I wrote this part 6 weeks ago:

tonight i am not drunk. i started to drink and ran out of booze. that is probably best since it’s a school day and i want to be sure i’m up for that. every day i make promises to myself to not give up life, not leave my family behind in a mess of blood and tears. i have been close many times to planning it out, and as of late, i do believe that drugs should be had. the ones that will make me happy. every day i promise myself i will call the doctor and have that sit down with her – but last time went so badly and i do not agree with her choices. how do i trust a doctor who sleeps with her prescription pad under her pillow? i’d be better off re-joining the gym and getting stronger. i hope to do that soon. my body craves the movement and god knows i need to take that time for me.

i have been on those happy pills before, but they make me gain considerable weight and being fat, especially for me, given my history of abuse, is devastating and comes with bone crushing sadness. i can’t be fat. i have nothing against fat people – in fact, i tend to gravitate to them. they are safe to me – people i can relate to and be raw with. i can’t explain it, but fat people are considered safe and more loved by me. i distrust skinny people, completely.

the only father figure i have recently asked me when i was getting divorced. i was really surprised at the question since we are happy, but then he followed up with, “guys don’t dig fat chicks.” i repeat it every goddamn time i look in the mirror. i shouldn’t let it get to me but he was one of few ‘safe’ family members. it’s killing me to think about it all the time but i’m obsessed with being thin.

the last time i went to the doctor, i refused drugs. i was going through a horrible relapse with anorexia and never slept. i was public about it and was quickly shut down by hateful emails. since that time i have kept things more under control, especially since my husband had me under a microscope and made me ‘express my feelings’ and ‘open up.’

what he heard unnerved him i think, but he loves me. he knows most of what i deal with privately is a mental hell. still, i haven’t ever said everything i wanted to say. no one knows me inside and out. no one.

i doubt i will ever trust anyone fully. even after years and years of a great marriage, i find i am staring at the sky, waiting for it to fall. it happens all the time – couples fight, lose interest, cheat, lie, whatever. we haven’t gone there. it’s been good, really good. i should be happy.

that feeling of ‘should be happy’ makes it worse. my life ‘should’ make me happy – i have everything i want in terms of material things and of loving arms around me all the time, well, when he is here. i’m alone a lot and miss him so much i ache. so then i feel guilty for not being happy – i feel shitty about starving myself and needing the happy pills but am afraid to get fat, dependent, or deemed weak, by anyone. these 2 cycles have their hands around my neck and the grip has only gotten tighter.

i can’t swallow anymore. i feel very much alone and afraid. writing here might make everything worse. i confided in another writer here about how opening up some of these old wounds might make it worse. i bury things. it works for me.

so i pen this post as ‘blue’ and hope that one day i work through some of this shit . sounds cliche, i’m glad to be here, writing with people who know more, and understand me. it’s a really good start, and i’m hopeful for a whole lot more “every days.”.

****
I wrote this part last night:

these days, things are a little better. i joined a gym and got rid of some of the things that i felt had a serious hold on me. i feel freer, healthier, most of the time. as long as i get moving, my head doesn’t want to bend and swoop, diving down into the darkness. some days are alright.

i quit drinking too. not completely, but i forbid myself to drink during the week. i haven’t drank in nearly 3 weeks. i’m proud of that, and most nights, i don’t think about it. i don’t think i was addicted to alcohol so much as the wallowing in self-pity or the high points – though i never knew which way things would go.

i’m still abusing coffee and my body. i’d like to talk about that more but i think food deserves it’s own post.) if you made it this far, thank you.

~ blue