by Band Back Together | Oct 21, 2010 | Eating Disorders, Guilt, Health, How To Help With Low Self-Esteem, Self Loathing, Self-Esteem, Shame |
Disclaimer: This is written from a really dark place. If body image issues or food relationship hangups could trigger you, please don’t continue. This post sounds dire and desperate and awful, and I suppose it is… but despite the darkness, I am actually quite happy with my life overall. It’s just this one head space that I can’t get right.
I haven’t been blogging… and this morning I finally realized why. I was reading Mish’s post (I am guilty if I eat) and here was my comment:
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!! I could have written exactly this today. I have been really struggling lately because I have lost 40 pounds, but with the stress of grad school, working from home, a toddler, a marriage and my health journey… I’m slipping. I gained three pounds in two weeks, and so far this week isn’t looking good either. I’m eating terrible for me things on purpose, in crazy amounts, allowing myself to consciously and purposefully choose the worst options even when they aren’t what I really want. I don’t know how to stop it… I am terrified that I’ve done it again, had some success only to turn around and sabotage it all and end up so heavy, unhealthy and miserable again.
While I typed out that comment, I realized… I’m not blogging because I have nothing good to say.
I’m overwhelmed. Maybe even depressed.
I’m putting myself last because something has to give and I don’t know what else can, but me. I know how important it is to take care of myself, but when the other categories are my marriage, my daughter and my graduate classes, I’m the only thing that I can let go of without destroying some bigger dream.
(Well, without destroying some bigger dream for all of us.)
Health is my bigger dream… but now I’m terrified that I just can’t get there. I’m purposefully making terrible food choices. And the worst part is that it’s not really about the food, but that I am choosing the worst options strictly because they’re bad. I’m not exercising. I feel unmotivated, uninspired, and unhappy.
All of my old thoughts about my body have returned, and all I seeing the mirror is a fat, unattractive woman and it makes me wonder why I bother. If this is me anyway, why bother?
I’m sneak-eating again. I’m buying food when I’m out and eating it in the car. Then I stop somewhere to throw out the “evidence” so that no one knows. Some of my smaller pants are already getting too tight again.
I know how this works. I’ve been here before. I know all of the arguments. I know how much better I look and feel now. I know how hard it was to lose 40 pounds and how much I don’t want to gain it back. I know how proud I am of the work I’ve done, and I know exactly what I need to do to keep it going… so why am I not doing it? Why do I continue to make poor choices?
How do I choose myself when it means taking something away from my daughter, my marriage, or from the job that brings in a tiny but absolutely necessary amount of money each month? How do I choose myself when I’m taking away from the graduate work that will mean a better life for myself and my family someday soon?
I know I’d have more to give, in some ways, if I made time to take care of myself… but how do you do it? When you’re standing there, making the decision between cuddle time with your daughter and getting up to exercise, or between making a healthy dinner and caving to take-out pizza so that you can finish your homework without staying up until midnight…
How do I choose me?
by Band Back Together | Oct 20, 2010 | Bipolar Disorder, Happiness, Hope, Mental Health |
Bipolar Disorder is a tough diagnosis.
This is her story of hope:
Having Bipolar sucks sometimes.
Having bipolar disorder means that there are cycles that the meds will never fully be able to control. It means never being able to fully “let go” because letting go means not checking yourself every five minutes to make sure you’re within the normal range.
It means having people look at you funny and then avoid you altogether once they find out. It means being unable to just “be yourself,” because like it or not, bipolar disorder is like a wild, out-of-control animal. The medication give you reins and a saddle so you can sometimes steer the beast, but the disease has control.
And I’m one of the lucky ones.
I am one of the rare cases who found a medication regime four years after onset and haven’t had to change it since. I’m graduating college with honors and have been accepted to grad schools. I.am.lucky. and yet most days it’s a struggle to fit in with “normals.”
What I’ve found after years of studying other people to try and figure out how they have stability so easily is that most of them have skeletons, they just don’t acknowledge them and take them out to dance.
That’s a terrifying thought, but a relieving one, too. Relief to know I’m not the only one who struggles, frightening to know that everyone goes through their own shitstorm. Their heartbeat puts them on the list and the rest is a matter of which nouns and verbs you use to describe the “w’s” (who, what, when and where).
We all should keep fighting. We keep fighting and pulling ourselves off the ground. The truth of life is that sometimes, well, shit happens.
But I’ll say one thing; I wouldn’t trade having bipolar disorder for anything. Without it, I would be half the person I am today. It’s hard, so hard that some days that I’m afraid to be around myself, but I’m so much stronger with it then I ever would have been otherwise.
Surviving bipolar disorder is an amazing feeling. The enormity of what we go through is huge. We walk through fire every day and while sometimes we scar, there is a section of cool water is on the other side if you allow yourself to feel for it.
Keep fighting.
by Band Back Together | Oct 20, 2010 | Anger, Anxiety, Family, Feelings, Guilt, How To Help A Friend With Infertility, Infertility, Jealousy, Loneliness, Sadness, Stress, Trauma |
“baker baker baking a cake
make me a day
make me whole again
and i wonder what’s in a day
what’s in your cake this time”
Infertility has forever changed the fundamentals of my being. Almost two years have passed since I suffered through the last of my IVF cycles. Physically, my body seems to have recovered from that violation. Emotionally, I am damaged beyond repair. I mourn the loss of that whole, hopeful person I once was. Even though he’d never admit it, I’ve also crushed my husband’s dreams of normalcy. I can’t help but wonder how many maybe babies there were that we never knew, that never stood a chance. I’m heartbroken for my friends who are still fighting the uphill battle towards motherhood and those who are suffocating under the crushing weight of loss.
Maybe today I’ll file away some of my bitterness and anger. So much of it I carry around in secret. After all, I have my beautiful, perfect little girl here in my arms. What about my friends who don’t? Don’t they better deserve to wear their heartache like a badge of honor?
Aren’t I supposed to just get over it and just be happy? I want to, but I know I never will.
by Band Back Together | Oct 18, 2010 | Breast Cancer, Cancer and Neoplasia, Grandparent Loss, Grief, Hospice, Loss, Sadness, Stroke |
Cancer sucks. My grandma, barely sixty years old, died from breast cancer when I was four. Even though I was so young, I still remember watching her suffer. I remember watching my mother and her sister suffer, too. Even though I was young, I still remember thinking if there was really a God, why would he put my grandma through all of this?
She never hurt a soul…and I loved her.
Cancer claimed my mother-in-law, too. I loved her as though she were my blood. Maybe even more than that because she never said a harsh word to me, or as far as I know, about me.
She had lung cancer and yes, she smoked. “I shot myself in the foot,” she said to me when she was diagnosed. She fought like the feisty Scottish lady that she was. She was diagnosed around Thanksgiving and lost her battle that following June.
Just about six months. DAMN! It was so quick! I know it didn’t seem so quick to her.
She went through chemotherapy and all of the horrible shit that went along with it. She did everything she was supposed to do. She did everything right. And then they found cancer in her brain. The woman never took a fucking pill in her life and here she was having fucking brain surgery! She made it through the surgery. My sister-in-law and I went into the recovery room and damn it if that lady wasn’t sitting up and talking right after having her skull busted open.
While she was in rehab, she had a stroke. It was a kind I had never heard of. It was progressive so it started out slowly. She knew what was going on.
Chef and I went to visit her in the hospital and at that point she said she had had enough. She said to us, “if they find any more cancer, I don’t want to be treated.” If she had known that she only had six months to live, she would have said, “Screw chemo,” and gone to visit her grandchildren in Wisconsin.
I know that because she was an open book. She had no secrets. What you saw was what you got.
The next day she could not speak.
We were the last of her children to carry on a conversation with her. When the doctors finally determined that she had had a stroke and that it was progressive, my sister-in-law decided to bring her back home. The doctors said she had less than a week to live, so she would come home to be surrounded by her children, grandchildren and her beautiful antiques.
My husband and his sisters took care of her for that week. Because my children were so young, I stayed home and came for the weekend. My two year old daughter stood by my mother-in-law’s bed and spoke to her. She called her “gammy.” My mother-in-law would grunt occasionally. Sure enough on day seven – just a week after we had our last conversation with her – my mother-in-law lost her battle.
I ask the question once again, forty years later… if there was really a God, why would he put my mother-in-law through all of this?
She never hurt a soul…and I loved her.
by Band Back Together | Oct 17, 2010 | Coping With Divorce, Divorce, Sadness |
My sister and brother-in-law are getting divorced.
You know on video games when one piece explodes and all the other pieces around it are shaken? I feel like one of the other pieces. Shaken. And, sad.
I feel overwhelmed by my sadness. I stood up for this marriage at its beginning. And, now I’m watching it crumble. I go to bed in the middle of the afternoon, unable to sleep, unable to read, unable to move. My husband says nice things to me like, “Get some rest,” and “Are you okay?” and it makes me cry. Then Rosey Grier’s song “It’s Alright to Cry” starts running through my head – and that’s just annoying. (Don’t get me wrong, Rosey. I think you have an awesome name for a guy. I think it’s awesome that you were a huge football player who knit and taught the boys of my generation that it was okay to cry. But, your hokey song is messing up my breakdown – not awesome.)
I empathize far too well with their 6- and 9-year-old girls. I want to make sure my sister doesn’t fall for my older niece’s act that she’s so mature and she understands (an act I myself perfected at the age of 12). I don’t want my sister to make her her confidant or tell her more than her young heart and head can handle (I don’t think she is doing that. I just really, really don’t want her to accidentally do that). I’m glad my sister is taking them to a counselor.
I just really wish I didn’t feel like a 12-year-old girl right now. Talk about someone who needed counseling. Could I really have 24-year-old emotions with which I’m dealing? Probably. The best counseling I ever got over my parents’ divorce was one session with a lady who told my mom I needed to go to a Christian summer camp for a month. I guess she thought Je-sus (please read that in your best evangelical voice) could solve all my problems.
(And, don’t get me wrong, I think He’s a great guy who has blessed my life immensely and saved me a place in heaven. But, I don’t think He was the guy to let me sit down and vent about how much my parents f*%#ed up their marriage and my childhood.)
So. That’s that. Pray for my sister and brother-in-law friend and their kids. Don’t worry about me. I’m a grown-up who can take care of my own emotional well-being now.* I really shouldn’t take someone else’s crisis and make it about me. But, when I blog, I’m selfish that way.
And, sad.
*I was smart enough to marry my best friend. He’s strong when I’m weak. Also, thanks to this crisis, we’ve both looked each other in the eye and sworn we’re in it for good. We’ll always talk, always be honest and always do whatever work it takes to keep our marriage together. At least I have confidence in my “forever” when so many other “forevers” are ending all too soon…
by Band Back Together | Oct 15, 2010 | Fear, Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome, Sadness |
My little girl, Jillian, due Christmas Day has been diagnosed with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome.
I feel like everything has caught up with me today. Emotionally and physically, I’m just worn out. I’ve tried to be strong for the last six weeks but… I feel like that’s slipping away.
I’m starting to realize that I need to be honest with myself: Yes, I’m optimistic. Yes, I’m hopeful. Yes, I believe we’re making the right decisions. But I’m also hurting. Deep down, this just hurts.
Through all of this, I’ve had amazing people come forward in support for us. I’ve met some people who have gone through this and other things parents shouldn’t have to go through, too. And while all of that makes me feel better, it can’t heal the hurt. It doesn’t get rid of the guilt I feel and it doesn’t ease the pain. It doesn’t make it go away and it doesn’t answer any questions. I’d like to say that my heart is broken, but I’ve been shown now, twice, what a truly broken heart is. I’d like to say that something positive has to come out of this, and honestly I do feel that way, but why does there have to be so much pain first?
I’ve asked myself a million times why this is happening? Why does this have to happen to my family? Why do all of my kids that have to go through this? Why does it have to be MY kids? Why does it have to be JR? And why does it have to be me?
It’s not like I’d wish this upon anyone else. But I wouldn’t wish it for myself, either. It all just seems so unfair. I hate to host my own pity party- truly I have tried my best not to- but really? Two babies with heart conditions? Wasn’t one enough? And why three or more surgeries this time?
What did I do to deserve this? Was there something that I was supposed to learn after Ethan’s surgery that I didn’t? Some lesson that I was blind to; that maybe if I’d understood would have changed all of this? Did I want a little girl too much? Did I wish too hard for another baby to make my family complete when I should have been happy with what I had? Why do I have to excitedly yet apprehensively count down the weeks until she is born? Why do we have to try to put on a happy, brave face everyday when really we’re mad and scared and hurt inside?
Why do we have to face the fears that our baby might not come home with us?
I just don’t get it.
The rational side of me says that it’s just something in our DNA. One of those crazy things where you have to have two parents who carry a recessive trait and twice now that recessive trait has been expressed.
But then there’s the other side of me. The side that asks all these questions and wants answers that aren’t based in science. Who cares if it’s genetics? The fact still remains that this is happening to MY family. The truth is, it will be MY baby that I have to watch fighting for life- again. Something so many people take for granted. I don’t blame them. After all, that is how it’s supposed to be.
A newborn shouldn’t be required to fight for their life. Ever.
