Trauma

My dad called me two times yesterday, not in the best of times, to be very honest. I didn’t pick up ,and also didn’t call back. If it’s something urgent-especially for him ,he would try to text me too, or send something via messenger . Anyway. I went to bed, and had one nightmare after another, first about how bad of a person I am in his mind ,,and then the second one, which happened to be the worst. I dreamed that my dad was hitting me again. I was telling him not to do that anymore, as I’m a grown up now. I beg him to stop, and after some time he did stop. Then I told him that, If he ever hit me again, it would be the last time we see each other(I know it was just a dream ,but I also know how it would devastate him ,if I will cut all my contacts with him) .I was so proud of myself in that dream, because I stood up for myself. Not for long ,as he ended up hitting me again just to prove that he have power over me.

Dream was so intense, that I woke up and got a panic attack .Not as bad as they used to be. I knew it was just a dream and that  it was all not real . I have used some tricks that I have learned during my treatment for PTSD  to make myself calm, to ground myself, as I call it, and it worked. This took me a while though. Didn’t have a panic attack for quite a while now, but I guess with all the stress nowadays, it’s easier to find yourself in that horrible state again.

I’m not a role model daughter, but I try my best. My dad is pretending to be “good” now and seems to forget about the pain that he caused me and my brothers. He doesn’t want to admit that it was not only my mom , who beat the crap out of us. I’m already ok with the idea that he will never openly admit to it, or even apologies. I even caught him lying in front of my friends, saying that he never hit any of us, just made us exercise. Well just my brother. We don’t speak about what happened to me . Last time I tried to have a talk about the abuse, he said to me ,to not say anything since we might both hear the things that we don’t like, suggesting a bit ,that maybe he was not always a perfect dad indeed, but I wasn’t the best daughter either. 

So you see, there is no point starting the conversation. It’s not like things will get better after I will hear him admitting to anything. Nothing can change what happened, the damage has been done. I’m moving on, but it’s painful to see that he isn’t. With time ,I got to understand that he was a product of an abnormal family structure and toxic environment. I know his life was not easy, but since I could choose differently, why couldn’t he  ? 

Yes ,I know that I will never get an answer to this question. I’m fine with that. 

I just wish to not feel so guilty ,that I didn’t pick up the phone, or didn’t contact him often enough. I was raised to believe that parents do not make mistakes, that it is a sin, to not cherish your mom and dad above everything ,because they give me life (with the help of “God”, since we were Catholics )

But you know what,they were not only mom & dad.

They were also my abusers. 

So dear guilty feeling – I say to you bye bye.

Scale

I went on the scale today.It was less than last time ,but not life changing less.

There was no binge eating happening recently. I’ve made a lot of changes in my daily food related routine, and still ,the scale didn’t show it. 

I should probably move more…I wish I could go swimming for example. I really miss doing that.

Today I’m busy overthinking ,and being mad at myself. Maybe I could have done more. Maybe I’m overreacting,and my back and knee don’t hurt me hard enough .After all, people possibly deal with pain much worse than mine on a daily basis .Maybe I should push myself more. Maybe it’s not as easy as I think. Maybe I should stop being so scared of making the small steps. Maybe I should keep on repeating to myself ,that I’m doing this to get better, and not to impress anybody.

Frustration has really set in.

I hate the scale. I hate the numbers that it shows. I’m not those numbers.

War

Writing this is not easy. I’m a mom myself,and just thought that there will come a day when my child will blame me for all her issues or unhappiness scares the shit out of me. I’m sure that at some point she will realize how fucked up her mom actually can be.I hope that she will still like to have me around and tell me stuff.That she will not be cringing every mothers day ,like I do ,because I can stand people bragging how great they moms are/or were.

The same thing applies to dads. Equaly. 

I have no clue how to be  a good mom. I don’t even know how to be an “ok” mom. 

The only thing I do know for sure,that I will do my best to give my daughter  all that I didn’t have when I was young. Especially now,when I know for the fact that when I was her age my issue with food was already a long time out there. And nope,we don’t talk about material stuff. 

I want her to feel that she is loved ,just the way she is. That she is enough & worthy all the good stuff.

I keep on noticing more and more, how much my issues with food are connected with the way I was raised and it really breaks my heart. Yesterday was one of those days when I was thinking about not disappointing my dad,because he wanted me to do something for him.

I didn’t do what he asked.It was not a big deal but he could easily do it himself and he most definitely didn’t need my help.He lied to someone and I was supposed to get an info for him,since he was “not in the country at the moment” .

He keeps complaining that my siblings never call him anymore,but at the same time every time he is calling them,he wants something,or he keeps on complaining how messy his life is and how he hopes that everything will fall in the right place eventually . Calls with me are no different. When I’m about to hang up,I usually get to hear what was the real purpose of the call. He keeps on calling me now ,as I am writing this ,because he probably wants to know how the things went yesterday. Since I didn’t pick up ,he would try facetime ,or maybe email me, or use  social media to contact me and check if I did what he had asked. 

He will spend all that time trying to contact me,while he could easily make a call himself to and find out everything.

This situation makes my whole body so uncomfortable. Stress levels are very high. The need to eat something is very present ,and it’s damn strong. I want it to stop.I hate to feel this way. I hate how small I feel when he does that, even though he is thousands kilometers away .

If I call him back,he will win. So I’m not going to do it,at least not now. Maybe later,because the guilt I feel inside will not let me get on with my life.

This is ridiculous. 

It’s a war between me and me to not binge right  now and I deserve to win .

Hear me out.

” I’m smarter than you.

I look better in this sweater .

You have a big mouth.

Are you sure you are going to eat that?

You are not pretty.

Nobody will want someone as fat as you are.

Your belly is not as flat as mine.

Your boobs are way too big.

You are such a brad.

You are stupid.

Is there really nothing that you can do right?

Do you even have a brain ?

You are too dumb to study (….)

I don’t know from whom you inherit this kind of behaviour,for sure not from me.

You are a loser.

Why can’t you be as smart as your cousin? 

Look how thin she is,you can never be like her.

I have never been abroad so it’s ridiculous that you are going to Paris .

Why the hell can’t you play keyboards as well as your cousin ?

You need to do this (….) because your cousin is already busy with it.

It is not fair that you have better chances in life than me.

I wish I’ve never had you.

I could have left before you were born,but I stayed for you.

I could have just twisted your neck when you were tiny, since you stood on the way to my career. “

These should be in the book about  “How to not talk to your kids or/and your loved ones”. What do you do when you hear things like every day for  for years, decades ? You believe in them. I know I did.

It all makes sense now.

When the phone rings, and it’s one of the people who you would call “parents” (well actually my dad only at this point, my mom doesn’t give a shit about me),I immediately search for food. First I check around the table, then I scan the room, then I think about what I have in the fridge that I could possibly eat (or nub) while I talk to  them( I also  think about the food that I can eat after the conversation). That explains a lot.

There. It’s out. I had to write it down. It gives me some kind of satisfaction ,strength. Why?

Because first of all , I don’t believe in it anymore. I call it bullshit. If you say or think about me this way, it means you have absolutely no idea who I am. I’m not stupid. I’m not too dumb to do stuff. I can actually  do a lot of things -from very useless to very useful, so never underestimate me .I’m not model type skinny. I never was ,nor ever will be. 

I don’t have a flat belly, and it might be that even if I lose enough weight it will never be completely flat.

I’m not my mom, or my dad. I’m not my cousin. I’m not anybody else. I’m not my weight. I’m not my depression. I’m not my PTSD .I’m not my eating disorder. 

I’m me & that is good enough.

Misery

I feel like I’m in some kind of limbo of misery.  This whole pandemic is starting to really get on my nerves .

Maybe it was bothering me before,but I pretend that it didn’t ? That sounds like something I would do.

Before my break down nearly 2  years ago, I would push myself to the limits and act like I can handle it all. I was avoiding people who were trying to address the possible issue that I’m having.  I thought that, as long as I can stand on two legs, I’m good to go. I did some weird things . Eating at work in the toilet ,because I was afraid what others would say if they sow me eating all this stuff. Buying an extra big bag so I can fit all my snacks in the morning and after I am done with work, because I would also eat on the way home. I would put some music on, and I would feel like all these people in the train are not really there, so I can just sit in my safe bubble . At that time I really didn’t consider this as something weird. I do now.

I guess the good thing is that I really didn’t binge in the last week. I was able to stop myself before I was too far gone. 

That sounds like a little win, but doesn’t feel like one though. I wish I could move more . This part is getting harder and harder ,since my knee is hurting like a bitch. I feel angry at myself and my knee .I’m quite miserable at this point .I don’t think anybody really  knows how miserable ,but It’s ok. I’m not looking for pity, It’s just something I need to go through. I’ve been running away from feelings way too long. I need to believe that set back is not the end of the world, and that it doesn’t define who I am .

Maybe If I can just get through this, things will get better. 

Angry

I’m very very angry .On a scale from 1 to 10  I would give it a solid 12 . You will understand why after reading this post.

Growing up being me was not very pretty .It was wrong from the start. First – I was supposed to be a boy. Years ego ,you couldn’t check the sex of the baby. Yet my dad was convinced that I am a boy . I was told he was really surprised when it turned out that I’m a tiny little girl .

What a disappointment! 

Three years after I was born,my dad finally got his boy. My brother was born not breathing, they were fighting for his life for a few hours ,and by some miracle -or maybe the correct way to say it- thanks to the skills of the doctors  and nurses he was safed .

Everything changed .You could say that I was spoiled since as  a 3 years old I dared to complain that I’m not getting attention. And yes,I did complain a lot ,because I was talking a lot since I was very young , and as I was often reminded-my mouth just didn’t shut .

I was also told that there is no way I can remember what I was told at 3 years of age. Well I did remember. I still do.

After all, my  first memory is from when I was about 1 years old and I was given a bone from chicken leg to nibble(for my own sake I will not get into the exploring the chicken matter ).

But let’s get to the point (I promise there is one).

I remember people coming to visit my newly born brother. I was very social as a child,I was happy when we had people around,and It was in my very nature to greet everybody right at the door. There is nothing strange with that. 

However ,I remember like it was yesterday ,what they were telling me after my brother was born :

“oh we are not here for you,we came to see your brother”

“oh nooo,these toys are not for you,you didn’t deserve it,It’s for your brother who by miracle is now alive”

One aunt even told me ” oh my dear ,you don’t matter now ,your brother is more important “

I remember sitting in the corner by myself ,while everybody was just so excited about my him. I mean- he was a miracle  and a boy!! How lucky my parents were.

It all went downhill from there. I remember being super confused, not knowing what to do ,to get some attention. Of course at that time I didn’t understand it that way . It was all about my brother and I didn’t matter anymore . When I did something wrong – or as I would prefer to call it today -when I did something that every kid did when they were young- I was bitten up. With a hand , belt ,shoe, carpet beater ,poker (yes,the metal one ,that you use for your chimney).

My brother was spared at first,because you know- he was a miracle. He got his portion of beating when he was a bit older.

After some time ,I’ve had enough . I felt better everywhere else but home . 

I decided one day that I will run away to my uncle. He didn’t live very far . My cousins were always so nice to me ,they didn’t  hurt me , they would listen to me.

Moreover ,they were always happy to see me . Always.

Off I went.

Of course after some time – my parents found out where I was . I didn’t want to go back with them ,I was crying ,they promised me that we would talk it all over at home .

It was a warm summer evening ,and I remember that day like it was yesterday.

As soon as we entered the house ,I was told to put my pants down, and lay down on the little wooden chair ,so I could get my ass smashed with my fathers belt. 

We didn’t talk anything thru. It was a punishment time for me . My mother looked away,mentioning only that  I am a shame for them because of what I did adding “what the neighbours will think about us now.”When they finally realized that I was missing earlier that day , all the neighbourhood was alarmed . So naturally, the most important thing once I was at home was what the neighbourhood would think about my parents .

Priorities.

Eventually ,they managed to pull my pants down,force me on that stuppid little chair and beat me up until I was not able to cry anymore. Then when they were done,I was told to apologize for what I have done and swear that I will never ever run away again . I was 5 .

I did what I  was told. Until it was time for me to run away again. But next time I did it smarter (little did I know) . My dad was not at home ,and my mothers friend came by. They were busy with each other ,my brother was in his little bed and I was told that I can go outside and play in the front of the house. 

This was my chance ,I thought. My mom’s friend was at home,so even if I run away and they find me,there is no way I will get beaten in front of other people. 

My dad came back home early that day.

By now you probably know where I am going with this,so let me spare you the details. Dejavu. But this time ,with viewers. Well actually no viewers,listeners .

 My mom was sitting with her friend in the living room and I was asked to go to the kitchen,the doors closed and then the same thing happened all over again.

After it was all over,I was told to behave like nothing happened and also maybe to ” not cry so much ,because I had nothing to cry about”.

Crying is not allowed , even when you were punished after doing something wrong. Since I did something wrong – I was supposed to shut my mouth ,and prove that I will do better next time .

This was a breaking point for me. I realized that adults are not to be trusted ,and most of all ,they will not protect me.  This running away gig had to stop .It wasn’t working.

I was desperately in need for a friend . The kind of a friend that would hug me, that would listen to me,play with me and cheer me up,the one that understands and not judge,the one that I can always run away to without actually leaving the house.

That’s when the eating started. First innocent. There was this  powder milk in a blue bag,that you had to put with some water.It was for my brother. The powder itself tasted very nice. I can still remember it’s taste .I knew where they were putting it ,so I ate it ,when they were sleeping ,or watching a movie ,or simply  when they just  went away.Then came other stuff.I always made sure that nobody can see what I’m doing,what I’m eating or how much.

The beating didn’t stop of course as there was always a good reason to punish me.But I didn’t run away anymore. I stayed at home. I thought this is how things should be. I didn’t know any different.I was never alone anymore,my friend “Food” was with me all the time.

I spoke to my dad yesterday. It was not a nice conversation . He made me feel like little me again.My blood pressure went high,and in the end I tried to turn it all into the joke,but this pain and anger inside me was just too strong.

I was checking what kind of food I can order . Since it was quite late (lucky for me), choice was really limited. After searching for perfect food  for too long I just gave up.

That’s why I’m angry. I woke up today, feeling really uneasy. Dad was calling again,but I was not able to pick up the phone.  It made me physically ill .The feeling of misery was so present, and the will to binge was getting stronger and stronger.

For too long I was made to believe that I do not matter . That how I felt ,didn’t matter. With this in mind  it was always easier to turn to that one friend. The one that always took me to a blissful state of safe , calm ,where nothing else really mattered . Just me and my friend “”food”. 

Today my friend “food” was left all alone.

I have opened my laptop and started to write this post.

I didn’t binge today.  

Trust no one

I trust no one since roughly 1994.

It’s fairly easy to distrust people .Imagine if you can’t really trust your own body .

I can’t trust mine.

I’m hungry when I’m sad .I’m hungry when I’m happy. I’m hungry when I’m mad .I’m hungry when I’m thirsty, but also, just like others -I’m hungry when I’m hungry.

Because of that I need to eat regularly . If I don’t ,it all goes to shit.

Like yesterday for example. I ate my breakfast very late. It was more a brunch then anything else really, but I didn’t eat enough. I felt miserable ,almost the whole day , my neck was killing me ,and I was just sitting on my couch feeling sorry for myself. On the top of that ,my neck pain ,usually comes together with headache, because why not .

Time went by so quickly ,and before I knew ,I was busy making dinner .After dinner however ,I didn’t eat anything . Well almost anything .I ate two pears , bit of popcorn (butter free popcorn ) ,4-5 small Oreo cookies ,some waffles(no sugar) and some coffee and buckets of my favorite tea. I didn’t binge. Still, I end up going to bed hungry. My head was hurting me so much ,but since it was really late I thought I can manage without food. Why have I done that? Not sure, most likely it was a punishment -I failed to eat how I suppose to, so now naturally I deserve to suffer . I felt like crap .

Right now I’m not even sure why I thought it was a great idea to punish myself in this manner hmmm…. Anyway I promised myself that the next day I will do better.

So far so good.

You are not alone

Yesterday was a rough day.
I gave my husband a chance to read my blog.
To make it very clear. I didn’t make it to be perfect .I am not perfect nor I ever will be.
The only feedback I’ve got is that I’ve made some spelling mistakes.

English is not my native language. I learn it from songs that I was listening to on the radio when I was a kid .
I decided to write this blog in English for several reasons. Mainly ,because I hope that maybe someday ,there will be a girl or a boy out there, with eating disorder or depression, that would be able to relate to the things that I write about. And maybe, just maybe they will feel like they are not alone ,that they can relate to someone .

My meeting with Dietician was very much needed. I was trying to make it an online meeting ,as I didn’t feel like seeing other people . I’m happy that she made me come to her. I was very upset after the whole day of not having a normal conversation with my husband .I felt like a complete looser. I made mistakes ,therefore I’m a looser . That’s what overthinking does to you . That + very low self esteem . It’s so easy to bring someone down specially if they doubt themselves almost every step they make .

Ok. That was yesterday.

I don’t want to feel sorry for myself .I make changes in my life every day . Maybe they do not sound big enough for you , but they are huge for me. So maybe , just maybe I’m not a looser after all.

all right all right all right

I did good in the last 2 days .No binge . No secret eating. A little butter-well actually it’s hard to call it butter ,it’s light, good for people with high cholesterol ,have no taste ,but is full of Omega 3 oils which I heard are good for humans. I continue to use less milk .Coffee is always sugar free .

If I was not on my period right now, and in process of switching my medication levels, I could even dare to say that I do quite all right .

Tomorrow -meeting with dietitian .

Hungry

I was always told that I have no idea what real hunger means.

As a kid ,I was often forced to eat things, and I was surrounded with so much guilt because of it.

“You should be glad that you have food on your table “

“There are so many hungry kids in Africa and you are going to complain to me , that you don’t like the food or what is even worst, you ain’t going to empty the plate ??!?!?!?!?”

Followed with :

“You are ungrateful “

” You don’t love me “

“You are spoiled “

“You are horrible “

“It’s an insult for me, that you didn’t make your plate empty “

Most of the people who cooked when I was young were convinced that they are the best cooks ever. They were not bothered by cooking, and in their mind , I should be grateful that we have food at all ,since not everybody is so fortunate. This was their mantra.

My mom didn’t cook well at all. It was always the same food. She was never bothered. There was no real order in the kitchen. For example ,breakfast was only there on Sundays ,since my dad was not working on that day . The rest of the days were without breakfast. We did have sandwiches made for school, but it was more so others will not think , that my mother doesn’t take a good care for us.

My dad was into everything meat . Not the best example either ,but I must say It did change after he suffered from heart attack.

I often ate at my grandma’s. Mother of my mother. She was absolutely the worst.

She was making food that I didn’t always like. One time ,she made a soup ,that was simply horrible ,and I ended up vomiting it back on the plate. She forced me then to eat what I had vomited. I will never forget this and how it made me feel. She was so offended. I was staying at her house for about a week at that time, and she didn’t speak to me for several days. I was 5. In the end I was forced to apologize to her ,so she would speak to me again.

After all ,how did I dare not like her cooking???!!!

Since then I strongly believed that if it will ever happen next time, also with others – I can expect the same treatment .

Then came body shaming , food shaming ,bullying & even more confusion.

“Do you realized how many calories this has ??! ”

“Are you sure you are going to eat this ? “

“Why aren’t you as skinny as your cousin ?”

“Nobody will ever love you if you going to be fat “

The point was at that time -I was not fat. I was a not super skinny , but I was not as fat as I was made to believe. I was constantly compared with my cousin . Her body was nothing like mine . But this didn’t matter .The numbers matter . We were the same age ,so it was easy to say what our perfect weight should be . I always had kilo or two more than her ,and therefore -I was fat. Period.

I was about 5/6 years old then .That is also when my binge eating started.

The title of this post is “Hungry” Why ?

Because I’m very uncomfortable with this word. I’m hungry now , and just about to get some lunch. I decided to write something here to not feel so guilty about feeling this way.

My mind keeps on telling me stuff like -they will see you eating again ,they will judge you etc etc . So actually this post should help me to just pull myself together and eat my lunch like a normal human being without feeling bad about it. If I skip this meal ,I will binge later and I really don’t want that.