet I was googling how often I could use ipecac to puke up binges without damaging my heart TOO MUCH.
I don't want to eat, but at the same time I can't wait. Eggs with cheeseand peppers. Buttered toast. Creamy coffee.
And then the day will devolve into snacks and sandwiches and soda and chips and chocolate....and then dinner... and then night snack and bedtime snacks and drinks. I can't get away.
Friday, January 27, 2017
The Growl Won
So, I let my stomach growl what I feel, and everyone I talk to does too, is a FAKE hunger. It fake growled for over 3 hours while I sipped water or coffee trying to make it stop. I finally gave in 20 minutes before dinner was done. I ate about 20 lightly salted chips with the last of the dill dip.
I AM SO ANGRY AT MY DISEASE!!!! FUCKING TANTRUM BULLSHIT.
I made a huge stock pot of vegetable soup tonight. Beans, tomatoes, cabbage, peas, corn, carrots, celery, peppers, veggie broth, margarine, and an entire box of curly pasta. I ate 2 bowls of it. That was 1 hour and 15 minutes ago.
MY STOMACH JUST GROWLED AGAIN.
It's going to kill me. This disease is evil and nasty. It lies. It steals my life. I hate it.
I AM SO ANGRY AT MY DISEASE!!!! FUCKING TANTRUM BULLSHIT.
I made a huge stock pot of vegetable soup tonight. Beans, tomatoes, cabbage, peas, corn, carrots, celery, peppers, veggie broth, margarine, and an entire box of curly pasta. I ate 2 bowls of it. That was 1 hour and 15 minutes ago.
MY STOMACH JUST GROWLED AGAIN.
It's going to kill me. This disease is evil and nasty. It lies. It steals my life. I hate it.
A Normal Day's Calories
I wrote up what would be a normal eating day for me before the OA program. This does NOT include the bites I would steal of things I pass in the kitchen, or while cooking, or seconds on meals.
The calorie total was 5,213 Calories Per Day!!!
My dietician suggested 1,200 per day.
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Food Made Me Feel Safe
I'm watching My 600 lb Life and have completely identified with the story of Brittani. She begins to see a therapist and the doctor points out that food made her feel safe as a child.
And something in me screamed, "Yes!"
When you are 4 and 5 and 6 years old, there is only food when someone who loves you is with you. Mom is home. You are clean and not alone. You are safe and loved.
I think I'm still chasing that. It isn't hard to imagine that learning to cook on the stove at 8yo was probably an attempt to feel safe when I was cornered by a terrible sitter or all alone in the summer.
The things that happened to me should never have happened. It is not okay that I was alone and abused and made to put on a happy face to hide all of that. I'm sorry little girl. I'm sorry you were hurt and no one knew and no one fixed it.
It's not okay and as an adult, I can now start to open back up and face those fears, those monsters, that pain.
I don't need food to feel safe. I am old enough to defend and protect myself.
Food Journal 1/26/17
I have altered my Plan of Eating. Instead of 3 meals and 3 snacks, I am eating 6 mini meals at my leisure throughout the day.
This stops me from worrying about the next plate, the next bowl. I'm not counting minutes because I know I can have my next if I want it.
#1. 2 eggs w/colbyjack, English muffin w/margarine, coffee
#2. 2 pickles, 1 string cheese
(No photo)
#3. Mock-Bacon, lettuce, mayo sandwich on wheat bread; iced tea
#4. Popcorn, no butter
#5. Skillet "pizza" (no crust/sauce) w/ mock steak strips, cherry tomatoes, & bell peppers; trail mix
#6. More of the same popcorn
Standing on the Sidelines
I have been researching, toying around with, attending a few meetings, telling people about, and thumbing through the AA Big Book for almost 3 months. I have a sponsor, but I'm not sure it's a good fit. I have done zero step work.
There is a 9:30 am OA meeting in Rocky Grove. Like an hour away. I'm thinking of going so that I can try and find a local sponsor. Cathy is a solid 5, but I need a 8 or higher. I need to get mad at a sponsor for being there too much.
I have thought of finding a local open AA meeting, but they are all in the evening and I am alone in the evenings. :(
In any case, I need to dive into OA now. I am ready.
There is a 9:30 am OA meeting in Rocky Grove. Like an hour away. I'm thinking of going so that I can try and find a local sponsor. Cathy is a solid 5, but I need a 8 or higher. I need to get mad at a sponsor for being there too much.
I have thought of finding a local open AA meeting, but they are all in the evening and I am alone in the evenings. :(
In any case, I need to dive into OA now. I am ready.
Trigger Foods
So, I swore up and down that I had no trigger foods, but there may be a few.
I have a hard time saying no to boxed macaroni & cheese. I compulsively buy it. I cook it for my toddlers knowing full well that they don't like it and will only pick at it, thereby allowing me to consume the leftovers.
Chip/Veggie dip. I often make my own (1pt sour cream + 1pt mayo + spices) and so don't understand where the craving is coming from as I don't add sugar and while I know dairy has some, there are other things that I eat with MUCH higher naturally occurring sugar content. In any case, if I have it in the house, I eat it until an entire 12oz container has been compromised. Often with pretzel sticks, tortilla chips, or chopped raw veggies.
I can have sweets like cake or pie in the house, but it must be out of sight. I left an apple pie alone in the refrigerator for so long that I was certain it had gone bad and tossed it (yay, me!) I'm not actually sure on the cake thing. I have a dozen tequila cupcakes in the freezer right now and zero desire to pull them out and thaw for later eating... but if there were a coconut Pepperidge Farm cake on the counter, I would (and have) eaten the entire thing in one sitting.
Small candy bars are just gonna be a NO. I can leave them alone with a bit of luck, but once I start I can eat about 10 Mr. Goodbars.
I have a hard time saying no to boxed macaroni & cheese. I compulsively buy it. I cook it for my toddlers knowing full well that they don't like it and will only pick at it, thereby allowing me to consume the leftovers.
Chip/Veggie dip. I often make my own (1pt sour cream + 1pt mayo + spices) and so don't understand where the craving is coming from as I don't add sugar and while I know dairy has some, there are other things that I eat with MUCH higher naturally occurring sugar content. In any case, if I have it in the house, I eat it until an entire 12oz container has been compromised. Often with pretzel sticks, tortilla chips, or chopped raw veggies.
I can have sweets like cake or pie in the house, but it must be out of sight. I left an apple pie alone in the refrigerator for so long that I was certain it had gone bad and tossed it (yay, me!) I'm not actually sure on the cake thing. I have a dozen tequila cupcakes in the freezer right now and zero desire to pull them out and thaw for later eating... but if there were a coconut Pepperidge Farm cake on the counter, I would (and have) eaten the entire thing in one sitting.
Small candy bars are just gonna be a NO. I can leave them alone with a bit of luck, but once I start I can eat about 10 Mr. Goodbars.
Food Journal 1/24/17
Went back to sleep after my 6am van routine with Gabriel. I'm just drained lately. Lots of back pain.
Seasonal depression? Emotional rut? Panic attack? PMS? No freakin' clue.
BREAKFAST : Cranberry shredded wheat w/unsweetened almond milk; coffee w/creamer
SNACK: NONE
LUNCH: Provolone sandiwich on wheat w/mayo & lettuce; bbq chips
SNACK: Fun Sized Snickers (4 pictured but only 2 eaten, Ollie wanted them)
SNACK (extra): BBQ chips
DINNER: Skillet Taco Pasta w/mock beef, salsa, sweet corn, cheddar, & sour cream; water
Accountabilitiy
I actively chose NOT to log my food yesterday. I needed a bit of a reset. I realized that I had started lying to my self because I was having to send the links to my sponsor at night.
Accountability:
In addition to the foods posted on Sunday (1/22) I included almost all of a cupcake in my snack. I grabbed it because I thought I NEEDED IT, but in the end it didn't taste good and I couldn't eat all of it. I also had a second helping of potato chips with dinner. I did NOT have a snack that night because I was punishing myself.
On Monday, (1/23) I ate 3-4 times the amount of peanutbutter crackers shown in the photo of my evening snack.
On Tuesday, (1/24) I ate 1/4 of an entire Lemon Cream pie. I don't know when. I woke up Wednesday and remember opening the pie and taking a bite. Nothing else.
I had been hiding those things from my sponsor. She doesn't check in often, so I feel like I can slide by. Turns out, I can't. This is MY recovery, not hers. She will NOT be with me or available at all times. She will not be better at this or wiser. She will not be unshakable. She will not be infallible. She will not always recognize a crisis if I lie and say I'm fine. If I don't like something she has told me to do, I need to tell her. If I don't have a material or free time to work a step, I need to tell her. If I have a good day, I need to tell her.
Honesty. Communication. And giving up control. These need to be my supports, right now.
Accountability:
In addition to the foods posted on Sunday (1/22) I included almost all of a cupcake in my snack. I grabbed it because I thought I NEEDED IT, but in the end it didn't taste good and I couldn't eat all of it. I also had a second helping of potato chips with dinner. I did NOT have a snack that night because I was punishing myself.
On Monday, (1/23) I ate 3-4 times the amount of peanutbutter crackers shown in the photo of my evening snack.
On Tuesday, (1/24) I ate 1/4 of an entire Lemon Cream pie. I don't know when. I woke up Wednesday and remember opening the pie and taking a bite. Nothing else.
I had been hiding those things from my sponsor. She doesn't check in often, so I feel like I can slide by. Turns out, I can't. This is MY recovery, not hers. She will NOT be with me or available at all times. She will not be better at this or wiser. She will not be unshakable. She will not be infallible. She will not always recognize a crisis if I lie and say I'm fine. If I don't like something she has told me to do, I need to tell her. If I don't have a material or free time to work a step, I need to tell her. If I have a good day, I need to tell her.
Honesty. Communication. And giving up control. These need to be my supports, right now.
Monday, January 23, 2017
Writings to Transcribe
My first assignment was to read the NABB first chapter and identify why I am an addict. I need to transcribe these pages and send to my sponsor, tomorrow.
Food Journal 1/23/17
I am exhausted, emotionally drained, and off schedule. I am on the outs with my best friend, my sister is drinking AGAIN, and my mom's PTSD got complicated yesterday. I'm not in a good place.
I reached out to my support group today, read my AABB, and even took a nap to avoid a binge, but I still did it. Felt too ashamed to eat dinner, so skipped that.
BREAKFAST : 2 Eggs w/swiss, tomato, spinach; coffee
SNACK : veggies, dill dip, green tea
COFFEE: Sponsor suggested a switch to SF creamer.
LUNCH: Mini pizzas w/salad, 2 oreos (not shown)
POST NAP BINGE: Lightly salted chips, dip, 6 oreos
DINNER : none
SNACK: PB on crackers
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Food Journal 1/22/17
On the go! Potluck lunch with friends then a check in on Mom. 4 hours in the car... ugh.
BREAKFAST : 2 Eggs w/swiss, tomato, spinach; Coffee w/creamer; wedge of melon
SNACK : Water and 4 dried orange segments
LUNCH : pasta w/tomatoes sauce; pb cookie, cheese cubes, fruit
SNACK: 2 tbsp cheese spread and 5 crackers, green tea drink, tylenol
DINNER : Veggie burger, lightly salted chips (1oz), dill dip
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Food Journal 1/21/17
Women's march, Pamper Chef party, and spent the whole day in town. Meals were all off schedule and odd.
BREAKFAST: Lemon pie and a latte (left last bite on plate for 30 minutes of conversation and still didn't eat before leaving)
LUNCH: Lettuce & cheese w/ranch, beer bread (only ate half), coffee
SNACK: two donut holes, 15 chips, water
SNACK: donut hole & string cheese
DINNER: macaroni & cheese w/peas
SNACK: 10 chips
Friday, January 20, 2017
A Share Helped Me
I love the idea of OA and think it will be my best helper. But the Higher Power stuff makes me curl. I bounce between "I think I'm an Atheist" and "Maybe". I'm trying to use the program to guide a lot of things in my life right now. Do for others and be selfless has been a big thing. And the honesty. I don't offer lipservice these days. I think it saves a lot of headaches in the end.
Anyway, tonight in meeting, someone said that they had found hope in the Big Book's idea that "we've tried every other way and perhaps it's time to try a new way". She said that she was a control freak and know-it-all (hmmmm, remind you of anyone? LOL), but that Logic and Reason had not worked for her. She decided to try something else. She decided to slow down and start to listen. She was listening for the small voice of the divine. She said that it did come. That it did start to make sense and that when she let go of control in her life, the good things started to come and from odd places.
I think of Petey sometimes. I hear about all the horrible things she did when she was drinking. But I look at her now and she is humble, she has the best luck, and she is surrounded by loved ones. She found a good and flexible job. She was given a newly remodeled house and recently handed a free washer and dryer. It did come with self-sacrifice. She had to walk away from her boyfriend and move to a strange place. She did lose her sister and brother to their own diseases. But she talks a lot about journaling, about listening to god, about doing what is right even if she doesn't want to. Discipline.
I need to find my HP. If not God, then simply trust that the world will be there to help me. Trust in humanity. Trust that what I need will come if I just stop trying to control it all. In light of the inauguration today, I suppose we all need that more than ever.
Anyway, tonight in meeting, someone said that they had found hope in the Big Book's idea that "we've tried every other way and perhaps it's time to try a new way". She said that she was a control freak and know-it-all (hmmmm, remind you of anyone? LOL), but that Logic and Reason had not worked for her. She decided to try something else. She decided to slow down and start to listen. She was listening for the small voice of the divine. She said that it did come. That it did start to make sense and that when she let go of control in her life, the good things started to come and from odd places.
I think of Petey sometimes. I hear about all the horrible things she did when she was drinking. But I look at her now and she is humble, she has the best luck, and she is surrounded by loved ones. She found a good and flexible job. She was given a newly remodeled house and recently handed a free washer and dryer. It did come with self-sacrifice. She had to walk away from her boyfriend and move to a strange place. She did lose her sister and brother to their own diseases. But she talks a lot about journaling, about listening to god, about doing what is right even if she doesn't want to. Discipline.
I need to find my HP. If not God, then simply trust that the world will be there to help me. Trust in humanity. Trust that what I need will come if I just stop trying to control it all. In light of the inauguration today, I suppose we all need that more than ever.
Food Journal 1/20/17
Trump sucks. I had an extra helping at lunch, but then thought that maybe that could just count as dinner. I don't know if this works that way...
BREAKFAST: 3 eggs w/swiss, spinach, and tomato; English muffin; Coffee w/creamer
SNACK: Coffee w/creamer
LUNCH: Rice, mock-beef gravy; Butternut Squash w/feta, garlic, and cranberries
SNACK: Peanut M&Ms (1.5oz)
DINNER (or seconds at lunch): Rice with mock-beef gravy
SNACK: Apple slices and Muenster cheese cubes, water
Thursday, January 19, 2017
Food Journal 1/19/17
Happy birthday, Mom!
My sponsor got in touch with me about mid-day today to touch base. She wanted to make sure I'm going to meetings. I have two online ones I bounce between. I like them both for different reasons. Anyway, my Sponsor said that she'd like to see a food log of some kind for each day.
I hate to measure. It takes me back to the gazillion diets and the monotony of MFP. Instead, I am going to continue to take a photo of things before consuming them.
I did not take photos of breakfast or lunch, but did eat them.
BREAKFAST: 2 Eggs w/swiss, spinach, & tomato; Coffee w/creamer, 1 segment of Oliver's Orange
SNACK: skipped, we were at the dentist (although I almost took a bite of Evelyn's string cheese snack but stopped myself as I realized it was waiting room boredom/anxiety and not hunger provoking me)
LUNCH: Iceburg lettuce salad w/tomato, onion, cheddar cheese, croutons & ranch; Water
SNACK: Coffee w/creamer
DINNER: Long-grain rice, mock-beef gravy, steamed corn, water
SNACK: 1 oz bbq chips (which my kids stole from me anyway!)
My sponsor got in touch with me about mid-day today to touch base. She wanted to make sure I'm going to meetings. I have two online ones I bounce between. I like them both for different reasons. Anyway, my Sponsor said that she'd like to see a food log of some kind for each day.
I hate to measure. It takes me back to the gazillion diets and the monotony of MFP. Instead, I am going to continue to take a photo of things before consuming them.
I did not take photos of breakfast or lunch, but did eat them.
BREAKFAST: 2 Eggs w/swiss, spinach, & tomato; Coffee w/creamer, 1 segment of Oliver's Orange
SNACK: skipped, we were at the dentist (although I almost took a bite of Evelyn's string cheese snack but stopped myself as I realized it was waiting room boredom/anxiety and not hunger provoking me)
LUNCH: Iceburg lettuce salad w/tomato, onion, cheddar cheese, croutons & ranch; Water
SNACK: Coffee w/creamer
DINNER: Long-grain rice, mock-beef gravy, steamed corn, water
SNACK: 1 oz bbq chips (which my kids stole from me anyway!)
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