Self Talk

Do you ever have so many messages coming in at you that you can no longer even hear them?  Suddenly you cannot even think.

I know she thinks I am ignoring her.

I just can't fathom another conversation with another human being tonight.  Not one more word.  Honestly. 

I love her though. 

Seeing Red

When I first met S she told me about how her ex-partners.

A lot. 

I mean she had a lot of them and she told me a lot about them a lot of the time.  It would be in the context of trying to explain to me how compatible she knew we were... because of how incompatible she was with the others.  I think that was the logic.  Maybe not on a conscious level, but I do feel somewhere that it existed.

S and I used to joke about her ex-partner who fought with her at the market over bread.  I guess S wanted one kind, and Ex wanted a different.  I see no issue here; get both.  For them, though, there were issues... obviously, that extended far beyond bread.  They fought over "bread."  I remember promising S that I would never fight over bread - that we could just get as many kinds as we wanted.

Yesterday while shopping for food for the weekend - which involves a lot of stress for me because it is a lot of "unsafe" food - because the kids are here all weekend - S and I fought over .... bread.

A little background:  I have just come off a 3 day migraine which I attribute to not following my gluten free (GF) diet.  This is the second time I've had this migraine and can attribute it to my diet.  I've been a long time migraineur, but have only recently been able to link some of my physical symptoms to my diet.  Mainly gluten.

The argument was over the cost of GF hamburger buns.  I only wanted to purchase GF buns and make everyone eat the same thing.  It would cost around $11. to do this (2 pkgs).  S thought this was crazy and thought we should get regular buns for the kids.  I am not sure what is cheaper.  Buying the regular and the GF - and throwing away the regular ones which inevitably go moldy on the counter?  Or buying GF that will stay in the freezer and get eaten.

I was furious.  Part of me feels like she doesn't "believe" that I am gluten intolerant... or maybe even fucking ALLERGIC.  I'll continue...

At dinner, I made GF noodles to go with the shrimp scampi.  I never told anyone, and everyone ate them just fine.  ALL of the kids.  One of the kids asked me about my gluten intolerance at dinner though and asked, "Mom, does gluten make people sick?"  I told her that YES, it can... it just depends on who you are.

Then S said, "It can make people sick like peppers and gravy make you sick."

Holy fucking mother of passive aggressive gods.  This is the child that S and I joke behind her back who is NOT allergic to peppers and gravy but THINKS she is because she overindulged one time and got sick.  We know she isn't "allergic."  We play along though and pick out all the red peppers from her salad.

So now my gluten intolerance is reduced to that?

Then yesterday and today S starts telling me how "bad [my] shoulders are."  I thought she just wanted a reason to massage me.  But this morning she took it further to say, with a smirk... "You're shoulders are so bad, I think your migraine came from your shoulders..."

I am seeing red. 

I am getting bitter.

I can't wait for the kids to leave on Sunday so we can have a long talk.

Oh...  and we got both kinds of bread yesterday.

Saboteur

I ruin everything.  And if I can't destroy it; I will walk away from it.  Abandon whatever good is left.

I've not been feeling well, not eating well, and now treating my lover less than kindly.  After talking to my BFF I feel like I may not be over-reacting.  It always feels better to talk to her.  Justified.

And somehow I feel like staying.

In my attempt to regain control, I took an honest inventory of our finances.  I know exactly how much money we owe, how much we spend, and how much we earn.  I thought this would calm down my racing anxieties.  But shockingly - (sarcasm) - it did not.  And now I'm doing that thing again where I am taking inventory of how many calories I eat.

 And now I have a gym membership too. 

So, let us begin.  All over again...

This is exhausting but somehow comforting, like coming home to your criticizing mother.  Familiar. 

This is all I can write for now.

Coming Clean

Wife had a fucking breakdown over "The Secrets" tonight.  She's away, not home... we had this talk via the phone so it totally sucked.  The discussion was over the money actually.  She feels like I'm keeping secrets or being secretive with my money.  And I wonder... if I am. 

I've become more withdrawn lately, in all things.  And I know I'm not the easiest person to talk to.  I think she is intimidated to talk to me.  So she let these feelings build up inside, fester, and they turned to resentment and finally anger.

I'm not keeping any money from her, and I'm not keeping secrets from her.

Oh that.

Well, yes, I lie that I've eaten when I haven't, and I throw food away.  I fixate on preparing her special meals and then I don't eat with her under the falsehood that I've got another stomach ache.  I weigh myself when she isn't home.  With a scale that I have hidden.

There's that.

So we talked about the money stuff... and the secrecy about my checking account... and how deposits will be handled... and how bills will be payed .... etc. But not about that.  In my gut I know she is sensing the secrecy of my ED, and she is keenly aware of my anorectic behaviors.  I know that that is what she is really wanting to discuss, needing me to tell her, and begging for me to come clean about.

But I can't.

What if that is the one thing that will scare her away... finally.  Because I keep waking up, and going to bed, with the intruding thought that she is going to eventually give up - and leave.  She is eventually going to figure out that I am crazy.  Like really crazy.  Like diagnostically significant crazy.  Batshit crazy.  Not just "fun mom" and "good in bed" crazy... but basically one breakdown away from hospitalization CRAZY.  Then she leaves.  That's what is going to happen.

What if I tell her my Secret and she laughs at me.  Or she is mad at me.  Or she ... tries to make me stop.  I guess that is the bottom line here.  I'm not ready for health.  Because in the end, I may be crazy - but I am also smart.  And I know how to be healthy.  I all the right words to tell doctors, nurses, and shrinks.  I know why I am feelings so sick right now... and still I am *choosing* illness over health.  I am still choosing Secrecy over the Truth.  I am still choosing my ED over me.

I just don't know why.  Not yet.  Will I ever?

Exhausted

I'm physically and emotionally exhausted.  I know that the insanity will only end with rest, nutrition, fluids, and love.  But then why do I chose to force myself to stay awake?  To deprive myself of food?  To let the self thoughts, the faceless voice, keep screaming at me the hatred chant of unworthiness.

Sanity is daunting for me.  I'm too exhausted with my mental illness(es) to get better.  What kind of a shitty excuse is that?  I spent the evening with my oldest daughter and my youngest daughter tonight.  It was at the dinner table tonight that I realized I am not in control any longer.  She is.  The ED is.  It took everything I have in me, all of the strength that an exhausted, insane person has to sit down at the table to a plate of food.

Dinner Details:

• Put food on everyone else's plates first, of course - I'm the mom!
• Next cut the pre-schooler's food, of course - she is four!
• Oh I forgot the potatoes in the oven, jump up and get those!
• Darn - forgot the drinks....
• Mmmmmm I think this corn needs buttered....
• Did you need a napkin????
• I'm just going to throw some cookies in the oven NOW so they will be done for dessert time....
• Okay, guess I'll put food on my plate now, but not a lot, but enough so people don't say stupid shit like, "Is that ALL you are eating?" but not so much that I feel like overwhelmed that I am going to eat too much (I'm not even HUNGRY for fuck's sake - I shouldn't be eating).

It was pretty much a combination of exhausting (notice a thematic element to my writing?) and embarrassing because I'm sure the teen noticed and was like what the fuck MOM, sit down and EAT.  And I'm trying to convince my disordered mind that even though I probably ate what a "normal" person would "normally" eat... I did NOT binge... even thought I layed on the couch all evening feeling like a fat lazy fucker.  I just cannot convince myself of this. 

To end this piece of shit on a positive word, my mail order prescription company finally got their heads outta their (insert preferred hole here) and my antidepressant showed up.  Thank the sweet baby Jesus.

Measuring Up

The voices are back.  The numbers.  The counting.  Two pounds today… maybe 6 pounds this week.    Ten calories per cup.  Nine calories per gram.  One hundred ten calories per hour.  Thirty ounces every two hours while awake, that should do the trick.  The measuring cups and spoons are out.  The food scale has its place back on the counter.

Then I get lost inside myself again.  Unable to quiet a faceless voice.    

I have not even risen from bed.  And when I do – the voice changes.  It’s my own now.  Right beside my bed is a large mirror attached to my bureau.  I accidently catch a glimpse of myself. “You’re worthless. What kind of mother are you?  You are nothing.  You are no one.” The thoughts keep coming until I make it into the shower.  Undressing is the worst part.  There is a full length mirror in the bathroom and I can’t resist using it to degrade myself every day before I get into the shower.

This particular morning I noticed something.  My abdomen, high, left epigastric area to be precise… felt very “itchy” while I was lying in bed, and when I undressed and began my morning scrutiny I quickly noticed why.  Four fucking NEW stretch marks.  “You fat fucking piece of shit.  You must pay.  You don’t deserve.  You disgust me.  You fat fucking piece of shit.”  Then the racing heart.  Then the scale.  146.6  I have not been this weight since I gave birth and was mother fucking post partum.

*******************************************

It’s been three days.  Three days of basically lying to my wife.  I’ve been fasting for three days now and while I feel that empty euphoria that only a suffering anorexic will understand… I also feel like a fraud. 

I promised to never lie to her.  I’m now throwing food away, pretending to eat.  I’m ashamed.  I’m down 4 pounds.

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The secrecy that surrounds my eating disorder helps me feel a sense of control.  I need that control.  I’ve felt very out of control lately.  My daughter, the teen, is in crisis.  She’s depressed – cutting.  A huge mother fucking trigger for me.  I immediately gathered my tools readied myself.  I haven’t cut; yet.  I haven’t cut since 2009, and I dread the day that dark place returns.  I am also pretty convinced she meets criteria for EDNOS herself so if that isn’t a huge goddamn stress …. Well… I’m spiraling.  And right now the only thing I can do is measure my little non-fat yogurt cups.  And make sure I drink the exact fucking right amount of fluid every two hours.  And of course be certain I will not ingest any wheat products.

Right now I can’t even stand myself and I don’t even know why I wrote this shit.

Unsure

Unsure and uneasy...

I am going to try writing again.  I don't know what else to do.  But I'm not sure if this is safe enough here.  That's the problem I've been having lately.  I've never been feeling safe enough.

In fact I've never been feeling enough.

Then that leads me to wanting to disappear - how ironic.

So here we go.  It will probably get darker before I find some light.