Unloved

Binge purge binge purge binge purge binge purge. 

Hate self. Hate life. Feel anxious and depressed. Wish you’d married someone else. Wish you had a different job. Wish you had an easier kid. Wish you had a decent friend. 

I don’t think it’s possible to ever really have a person who knows all of you and loves you right. All people know parts. No one knows all. No one. Except me. And that’s why I hate myself. 

Who could love this?

My husband acts like he can’t stand the sound of my voice. He acts like he doesn’t even like me. He acts like I’m a huge inconvenience. He acts uninterested and annoyed when I speak. 

No one fucking loves me. And they shouldn’t. 

Fucked week

New meds adjusted. New job in the works. New insight with hubby in couples going well. New therapist. She seems good. Hope she can help, because my eating has been out of control. Binging and purging so much. Multiple times a day. Anytime left alone. Anytime triggered. 

At least in this exact moment, things feel good with my little one. Like headed in a good direction. Consistent timelines all over. 

What’s not consistent or good is this fucking week. 

Talked to dad. Pretty sure my relationship with my parents is over for life. Our couples therapist offered to facilitate something. I don’t want it. It’s just like I felt with the ex. I really don’t end something until I’m really really done. And now I’m done. My pity or empathy or whatever for my dad is exhausted now. I tried. I gave him all I had. I didn’t even have to give that. 

She asked how I would feel if the chance to repair it were gone. I said if they died tomorrow I don’t think I’d feel any regret. I feel neutral. She said that’s a good thing. When I told her what my mom texted on my birthday, her eyebrows went up. They never do that. 

Our landlord is making us move out. I get it. We have not been paying our rent well lately. But idk what that’s supposed to look like now. Idk what I can even afford. I’m going to call places tomorrow. Maybe in the long run it’s a good thing. In the short run I’ve been panicked all day long.

Fuck my life I need weed. 

Hate

I’m just binging and purging like insane amounts lately. Idk why even. I’m just so fucking stressed. 

I know why I’m stressed. It’s because I’m so fucking broke all the time. I had to take an hard look at our finances today and be honest with myself and my husband. I just hope I can pick up enough work to make this work. 

Money makes me stressed, and stress makes my eating disorder and fibromyalgia flare up. Today I binged and purged and then ate dinner and purged. I’m making myself dehydrated. I’m running out of food to eat. I’m absent from the things I need to do and feeling defeated. I’m not sleeping well. 

I hate my fucking life and self. 

Another wave

 Moments come back like waves. At the worst times. At the most inopportune times. Memories of my childhood that I had buried are recently resurfacing like a deceased person floating to the surface of the water - bloated and misshapen and sad and dead. 

I remember when I would get back scoring for a project book - how my mom would react. Or scoring for my presentations or debates or speeches... If I was scored harshly or badly, I honestly didn't give a fuck. But she did. She would rant and rave for hours, days, weeks, years over some of them. She kept every single one of those books. Books I was supposed to have done to document my own projects and time in the programs. 

Literally none of it was me. Books of lies. This goes beyond when a parent helps a kid with a science fair project. She literally did all of it, not only without my input, but also arguing with me to get her way. I wasn't allowed to have an opinion - I just had to comply to whatever she said and wanted. I think it's even worse than pageant moms. I literally never got a say, and I feel like they do sometimes. 

She controlled every aspect. She decided what project I would do. She decided what the photos would be, wrote the whole thing, designed the posters, everything. 

I was just the puppet. 

I would sit and type it out line by line. Her words. When I tried to re-word it, it got shot down. When I tried to have input, it got shot down. Hours of her sitting over my shoulder, smelling her greasy hair and unwashed body, her voice and breath in my ear forcing me to use my hands to do her projects. She made me pretend that I agreed, or else she would start to act cruel. Like I was stupid. So it was easier to just pretend I agreed. I was a mouthpiece for whatever she wanted me to do and be. I did projects I didn't even like. I turned in things I didn't do myself. She cared about the scores, because they were HER scores. 

I remember at districts one year, I did my presentation that I had zero interest in, and I guess it showed. They both yelled at me. Apparently I had looked out the window while I was presenting and not at the judges enough. I was distracted. I have fucking ADHD and didn't give a fuck about whatever I was talking about. I remember I was so taken aback by the yelling that day, because I still had the notion that I was doing this for my own enjoyment. That it was fun for me. But that day I realized it didn't matter if it was fun for me - it was about winning for her. If I didn't win, perform, pretend to care, there would be consequences. 

I had boxes of ribbons for things, and I don't care about them. She used to have tons of ribbons up on the wall of our house, and I used to just think it was stupid. They were meaningless. I have two trophies that I have on my wall at home. The trophies are for forestry. That was my thing, and only mine. She couldn't influence the process in any way - I had to learn things and apply the knowledge, and I liked it, so learning it was fun and easy for me. My coach told her how good I was, and she just left me alone. I studied it on my own. That's why I cared about those trophies and took them with me when I moved out. I let her keep all the other shit, because it was never mine anyway. 

That's why I liked photography also. Yeah, she may have chosen what shots to compete with and how to frame them, etc. But they were my shots. She never got to tell me what to take photos of. I was connected to my art without her. 

I wonder what my life would have been like if I was allowed to just be myself. If I had been allowed to have interests and opinions and things I liked and did. 

Why did she want a child void of personality? She had to re-do her childhood because it sucked so badly, and in doing so, she ruined mine. I have made effort to let my kids just have theirs. I have doubled up on adulthood to give them a childhood. 

I fucking hate her. I want her to die so I can get my things back. I'm going to burn every single one of those books. Fucking witch. 

Rapunzel reflections

I’m so mother fucking depressed. 

Days of anger and sadness endlessly and abruptly bursting into tears. No suicidal thoughts; just a horrible mood. I think the lack of sleep and money are the biggest contributors. I don’t care about my body right now because my head is so fucked. It’s like impossible to drag myself through each day without having mental breakdowns. I cry over the past. I relive things I shouldn’t. I feel like raw nerves on fire. 

I don’t know what to even do about it. 

My parents robbed me. They robbed me of friends, parties, boyfriends, independence, confidence, abilities. They robbed me of normalcy. 

They made me feel like an outsider. Yeah, I never got any of the bad things from my peers. But I never got any of the good things either. And I got the bad things from my own fucking family. They weren’t a safe place, and I never got to leave, so I just never had a safe place.

Even the environments they let me enter were not safe. All I had for years and years were frenemies and half-ass time wasters - I can name so many, starting in 1st grade and going all through high school. They ripped me away from the “bad kids,” who were legitimately good friends to me, and kept me with kids who treated me like I was their last choice. Who treated me like shit. Even the good ones hid me when it came down to moments of pressure. I was taboo. I get it. I just wish I had had other options. 

I was never anyone’s first choice until Niki. She was the first real best friend I ever had. She loved me, and she saved my life. 

They put me in shitty situations with shitty kids over and over, seeing how unsafe these girls were. Telling themselves that I was safe, when I wasn’t. And I was so desperate to be away from them, that I accepted any chance, regardless of how shitty I knew it would be. What must the other parents have thought? That I would be a good influence? Did they pity me?

They forced me into society ill-prepared and wearing the uniform of an outcast. And not a cool outcast; just a poor one with crazy parents. You could take one look at me and see that I didn’t know what I was doing, and that my parents forced me to do what they wanted me to do. That I didn’t have any choice, because no one would choose what I did or had. I was forced to wear things and act like I didn’t want to. What the fuck is wrong with letting me cut my hair and put magazine pages on my bedroom walls? Why couldn’t I show my legs? Why did I have to be so different from everyone else? Why wasn’t I allowed to just blend in? Or be myself? Why couldn’t I listen to music? Wear makeup? Watch MTV? Why wasn’t I allowed to be a part of my own generation, except for in secret or from afar? Why was being pretty something I was discouraged from doing? 

I never got to grow up, until I already was an adult. But emotionally, I had to grow up way too fast. 

Trapped. I was always trapped. 

No wonder I became a black widow. I had years of making up to do. I didn’t get to do it like a normal person. Instead I did it fast and hard with reckless abandonment way too late in life. I did it like I’d done it all my life. I fooled them all. I got pretty and then I got smart and then I stomped on hearts. Suddenly, I wasn’t picked last at sports at camp. I wasn’t praying for Jimmy to kiss me and being socially awkward anymore. I had figured it all out. I was picked first for all the drunk dialing a woman could want. I left, and they cared. I needed them to love me to make up for all rejection I was pushed into. 

I wish I had my journal from back then. I wish I would have told D to fuck off. I wish I hadn’t been so desperate for a boy that I let in THAT boy. I wish I had done so many things differently. I just had no idea what I was doing. 

I dream of them often lately. Nightly. And the themes are all the same. I’m trapped, in conflict, justifying myself, annoyed. A prisoner. They made me feel like a prisoner all the time. 

There are such huge chunks of my childhood that I don’t recall. Endless years of sitting in that trailer with day after day ticking by, and nothing but endless boredom. I did my chores, watched tv, read books, felt soul-crushingly lonely, and fantasized about a different life. She felt safe there; he got to leave every day; I had to be captive. They raised me to be non-functional. To be sedentary and depressed and emotionally unregulated. They raised me to be a loser just like them. They raise me to struggle with all of the things I struggle with - depression, anxiety, unchecked adhd, hating myself, eating disorders, and codependency. They raised me to be poor and miserable and fat. I’m trying so hard not to be those things, but I feel haunted by all of it. I feel haunted by them. 

I feel like sometimes I miss my dad, though. I miss the moments when he treated me like I was just the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. I miss our heart to hearts. I miss when I truly let him in for a glimpse of who I was and he made me feel like what he saw was perfect. I truly wonder if he knows how shitty of a mom his wife really was. I wonder if I’ll ever get to have a relationship with him again. 

But he’s a fucking mess, and he was controlling and critical as well… he was so hard on me all the time, and would get so angry. And he always broke all his promises... 

There are a few good memories that stand out, because he actually acted like a good dad and person - when he caught me reading by the light of the door, the speeding ticket, the ipecac moment... He hid things for me and defended me once or twice in my life. But he should have yelled at the top of a mountain for me instead. He should have taken us and left the hell we were in. He was miserable; didn’t he realize we were miserable too? Maybe I just think I miss him because he was the lesser of two evils. Maybe I just want a dad. Maybe it’s just because I know I can win his approval sometimes, but I can never win my mom’s. 

It’s ironic that I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair - I literally was Rapunzel. 

Bulimia

I’m not good when he leaves town. I can’t handle myself alone with no accountability. I tell myself I’ll relax, but I just self destruct instead. 

Three massive hinges and purges. $55 worth of food. What the FUCK is wrong with me?? And I can’t even get help with it right now, because my shift in therapy means my therapist is for couples, because that domain will self destruct if I don’t attend to it. I can’t give out some information in this process and hope for it to remain a secret.

And it has to stay a secret forever.

I need help. I need to figure out how to eat like a normal person. My meds help but my impulses are a bitch. And any stress makes me blow up. And lately it’s all stress. 

Today I felt redeemed. I ate rice cakes and granola and vegetables and a light lunch. I cleaned my house and did errands. I did well overall. I bought salads for the week. I’m gonna grill a but-load of chicken.

I’m so tired of struggling with my body. I need something that works for me. I hate this.