Symptom

My fat is a symptom of my loss of safety.  My binge-eating is a symptom of my chronic emptiness.  My scars are a symptom of my inability to regulate my self-hatred and extreme emotions.  My anxiety is a symptom of my fear of both the known and unknown.  My nightmares are a symptom of the abuse and terror I have experienced.

I am lost and I am shattered, but I am not over.

The fact that I am still alive is a symptom of my strength and hope that I can still get better.

— ♥ — ♥ —

read how others interpreted the daily prompt

Bad Day

Trigger warning: This post is going to be very dark and discuss things that may cause distress, like suicidal ideation.  Please be safe.

 

★  ★  ★  ★  ★  ★  ★  ★  ★  ★

 

So the other morning I went to pick up some prescriptions and found out I’m in the coverage gap.  That means that from now until I reach the catastrophic stage, I have to pay for my prescriptions completely out of pocket.  There’s no way I can afford that; my psych meds alone are hundreds of dollars, let alone my diabetes meds like insulin.

So on Monday I panicked.  On Tuesday, on the advice of a very sweet friend, I created a gofundme page.  I felt a little bit better (still panicked though, lol).

But today … well, today is a different kettle of fish.  Today my mind is telling me that this is the universe telling me to let go; to stop worrying about the meds and … drift off.  That this is a sign my time is done, and why bother anyway when I haven’t accomplished a damn thing in my life?  I’m worthless, I’m weak, I shouldn’t be saved.  I’m fighting a real battle with myself and I don’t know what to do.  If I did just let go, I would need to find a home for Sam and Lucy first, because Mom wouldn’t be able to take care of them after I’m gone.  And even typing that brought tears to my eyes because I love them so much and I don’t want to leave them (or her).  I just want these dark thoughts to stop.  When I saw my psychiatrist, she added another medication because my suicidal thoughts have been so prevalent.  Which is ironic now because it’s one more medication I have to try to pay for, which is leading me to more thoughts of suicide.  Funny, huh?  (Okay, maybe not.)

No one needs to call the squad; I’m not actively doing anything to kill myself today.  I’m still fighting and trying to hold on to hope.  But at this moment, it’s more difficult than usual and I’m wishing I could close my eyes and … be nothing.

I hate the US’s insurance system.  I hate that you can have insurance and still not get the care you need.  I hate that my psych dr. has told me she can’t get me all the way “there”; without therapy, full recovery is unlikely (which again, insurance doesn’t cover enough for me to afford a therapist).  Maybe if I take a nap I’ll feel better.  I didn’t sleep well last night and that always plays hell with my emotional state.  Maybe I’ll curl up with Sam and Lucy and let them comfort me.  Times like this, I’m so glad I never had children.  My furkids deserve better, let alone if I’d brought a child into my hell.

If you’re still reading this, thank you.  If you didn’t, I understand.

♥  ♥  ♥

Maybe There IS A Reason

Something weird happened tonight.  Mom and I were having one of our “deep discussions,” and the subject of my birth came up.  Now I know she’s told me this story previously, but for some reason I never really heard it.

When Mom was pregnant with me, she was really sick.  She actually lost weight instead of gaining (24 pounds, to be exact) and had to carry a bucket with her everywhere (gross, I know, but it’s important to understand the hell she went through to have me).  She didn’t get to have one of those glowy-happy pregnancies.  She had gall stones and a kidney infection and had to be put on bed rest for the last two months of her pregnancy.  Then it took her almost 36 hours to push me out; I was a breech baby that should have been delivered via C-section but, for some odd reason, wasn’t.  My parents didn’t even take a photo of me right after I was born because I had a huge dent in my forehead from being pushed out, lol.  None of this is the thing I’m talking about hearing tonight but it’s all good background.

So anyway, Mom went to see her obstetrician for her follow-up and it was then he told her that it was a miracle that she had even been able to have me.  Her pelvis was too narrow and there were other complications.  Like I said, Mom has told me this story before … numerous times.  But tonight, I heard that it was amazing she had gotten pregnant to begin with, let alone been able to bring me to full-term and successfully give birth to me.  And I started thinking, maybe I’m not a mistake.  Maybe there really is a reason I’m here.  (Still here, I should say, after several suicide attempts.)  And for the first time in a long time, I feel a spark of hope.  Mom and I both overcame the odds to have each other as family.  What she went through can’t have been for nothing; what I’ve gone through can’t have been for nothing.  I don’t know what my purpose is, but even the idea that I could have a purpose is such a foreign thought that it made me smile — I’m talking a full-teeth grin.  It also made her smile when I expressed what I was thinking.

Moments like these are meant to be cherished and I do.
♥ love & light

Empty

Empty is hollow laughter and false smiles; pretending everything is okay when almost nothing is.  Empty is pushing away the people who care about you and pining for the ones who don’t.  Empty is saying you want something real but chasing an illusion.  Empty is changing who you are for a kind word yet caring more about things than people.  Empty is a sweetly overstuffed stomach and a mouth full of bile and lies; bingeing and purging your way through another day while you tell others how worthy they are and treat yourself like garbage.

Empty is not knowing who you are or where to turn.

Empty is my existence much of the time.

L♥L
___________________________________________________

Read others’ thoughts on Empty

Summer

In my world, “summer” is a six-letter word that inspires fear.  I hate that the days are longer and the clothing skimpier.  Summer brings out some of my worst body insecurities, because I see so many other women who look the way I wish I did wearing clothing I wish I could but never will.  To be clear: It’s not their fault; it’s mine.  Having dealt with an eating disorder since I was a young girl, I’ve never had a healthy body image.  My entire life has been spent looking in a funhouse mirror and summer magnifies that exponentially.  Add to that the fact that I’m not a sunshine kind of girl and it’s a few months of misery.

This year I’m going to do some things differently though.  I’m going to go swimming and face my bathing suit-reveal fears.  I’m going to spend some time outside, during the day, and try to enjoy myself (with a super high SPF sunscreen of course, because as pale as I am, I’m likely to catch fire after too long in the sun. ;))

And I’m going to remind myself that we need the sun to sustain life.  If I can learn to not only tolerate — but try to help — bees … after years of panic … surely I can do this too.

🐝🐝🐝
love & light.

♥—- ♥—- ♥

this post inspired by: The Daily Post
{and also my friend kittycat, who is one of the bravest people I’ve ever met ♥}