Blahhhhhhh

To follow up on the last post, I'm still freaking out and I don't know what to do with all this pent up energy.  My fears are more prevalent, I don't know if being here at my parents' is even a healthy choice for me.  I mean...it is, right?  I'm in a "safe environment", not acting out, and being around my family...sober.  My staying here is bringing up such strong feelings of guilt and shame.  I should've been a better daughter when I was younger.  I should've been a better sister.  I should've spent more time at home.  I shouldn't have hurt my family so much so badly.  I have so much guilt in me and I can't help but dwell in the past because the past is what created the present.  My present.

I feel so bad for my parents because they don't have the family they've dreamed of.  Every couple fantasizes about having a happy family that gets along, shares special traditions, and feels unconditionally accepted and loved.  My parents didn't get anything close to what they wished for.  Of course, there are a lot of dysfunctional families...why does mine have to be one of them.  I want to be able to go to my dad and brother directly, rather than having my mom be the liaison.  I want our family to be together in the same place at the same time without fighting.  I want to be able to hold a conversation with my dad for longer than 5 seconds  I want so badly to give my parents the family they've always wanted, but I don't know where to begin.  I could simply tell them, "I want to give you the family you've always wanted", but I'm too ashamed and afraid to say such a bold statement.  I want to be able to honestly express my emotions around them without feeling burdensome.  I want to see my mom and dad laugh.  

I want to tell my dad that I understand his pain and that I forgive him.  That it's OK to feel left out of the family and that things will get better as long as we try.  I want to thank him for bringing me up and for being so patient with me.  I want to tell my mom that she's the strongest woman I know and that I'm sorry for all her distress.  I want to tell her that I understand things are, and have been, excruciatingly difficult. I want her to know that I'm thankful for her relentlessness and for being the glue to our family.  I want to tell my brother...so many things. That I love him, that I am thankful for his believing in me, that I admire his strength, and that I believe in him as much as he believes in me.  

I feel like there is not enough time at all to make up for all the wrongs... to outnumber the bad memories of the past with pleasant memories moving forward.  This scares the fuck out of me.  I don't want my mom to die never having truly lived.  I don't want my dad to die without having gotten to know his children.  I don't want my brother to die without having gotten to know me or our dad.  I feel helpless.. Is my family ever going to change?  I don't remember the last time I had a meal with any one of them.  I don't remember the last time I laughed with any one of them.  A real, meaningful, hearty laugh.  I only remember fights and long periods of awkward silence.  I feel like I'm on a blind date or a job interview whenever I'm with my family.  Curious, anxious, nervous about saying the wrong thing, nervous about talking too much or too little, putting on a facade, taking on a "role".  I want to feel secure. I don't want to feel lonely.  I don't want to feel self-conscious and hide in my room all day to avoid conversation.  I hate that that's what our family has come down to.

I envy others and their ability to communicate so openly with their family.  Or even communicate at all.  It baffles me.  Honestly, it angers me a bit because I want what they have so desperately. It makes me so sad and angry because it feels so out of reach.  And I'm distraught that my family will never become the kind my parents had hoped for, and that I hope for.  I want to be able to cry and release my emotions.  There isn't much time left.  I want to cry but all that's going on is anxiety attacks. Once I'm done with this entry, I'll still be hiding in my room, sitting on my bed, staring off in to space.

A family of snails.

"Like an Ancient Bruise"

So my boyfriend's out of town for the week and I've decided to stay at my parents' to keep me "safe" and make it inconvenient for me to act out.  It's only my 3rd day here and I'm having anxiety attacks.

The climate here is better than it used to be.  There are more conversations going on and just an overall sense of calm.  Re-connecting with my family and being in this physically close space is increasing my awareness of the fleetingness of life.  Everything is fleeting and that frightens me.  Like me being at my parents'.  I'm going back to my apartment in a week.  I know, I know, I can visit my family whenever I want; but I won't be living here anymore.  I won't be sleeping or waking up here or eating the food here.  And I moved out so abruptly, without a word.  My parents weren't even aware of or prepared for it.  And my dogs.  Yooni's old (she's 7) and Tori won't stay energetic and playful forever.  They're going to die eventually and that scares me.  It almost makes me regret having bought them to begin with.  Similarly, I'm not always going to have my family.  That saddens me. I don't want to miss out on anything.  I feel like I've been absent in their life for so long and now's my chance to be ever present.  Binge on life.  Sounds good and well but it will undoubtedly dig myself deeper into depression and self-neglect.  I feel stuck and frightened.  I feel like I'm drowning in guilt and anxiety and there is no life raft in sight.

Maybe this is what I need.   I don't know if that'll be unhealthy though...it is motivation to try my best in recovery, but what if I get too carried away by these fears that I just become a ridiculously anxious wreck?  That's totally possible.  What if I become overly cautious and care about things TOO much?  What if I appreciate life TOO much that my biggest fear becomes death?  I have so many regrets and worries about the future.  I wish I could just accept everything the way they are but it's so damn difficult.  And the more I think about it, the more it freaks me out.

I want my family to be healthy and happy.
I want to feel secure.
I need to relax.  

But then again, maybe it's good that I'm accessing these feelings and allowing it to change my perspective on life.  I still believe that the things we do are ultimately pointless because we're all going to die; but now, I want to do things more deliberately and purposefully.  Spending time with my dogs and my family has opened my eyes to the preciousness of life and the sacredness of connection.  These fears are the same ones I had when I was a little girl - fear of my death and the death of my family.  I remember looking out the window at the night sky hoping a meteor wouldn't come crashing down and obliterating everything.  The fear that I wouldn't have enough time to get the best things out of life.  The fear that sleep will somehow eradicate all the good things - that it will be the end of everything, that nothing and no one will be left behind.

For the past several years, these emotions have catapulted me into a deep depression.  Using imminent death as a reason to be selfish and act out on all my urges. Using "having not enough time" to do whatever the fuck I wanted without thinking of the impact it might have on others, especially on my family.  Now I feel overly cautious.  What if this sends me into a whole new world of depression and anxiety?

I don't want my anxiety and guilt to be my motivations.  First, it was the guilt I felt towards my boyfriend.  All the time and money he spent on getting me in to treatment - not to mention the emotional costs.  Now I have another layer of guilt and pressure...to not have a negative impact on my family for as long as they're alive.  I don't want them to experience hardship because of me or anything else.  I've already done a lot of damage and them knowing that I'm in treatment is burdensome and shameful enough.  I want to protect them and their emotions.  That's what led me to self-neglect in the first place but...I don't know.  Is that something wrong?  Caring about their emotions?  I guess I'm taking it to a different level, of controlling situations surrounding the emotions.

The nonchalance and indifference I've had towards life have shifted to feelings of extreme remorse for all my past fuck-ups and unbearable anxiety of ensuring security for the future.  I feel like all these feelings and thoughts have been buried deep inside me for so long by tons of anger and resentment.  And spending time here has dulled my sharp, heavy edges and allowed my guards to lift.  Times like these, I wish I were religious.  A religion to soothe my anxiety and fear of the unknown, a prayer that can lift my regrets and bring me a sense of peace and oneness.  A reliable figure/force/whatever I can depend on to make things all work out for the best...for all the pieces to fall in to place.


Does anyone read this?
Hello? Is anyone there? Help!

Groundhog Day

Wake up, obsess over food, boyfriend goes to work, go to the store with some change I steal from him, rush back home, frantically make food, binge while watching Netflix, purge, binge and purge again, boyfriend comes home, watch Netflix, all the while obsessing over food, go to bed planning next day's binge, dream about food.
My every day was this chaotic, yet rhythmic sequence of extremes with an undertone of food-obsession and self-loathing.  Every day fulfilled my longing for thrill.  Everything from stealing money to madly stuffing my face to violently vomiting it all out.  Bulimia scares me.  It scares me more so than anorexia.  My story will undoubtedly be different from everyone else's, and in my experience, I found anorexia to be kind of dull and boring.  Sure, I starved myself for weeks and believed I was an omnipotent superhuman for denying a fundamental aspect of survival, but eventually my hunger cues would completely be muted and the most exciting things to occur would be famine-induced dizzy spells and faintings.  Bulimia was much more stimulating, terrifying, enticing, all at the same time.  Like waiting in line for the world's most bad ass roller coaster, or like running from an avalanche.  It's a never-ending battle within myself, with my body.  I'm emotionally famished so I eat as fast as I can, as much as I can, as if my body knows that that would be the one and only opportunity to have food.  Like when a bear stuffs itself for the entire winter before hibernating.  Then I purge out all my emotions.  I flush them down the toilet believing I'm saying "good bye" to my emotions once and for all, but like the vomit splashed on the wall, there are always some residual feelings left behind.
This daily, hourly ritual has been taken away from me.  For 105 days to be exact.  My whole life is bulimic.  Alcohol, drugs, writing papers, studying, isolating, expressing - everything is a binge/purge cycle.  And not being able, or choosing to not act out on my urges has been a battle as well.  I want to act out, I want to feel excitement.  My boyfriend's going out of town this Saturday for 7 days and it's the perfect time for a relapse.  I've been fantasizing about relapsing ever since I've known about his trip and I've been rationalizing it to its minute detail.  I'm bound to have a relapse sooner or later - I'd rather plan it out than have it occur spontaneously on one stressful day; I'd rather have some sort of control over it.  I just want one day of fuck-it's.  That will be my relapse and I'll get it out of the way, and get back on the recovery train.  I know the "one day" will lead to more days, but it's so hard to get unstuck in my temptations.  I want my urges to go away.  Things haven't gotten easier, yet.  I just want so badly to stop having these ever-growing temptations so that I can live presently.  I feel ashamed because I need a babysitter for 7 days.   I'm 23 and I need a babysitter.  Maybe I should just take sleeping pills for the week because I feel like the easiest way out of this mindset is to be asleep.
If I fuck up, I don't consider it an indication as to how much I value sobriety.  My therapist says it is.  And I absolutely hate that she sees it that way.


"Life is like an extended-release acid trip."

What to do...

Today's my 99th day in sobriety and abstinence from my eating disorder.  It surprises me every day knowing how long it's been.  This is the longest I've ever gone without acting out on my urges.  I think I broke the record after 14 days.  I mean, I sometimes do compulsively exercise but I'm not counting that.  Abstinence is fucking hard.  Everyone talks about the positive outcomes of recovering from addictions, but no one ever talks about how difficult and painstaking it is to discover yourself and to actually deal with the emotions you've been numbing yourself of for so long.  When I was not sober - which was all the time - I was outgoing, seemingly confident, spontaneous and well-spoken.  I was known as the fun, light-hearted, happy girl.  That was my identity.  That was all I knew.  My low self-esteem was heavily masked by substance-use.  Now that I'm no longer relying on my addictions to tolerate myself and life, it is no surprise that my self-esteem has seemingly decreased.  In reality, it hasn't.  The main things treatment did was leave me with stronger anxiety and behavior-free.  But that's expected.
I only know the non-sober Liz.  I don't know how I am otherwise, and I feel nothing but anxiety, embarrassment, and nervousness.  I feel dull and confused.  I feel like a newborn - learning everything from scratch.  It would be much easier if this affects only me, but it doesn't.  My boyfriend who has been around since pre-treatment and has seen my self-destruction at its worst, is seeing noticeable changes in my persona.  It hurts and scares me to hear him reminisce about how "playful" and "flirty" I used to be.  I don't want to go back to my old ways but I fantasize about it when I think of how much more attracted to me he was then.  I've deserted and neglected myself for so long and I'm finally becoming aware of myself without my addictions, and so far, I've only found shortcomings.  It's like trying to restart a car that has been buried under junk in the garage for years: tedious and unpleasant.  We're almost 10 months into our relationship and I feel like he and I are finally getting to know me.  The work that needs to be done seems daunting.  I'm infinitely grateful for having his love and patience throughout my ongoing transformation but I can't help but feel guilt, shame, and helplessness.  I'm so exhausted and frustrated with myself.  I know this is going to be a ridiculously long and arduous process, but I just want this self-discovery shit to be overwith already.

My Day Job vs. My Passion

OK, so I don't exactly have a job right now.  I guess going to treatment is kind of like having a job but not really because I lose money rather than earn money.  I used to be a bartender and canvasser and also volunteered for lots of different organizations.  I loved the bartending jobs because I got to drink as much alcohol for as little as possible, but hated it because of the sleazy customers.  Canvassing was awesome but it's not a job one can do for an extended period of time. Standing in front of stores and talking with strangers non-stop for 8 hours a day can get pretty exhausting.  9 months into it, I consider myself a veteran.  My passion - aside from wanting to become a concert pianist - sits somewhere in line with canvassing.  I want to be involved in the community, both in America and overseas.

I would love to join the Peace Corps and do so many things to help families in need:

Dehydration and water-borne illnesses are the leading cause of death in impoverished countries.  I would like to dig wells and build water catchment systems for those countries and also teach the people how to dig/build them. I want communities to have sustainable, long-lasting clean water supply near their homes.  We complain about having to get out of our chair to pour ourselves a glass of water, when these people have to walk miles and miles in the blistering heat to a contaminated water source. .  

Women are scrutinized and made subordinate to men, and this makes it difficult for them to take part in everyday life.  I want to teach them vocational skills so they can start their own basket-weaving business and produce income or sources of income. I want to offer them micro-loans so they can buy supplies to build a canoe which, in turn, would allow them to go fishing and bring back food for their village. We need to learn to be grateful and take advantage of the social interactions we have access to.

I want to educate little girls, especially little girls in India:  I want to give them knowledge and skills for opportunities outside of an arranged marriage.  How would you feel if your parents denied you formal education because they have arranged for you a life partner before you could even spell "life partner"?  You would be stuck in the home making babies and doing housework for the rest of your life before your life had even begun.  

For little boys, I want to take away their guns and machetes and give them books and crayons.  What were you doing when you were 7 years old? Not being thrown into the military.

America needs some work too:

I would like to build homeless shelters in which I, along with volunteers, offer homeless people makeovers so that they are presentable for job interviews.  This will increase their self-esteem and hopefully reduce the social stigma attached to the homeless.  Haven't you thought while walking past a homeless person, "Why don't they just get a job?"  Think about it.

I would like to build a home for battered women and children and work to reduce their shame and guilt, and empower them by putting them in school, offering psychotherapy, and weaving them back in to society.  Being a victim is a tough spot to get out of.

I would also like to build an orphanage for Chinese girls and adopt them out to deserving Chinese families so that their race doesn't die out.  I feel like the world is eventually going to be filled with dominantly white, Caucasian people.  What happened to appreciating our roots and living harmoniously among different cultures?

I believe, especially in today's technologically-crazed age, children are not given the space in which they can explore their creative potential.  I want to teach kids art and music so they can discover their potential through different means and hopefully help better express themselves.  If I were to be born several decades from today, I probably would not even have discovered the beauty of piano.  That scares me.

Literacy is a huge issue.  I would like to visit inner cities and teach parents about the importance of education, starting with literacy, so they can better monitor their children's educational progress.  Children can also derive motivation and incentive to improve their performance in school, from their parents' interest and support.

Now, do I call this "goals I can realistically work towards" or "dreams I want to see come true but never will"?  Because they are, in fact, kind of overwhelming and daunting to conceptualize into one life.  I don't know.  Maybe the first one, if I tried really really really hard.  

Blackberry Jelly and Cottage Cheese

I consider myself a very easy-going person, maybe too much so.  I don't see the use in dwelling on things I'm not happy with because I'll just drive myself crazy.  The world's a fucked up place and I can't always have things go my way.  But I constantly catch myself wishing and hoping things were different.  Those two contradict each other... I have high expectations about situations that very directly effect me.  When I'm on the bus, I wish I had a good book to read.  When I'm waiting at the bus stop, I wish I'd brought an extra sweater.  When I'm in group, I wish I had worn sweat pants and I hope I can wear a T-shirt out in public like the other girls some day.  During meals, I wish for the time to pass so I don't have to sit there awkwardly.  In bed, I hope to not have nightmares or wake up a million times in the middle of the night.  When I'm in individual therapy, I wish I knew how to fill the 45-minute session.  When I visit my mom on weekends, I hope she doesn't comment on my body.  I wish she would eat.  In AA meetings, I wish there weren't so much talk about a "Higher Power".  Walking down Hollywood Blvd., I wish I weren't an alcoholic.  I'm dissatisfied with so many things, it keeps me from living in the moment.  I got my "Carpe Diem" tattoo back when I was deep in my ED and using heavily.  I thought I was seizing the day by enjoying being fucked up every chance I had.  But looking back, I realize I was just wishing to run away from reality and lose all sense of civility.  I dwell in the past and trip about the future, so I forget about the present.  I've missed out on so much of life these past 10 years, and being abstinent hasn't changed much of that.  I want to put a stop to my unquenchable yearning for contentment and let go of my need to control situations and their outcomes.  According to AA, that's what a "sane" life looks like.  "Sane" sounds boring so I'm replacing that with "normal", "structured", "non-chaotic".  I want to come to terms with who and where I am, and learn to accept the cards I've been dealt.  I mean, I'll still bitch and whine; I just won't get stuck on the bitching and whining.  Because that's exhausting, annoying, and pointless.  I'll be able to find ways to live productively.  I don't want to grow up to be a bitter, cringing old lady.  I want to be a sassy one with good taste in music and perhaps a pair of blue Crocs and a purple cane.

Try Harder

I'm having a hard time... I'm hesitant about sharing in group.  Everything that comes out of my mouth is dark. I am being authentic but I feel like it's not getting me anywhere.  I'm not trying to be difficult; I just can't say positive, hopeful things at this point in my recovery.  It's my recovery.  The more I'm honest and authentic in groups, the more I'll get out of them.  I'm sick of writing what I think sounds like a "good answer".  I need to be blatantly, painfully ME.  I need to not care about how that will affect other patients.  They're being honest and so should I.  Just because I'm not at the same place as them, motivation-wise, doesn't mean I have to keep to myself.

No matter how hard I do this, I catch myself being the "perfect patient" too often.  I'm a great liar and actress: perfect daughter, perfect friend, perfect employee, perfect patient.  I haven't gotten anything out of it.  No wonder it's difficult for me to see value in relationships.  No wonder I'm so uncomfortable in my skin - I don't know who the fuck I am.  And the patients in treatment are my guinea pigs.  It's difficult to find the balance between passive and aggressive.  I'm always either a people-pleaser trying to avoid conflict at all costs, or a major bitch who is irritable and pessimistic.  I'm tired of it.  But then it comes down to my philosophy in life: "Why stress out about anything if I'm going to die anyway?"  Why do I care to find a balanced state of being?  Why do I care to be a people-pleaser when I, along with those I please, are going to die anyway?  It's hard for me to find motivation because this thing called death is, and always will be, imminent.  And no one's going to remember anything or anyone.  No one will remember their greatest accomplishments or the pain of their loved ones.

But I want to believe in the goodness of relationships.  I want intrinsic motivation.  I want to stop looking at the world through these pessimistic-existential-crisis lenses.  It's exhausting for me and everyone I deal with, especially for those in therapy.  And this is when I have to remind myself again that I must be authentic to make progress in treatment.  But I'm sick and tired of being negative.  I feel like the outsider among these patients.  They all seem to be gung-ho about recovery.  They all seem to have life figured out, except for the eating disorder part.  They're good at socializing unlike me who either stays silent or force myself to talk, causing extreme anxiety.  I don't understand how these people can seemingly be so comfortable with themselves.  They laugh, share stories, exchange numbers, while I sit in my seat freaking out hoping the conversation will not be directed towards me.  When I do honestly share my thoughts, I feel like I'm interrupting the positive flow of the rest of the group.  I feel like the therapist has to pause whatever's going on in order to give suggestions that are only catered to me.  And then I think to myself, "I should have stayed longer in residential treatment" or "Maybe this eating disorder is a lesser problem than I thought.  Maybe I just need to focus solely on self-care and motivation".

I feel helpless.  I've been patient with myself about this since I entered treatment because that's the most I can do.  10 years of struggling isn't going to be treated in just a few months.  A lifetime of self-loathing and non-motivation isn't going to be reversed anytime soon.  But I'm doing my best.  I really am.  This is frustrating.  Remember to breathe and take it one day at a time.