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.

— ♥ — ♥ —

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Lucky

It isn’t often that I refer to myself as “lucky,” but today I am.  Mom wanted to feed her coffee habit and I was splurging and having a root beer, so we grabbed Sam and decided to go to Steak ‘n Shake which isn’t even four miles from our house.  But those four miles turned out to be perilous today.  As I was driving along, actually doing the speed limit (go me!) and navigating the holiday traffic, out of the corner my eye I saw a car coming straight at us and the only thing I could do because of their speed was swerve as much as possible.  The problem with that was the oncoming traffic in the area I was trying to swerve.  We got t-boned pretty good so the car is a mess but the most important thing was that Mom was okay, and Sam was okay, and it could have been so much worse.  Mom said that if I hadn’t reacted so quickly and swerved as much as I did, her door would have been directly hit, and it might have been a completely different story.  The other driver and I pulled over and I’m ashamed to say that it was so scary I broke down, especially when I saw the door on Mom and Sam’s side.  I can’t express or explain how I felt when I saw the damage where my family was sitting and thought about how close the other car came to hitting them.  I just cried and cried and held Sam close.

So today I feel so lucky and blessed and grateful that no one got hurt seriously and that Sam seems to be okay.  I’m going to keep an eye on him the next few days and if he acts weird at all, I’m taking him to the vet.  The other driver admitted full responsibility and got a citation, so now we have to get in contact with his insurance and get our car fixed.  But that part, as annoying and inconvenient as it is, is nothing compared to the thought of losing my mom and my dog.

I don’t know where, or even if, I stand on religion but I did find myself whispering in my head, “Thank you for protecting them.”  I don’t know who I was talking to, but I think that’s a question for another day.  I just want to snuggle up with Sam and be grateful for what I have.

Hurt

I told a good friend of mine a couple days ago that I can feel the depressive vortex sucking me in.  And it is; I’m not even sure if I care enough to fight it.  It’s almost 6 am and I haven’t been to bed yet because I’ve been crying and can’t shut my brain off.  Even two Klonopin couldn’t take me down.  I might have to take a third if I want to get to sleep today … which I really shouldn’t do, because Mom will wake up and need my help.  She’s made small progress but is still in an intense amount of pain.

But so am I, the little girl inside me whispers.  I wish someone was helping me.  I hurt so much and I don’t know what to do.

God, I’m a selfish bitch.

Mom’s Painful Start to the New Year

I’m sorry that I haven’t responded to comments, etc.  I had to take Mom to the ER on Wednesday because her back had gotten so bad she could barely move.  Turns out she has “significant arthritis,” sciatica, something wrong with “a couple disks” that I can’t remember what they called it and she had burst a cyst; the pain of the latter  is what finally got her to stop being stubborn and let me take her somewhere.  I kept begging but she waited until she couldn’t walk without screaming before she let me step in and get her to the ER for help.

Anyway, she’s tired, I’m tired, Sam and Lucy are whacked out because everyone’s routine has been interrupted … And seeing Mom in the hospital bed looking so pale and fragile is sticking with me.  When they were doing the X-Rays and the MRI, I was almost floating above my body from the strength of the stress; I had to keep flicking my wrist with a rubber band to keep myself present.  I might be an adult in chronological years, but I don’t know how to handle things like an adult would.  All of this has made me think about what I’m going to do as Mom ages and more responsibility is put on me.  That’s actually the cheerful thought, because when I continue the scenario it takes me to Mom’s dea** and I refuse to go down that road of thought.  If I even think it, something bad could — and probably will — happen.

Word to the wise, 2015:  You’d better straighten up fast.  A mother in agony, and a frightened Lauren, is not a good way to start the new year.

Trapped

Warning: This is not a shiny, happy post and is going to contain reference to self-harm, even if only in a vague way.  And it’s long so you might want to grab a drink.  🙂

I’ll start this off by saying I know I’m a shitty person.  I have a lot to work on, especially anger management — actually, emotion regulation in general.  I’m fighting hard right now not to scream because I’m so pissed and feeling so trapped.  When Mom and I are fighting, I have nowhere to go.  It’s a 990 square foot apartment and our bedrooms are right fucking next to each other.  Yesterday we went to the movies (saw “Mockingjay Part I,” which was a present for me since Mom doesn’t like the films) and then we came home and Mom went to bed really early.  She didn’t feel well, or so she says.  The last few days she seems to be feeling well/not well depending on what’s going on.  Anyway, I felt abandoned and I admit it, and I know that’s a bad response.  She has the right to go to bed whenever she wants.  But it was Christmas, and I was extremely sad, and I didn’t want to be alone.  (I want to mention that she did this last Christmas too.  I don’t think she wants to deal with the pain of the holiday and I get that.  Obviously, I get that.  I really am trying hard to be fair here.)  Then she started crying and I ended up telling her it was fine, I was fine, don’t worry about me.  And I was so far from fucking fine, but whatever.  What I needed was unimportant.   I fought the urge to cut and was successful.  Yay me. /end sarcasm

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