Who knows.

Sometimes I am not the best version of myself for my kids. Days like today. I have these days where I am unfortunately trapped by emotion and caught up in my own personal dark cloud bullshit. I get lost in the past, or worries about the future, or some romanticized made up version of what my life is inside my head. I know half of it must be exaggerated in my fantasy land. But on these days I am compelled to just shout out my truth to the world! I have so many truths. Versions of the truth. Things people never knew and never will know about me. Some things don’t even matter, really. But on these dark cloud days, it feels like they could matter. That maybe they have mattered, like they actually might be- could be- part of the reason why some of the shit about me is fucked up today. It might be easier to list them. Some of them will be hard for me to list. Some things ive never ever said out loud. Then there are things I have never typed or written down, much less said. Then there are some things I have never acknowledged to myself, in any form. As I type this now, I know deep down some of the things I just wont have the guts to even type right now.

I wonder if I would ever have the guts to admit them to like a counselor or someone? I mean fuck, i’m 30 years old now. This is not puberty and i’m not the emo kid I once was. Why cause drama?

Why BE drama? Its over. Well, some of it is still going on. And that’s why I’m here. Maybe some of these things were the “point a’s” that led to the “point B’s” and so on, and now here I am, an alcoholic and part time drug addict. Well. I typed that out loud, didn’t I? I still don’t feel like I’ve admitted it. But its fucking true.

My husband has called me an alcoholic to my face and I’ve gotten mad and denied it. Some times, I am NOT an alcoholic. So that’s what I mean. Some days, I am one. But that’s not always true, so therefor its NOT TRUE. Just like when I was a teenager and I was being treated for anorexia. I was in adamant denial the whole entire time (until I made it part of my identity, but only because people told me that’s who I was. I had no idea how I had gotten there or when it happened, officially). I was completely certain that anorexics didn’t eat. And I ate! So I wasn’t anorexic. I thought for sure anorexics starved themselves all the time. I didn’t starve myself. I thought I didn’t anyway. Its all in what your concept of the label is. That’s what I struggle with. I am not a drug addict (that’s actually laughable) or an alcoholic.

I am a mom, a nurse, I have a good job, steady income, happy home life, nice home. I am good in all kinds of ways. AND not to mention, I don’t always drink and I do drugs even less often than i drink.

So what is the truth? Some things I do know to be facts. But some things I definietely don’t have a grasp on.

Fact: I drink much more than I would like to. And when I try not to drink, I feel like I have way less control over it than I would like to have. I wish I could stop drinking all together, and then have  casual celebratory drinks when I felt like I wanted to.  I know its typical bullshit, but i feel like i can do that. But I’ve tried to not drink (like, on a night to night basis) and often I have failed. So what does that shit mean?

There’s so much more, but I’ll get to that. Its much deeper than drinking. The drinking is just simple fucking surface level bullshit in my opinion. But then again, that’s only because this is one of those dark cloud days.

Today, for some unknown fucking reason, I started thinking about when I was hospitalized my sophomore year of high school for anorexia (and the other medical and psychological problems that came with it). Now i KNOW. I’m 30 years old and that was fucking highschool. Its seriously inconsequential to my life now. But today I started thinking…got off down this rabbit hole that maybe in some alternate universe I and my family never really talked about that whole time period in my life, i never healed, never handled it, and then even though I was completely “over” my eating disorder by the time I met my now-husband while I was in college (and have remained 100% “over” the eating disorder, I mean that) that maybe we all just assumed I was “better” right when I got discharged from the hospital and everyone moved on and some things just lingered. I know one thing, there was some really fucked up shit that happened AFTER I got out, after I was better, and I never talked about it to anyone. I eventually told my bff Emily what happened, but today i don’t remember her response/reaction. I told my husband about it, before he was my husband, and he was upset about it on my behalf. I believe I exaggerated the whole incident in my brain. Maybe I did. But the reason I believe that is because I pushed it away and never ever handled it, and I blamed myself, and now we are in this new day and age where the culture is different. Women everywhere are now getting vocal and pissed off about the way girls are treated and manhandled and how the idea of victim shaming is wrong. Did I bury this thing? yes. i definitely did. Was it that big of a deal? I have never once thought it was that big of a deal. I mean at the time, I did, but that’s because i didn’t want my boyfriend, and the other guys girlfriend, and my other friends, to find out about it. I was not equipped to handle this situation at all. I was a real sad sack back then, with no fucking back bone and ZERO self esteem. I buried it and never allowed myself to even look at it. Am I fucked up as a 30 year old woman in part because of that incident? I REALLY DONT KNOW. That’s why I’m sitting here writing today, under my dark cloud.

I went through my medical records today, from the time I was first being treated for anorexia. My file from the first doctor my mom took me to, the now-famous Dr. Meg Meeker. I read through all her notes today, and the faxed exchanges between her and a psych doctor she had me seeing because she was super adamant (as evidenced by her notes) that I was put on an SSRI. I forgot all of this, really, but I did try an SSRI for a while and I couldn’t tolerate the side effects, which she noted as expected due to my weight (92 lbs at the time). I remember going to see her and I know why she failed to help me. I’ve told my mom some of this, since. I mean, she made it a challenge for me. She set a certain weight on our first appointment and made that my goal. but not in how you might think. in ever one of her physician notes, she wrote “<92lbs = hospitalization and patient agrees.” So I knew I had to get below 92lbs in order to be taken seriously. She also wrote that my goal weight was 107lbs but I never heard that nore remembered it. She kept reminding me that if i dropped below 92, there would be this hospitalization, and actually i showed up at or just below 92 a couple times according to my file, and nothing happened. Some notes said <90lbs. Well, one day I showed up 89 lbs and off I went, to the hospital 2 hours away in GR.

WHY AM I EVEN WRITING THIS? why am i thinking about this??? it was 15 fucking years ago.

I have been over it for a really long time. totally honest there. Ive never even talked about it much with my husband because i have felt for a long time that its a non-issue. I am a very drama-free person who would rather hide than make a big deal about something that is about myself. About other people, sure. But not about ME. how awful and embarrassing.

I guess its just that all the bad things happened after my hospitalization. Some bad things happened before that (according to dr. meeker’s notes….i told her about things i don’t remember at all, but most of it has to do with low self esteem and feeling fat and ugly).

Actually there weren’t a ton of bad things that happened. At all, by any means. So not sure why i know i will be sticking a needle in my arm tonight at my place of employment. But i will be, and its what i do, and ive been doing it for a long time.

Why?

 

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