Stress

It has been a while. 

I had few attempts to sit and write something ,but didn’t really feel like it.

Currently I’m not happy with how things are going.I haven’t stood on the scale in a while and scared like hell to do it .

Treatment for my eating disorder is about to finish soon,and I feel like I’m a little bit lost.

A lot of things are changing .I don’t like changes . I’m not a fan.

Here what is going on.

Haven’t seen my therapist live for a few meetings now,which was due to my sickness or because I had to wait for test results for Covid-19 . Talking online is not the same. It feels more responsible for my bad decision when I can be held accountable ,when actually present .

I have days when I feel that I am not strong enough to pull it through. I know I am not losing enough weight,and that makes me very upset.There was this period of time,where I ate like a pro. I felt quite good about myself,until I realised that things are going wrong .I was drinking beer/cider. One can per day (or sometimes 2-3) everyday for a little bit longer than a week. I don’t even recall drinking it all,until I notice how many cans have gone from the fridge. I knew what was happening. I was searching for a bubble replacement. 

You know,that safe bubble that I was able to escape to when I was binging .

It’s such a danger to come from one addition to another.My traumatized ass can be in readly dark place at times,and it’s hard then to not to lock yourself in that dramatic spiral. 

Haven’t drunk anything  in a while now. Don’t feel like it.The bubble ,that was my comfort once,now scares the shit out of me. It’s a constant  reminder that something is wrong with me.That no matter what happens,this sick part of me will always be there,maybe sleeping,inactive but still there. This though ,with the fact that treatment will be finishing soon brings me a lot of stress. I know ,there is a possibility to continue the therapy someplace else ,but reliving everything that happened to me is not fun.

To not be all negative I have some things to look forward too. Possibly a new job,which means the end of a very long and nerve jangled period in my life ,where my binge eating ,depression and PTSD grew more in power and gained +40 kg . Where the stress levels were so high, that I was able to dissociate myself from the  surroundings,also while occasionally  driving a car on my way back home.End of a period when I strongly believed, that I was not good enough,that I need to change my whole personality,because I do not fit in.A period ,when I was convinced that this is it-there is nothing better out there for me.Period of time when I didn’t want to be alive anymore.

 I wish I was able to realize earlier that a job is not something that defines who I am as a person.That health is more important than numbers.That I matter .How I feel matters. 

Walking away feels good.Feels right,especially that I’m not going away alone.This place took a lot from me,but gave me a chance to meet some wonderful people that I can now  call my Friends. 

See,told you,I’m not all negative!

(Now let me try to believe in that)

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.  

Heavy side of overthinking

Day 3 & 4

I was occupied the whole day yesterday. I didn’t binge. I have manage to stay away from baklava for a day.

You know, those 3 pieces that I could not shut up about in previous posts .

After all, they were in the fridge, unnoticed by the rest of the family. I didn’t eat them yesterday though. My first thought was, that my husband is going to find out. I wrote about it here. He was not able to see this blog yet, but once it happens, he is going to judge me. Everyone will judge me.

Today I broke.

This voice in my head was even more intense after I was done eating. “You can always tell him that it was covered with mould, so I throw it away” or “I didn’t want to be tempted so I throw it away “.Then I thought- maybe I should just throw it away ???? On the other hand, it is food, why would I throw away food??? Maybe I should give it to one of my family members? But wait, it’s not a healthy snack, so why would I give it away?

Fucking Baklava.

Overthinking is hell. Overthinking about food is sickness.