Tag Archives: anorexia

You know you’re in trouble when . . .

I hurt so much I want to scream. Every fiber in my body is in pain. I was in so much pain this morning that I phoned my pain management doctor to CANCEL my appointment because it hurt too much to drive 15 miles to his office. Now THAT’S bad!

I’m just guessing, but I think I’m in this much pain because my muscles got lazy in the 2 1/2 weeks I wasn’t in the gym and they had to wake up too quickly. In addition, the normal wear and tear everyone experiences was exponentially magnified so that what would be minor tears in tissue were moderate tears and I didn’t get enough REM sleep to repair them. Therefore, now, I can barely walk and my joints ache and feel as though they’re on fire. Screw this! I’m taking another pain pill and then I’m going to watch the recording of Nashville as I fall asleep.

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BTW, Nashville is an excellent show. It’s so good it doesn’t even qualify as a “guilty pleasure.” It has really good country music, great storylines and keeps you wondering whose life each event is based on in reality. Isn’t it odd that I’ve embraced modern country music AND grown-up’s hip-hop at this late date? Life is beautiful!

Oh! I forgot to mention that I had a bit of excitement Wednesday night as I was coming home from the gym. I needed to stop for gas. That means bypassing my neighborhood and going a bit north for less expensive pricing. I decided to take a shortcut not far from my house. What do I see but some guy half sitting, half laying in the middle of the street and a car at the stop sign right behind him. My first thought was that the car had hit him. Then, I realized that he hadn’t been hit, but there was definitely something amiss. So, I pulled over, got out of my minivan to figure out what street I was crossing (40 years in the neighborhood and it’s still very easy to get lost) so that I could call 911.

As I was doing that, a third car stopped. They asked the guy where he was going and that they’d take him. They tried and tried to get this guy out of the middle of the street. I’m thinking, “Why has no one thought about the obvious and called the police?” I told them I was calling because something was very wrong with this guy.

The next thing I know, the third car drives on while the first one gives me more info. While we’re talking, street-guy gets up and starts toward an extremely busy street, even at just about midnight. As the first car drives off, up rolls a cop. I tell him the story, thinking that he’s the one dispatch has sent. No, he was off-duty, saw me looking stranded and stopped. But, while I was talking to him, two cop cars that were sent roll up. That first cop was seriously yummy, but back to the story.

I sent the two or three cops in the direction street-guy was walking, very unsteadily, I might add. Since there was nothing more I could do, I got in my van and headed toward the gas station. In doing so, I saw that the cops had caught up with the guy. I think they were administering a field sobriety test. He could have been drunk, but I don’t think that that was all he had going on. He was elderly, so my first thought was dementia. My grandfather had some non-Alzheimer’s kind of dementia. He was good at escaping from whatever facility he was in. It finally cost him his life in an accident so grisly that it led all the newscasts that evening. I didn’t want to see street-guy get hurt, so calling the police seemed reasonable. For the most part, the cops here are good guys. There are a couple who aren’t, but there are always the odd bad apples. I love the firemen and EMS people here. They are very compassionate. I’ve had to call them a couple of times when I locked myself out of the house with the stove on. Then, about ten years ago, I broke my hip when I slipped in mud while taking the girls out. Getting me on a stretcher, slipping and sliding in thick, gushy mud and then into an ambulance was tricky, but they did it. Then, the day Mom collapsed, they were here in less than five minutes, a perk of living around the corner from the main firehouse. They tried to do a “scoop and run,” but she wasn’t cooperative. When I heard what was happening upstairs as I guarded the front door, I knew that I was probably going to lose her. I never got to say goodbye because the ambulance was diverted and I had to obey all the traffic rules while traveling to a hospital about 1 1/2 miles farther down the road. But EMS did a fine job. They’re good guys.

OK, time to watch Nashville and go to sleep. Oh! One more thing. I actually ate a WHOLE dinner that I made myself. It was a yummy cheeseburger with bleu cheese, accompanied by my special fries and a salad, but it was good. My back, hips and ankle hurt even more, but it was worth it. Maybe I can say bu-bye to this episode of anorexia.

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Let ’em see me sweat

I am in PAIN! I finally made it back to my gym after a 2-1/2 week absence. It was kind of strange because I surpassed my personal bests on all of the equipment. I didn’t hurt then. In fact, I was a little disappointed because I didn’t feel the burn. I’m going to have to continue to find ways to push my body because I need that burn to know that my body is doing what it’s supposed to do: get stronger. It doesn’t matter if it’s cardio or strength, my body needs to improve. It’s improved already, actually. When I wasn’t eating, I noticed that my fatty areas were not as “fatty” as before. I could see more firmness. I also seem to be stronger.

OnX at Anytime Fitness using the leg press

OnX at Anytime Fitness takin’ care of business on the leg press.

There were a couple of things that were new experiences at the gym tonight. I actually sweated. I’m not used to that. Before, no matter how hard I worked, I didn’t sweat that much. Tonight, my heart rate got up to 155 sustained. That’s not too shabby. I also cycled farther than I usually do, 3.17 miles, and cycled for seven minutes more than normal (22 min). I have this thing about whole numbers, especially if there’s a song playing on my iPhone I’m digging as I peddle. For example, right now I’m listening to Eminem’s Lose Yourself. It’s kind of my anthem. If that was up while I was working out on the cycle or the rowing machine, I’d keep going until the song ended. If it happened to end when I was at, let’s say, 2.4 miles, I’d keep going until I hit 2.5 or 3.0 miles. I really get into my music as I work out. I’m actually looking for more hip-hop that I like to use as workout/anthemic music. I think that I’m going to get more Eminem and check out Jay-Z once I get some more available cash. Shh! Don’t tell my lawyer. 😀 Naah, he’s a sweetheart. I’ll pay him first. Right now I’m mixing hip-hop, some classic proto-hip-hop (i.e.. Ohio Players), select R&B (O’Jays and Keisha Cole) and electronica in the form of Portishead. Hey, it works, OK?

Before I forget, I wanted to recommend a set of earbuds that I love. They are made by a company called Skull Candy. I was about to reach the cash register at my local T.J. Maxx when I happened to see a rack of earbuds that looked interesting. I’d really detested the earbuds Apple includes with the iPhone, all iPods and possibly the iPad, although don’t quote me on the last. The Apple earbuds kept falling out of my ears when the new design was specifically supposed to take care of that. They took care of it alright. They made it worse!

I allowed a couple of people to get in line ahead of me because I was enthralled my these earbuds. I believe there were two models: the 50/50 earbuds with mic, (MSRP $49.95), and; the Ink’d 2 with mic (MSRP $19.95-$24.95) model. I purchased the Ink’d 2 model and I have never regretted it. The sound is like a really good mid-range stereo. I’d prefer a bit more bass, but that’s just me. The earbuds come with a hard case and three different sizes of rubber buds. I should also mention that both models come in many different colors. I stuck with basic black and chrome because that was the only color available at that time. The best selection is, of course, at the SkullCandy.com store. The company also offers free shipping on all purchases. Still, I’d compare pricing because there may be better deals out there. It is those earbuds and my iPhone that make my workout infinitely better than it would be without them. Almost everyone at the gym wears some kind of earphones or earbuds. I’m assuming that’s the case with other gyms.

The other thing that happened is that my shoulders hurt. That’s never happened before. I did 20 reps @ 20 lbs. on the pulldown, but that wasn’t challenging enough so I upped the weight to 40 lbs. and did 30 reps. I went from the rowing machine where I spent 23:15 min., burned 145 calories, achieved 51 strokes/minute at #5 resistance. I’m wondering if I worked my shoulders too hard. Doing that many reps on the pull down far surpassed my personal best. However, again, no burn.

The real surprise as far as my workout was the leg press. I did 100 reps @ 40 lbs. and didn’t even feel it. It’s time to increase the weight. Now, what did hurt was my right hip, which is the one with the prosthesis. I used it in addition to my left leg, something I usually don’t do quite as much. Afterwards, I realized that there’s going to come a time when I’m going to need a hip replacement. I’ve heard the recovery from that is easier than the recovery from a knee replacement.

I was on my way out when I saw a gentleman about to use a set of weights on a machine I’d never noticed. It turned out that it’s another type of leg press. We talked for a long time about exercise, our respective careers and our families. When he told me how old he was, I had to do a double-take. I’m well aware that black people age differently than whites, but even I was shocked. I never, ever would have clocked him for his age unless he’d told me. He also offered help and said that he hoped we’d meet again and told me a couple of times when he’s usually around. Fortunately, his hours and my hours overlap. Hmm, I think he was flirting. Best of all, he didn’t give a hot damn about my artificial leg. Yeah, Mama’s still got it. *smirk*

I went to the grocery store before heading to the gym. I had to get a few essentials since I am still fighting anorexia. I am trying to think of food as fuel for my body instead of looking at it as a useless necessity. Since I’m ambivalent about food, I’m trying to get things that I really like but are also somewhat healthy. I got home and made a turkey sandwich. Would you believe that I had to stand up in the kitchen to eat it because the Demonic Duo were poised to steal it at any cost? I learned the hard way that I have to watch them both even as I put one in her crate. I didn’t do that the other day and the youngest slipped in and stole a roast beef sandwich with scarce colby cheese (my favorite) off the table. She’s so little that she looks innocent. She isn’t. If anything, she’s the brains of the operation. Not that her partner in crime is dumb. Indeed, far from it. However, the youngest is sneakier while the older is more like a snatch-and-run thief.

At any rate, I did manage to eat all of the turkey sandwich and I think I had something earlier in the day, too. So, I’m getting better, but I know that I need to eat more. My metabolism is so screwed up it doesn’t know what to do. That’s the other thing that exercise is doing for me: my metabolism is increasing and getting more normal. I seem to get hungry when I exercise regularly. Maybe that’s my body saying that it needs more fuel. Whatever the case, I’ve lost two pounds. I know that a lot of it is water weight because I’ve been very conscious of my liquid intake since I am prone to dehydration.

I’m sure I’ve bored everyone to death about my exercise experiences, but I’m rather proud of myself. In addition, it’s almost like I’m in a bubble when I’m on one of the machines and my earbuds are pumping out a really sick playlist. I’ve found that I can be more introspective while exercising. That helps me solve problems, be more creative and realize that I have feelings that I didn’t know I had. It actually gets pretty deep. I’m going to really try to get in more than two days a week. I want to do three days. When that happens, watch out world, my body will become a weapon of mass destruction that’s about to launch!

Panic!

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I woke up very shortly after two Valium let me nap when I had hoped to actually sleep. I tried to go back to sleep, but it was pointless. On top of that, I was physically ill due to having my world turned upside down. This could turn into a good thing, but right now, all I know is that a truly malevolent creature stole a very large and important chunk of my life. Whatever the case, being sick was/is not something I can handle right now.

Most people eat when they’re upset. Not me! The more upset and depressed I get, the less I eat and the more I don’t want to eat. The thing is, I don’t drink either and I dehydrate very easily. I don’t mean a little bit. I mean ending up in the ER because my heartbeat gets irregular, I get light-headed and I have no veins except in my neck. I then have to lie to the doctors who know I’m lying but can’t prove it so that I don’t get locked in a me tal ward because I’m “a danger to myself.”

I didn’t have any anti-diarrhea meds so I had to get that before I even tried to eat. Otherwise, it’s a pointless effort. I also had to get just about every other prescription I had filled, especially the Valium. Valium is my friend these days. It’s the only thing standing between me and panic attacks, body memories and full-on flashbacks. Yes, I have post-traumatic stress disorder. It is made worse by fibromyalgia and fibro is made worse by PTSD. I’ve also had to cancel my life for most of this week because I can just barely cope with reliving the last 10 years of pain, apparent betrayal, heartache, abuse, suicide, profound loss, self-hatred and loneliness. Yet I have no choice because I have to make the love of my life understand what his hagbeast monster of a wife did to both of us. She took my life when she already had him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave her for me. She took my life. MY life.

I had to play Jane Bond and try to find a way to get Glenn, and only Glenn, the documents that detail what happened and all the times I’ve tried to reach him only to be met with silence. He never got ANYTHING I sent him via e-mail. So, I can’t use e-mail. Furthermore, I need figure out how to encrypt the data on a DVD I’m sending to him. It’s quite possible to do, but I need to find out how by tomorrow afternoon.

I went to the grocery store deli because I figured that’s about all my stomach can handle right now. The store is huge and it was crowded. I nearly had a full-blown panic attack three different times. I barely got out before the last one nearly emerged. Had I been there a few more minutes, that would have been all she wrote. I’m fairly good at talking myself down from them, but even I can’t beat them all when I’m tired, sick, upset as hell and want my mom because she’d know what to do when I don’t.

Speaking of Mom, I realize that some would see my letter to her and think I’m nuts. No. As I wrote, I kept hearing and seeing her in my head trying to tell me to not just hang on to him, but insisting I do so. This, from a woman who never particularly liked him. When I called to tell him about the book (a publisher had already offered a deal several years ago that I didn’t take then) and HE answered, I could barely speak. I didn’t believe him at first when he said he didn’t know anything about what I was referring to. But it gradually sunk in. And that’s when the world in which I have lived for a decade began to fall apart. That’s why Mom was so insistent. That’s why I could never shake my love for him even when I hated him for doing what I thought he was doing. Well fuck you Dr. Robin Watt. He may have no choice but to take your side because he put a ring on your finger, but he will sure as hell know who and what you are. Beast!

Now, I just have to get through the rest of tonight (sleep and/or working on that disk) and the day. I cannot get sick and I cannot have any panic attacks or flashbacks. I have to be strong.

What now?

I don’t need to see Glenn again. I don’t want him in my life. I don’t want anyone who can do what he did and won’t accept any responsibility for his own actions. I am the one who swallowed a handful or two of benzos to end my life. What he did to drive me to do so is on him. No, I do not need to see him again. On the other hand, *evil grin* I want him to see me.

The thing about Glenn and I was that neither of us were sitting around waiting for the other to call. Well, I should qualify that. I did sit around waiting for him to call when I was in undergrad. I was young. However, after I crossed the threshold of 30 years old–actually before that–I was off doing my own thing. I had other relationships and, as he learned, I chose to actually do something about my attraction to women. That was our Waterloo. That’s what he couldn’t handle. He really couldn’t deal with me now. I am no longer willing to put up with a manchild. Heck, I don’t even know that I’ll ever want a man as a lover again. Part of that is thanks to him, but it’s mostly because I have a very hard time trusting men. OK, so more of that is due to Glenn than I’m admitting. *shrug* It is what it is. The only one who can make it go away is me. I have some idea of how, but I’m just not willing. It would mean becoming involved with a man for a while and gradually learning to trust again. It’s not an easy or quick road. I do think that I might be willing to get royally fucked off the edge of my bed by some hot young thing with an appropriately-sized penis, but that would be a quicky and meaningless. A little meaningless sex has it’s place, though.

In the last couple of weeks, almost as if I knew Valentine’s Day would come and I’d finally be more or less free of Glenn, I’ve done a couple of things to move my life along. The first was to re-join a dating site I’d left sometime last year. It was annoying to me that their clientele wasn’t as educated as I’d like. So, I took my money elsewhere. The “elsewhere” was Match.com. Oy! That place is infested with con artists! I encountered two in the first week. I would definitely suggest staying away from them. I won’t divulge which one I’ve joined, but I will say that it’s gotten better. There still aren’t the number of educated women I’d like to see, but there are those who can manage to put together a profile that’s worth a second look. There’s one woman in particular that’s piqued my interest. She’s pretty, tall, into the arts and, as I wrote tonight, gutsy. She’s been through things to which I can relate even though I haven’t been through the same things. We share some interests as well. We’ll chat and see if there’s anything that is worth a third look and, perhaps, a fourth. It’s fun discovering new people even if I don’t find The One.

The second thing I did was join a gym. I’ve never done so before, but I am so very ready to get in there and make my body into the weapon of mass destruction I want it to be. NO ONE will ever laugh at me or play cruel games because of my body–any portion of it–again. Glenn was the first time and he will be the very LAST. In addition, as much as I don’t feel my age intellectually, my body does. Things are going south when they used to be perkier. It’s time to do something about it. I was supposed to meet with a trainer today, but she had to cancel and I’d overslept anyway. I can’t be upset about oversleeping because stress has kept me awake for two nights. Actually, so has chatting with a fellow fibro patient feeling very depressed, poor dear. I know what that’s like and I wasn’t going to leave her alone in her depression. Therefore, I believe that I lost sleep for good reasons. However, I can’t lose any more. It’s too easy for me to get back into a habit of insomnia cured only through medication. The exercise will help, so I’m told. Personally, I just want to: 1) tone, firm, reduce; 2) repeat an infinite number of times until complete. Since I have a tendency toward anorexia, I have to be very, very careful about eating at all, eating properly and not over-exercising. Nevertheless, my body will become a W.M.D. Boom!!

Let’s Try This Again

When I resurrected Naked, I did so with a post that was a letter to my recently deceased mother. I’m going to beg your indulgence and hope that you understand that by giving my thoughts and feelings voice, maybe they’ll reach her and/or help me cope. I’m pulling out all the coping mechanisms I can because I cannot absorb any more loss. I sent a message to my friend of very long duration to give him a heads up that I know there are only two reasons he’d put his phone number out there publicly for me to find and told him the story of why I needed to find Morgan. I’m just trying to prepare myself by taking care of the old business before I can deal with the new. Mom isn’t really “old business,” but she is the least recent.

Dear Mommy,

I know you’re still around. There are times when I hear you next door in your bedroom. I don’t go in because I won’t see anything and I already know you’re with me. Hence, there’s no point. I know that the most pressing concern is that I move on and do those things I have to do to survive. The truth is, my head is so muddled that I can’t remember where I’ve put anything anymore. I am what the Brits would call “at sixes and sevens,” although I’ve never understood the origins of that term. Basically, I’m a basket case. My emotions almost always come up way after the events that inspired them, you know that. I couldn’t give in right after you died because there was so much to do. There are still people who don’t know and should. I just haven’t had the heart to tell them. Trying to comfort another person when you haven’t figured out how to deal with your own grief is overwhelming. When I told Pat, she collapsed in sobs. She loves you so much. I haven’t called her since your memorial service, but I will as soon as I get a grip.

I believe in my heart and soul that this house killed you the way it has tried to kill me. Neither of us needed to have, in essence, three floors, not to mention the evil energy here. I know that you didn’t want to hear it when you were alive, but it was part of the genesis of my return to school. I just couldn’t take it anymore. My body was breaking down a lot faster than it should have because it just takes too much work to deal with all these stairs. My personal opinion is that the bank can have it. I know that’s not what you’d do, but you’re not here and left me a mess to clean up. I don’t want to shame you, but I also can’t help but say, “I told you so!” OK, I’m more than a little angry about the state of your estate, especially since I did tell you what would happen and I’ve found that it’s far, far worse than I ever knew. *sigh* It is what it is.

Shortly after you died, I posted on the Choir page and reported what happened. There were a lot of people who remembered you, chief among them was Mr. B, god love him. I don’t know if he’ll ever understand how much a part he played in making me who I am. Now that I think of it, virtually every person who influenced me was an artist of some sort or an historian, including you. Oh! I got the piano tuned when the funeral home sent the remains of the small policies. I haven’t sat down to play it OR my guitar. It’s like there’s some sort of barrier that keeps me from them. I want to play them, but something in my head says, “No, not now,” and I don’t know what that means.

There are things that I want you to know, but I’m not sure they’d mean much.

I just couldn’t cope anymore and reached out to Glenn. Honestly, although he is exactly the right person to help me get my head together, there’s a certain amount of fear and distrust. I know that you’ve watched me struggle with losing him. I know that you’ve always believed that he’d be back. Actually, right now I’m hearing you say, “Yeah, like a bad penny.” Um, well, you made me laugh. You see, the thing is, I think I’ve finally unravelled the “why” of a lot of things that went on between us. He was a boy who grew into a man who just couldn’t communicate his feelings. It drove him batty because I could communicate mine and, therefore, work through them. I remember him driving over one weekend once we’d actually gotten together and the bomb went “BOOM!” He was heading back but we stopped to lunch. I don’t remember being particularly chatty, but he was in a foul mood. He said, “Don’t you ever shut up?” It hurt, but I also knew that for him to say that, there had to be something else going on. I did, however, learn to be quiet and that doing so was OK.

The thing is, I really need him now and I really don’t think I’m going to get out of this in one piece without him. I’ll forgive anything and everything if need be immediately, especially since I didn’t have a chance to tell you before you drifted away that I’d forgiven you. I know he broke me. He had help, but in the end, it was him. I was hurt, furious, in disbelief and learned to tell myself all of these things that were true to some degree, but not true to a greater degree, in order to survive. You know what it was like divorcing Daddy. I was with Glenn longer than that and we had this child that never got to live. The difference is that having me made the gulf between you bigger. I think that would have been the short-term situation, but I doubt that it would have lasted. Still, he only found out about it after we were done, supposedly for good.

Mommy, if you believe nothing else, please believe this: I need Glenn now. He’s the only person on this earth who knows how to help me. It’s instinctual with him. Can you whisper in his ear? If I can’t get him, I really do have to cut the ties and I haven’t been able to do that in all the years we’ve been apart. You may not like him, but you were the first to see, too late for me, but see nonetheless, that he loved me.

I’m really worried about your brothers. I strongly suspect that you’ll see one of them again this year. Please, help give me the strength to carry on. Both you and Daddy had your faults, but you were both strong people, often hurting yourselves in the process. I’m possibly going to hear news of the loss of someone else very dear to me and between that anxiety and the near certainty of what I’ll hear, I’m more shaken than I was last night. This is someone you’ve never met, but I think you would have found him more than amusing, though very strange. I can see you peering at him through a curly, deep red mane of hair and a beard topped off with dark eyeglasses. Just know that he was always honest with me, true to his beliefs and a very, very decent human being. I never told him this, but I’d always wanted to re-create the Jonh Lennon and Yoko Ono photo in bed with him in B&W. I think even you would have liked it.

I’ve been dreaming about you a lot lately. In fact, these are the first dreams I’ve remembered having about you. I do remember waking up and thinking that you were here, forgetting that you weren’t. I don’t know whether the dreams make life harder or easier for me. They are so real and it is such a let-down when I wake up and remember you’re not on this plane of existence anymore. At the same time, I love seeing you again.

I’m dealing with the Food Monster again. I haven’t been able to eat for well over 24 hours. I have to force myself or I won’t be able to take care of the furkids, not to mention someone will get some bright idea to force feed me. I’ve come to really detest interfering relatives. That’s another reason I need to leave. I know you love this house. You can have it because it can’t hurt you anymore. It can and does hurt me daily. Right now, I’m nauseous as hell and not looking forward to going out in the heat. However, it’s not an option. I have to do it. Nevertheless, I think I’m coming straight home.

I wish I could say that I’ll be OK soon. I can’t. It may take a long time before I’m OK. I am working on it, though. Right now, that’s all I can do. There are going to be some happenings that will make you very sad. I know because they make me sad and I’m the one doing them. But if I am to keep me and the furkids together, I need to do whatever I have to do. That’s straight out of the mouth of your youngest brother who, I might add, believes you didn’t like him at all. You need to visit him because he’s crushed. He doesn’t say it, but it’s there in everything he does. I think that you’d be very proud of him. Out of all the relatives, he’s the one doing his best to take care of me and vice versa. I’ve tried to reassure him that you love him dearly, but it’s no good coming from me. It has to come from you. I fixed an error in your estate paperwork that would have definitely given him the notion that he was right about the way you feel towards him, but he needs more. Go to him in his dreams. Let him dream about being a little boy and you making clothes for him. He said that you made them for the middle brother, but specifically not for him. He’s hurting deeply, Mom. I don’t know what to do for him that I haven’t done. He needs his big sister.

Well, that’s about it. If I’m right about my redheaded friend and you somehow encounter him in your travels, say hello and be nice! He’s a really good guy. I dare say that you would have liked him more than Glenn. Oh! I almost forgot to mention that you once decoded him for me. It was using your insight that I finally got it. If we have to work so damn hard to stay away, then he’s feeling a danger. I have been reacting to what he’s done. If he reads this, he’s going to be unhappy, but at least the truth will be out there somewhere.

I love you,

T.

P.S.: I think I may be able to send in those lyrics I started writing so long ago. I Don’t Know How To Let Go.

Missing Person

I really wanted to get a new post up this week because I’ve got a lot to say and no place to really say it. For example, I’m so ashamed that I can’t tell my therapist about my latest “tryst” with the man who was old enough to be my father. I’m not so much ashamed because of his age, but the circumstances were all wrong and I have no real defense, only an answer to the question, “Why?” I’m having a battle with what shall hereto be referred as the Food Monster. I don’t eat when I’m depressed, but I make myself eat usually a bunch of carbohydrates because my body craves quick energy to prevent me from literally passing out. Carbs are addictive. That old ad slogan, “Nobody can eat just one” was the truth! Potatoes, from which potato chips are made, are carbohydrates. The more you eat, the more you want to eat. Sugar is also addictive because it is also a carbohydrate. So, the Pierre’s Spumoni and Pierre’s Cinnamon ice creams that call my name each night get me eating what should be a little bit, but ends up being more than a little bit. Then, I hate myself because I’ve given in to the Food Monster.

I don’t remember what day it was last week, but I think it was the one where I had the disgusting encounter, I tried to put on a pair of pants that fit just days ago. However, because I’d eaten, the pants were too tight. Mind you, this happened in less than a week. If I could figure out my menstrual cycle, the difference might be explained by water retention. However, after a little over a year of keeping track of my cycles, and after three months of not having a period, I gave up. There were other things I could do with my time. The chances of me running across a “baby daddy” in the near future are remote. That’s several more posts alone. I’ll deal with that another night.

The point is, I have so thoroughly fucked up my metabolism that the only way to lose weight is by eating more or less nothing. I’ve been toying with going against several doctors’ advice and exercising. Understandably, they’re all concerned that if I manage to hurt myself, they won’t necessarily know how to fix me. The surgeon who performed my knee replacement is definitely a star already and getting to be more of one as time flies. I don’t remember his exact words, but they went something like this: “If Humpty Dumpty falls, I can’t promise I can put him back together again.” That kinda made me swallow hard. I know cutters. They have egos bigger than my house and if several of them say the same thing, then I’d better listen up. About the only thing I can get them to agree to is water therapy. I’m going to have to get another referral since I’ve misplaced the original, but there’s a heck of a great water therapy facility I’d like to try. My problem then becomes one of how to keep the liquid in my body from pouring out of my body at an inopportune time. Sorry for the ewwy imagery, but the truth is the light. Swimming pools make me have to pee and that means I have to rush, thereby risking injury should I slip and fall because I wasn’t careful.

It was a particularly sad day for me today. I got some paperwork mom’s lawyer sent over for my signature as well as the signature of her three brothers. I know that Mom didn’t mean to do this, but she left her youngest brother out of her will. None of them will get anything anyway because I’m alive. However, I don’t want David, who’s always said my mother and their oldest brother favored the middle brother, to feel left out AGAIN, so I told him that he had to sign as well. Fortunately, sloppy lawyering on the part of my mother’s attorney made the white lie pass the “smell test.” The lawyer relied on his memory instead of looking at the will itself and put David’s signature line in the way it should have been in the first place. However, he left another person out because he forgot that I’d told him she’d reached the age of majority only a few weeks prior to Mom’s passing.

My point is that, yes, David is right. She’ll take her middle brother’s side over darn near everyone else, including me. She did so even when I was being verbally attacked by him in my own house over some shit he thought I’d said. Mom was sitting right in the middle of this and said she didn’t hear anything. She’s taken loans against life insurance policies where I’m the beneficiary for him and she’s placed a second mortgage on the house largely because of him. For the first time, I am truly afraid that I will lose this house because I can’t find insurance that pays off the mortgage or even establish that she had such a policy that was active when she died. I’ve found one that the company says lapsed, but I can’t see my mother doing that unless there was some financial benefit. So, I get to look through all her check copies post-2009. The reason being that the bank will tell me nothing without a court order. That’s where we get back to getting the paperwork signed by the brothers and two of my cousins. This is also where we get back to the problem of my mother putting not only her youngest brother behind the middle one, but me as well. I begged and pleaded with her not to take a second mortgage, especially one that I couldn’t pay if she died. I even threw a hissy fit in the loan officer’s office for making a predatory loan to an old woman left behind somewhere in the 1960s or 70s. Sure enough, I’m screwed, in all probability.

Finances and will aside, I just miss my mom. That’s the center of it all; I miss my mom. I go to sleep and wake up and she’s not here. For a minute or two, sometimes more, sometimes less, I forget that she’s not here and ask if she’d mind taking the dogs out for me. My little spoiled “Brat,” (as I’ll refer to her here) came to us with a horrid urinary tract infection that has cost me over $200 to clear up. I’m still not completely sure it’s gone, but the odds are fairly good that it is. My “B&W child” now has a bad ear infection that may or may not have damaged her ear drum. The tissue is so swollen that the vet can’t get a scope in there to look around. Then, through my own negligence, we got off-schedule with her meds and I have to start all over again. I hated seeing that sad little black and white face and not be able to do more. B&W and Brat got into it for unknown reasons except that Brat may have believed that being on the grooming table was some sign of weakness OR, more likely, she was jealous because I lifted B&W onto the table where, in Brat’s mind, I don’t carry/hold her nearly enough. You have to understand that Brat and B&W are both little foundlings. B&W was found by my mother traipsing through snow that was far taller than she was, about to get mowed down by a vehicle of some sort. The decision to keep Brat was more or less mutual, but Mom let me make the final decision. It didn’t take me long to decide to keep her. She has a face that’s so ugly she’s adorable. She’s also extremely intelligent and is of like mind as my middle child, B&T (for black and tan). Both of them have larcenous hearts and I love watching them plan how they’re going to pull off their next caper. I thought Brat would be my mother’s dog/puppy (we think she was about nine months old when we got her), but she chose me. I don’t mind at all.

We all miss my mother. Maybe I’m projecting my feelings onto them, but I know that B&T was far more quiet than usual. She’s usually just a big kid. Today and tonight, she was depressed. I think I spent most of my time today either on the phone or giving love to and soaking up love from my girls. My mother wasn’t perfect as either a person or a mother. In fact, an argument could be made that she was not emotionally equipped to be a mother because she hadn’t confronted her demons and tried to pass them along to me. She did pass some of them to me, unfortunately. However, she also passed along a love of learning, especially history and anthropology. She taught me to love birdwatching, something I do in the backyard with relish. I love animals, that was her doing as well. Finally, but no less importantly, she taught me the love of family, even if there were, and are, times when that love was a horrible perversion. I wish that she’d passed on her artistic talents because I’m not even a mediocre artist. In fact, I rather suck at it. If I happen to get even 10% of a subject right, believe me, it was by mistake.

I am so torn. I want my mother back, but I also know, and have known since I was in my early teens, that the only way I’d have a life was when my mother passed on. This house holds a lot of very bad energy because evil took up residence here for over a decade in the form of my mother’s second husband. I understand through the grapevine that he nearly destroyed the next woman he married, too. I think that she also had fairly young children. I’d bet those kids, now adults, would have stories to tell that are very similar to my own. My question isn’t “Why did [the perpetrator(s)] do it?” Hell, that answer is fairly simple. They–he occasionally included his best friend–were in search of power and the only time they felt powerful was when they made children complicit in their own rape and/or molestation. No, my question is to the mothers: “Why did you let that bastard do this to us?!” My mother swore up and down that she didn’t know, but the evidence was there in front of her even if she didn’t want to see it. I’d made up my mind to forgive her and had planned to tell her the week she died. I hope enough of her essence was around when I held her beautiful, cold hand and said goodbye to hear that I forgave her.

I am trying so hard not to be angry with her anymore. I think what I feel these days is more pity than anger. She allowed one person into our lives who ruined both of us. We never recovered. She got angry with me for being angry with her all the time. According to her, I had no right to feel the way I felt. Hence, I had to cope real time with her emotional abuse as well as the mess that was left after being de-humanized, molested and then raped thanks to her choice. I get to be the bad guy here, too. In her mind, she was not only a victim of her husband, but the victim because I didn’t tell her. Well, duh, if your kid asks, begs and pleads with you on a DAILY basis before and after the marriage for about ten years to dump some guy, you bet your bippy something is wrong! But in her mind, she married that bastard because I needed a father. She forgets that her future hubby wasn’t the only man she dated, nor was his the only proposal she had. There was a really nice guy she was seeing who’d proposed, but he was between five and ten years younger. What would “people” think? Um, maybe they’d think she made a smart move by marrying a young, successful entrepreneur instead of the freakin’ mail man! Yet more stupid crap left over from an era that was long gone even in the 1960s that she held on to like a life preserver thrown to a drowning woman.

Breathe.

There’s no point in rehashing old arguments with a person who is no longer alive. I don’t miss arguing with her at all. I don’t miss the manipulation at all. I will be extremely glad when the real estate market recovers to the point I can sell this place and never have to set foot inside of it again. Honestly, I don’t wish the people or person who buys it any harm, but like I said, there’s a lot of negative energy in these walls. A good cleansing ritual might do some good.

ETA: a fair amount of exposition regarding Mom’s estate crap as well as info about her brothers, and; a lot of exposition about my mother’s abusive second husband.

Trippin’

There are days when life seems like someone’s dream. I understand Australian aboriginal societies view dreams as valid as anything they may experience while awake. That might explain why sleep is no respite. I’m angry with myself for having sex with a guy old enough to be my father, (not that that’s bothered me before, but I was younger then), and; for eating things I know are not good for me, although I have honestly tried to get better. I went from not eating for days until I felt so faint I could no longer walk to eating all of the things I know have a zillion calories and feeling like a pig who’s as big as a house. I keep asking myself and God, “When will this end?!” I can accept hurting myself by cutting or something, but I can’t accept myself if I eat, especially when I already feel horrible about my weight. There are days when I want to hide. In fact, for over a year, that’s exactly what I did. I hid. I’d only leave the house for doctors’ appointments. Even then, I hid myself under baggy clothing because I wanted so badly to be invisible.

Looking at the above as a complete outsider, I’d say that this chick needs some help. Yep, she does. She’s a hot mess. My therapist can only see me a couple of times a month because she doesn’t work full time. I don’t want to break in a new therapist, so I’m sticking with this one. Besides, she’s really good. I asked her if she treated people with eating disorders as we were walking to the door. She said that she didn’t treat eating disorders specifically, but has run into them in the course of treating other disorders. It’s essentially the same thing she said about another pathology with which I have to deal more and more often.

People don’t understand that cutting is not about attempting suicide at all. It’s the exact opposite. By cutting, the person can release some of the anger, pressure, stress that’s going on inside so that they can function. Another reason is that cutting or, in my case, burning, is the only way to express the intense pain felt. I burned myself nearly to the bone about a decade ago because I was dying inside. I wanted to scream, hit (inanimate) things and curl up in a tiny little ball forever. I desperately wanted someone to understand what I was going through and, at the same time, knew they wouldn’t. I just wanted someone to look my way and realize that I was at the end of my rope and needed help. No amount of cutting/burning would release enough pain to allow me to function, but I did want to function. The only reason I’d want to die was because no one would understand how hurt and devastated I was. It was Glenn who pushed me to the point where I wanted to die. That is, he and his buddies who decided it would be funny to hear some stupid, foolish, idiotic chick 500 miles away who’d had a 17-year relationship with him until he disappeared for two years, leaving said chick to discover she liked women a hell of a lot more than men, including Glenn, tell that rat bastard how much she loved him still, wanted to get back together and have him pretend it was within the realm of possibility. I think of what he did to me and I am still humiliated even though I shouldn’t be. If he had a conscience, Glenn would be the one who feels shame and humiliation. However, it seems he doesn’t and never will.

I’ve been told that I have to move past this–that Glenn’s threats against my life weren’t credible because he lives 500 miles away. They don’t know him like I know him. Five hundred miles is nothing for him. He used to drive that regularly to see me. He loves to drive. And if he chooses, he certainly has the means to hire someone to carry out his threats. Barring some monumental law enforcement fuck up, he’ll be the first person the authorities will look at. Since he would have had to cross state lines either to conspire or to have someone carry out the plot, it then becomes a federal crime. My lawyer thinks I’m diverting all my attention to him when I’m really grieving my mother. Hello! Ever heard of multitasking? Glenn can and will wait for years until his victim is most vulnerable and then strike. He’s already done it to me once. I’ve seen him do it to other people before as well. I only saw a glimpse of his dark side. It’s a place from which no light escapes, like a black hole in the center of his soul. With me, his chosen weapon was always the great mindfuck. I cannot begin to describe how much he hurt me until he finally decided he wouldn’t anymore and we became lovers, although he’s the one who had control. I guess he figured that there was something inside that was worth dealing with and needed a second, third and fourth look. What was going on is that I took a lot of body blows to my emotions and continued to love him, for better or worse.

Do I go to bed worried that I won’t wake up? No. Do I go to bed worried that my furbabies won’t have anyone to care for them if something happens to me? Damn straight I do! If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t care who did what to me to end my life. I’m tired of living it myself. I want peace in death and a chance to come back one day in different circumstances. Then again, I wouldn’t get a chance to choose my life. That would be up to The Powers That Be. They could decide that I’m unworthy and put me in even more untenable circumstances always ending the same way. Eventually, I won’t want to come back. I’m almost to that point now. As I said, I’m tired.