February 12, 2013

Today is a new day. To be perfectly honest, it feels dullingly like an extension of other crappy days. It’s cold, wet, rainy, and drapped in gloom. It’s perfectly suited for my mood, yet our compatibility makes me even more cranky.

I have been having a really hard time with Ed’s changing demands on me lately. Binge, restrict, , restrict, run as fast as I can for as long as I can. I crave my old runners high, I crave feeling impressed by where my body can take me. I crave the high of consistent restriction. The security, the purpose, the feeling of being lighter, more capable of floating away.

I miss my dad so much. The gravity of his death is slowly sinking in and the pain and despairity that it brings is terrifying. At times I feel such an overwhelming hysteria that all I can do is remain painstakingly still, for any more interaction with this fucked up world will push me over a limit I have never crossed before. The hole in my heart cannot be filled by binges and restrictions, and while I never lose sight of that truth, they serve as a numbing distraction, and for that I am grateful. I am not ready to accept this, I am not ready to cry, to scream, to let go, to say goodbye. I am not ready, never ready, refuse to be ready, refuse to, refuse refuse refuse. So I will hold Ed’s hand and try to keep our relationship under the rug, because I refuse to let that rug trip me, to admit that that rug was brutally torn out from under me many months ago.

In just a few weeks, it will mark one year since the last time I saw my dad alive. The last time I hugged the man that raised me. The last time I said goodbye. And though that weighs on me constantly, though my sleep is haunted by that shattering reality, I refuse to feel it. I don’t can’t won’t. So I’ll starve myself until I can’t feel again.


January 28, 2013


I am currently quite frustrated, and I have debated for quite some time to succumb to the practice of blogging. Normally I hate to write. I hate how it makes me feel, hate what I write, hate the feelings that are poured out from the simple practice and writing what I think. However, I am at my wits-end, so here I am, an anonymous blogger. However, at the very least, I think it may have the potential to be neat to look back and see the places I’ve been, the things I’ve felt, and see how I’ve grown. I hope this can be a somewhat cheesy reflection piece to see how even though sometimes I feel like the years are just cyclical, my emotions and problems are just on repeat, and I’ve completely at a stand still, that is not necessarily the reality of the situation.

The last few months have been awful. In December of 2011 my father had a heart attack and multiple surgeries to attempt to save his life. During my drive back visiting my pops in the hospital, I watch my uncle’s defibrillator shock him. And that marked the downfall of 2012. Trying to gain control and make sense of the awfulness surrounding me, knowing that I’m losing my dad and not being able to stop it, I count every single thing that I put in my mouth and violently punish myself for my shortcomings for being ounces heavier than the day before. Falling deeper and deeper into isolation, abused and manipulated by Ed, I almost completely lose touch of the outside world, of any possibilities of a healthy and normal future, of the capacity to love and be loved. Then, on September 13, 2013 my dad falls to the floor dead. The misery of that year that I had been predicting in nightmares time and time again happens. I got the call that I had been dreading yet anticipating.

Fast forward a few months, here I am trying to move forward in my recovery, in a recovery that Ed sincerely intents to halt every second of every day. My mom who has never really been there for me is now very dependent on me. My sweet, sweet husband who has so selflessly put himself on the back burner is by my side, and I am trying so hard to fight to make this circumstance as normal and okay as possible for the very sake that he didn’t choose this. He shouldn’t have to have yet another year of absolute pain because of the wife that he married.

The last few nights my sleep has been awful. It’s ironic too, since I had nightmares the nine months leading up to my dad’s death, nightmares of him having a heart attack and me not being able to stop it. And yet not once after his death have I had a nightmare even close to similar to those. Yet the last few nights I’ve been getting awful nights sleep. Worrying about my mom who refuses to be independent, despite the constant radio flowing out of her mouth detailing her made-up accomplishments and fantasy plans. The texting is what has pushed me over the limit. The texting, the stupid texting, of her careless thoughts and selfish motives as if she does not have any idea that she’s indeed texting another human being, a human being that she’s hurting, a human being that she’s damaging, is what has pushed me to my limit. I live by boundries, I love them, and I am struggling at this moment to feel it. They’ve been the only thing that has kept me in the illusion of security, of safety from the insane situations that I wake up to. I am desparately trying to remind myself that they do exist, yet all the while as the lines become harder and harder to become clear, my mother and Ed are shouting at me, indirectly and very, very directly how much I suck, how much of a failure I am and have always been. The constant noise and ruthless, incessant sabotage has left me with one massive headache, and heartache for my dad.

Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the words of the wise brings healing. Proverbs 12:18.