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DisclaimerPlease remember that I am NOT a doctor or a therapist. I am a patient and I am writing about my own experiences and information that I have gathered from various sources. This blog is not meant to provide medical advice to anyone. If you need help or if you are in crisis please call 911. There is also a suicide/crisis hotline that you can call at: 1-800-273-8255.
- © CimmerianInk and Living With Bipolar Disorder, DID and Childhood Abuse 2010- . Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to CimmerianInk and Living With Bipolar Disorder and Childhood Abuse with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
There’s this feeling hanging over me. The feeling that something is very wrong but I can’t grasp it. The feeling that there’s a whole life hidden in my head that I don’t know about. I can see little blips like clips from a movie repeating in front of my eyes but they’re so quick I can’t really see them. I feel fear, sadness, but it never processes because it won’t come out. The feeling just stays with me and it’s so heavy. I don’t want to get rid of it…the feeling let’s me know that it’s real. I just need to understand it. I just need to know. I think I have the right to know the truth about my own life.
A thought just occurred to me today concerning the communications I’ve been having with “her” our mother. To recap, many of you know that I cut her off for years because she’s abusive and toxic but that she eventually offered what I considered the only apology someone like her is capable of. I have allowed very limited contact via email and only for a specific number of times. There have been quite a few times where I’ve asked her a direct question about something, not anything confrontational, normal stuff and in her next email she will not answer the question but instead says something about herself like complaining about her health. It happened a few times but I didn’t get a light bulb over my head until today and I want to run it by you guys to see if I may be on to something. It drives her crazy that she can’t control me and she has expressed her anger in various ways both psychological and physical in the past. Once I cut her off she had to apologize for the first time in her life even though it wasn’t really an admittance of anything. She loves playing games with people…passive agressive or just plain aggressive and she has readily admitted to doing so before with that sick smirk she gets on her face. As an example of a recent instance, a month or so ago I asked her some health questions about my grandmother, her mother, who died younger than she should have been and had severe heart problems my whole life. My mother ignored my question, waited, and then in one of her emails proceeded to list off really ridiculous, non-serious illnesses and procedures she’s had and used my words when I had asked about my grandmother, that it was for my family medical history. She never answered my question but made sure she complained about herself. Now, she’s done it again. I asked for an email address and she again ignored my question and this time told me some shocking news about the person (news which would make me want to get in touch with this person even more to see how they are), and then complained about herself again saying how tired she was. After this most recent exchange an idea came to me. It occurred to me that maybe she is playing games again because this is all she can do. I ask for information and she has control of giving it to me. In the case of this relative she can prevent me from getting closer to this person. She can’t control me but she can control this. She can play passive-aggressive by ignoring me and saying what she wants to say, drawing attention to herself which is her favorite past time. ‘Poor me, I’m so sick, I have this really common ailment and boo hoo…’ It’s the same crap as before: ‘Pay attention to me!’ ‘Me, me, me!’ ‘Oh you want this? Forget it, unless you play my game.’ There have been at least four instances like this. What do you guys think?
I haven’t written in a bit so let’s catch up.
Dreams are interesting. They’re not real and yet they are; the subconscious weaves a story or scenario that draws from both fantasy and fact. Even the fantasy aspects come from something real even when we don’t realize it.
My therapist and I have discussed dreams a lot in the past year or so. I was not a person who put much importance on dream imagery and of course, she being a feeling type, pays attention to what her clients dream about. However my viewpoint has changed somewhat because I cannot deny the rings of truth that my dreams contain and more than that certain dreams cause emotions and reactions in me that I have never experienced before and I can’t ignore them. It also helped that my therapist explained that dreams are us talking to ourselves. Our dreams pull from memories, lots and lots of memories and puts them together; something we saw a day ago or something we felt a year ago…it’s all in there. Dreams of course don’t show us every single moment in factual order all the time but that doesn’t mean that the images shown aren’t important.
That isn’t to say that I’m going around with a dream dictionary and putting meaning into every image I see when I’m asleep. Sometimes a dream is just a dream. :) Instead, the dreams that need me to take notice tend to make such an impression that I am shaken upon waking.
As an example I will mention a dream I had recently.
I was with my grandmother. Now right off the bat these dreams are hard for me because in my dreams I always know that she’s dead and she does not. Even asleep I feel intense grief as I see her and talk to her because I know that she is gone and it’s painful to be with her in a fake place in my unconscious.
In this dream she and I were talking and I asked her a question about my uncle. For those of you who have read my blog for a while you know the circumstances about this man and you know that questions hound and haunt me constantly.
In the dream my grandmother was very much as I imagine she would have been had I had the chance to ask her the questions I need answers to when she was alive, one adult to another. She did not want me digging this up. She did not want me to ask questions she wanted me to leave it alone. She couldn’t understand why I was asking about him. The impression I got wasn’t that her reticence was due to the fact that there was nothing to say but quite the opposite, there was a lot to say but she didn’t want to say it.
Somehow I convinced her to tell me…I think I just said something to the effect ‘I need to know’ and she gave in. In the dreams she told me things about what my uncle did, but as in other dreams about him I couldn’t remember the details when I woke up, I just remember that there was a feeling that something really bad happened to me. In what I considered a clever little bit of wording after I woke up (and after I stopped sobbing. I’ll get to that later), she told me that I had been treated at a facility called Monday Morning. This was funny to me because when I woke up from dreaming it was 3:00 a.m. Monday morning.
Things got very painful in my dream after my grandmother was done talking to me. As soon as she was finished she put her hand over her chest…(my grandmother had serious heart problems that I was aware of even as a very little child). The dream me rushed to her and told her that this time around she had lived months longer than she had the last time. To make that sentence more understandable, it was like in the dream, we were in an alternate timeline and she didn’t die when I 18, she was still alive by a few extra months because something was different this time. Maybe you need to be a trekkie to get that so I’ll just leave it.
Anyway, I told her to lie down and I was so scared because I didn’t want her to die again. The dream switched suddenly as they often do, and I was in the car taking her to the hospital. My husband was in the backseat. Just as I was approaching the hospital, she died. I said “she’s dead” and I started to cry then I woke up.
I’ve noticed a large change in how I wake up when I have very intense dreams about my grandmother and sometimes my uncle. I wake up weeping. I use the word weeping because it’s more than crying to me. I will wake up on a sob and tears can be already coming out of my eye before I’m fully conscious. That’s how it was this time. I woke up sobbing and my poor husband was woken up wondering what in the world was happening. He kept trying to talk to me and I couldn’t even form words because every breath came out as a sob.
I won’t go into the rest of my day after that but I did pay attention to what I saw and more so what I felt in that dream and afterwards. The tears weren’t just about my grandmother. Yes, she was intrical to it but I sensed that there was more to it and that because I couldn’t remember the details of what she said my uncle did, I couldn’t process those emotions when I woke up. That was difficult and made me feel off for a while but because I shut off my feelings for the majority of my life, I appreciate any hints I can get from my brain.
My therapist thought it was significant that my grandmother died after she told me. She wondered if that’s how I felt as a child, like she would die. It’s an interesting theory. I just need solid answers.
Dreams aren’t complete factual accounts but I hope it’s a sign that I’m ready to remember more.
I’m just now realizing I have a bit of a problem. I’ve had issues leaving my house for a while but I’m really having problems now.
I only leave when I absolutely have to, like when I have an appointment, then I will go the store and take care of other errands. Other than that, I don’t leave and I have no desire to. I don’t go to movies or shop at the mall for fun or…anything. I used to do those things and I can’t pinpoint when things changed. I didn’t notice it until this past week.
I wonder what happened? When did I get like this? And more importantly, why? What is my problem?
It’s almost summer. It’s sunny, flowers are blooming. I should go outside. But I can’t. I did go for a walk a week ago. I’d like to do that again soon. That’s sad isn’t it? Hoping to go for a walk? Yikes.
My inner world is silent. I feel like I’ve been cut-off and I’m super pissed! Of course it’s strange that no matter how many parts I’m mad at, that actually means that I’m mad at myself. It doesn’t change anything and it doesn’t change that it feels like it’s not me. It feels like everyone made a ruckus, showing me things that told me something bad happened to me and now…nothing. Silence. And it’s really unfair. You can’t just open the box and let all the crap be seen, then shut the box and expect me to forget. I’m so angry at these parts for pulling crap like this!
My therapist says that this too is part of the “process”. She said being angry at myself will only make things worse. But it’s not like I can hide my feelings from myself right?She says sometimes there’s a break and that I need to trust the process. Well the Process can kiss my ass. I feel like it should be my decision what I am and am not ready to know. Who the hell are they to decide for me!? I have no control over this and I hate that! I have no control over anything in my life and I’m sick of that too. I’m sick of sitting here, fat, tired, cold, in pain and knowing nothing about my own life.
Trigger and content warning:**** after much wrestling with my feelings about posting something that would be hateful and negative and after asking about it here, I’ve decided to write a post centered around my current struggles with trying not to return to my eating disorder. It seemed that a detailed trigger warning was the way to go, so if you decide to read this post anyway, you go into it knowing it’s not nice. Eating disorders can cause some really negative, ugly thoughts that aren’t indicative of how the individual really feels when they’re not sick. I’m going to talk about these ugly thoughts in an honest way and I don’t want any of my readers who struggle with their weight, whether they are overweight or underweight or whatever, to feel like this is aimed at them because it is not. What I’m talking about is where my head goes when old behaviors try to swallow me up. I also think it’s good to get these things out in the open because it could be helpful and it’s what happens even if it’s not nice. If you feel like reading this would cause you too much pain then don’t read it. It’s fine with me if you don’t. If you do read it then just know that it’s not the real me, it’s the disordered eating me who feels like this. Also, if you’re expecting a positive spin or some nice ending you would be wrong. ****trigger warning ended.
It seems like hate is coloring everything I see these days and that hate is coming from me. I’m hating life and I’m sick of waking up everyday and being swallowed up by more hatred.
I tried to be healthy. I did. I’ve been eating normally since February 2013 and I’ve gained so much weight that I feel like an alien. I walk around everyday in a body that is not mine and it feels wrong so I feel wrong. This goes beyond just being disappointed in being overweight. Maybe I should have consulted a physician before I started eating a normal amount of calories but no one told me to do that. There is no information out there on what the hell I should have been expecting when I started eating again. There’s no timeline saying ‘if you were anorexic this long you can expect it to take at least this long to get your metabolism back on track’. There’s no help here. I’m just sinking.
And my therapist who is supposed to be an “expert” in eating disorders is pissing me off with her incessant speeches telling me not to count calories, just ‘listen to your body’, “eat when you’re hungry and stop when you’re full”. That is bulls%$*. I’ve been doing that and I’m a whale. Hell, I’ve been vegetarian much of the time and it makes no difference. I’ve done cardio 3-5 times a week and it does nothing! And no this is not my body settling into it’s natural weight! I know what my healthy weight is and I remember how it felt to be lighter and skinnier. I had an eating disorder but I was a hell of lot happier in some ways.
I don’t look as overweight as I am because my height hides it but I know what I look like in the mirror and it disgusts me.
When you have an eating disorder, and I don’t know if it’s the same if the disorder is binge-based or about compulsive eating, but when you have an eating disorder centered around excessive calorie restriction and over-exercising…fat makes you sick and fat people make you sick.
When I first gained weight because of being on medication it gave me an empathy for overweight people that I thought made me more understanding and accepting of others. I thought that I had learned a good lesson. I found out that people can be overweight because of reasons outside of their control like illness or prescription side effects. It was something I hadn’t thought about when I was skinny. I didn’t judge people based on their looks.
Recently I was watching a tv show and there was a character on the show who was fat, and I’m saying fat because it shows the change in my thinking. When she was onscreen all I could see was how fat she was, how many chins she had, how round her face was. It made me sick. I hated her…I mean I really hated her. I started wishing that they would kill her off on the show (it didn’t help that her character wasn’t exactly likeable but my reaction wasn’t really based on that). Well, I got my wish and her character was killed. I was glad because I didn’t have to look at her anymore. In fact I played the scene again just to see her die again. Something was wrong with me but i wasn’t in touch with it at the time.
The ferocity of my hatred took me by surprise. I actually stopped and I asked myself what in the hell was going on? I couldn’t tell yet. It got worse because every time I saw an overweight person, I felt hatred and disgust with them for being lazy and greedy. I didn’t want to see them walking around where I had to look at them. So much hate.
I started pushing myself to exercise more and I was still tracking all my calories. I think that things actually got worse when I saw a dietician in December. She wanted me to try a 1200 calorie diet and she suggested exercising at least 5 days a week. Don’t get me wrong…she said that if I got hungry on 1200 calories that we needed to change it immediately because she would not have me going around hungry. But there’s no way in hell that I can exercise 5 days a week! I have other chronic health problems that make that impossible. Still I tried. I exercised the days that I could and I pushed until I was shaking. But there was more hate.
I would wake up in the morning and weigh myself. Hate. Because no matter what I did the scale would go up, then down and give me hope and then go right back up. Hate.
I was eating organic, healthy food…being vegetarian at least 80% of the time and when I ate meat it was only very lean turkey or chicken or fish. Hate. Because it was never good enough. Or maybe one day I would be bad and eat potato chips or a something else that I shouldn’t have and then…hate. I hated myself for being weak…for giving in…for being fat…Hate.
It was around this time that I realized that the hatred that I had been feeling towards the overweight or obese was actually about me. I hated myself. I hated myself so much that it couldn’t be contained inside me. It had to be directed outwards, so I directed it towards people who represented what I see as a severe failure on my part. I’m overweight so I hate people who are overweight. I disgust myself so they disgust me. I wish they were dead and sometimes I feel that way too.
I know I’m using past tense but this is still a current problem. I’m just more in touch with the source now.
I talked to my therapist because I’ve been tempted to restrict my eating again. I keep thinking that I can just do it for a little while and then stop. But then I wonder if I could stop and wouldn’t I just be back here again with my body broken from unhealthy habits?
Last month I took a bunch of screenshots on my cell phone of thinspiration so I could look at them as motivation. Yesterday I spent about half an hour or so making a screensaver for my computer that is made up of thinspiration of skinny women and sayings about being fat. It’s not good.
My therapist said that the first step to losing weight is to stop hating my body. We argued about that for the rest of my session because I thought she was crazy. I tried to tell her that it’s easy for her to say since she’s skinny. She just doesn’t know what I’m feeling. She did help me to see that I was being really hateful to myself and hard on myself but that hasn’t really helped.
I tried to “relax” and stop trying so hard for about a week and all I did was get fat and it did nothing. I don’t care that I don’t look fat. I care about how I feel. I feel sluggish and ugly and awful and I hate the sight of myself in the mirror. At the same time I just want to be a healthy weight. I want to be healthy. I tried to avoid all the health problems that run in my family by being healthy in what I eat and being more active than my relatives have been but no matter what I eat or how healthy it is, the scale won’t budge.
The worst days are when I lose a pound or two and I feel that most awful of emotions: Hope. I feel hope and I think that maybe, just maybe things have started to change. Then I keep eating well and exercising and I gain those pounds right back. And I die a little inside every single day that this goes on.