The eyes are a window to your soul… 

Several people in the past few months have asked me how I’m doing based upon how I look.  I couldn’t figure out what they were basing their opinion on until I looked at some pictures of myself.  At that moment I realized it’s in my eyes.  So today I took a picture of myself smiling and one just neutral.  I cropped the rest of my face out, and even I can’t tell which is which…. I guess the old saying is true- the eyes never lie. 

So I have to get it out….

Ok, I so I have been mulling this over for over 24 hours now and I am still pissed off that my counselor wouldn’t let me read my entire “paper” I wrote about happiness.  The counselor didn’t want the build up, or the conclusion she wanted to shortest succinct definition, and shortest succinct description of how I would know if I were happy possible.

But she didn’t say that when she assigned the homework.  She didn’t say just give me something short and sweet. If she had then I would have written it way different.  I feel like our visit is still unfulfilled. I wasn’t able to share all my thoughts with her, and everything I wrote.  And it makes me feel uncomfortable, and makes me feel like I need to call her on the phone and be like would you please just let me read it? I need you to hear it. I need you to know all the words I worked so hard on.  It was hard to bare my soul, to open up, and even though you felt a lot of it was avoidance of the question there is still value in what I have to say.

And if I don’t call her, I want to bring it with me again next week and beg her to let me read it to her. I am sure there is some therapeutic reason she was all “just the facts ma’am”  But I am not sure she understands the fact that I am obsessing over the fact that she wouldn’t let me share it all.

My husband said, “well the beginning of it was an awful lot of fluff”.  And I got a little irritated with him.  Yes, maybe it was, but if she doesn’t feel like everything I say to her is important than why should I completely open up to her.

If I still feel this way when I see her next week I am going to have to bring it up.  What would you do?

The Things We Wear and Hide on the Outside…

Today was my med appointment and counseling appointment.  The appointment started with me sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong – as usual.  They hang a sign on the 2nd door of the bathroom that says the door is locked from both sides and can’t be unlocked.  This hangs just below the coat/purse/bag hook.   The problem with this is that every time I take my bags (yes I bring multiple bags with me that’s a story for another day) down the sign falls down onto the bathroom floor.  My OCD won’t let me pick the sign up, so I have to let the lady at the desk know so she can go pick it up.  Normally when I get to my appointment I always go use the restroom.  Then I go check in.  Today, I deviated. I checked in, and when I checked in (with the lady I always check in with – there are 3 choices and if I don’t get “my lady” the appointment doesn’t feel right), when I checked in with her I told her, look it’s none of my business but it would make more sense to move the sign above the hook rather than below, then it wouldn’t get knocked down as often.  She smiled and said she would make a note.

So next vital signs with the nurse.  That was fine (at first) blood pressure and pulse was fine.  As usual- despite my obese status I have a healthy cholesterol and blood pressure. Then the nurse said hmm, we checked your weight 2 weeks ago we don’t have to.  I said go ahead, how bad can it be? Now here’s a piece of advice – NEVER EVER EVER say that before you step on a scale.  I had a feeling I had gained some weight, my pants were a little more constricting, my appetite a little more (probably due to a new med from my last med change) and the fact that I have been binging as a coping skill (yeah not a healthy skill). But never in my wildest dreams did I think that the scale would say what it said… I gained, FOURTEEN yes 14 pounds in 14 days.  A Pound a day.  At this point I knew the day would go downhill.  Not only did that mean I was even fatter than I thought, but this put me back at the weight I was when I started a weight loss journey and came within 7 pounds of my 135 goal weigh 4 years ago. It means that in 1 year I have gained 76 pounds.  It means I’m back at square one, but this time the desire to lose weight, is trumped by my desire to not give a crap about much at all, except I care enough to be pissed at myself, to hate my weight, to hate my body and to hate me.

So next piece of good news is to go to my med appointment.  She asks me how I have been.  Im honest, good days and bad days.  Some really bad days when I hurt myself, but only 2 suicidal thoughts a week. An improvement— though I have a strong feeling that wont be the case the next time I see her…. We talk about the 14 pounds.  She thinks it’s likely the remeron, so we are going to stop that and try some other pill that’s supposed to help me sleep.  I want to say let’s just skip to the good crap and give me some ambien or something. But whatever.  She increases my Effexor.  She asks me about my sex life, I say HA! We haven’t had sex since the last time I saw you, and I am pretty sure we haven’t had it in like a month. I’ve lost count.  Apparently hubby’s medication messes with his libido- however despite that I am still convinced he’s not interested in me because I look like the state puff marshmallow man and jabba the hut had a baby. But again – whatever.

After that joy ride I head upstairs for counseling.  I’m feeling peckish when I sit down which isn’t typical but it should have been a hint that today wouldn’t go well.  I had done my homework, and shared most of it here with you – you know all about happiness and crap.  I edited it and added a little and was happy with the result.  She asked me to read it to her, but as I was about halfway through page one she made me stop.  She asked me if I ever get to the actual definition, and I said yes and she made me skip to that. I read it, and continued, she stopped me again, and asked if I ever said what happiness would look like to me, again I answered in the affirmative and she made me skip to that part.

Now first of all, if you are asking me to write something from the heart, you should have the decency to listen to the whole thing.   Even if you think parts of it is rambling, avoidance and hyberbole.  I was hurt that she wouldn’t hear it all.  I am sure there is some theraputic reason why she wouldn’t let me, but I was pissed, and hurt. So then we discuss my view of happiness, of how happy would look to me.  And I had already decided my expectations were too high, my goals unattainable, and that I would probably have to reframe my ideals if I ever wanted to reach this magical land called happiness.  And she agreed.  She confirmed with me that I believed every one of those things had to be in place in order for me to be happy (or so I thought) and I said absolutely. And she made a note.  Probably something about how nutty I am, or to bring home milk… I don’t know.  By now I was defensive and getting kind of mad at her.

Somehow we got into the discussion of the sign in the bathroom, I don’t remember how, but I did tell her that I felt a little bitchy asking her to do it, like I was insinuating myself into the running of their office and it really wasn’t my business…. she asked if I always use the bathroom when I come here, and I said yes, twice, when I come and when I go.  It’s my routine, just like I always check in with the same lady (as long as she’s there) and I always sit in the same chair in the waiting room, and that I will probably always sit in the same place in her office. And the she asked how I would feel if she sat somewhere else. I told her I wouldn’t care, as long as she didn’t sit next to me on the couch that would be too close and not behind her desk.  She asked why I said well for one how do I know you aren’t playing solitaire back there, and for 2 you are putting up a wall and if you get to put up a wall then I get to too.  There was a little back and forth there but the next question is giving me quite a bit of anxiety and will till my next appointment.  She asked how I would feel if the sign wasn’t moved. I said well, it’s their office they ultimately get to decide.

By then the session was over and homework given- write down 2 positive things about my day every day (GAG).  I know it’s probably therapeutically significant but honestly my life pretty much sucks it’s hard to see the good. OH! I forgot to mention I am not allowed to say “I don’t know” because although that is legitimately sometimes the truth more often it’s that I don’t want to answer or I need more time to think about it. So I have to say that. (GAG).  She’s really doing things to make me uncomfortable.  She also asked about exposure therapy I said, in a safe place, with safe people I would be ok, but you ask me to lick a walmart cart and all bets are off.

So that being over, I checked out, made my next appoinments, grabbed one of the sdnacks they offer and used the restroom.  The sign was moved. My heat skipped a little. Success. One of my OCDs would be lowered. I went and thanked the receptionist.

When I got into the car the 14 pounds hit me, hard. And immediately I decided I needed to hurt, physically because I was hurting so much mentally. So I tried my fingernails, but I have been biting them and it wasn’t enough. They were too short, I bit them this week, and it didn’t hurt enough.  I had my knitting needles with me, so while driving I tried one of my metal needles.  Not enough, not even close. So I remembered I had a set of keys to our old house and I used them.  I scratched the inside of my arm,  the outside of my arms, I went up and down and side to side. I drew blood a couple times.  It hurt so much but it felt so good. I needed that. My old wounds were almost healed and I needed new ones, and add to that the weight gain I needed to feel the burn and the pain of scratching.

After a while I called hubby to find out how his appointment went, about as expected, so at least not bad news. I stopped and met a friend to pick up some furniture another friend was giving us and then I talked to hubby more.  We talked about scratching with the keys.  When I got home he said that when I was in a better place we would talk about me scratching with implements.  He said my fingernails are one thing but keys are another… and I got honest, and said I was almost thinking the keys weren’t enough.  He said if this keeps up he will make me sign myself into a facility. I understand his concern but really, it could be worse.  It could be a razor, a knife, or even something worse….

Here’s what I did…

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I look at it, and realistically I know it’s stupid. That it really doesn’t help in the long run, but I feel like I need the pain, I need the scars.  The scars that people can see on the outside that match the scars that are inside. Though I have to say that they don’t even come close to the depth of the scars that are inside my brain and heart.

Of course tonight I didn’t do any better with food, I drank a large caramel frappe from McDonald’s – 680 calories, and my dinner was 2 very big bowls of cocoa pebbles. I am sure that will do wonders for my weight.

And what’s even better, I had my husband drop my son off at his counseling appointment at 1pm, and I said I would pick him up at 2… guess what? His appointment was at 2pm. I had it written in 2 places- my phone calendar and my paper calendar. AND I got a reminder call yesterday.  I can’t keep anything straight these days. Ia m just so tired of living this life.

This was a pretty bleak post.  I guess I should end with 2 positive things from today…..

  1.  I had a friend who cared enough to go out of her way and meet me, to get some free furniture from another friend.
  2. I took my kids to karate even though I didn’t want to go, and wanted to stay home.

I used to be

I used to be a good mom.  I used to be a good cook.  I used to be a good friend. I used to be a good wife. I used to be a good sister. I used to be in shape. I used to care about how I looked. I used to be a good Christian.

Depression, anxiety, OCD and PTSD stole all that.

Now I spend hours napping, instead of crafting or playing Go Fish.  I spend time playing solitaire instead of reading to my kids. I let my kids watch too much tv and use the devices too much.

I used to cook elaborate meals, everyday.  I used to bake for my family.  I took pride in my God-given talent for culinary arts.  I used to love people with food.  Now I excel at grilled cheese, cereal, toaster waffles or hubby cooking.

I used to talk to my friends daily and want to spend time going out and doing things with them. Instead of dodging invitations, avoiding eye contact and just plain avoiding messaging or contacting them on Facebook.

I used to talk to my siblings about their lives, now, if I talk to them it’s all about me all the time- what’s wrong with me, why my life sucks, why I feel like crap- me me me.

Questions

Is a glass of water heavy?

What color is a banana?

If you asked me either of those questions you would get a thesis for an answer instead of a yes/no or one specific color.

Why can’t I just say a banana is yellow? Why would I need to say: Well I guess it depends on where it is and it’s ripening I prefer my bananas light green to almost turning yellow but sometimes I buy them when they’re nothing but green then they go from like a yellowish green to a darker yellow and brown spots are added and they become brown so really bananas are several different colors and I’m not sure which answer you want…

I am sure there is some sort of psychological reasoning for this. But it was something that just tonight I noticed about myself.  And I thought about the text messages I send in comparison with the text messages my husband sends.  Sometimes he will comment on the length of my message for the question asked and I can’t seem to give him a reason why I feel the need to reply back with a 3 page text.

I would like to talk about this in counseling tomorrow but I think we are going to talk about my homework about happiness, and the other things I wanted to talk “work on” coping skills for my self harm, and I can’t remember what else I wanted to work on. I need to ask her that, I need to write it out, so that I can remember. Not knowing, not remembering things makes me nervous and uncomfortable.

I can’t stand the unknown, I can’t stand surprises, or spontaneous.

My husband and I were talking about my upcoming birthday, and I said something about maybe going to mom’s unless he had something planned.   He said “honey, if I thought there was anything you wanted to do, I would plan it”.  I got sad, because he’s right. First of all, my birthdays ALWAYS suck.  Hubby didn’t believe me for several years, finally last year he realized Im right something bad always happens. And I don’t know what I want to do for my birthday, I don’t know what I want for a gift for my birthday.  I don’t seem to know anything anymore.

It’s like I don’t even know myself anymore.  I was cleaning out my bedroom yesterday, and I found a to do list from this summer, it was a 1 day to do list and it had about 25 things on it, and I can promise if I didn’t do every last thing on that list I came really close. These days, I don’t make a list, these days I spend a lot of time doing nothing. I sleep, I overeat or don’t eat enough, I play solitaire, check facebook and think — a lot.  I am really not sure who I am anymore because I am literally not who I was 6 months ago.  I don’t know what to do with that, I don’t know if I want to find the old me, establish a new me, or accept that this IS the new me?

Right now my brain is going from subject to subject while I am paying attention to a movie, my brain never slows down and can focus on so many things at once, it never gets a rest. We were talking about guided meditation today for my husbands lack of sleep, and I shared with my family that I can’t meditate, I never have been able to, I can’t clear my mind. I even struggle with prayer.  I start praying and shortly my mind wanders from subject to subject and I forget I was praying in the first place. I am unable to concentrate and stay somewhere for any length of time- mentally. That’s not like me. I with I could understand what’s broken in my brain, or maybe find a way to channel that energy and maybe find a way to let my brain rest. If my brain can rest, maybe I can find peace, if I can find peace, maybe I can find answers.

 

More junk

Now here I am hour or so later I’ve been to the bank took care of the overdraft and now sitting here eating almonds by the handful drinking (decaf) coffee and a cup of tea. I’m stretching my stomach to capacity today it seems.

I know food should be fuel but to me it’s a friend, it’s a punishment, it’s a torture device, and it’s an idol. Some days I just want to give up. Everything. Today is one of those days.

Destructive Behaviors

Why is it when I “mess up” I start performing destructive behaviors for myself? Or against myself? Whether it be scratching my arms till they bleed, or binging till my stomach is read to burst, or withholding food until my stomach feels like it’s eating itself?

Is this normal behavior for someone like me? I mean I get it’s not “normal” per se, I’m not that delusional but why when I make a mistake or am “bad”, or any host of other emotions must I punish myself?

This morning I woke up to an overdrawn checking account.  How can that happen you ask? You just got your tax refund you ask? I wondered the same thing.  I paid the bills, then I went to the bank, wrote a check out to myself withdrew all but $100 or so I thought…. apparently somewhere along the way I overdrafted us over $500 dollars.  So far that has resulted in 1 $20 fee.  But there are 2 things that haven’t cleared.  So now I am going to have to be at the bank then they open to put the cash back.  That $500 was supposed to be our cushion.   Our emergency money if all our benefits stopped, or if something happened or we needed money quickly.  It probably would have helped to buy the kids each a birthday present or something equally important as that. And now, because of a math error on my part (that I can find mind you) *poof* it’s gone. How did this happen? Did I add instead of subtract? Did I just not subtract something? I have no clue, I can’t for the life of me figure it out, and for the next 15 minutes I am going to feel sick with worry that something else will clear and more fees will be assessed. I want to puke.

Which brings me to self-destructive behaviors.  First I redid the register 3 times, after the 2ns time I ripped the whole thing up and started over because I couldn’t get the balance to work.  This time I “think” (hope) it works and I will go to the bank for it’s 9am opening. After that was done I poured a HUGE bowl of cocoa pebbles, with a banana in it, like so huge I could feel my stomach reaching capacity.  Then I walked over to the microwave where the dunkin donuts we bought yesterday were hiding pulled out a chocolate glazed and stuffed that down too.  MY stomach feel like a balloon about to burst, it’s past capacity and I feel like it all could come flying up and out at any moment. And yet the punishment wasn’t enough.  I scratched both my arms till I could see small bits of blood.  Till the almost healed scabs were all scratched off, till my skin was burning like a sunburn in July.  I am still not satisfied, and I am not sure if there is a punishment I can give myself that will scratch that itch.

I also realized I forgot to call dad yesterday. Which means when I call tonight there will be hell to pay.  So rationale would say just don’t call, but I will obsess about it until I call him. And then I will have to apologize, eat crow, get yelled at, be made to feel guilty and then the cycle of self-destructive behavior will start anew. Sometimes I really think it would be easier to drive my car into a tree.  Not necessarily to die, but to hurt myself bad enough that no one would expect anything of me for a while.  I wouldn’t have to call anyone. I wouldn’t have to do the bills, or cook, or clean or make decisions that affect anyone else’s life. I have told hubby when he’s done working he’s doing the bills.  I am obviously incapable of handling them on my own. At least right now.

I hate myself, so much it hurts, and I want it to hurt more.