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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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
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Deep Dive

Starting this week, I’m going to be going deeper in my posts by sharing some of my issues with my eating disorder.  These posts will most likely be triggering, or a cause of judgment, so what I’m going to do is clearly mark the posts and have the content below the cut and you can choose whether to read it or not.  This is not going to be easy for me, but it’s either do this or start an anonymous blog to discuss what I’m going through, and I really don’t want to have to do that.  So just a heads up.

Hope everyone’s weekend is going well.  I’ve been barely able to function this week (hence my thoughts about going deeper here).

I hate it when the darkness goes from soothing to scary.
~ love & light