Saying Goodbye. "Love you bro"

It's strange - How quickly everything can change while nothing changes all at the same time.

Sunday, BJ and I went fishing. We found a small lake about an hour away. It's not as good as my favorite spot, but it's a lot closer. A day trip is much more doable without two hours on dirt roads.

We had a great time. BJ caught two fish on his fly rod at the same time. That doesn't happen very often, and has never happened to either one of us before. We talked about stopping to get a picture of the Nudist Camp that is at the mouth of the canyon. It is always "Closed for Mosquitoes", and I felt all of my friends on Facebook needed to see it.

We also talked about stopping for a chocolate malt at the little shop in town.

We didn't do any of that. And we completely forgot about all of the fish we caught.

Just before we got to the nudist camp, both of our phones started going nuts. I had six text messages, two voicemails, and a Facebook message. BJ's brother, two of his sisters, his nephew, his niece, and all of them said to call them as soon as we could. It was an emergency.

BJ called his younger brother. We thought for sure something had gone wrong with his parents... his mom had fallen. His dad had hurt himself and had to go back in for surgery... maybe even something had happened to his nephew's little boy. X was born very premature, and even though he is two now, he is still barely ten pounds and has a lot of complications...

The real emergency didn't cross either of our minds.

I read it on Facebook... just as his brother told him... Their oldest brother had passed away in his sleep. His wife woke up this morning, and he wouldn't move or wake up. She called the ambulance, but he was already dead when they got there.

He is only thirteen months older than BJ. As kids, they were both very close and fought all the time. For the past few years, they've been really good friends. Matt was a huge support to BJ as he was leaving the church. (Matt left years ago.) Matt was a huge support as BJ was going through trying to work things out with his ex (before he left her), and then to support him through divorce. We've been out to visit Matt a couple times, and he's been here and stayed with us a few times. With Matt's support, BJ felt less alone. BJ felt abandoned by a lot of his family because he no longer believed in the LDS church and stopped going. Matt was a lifeline for him.

(Things are much better with all of his family now. It just took time for them to adjust.)

Matt was just here a few weeks ago. When he heard his dad was going in for heart surgery, he jumped on a plane. He didn't tell anyone except BJ he was coming. We picked him up at the airport, went to the hospital to visit their dad, and then he stayed with us for a few days before he went home.

As we were all leaving the hospital to take him back to the airport, he asked me to take a picture: all of the boys. (Three brothers and their dad.) If I had known that was the last time I would see him, I would have taken so many more pictures.


We talked about when BJ and I would come out again. We talked about his garden. We talked about his grand kids. He adored those kids, and those kids adore him. They were the world to him. He was proud to tell us how his four year old granddaughter woke up crying and made her mom call "Papa". He loved being Papa. He had just built a swingset in the backyard for all of them to play on - himself included (of course).

When Matt came to visit for their dad's surgery a few weeks ago, none of us would have ever thought it would be the last time any of us in Utah would get to see him.
We didn't know it, but it was one last time to swap stories about Todd. One last time to talk about his gardens and his grand kids. One last time to talk about the trip to Portland Todd and I would make, so we could play more "combat croquet" with Matt and his family. If we had known - I would have taken so many more pictures. I'm glad he came. I'm glad he wanted a picture with all the boys before he left, so at least I had this one.
I don't have the words to express the sadness I feel for Matt's wife, kids, grand kids, (Those little grand kids were the world to him.), siblings, parents, nieces and nephews, and friends.

He gave us a hug goodbye - told each of us he loved us, and thanked me for being so kind to his brother. He said he was glad to see (BJ) finally had a friend and companion. I smiled. Now when I think about it, I cry.

BJ and I have very few pictures of Matt. Almost every one came about because he said, "We need a picture before we go." I'm glad he was thinking about it.

"We need a picture of the four of us before we go." Almost every picture we have of Matt, came because he told us we needed one. I'm sure glad he was thinking of it as much as he was

Brothers.

BJ's kids came up Sunday evening to spend time with him. We had been planning to babysit the grand kids Sunday night and Monday, because their mom was being induced Monday morning. They stayed with us. They were super sweet.

J is eight, and he is a "mini me" of BJ. He told BJ it was okay to cry, and just hugged him while he cried. Then he said, "I know you miss your brother, but there are still a lot of people here that really love you."

Ke is nine, and he came and told me that J needs some time alone to comfort grandpa, but in a minute we could all go hug him.

Ka is 7, and she asked Grandpa to dance with her, and just kept trying to make him laugh.

I am glad they were there. When we finally got them to bad at midnight, and went to bed ourselves, we both just cried.

Next week we are going to visit Matt's family. Matt won't be there, and that feels surreal. How can we go there without seeing him? All of the siblings will be there. It's pretty rare to get all of them together at the same time, but one will be missing.

This is the first death I have had to process since leaving the church. This is also the first death BJ has had to process without an LDS belief system. He says in some ways it's easier... just being grateful for everything they shared. Feeling sad. And angry. And scared. And sad. Without trying to convince yourself that it isn't a really sad thing.


Matt was not religious. His wife and children were not religious. His parents and most of his siblings were very religious. His wife has decided to have a "Celebration of Life" party instead of a funeral. That seems much more fitting.

And just for the record:
I don't want the LDS style funeral. When I die, celebrate that I lived. I don't want it to be used as a chance to preach or proselyte. Don't make my death a "missionary opportunity". I understand funerals are for the living, and I doubt I will care when I am dead... but just in case I do care, tell funny stories about me. Talk about the things I did that drove you crazy. Talk about the things that I did that made you love me. And please have really good food. Salmon tacos from Rubio's with extra lime juice.

Fishing with the guys. Part I. To feel included

I just got back from a week long camping/fishing excursion with BJ, Brad, and Ben. I wrote about my desire to go, and the excitement of going last month.

I was going to tell you all about the fishing and the grand adventure, but I'm going to start with the therapeutic part of the trip.

Our first night, we set up camp and then went fishing. We were on the river until 9, then Brad made dinner, and we (eventually) went to bed. We'd arranged the cots so that BJ was next to me and between me and Ben and Brad. I was in the corner, because that's where I felt safest.

Everyone else went to sleep. I did not. I heard them breathing deeply, snoring slightly. I heard them all get up to pee. I listened to the frogs. I listened to the other critters scampering around the campsite. About the time the frogs stopped and the birds started, I fell asleep. About an hour after that, the sun came up. I stayed and tried to sleep a bit longer, but it didn't work out as well as I would have liked...

We spent all day fishing, and the next night tried sleeping again with no luck.
(I wasn't sleeping, because every time one of them moved or breathed, my entire body would tense up. Every time I started to fall asleep, my brain would say, "WE'RE NOT SAFE! WAKE UP!" and I would be wide awake again.)

We got up and spent the morning fishing, but the sun was intense, and I was tired. I tried to rest, but the hyper-vigilance that kept me up at night wouldn't let me rest during the day either.

Something else started going screwy with my brain too. I was sure they didn't want me there. I was taking all the good fishing spots, and I was in the way. I'm aware that lack of sleep makes me emotionally vulnerable, but it is REALLY hard to enjoy fishing when you believe you don't deserve to be on the water, taking up space, and nobody wants you. I was doing everything I could to fight the crazy thoughts, but I was losing.

In the tentative plans for the trip, we had talked about going to a play in town that evening, and maybe staying in a hotel that night. None of us were super excited about going to the play. (There were fish down there, and no one had caught enough yet!) BJ suggested we still break camp and go into town to get a hotel room.  His reason being that he wanted me to get sleep before the next day of adventures.


I was uncomfortable. I had made grand plans to take care of myself, but when it came right down to it... I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I didn't want to talk about me. I didn't want them to do things for me or to help me.

We sat and talked for forty-five minutes. There was only one room available at the only hotel in town. While I think being in a bed would have helped - being in a bed in a room with two men seemed to be causing as much anxiety as being in the tent.  Ben and Brad were trying to be helpful to me, but I wasn't expressing myself well... I told them that I wasn't comfortable with all of the sounds, and although I knew I was safe, I was having a hard time feeling safe around them because they were men, but I didn't want them to feel bad...


Finally, BJ just said, "Jen was violently raped in her sleep. She has a hard time feeling safe when she's starting to fall asleep because it takes her right back to what happened back then."

Instantly... they said, "You guys will go into town and sleep in the hotel. We'll stay here and camp. We'll come pick you up in the morning. No big deal."

I cried. Brad gave me a hug and apologized for not being more sensitive. I tried to explain to him that wasn't what I was feeling. They were all great, but I didn't want to even be worrying about it. I felt like a failure that I wasn't sticking it out. I wasn't strong enough, and I couldn't handle camping. I also felt sad, because I was enjoying being there... and it sucks that something that happened fifteen years ago is still fucking with my life.

We got back to fishing. I finally caught one fish. Brad thanked me for taking care of myself. Ben said he was sorry that I had ever been through such fucky shit. (And I got to use my favorite joke, "Or just really shitty fucking.") He laughed, and then said he felt bad for laughing. We ate dinner after dark, and cleaned up what we could before we left Brad to do the dishes and Ben drove us into town.

I took a shower, and I slept.

They came and picked us up and we went fishing. Nobody treated me with kid gloves. They didn't treat me any different at all. I still felt like I belonged, and I was part of the group. I REALLY appreciated that Ben was already planning next year's adventure, and maybe the year after that. 

As we said goodbye, Ben gave me a hug and told me he was really glad I had come... and that he was looking forward to our next grand adventure. Brad said he was really glad I was there, and we'd get together again soon.

I cried again. I had honestly thought they wouldn't want me to come back, because it was such a burden to have to deal with me and all my problems.

The four of us on the Yakima River.

It was really nice to spend time with guys that were just nice, normal guys. And to feel included, even though I'm a girl. Even though I have issues. Even though I was once raped, and I still have to deal with side effects of that. Words just can't quite describe how loved I feel, and how much safer the world feels today.

I miss knowing that I could heal the world.

A friend of mine recently discovered a tumor. Cancer. Stage III. Very close to her heart and pressing on her lungs. She's scared. Her family is scared.

I'm scared... What if she isn't okay?
And a bit angry... It doesn't seem fair. This is supposed to be a very happy time for her. She's fought hard to be healthy in mind and body. She's worked on creating beautiful friendships and relationships. She is one of the nicest, sweetest, most giving people I know. She deserves to spend the next few years just laughing, and going on fun cruises, and LIVING.

Mostly, I feel sad. And helpless...
(A warning to those who find peace in fasting: If you don't want to hear my sad and cynical point of view, stop reading now.)

I grew up believing in fasting and prayer. Someone got sick, you could pray for them, and if that didn't make them better, you could just go without food, and THAT would make them better. I could do something. I could help. If I just didn't eat AND prayed hard enough, God wouldn't hurt the people I loved. If I could just go without food, everyone would be safe.

That kind of teaching... taken to an extreme... sounds like a perfect recipe for a pretty serious case of anorexia.

Five years ago, I was really struggling with an eating disorder. I met with my Stake President, because I believed he would know how to help me. He told me that I didn't need to go to therapy - I just needed to fast and pray. If I fasted enough, God would cure me. I am glad I hadn't starved ALL of my brain cells yet. I gave him a shocked look and said, "Do you know what an eating disorder IS? I have fasted a lot, and I'm still struggling. If all I had to do was fast, it wouldn't be a struggle.... because fasting is what I WANT to do. I could be wrong, but I don't think fasting is the answer."

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well... then I don't know what to tell you. I guess you can TRY therapy, but without the power of fasting... How can God cure you?"


His words played around in my head for a while. They really messed with my brain until I realized I just don't believe that God cares if I go without food or not. It doesn't make him do things for me that he wouldn't have done otherwise. (Like, ya know, God was totally going to let her die, but now, because you haven't eaten for the last twenty-four hours, He's changed His mind. WTF?)

I can go without food for a long time. I get headaches. I get dizzy. I feel sick, but I can ignore all that. I have the ability. It doesn't make me a stronger person. It doesn't make me a better person. It doesn't make me more spiritual.  It doesn't make God do what I want. It doesn't make the world a safer place or a better place. It does make me hungry (and dizzy and sick and eventually numb to the world).

Today... I want that belief back. I want to FEEL like I am doing something to help my friend. I want to believe that I can make a difference...

Reality is, all I can do is love her. Be there to support her in whatever ways SHE needs support. Listen if she wants to talk. Go away if she wants to be alone. Send money. Or food. Or even... if her knowing I was fasting for her made HER feel better, I'd do that too. I trust her, and I trust the doctors that she trusts.

I felt a lot of anxiety when I started writing this post. Somehow, writing the last paragraph, I feel peaceful. Accepting things as they are IS very peaceful.

A jumble of quotes and wisdoms for the day

I found Katie Byron's website last night. She says a lot of stuff that I could have really used a few years ago. Didn't know she existed back then, so I just had to figure it out for myself...

"To believe the story that someone has left you is to leave yourself. That’s how you divorce yourself. Every time you’re in your partner’s business, dictating whom he should be with, whom he should or shouldn’t leave, you have left yourself, and the effect of that is loneliness and terror. Until you question what you believe, you remain the innocent cause of your own suffering."

Brilliant. I used to be afraid that someone would love me and throw me away... And then one day I realized, I didn't belong to anyone, so they couldn't throw me away. I am not a possession. I am not a thing to be used. I make my own decisions... It doesn't matter who leaves me or loves me, I have ME, and that is enough. I won't leave me ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who would you be if you didn't believe that you needed him (or it, or them) to complete you?
I found out. By letting go of all the things, people, and beliefs I thought I needed.

I am reminded of something I wrote a little while ago. A quote from myself:

"The more you hold on to something you've already lost, the more you fear losing it, so you hold on even tighter. The fear and the holding on is crippling... but you don't see that it is the fear that is crippling you... And then, one day, you finally realize, you're only holding on to an illusion, so you let go, and you feel free.

I've heard people say, "If you love someone, let them go," but really that's just an illusion. The truth is: loving someone doesn't make them belong to you. And if they were never yours, how can you let them go? "

Which reminds me of this one:

I like this one too:

That makes me think of a line from the musical Wicked.

"Too long I've been afraid of  

Losing love I guess I've lost 

Well, if that's love  

It comes at much too high a cost!"

 Love isn't love if you have to be afraid you are going to lose it. (If I don't do this, he'll stop loving me. If I am honest about what I think, they will hate me.) 

One day, I decided I would be me. If people loved me FOR ME, then awesome. If when I was honest and myself, they didn't love me, that was okay too... I'd rather be hated for who I am, then loved for who I pretended to be. That kind of "love" comes at "much too high a cost".

This is the piece of advice I give whenever anyone asks me for advice.

You know what you need to do. Trust you. (You don't know what anyone else needs to do. Trying to get someone else to do anything, think anything, be anything, will make you nuts. Don't do it.)

Saddled: Defining Recovery

I just finished the book Saddled by Susan Richards.
I LOVED the first book she wrote (Chosen by a Horse), and the second (Chosen Forever). This one was touching and beautiful, and harder to read.

She talks about her abusive relationship with her (now ex) husband. She talks about her alcoholism and trying to free herself from her addictions. She talks about wanting to die and feeling helpless and hopeless and not knowing why. I think my favorite part was her description of AA.

"I didn't know that becoming sober meant really changing. Not drinking was the least of it. It was the rest of me that was the problem, the part that wanted to stay numb. The men and women in that room (AA) didn't sound numb anymore. They were angry and scared and depressed. They were also hopeful and funny and grateful. They were all over the place. The word that came to mind was whole. After years of shutting down all or parts of themselves with alcohol, they were finally whole human beings.

I sat in a corner with my arms crossed and my mouth shut and listened to what whole human beings sounded like. Evidently being human was a messy business. Not a single person said Everything's fine - my stock response since I was a child to any question about my state of mind. It had never been true, but that didn't keep from repeating it for the next twenty years. I thought that's what you were supposed to say. I thought that's what you were supposed to feel. Anything else meant you were a complainer or worse - a bad person, a wrong person, and wrong was just a code word for crazy. I didn't want to be crazy, because I was already on shaky ground in the wantable department. So the sweet smiley girl became the sweet smiley woman who drank liquor to help keep the lid on anything that didn't reflect how fine she felt one hundred percent of the time. Never mind the on-and-off suicide fantasies going back to fourth grade. Doesn't everybody have those? I was fine."

I think I could have written those two paragraphs myself, just substitute alcohol and liquor with eating disorder and eating disorder behaviors.

When I went to treatment the first time, I defined recovery as "eating my dinner".
I also think I defined it as being happy all the time: No matter what was happening around me, I was supposed to be happy... Do what I was supposed to do, no matter how I felt. It is no wonder I got depressed and tired and gave up trying to recover. I was doing the opposite of recovering... I was still trying to find a way to make the "bad" parts of myself go away. To-do lists, service, church callings, work, were all ways to 'shut down all or parts of myself', and it was exhausting and miserable.

When I went the second time eleven years later, I defined recovery as "loving myself more than I hate myself". It SOUNDED better but, I think there was still some belief  that I would change myself so much that I would love myself.

In May 2010. BJ and I were walking and talking about the afterlife and being gay. (I don't remember why we were talking about it... We just were.) I realized that if I were gay, I wouldn't want that very important part of myself different in the eternities. How insulting! There's nothing wrong with them: They are perfect just the way they are. And then... I started to cry, and I said, "There's nothing wrong with ME. I am perfect just the way I am." And then he started to cry, and gave me a big hug, and my life stopped being so painful after that. I stopped trying to change me, and started to accept me.

My new definition of recovery (with the help of Susan Richards' book) is:
It's becoming whole. Accepting all the parts of myself. Loving myself just as I am.

"Unconditional love is not to love you despite the way you are. 

Unconditional love is to love every aspect of you and to send love into every aspect of who you are."

Four years ago today

In November 2007, I pretty much came to the conclusion that I was done. Done living. Done trying. Done pretending. Done. Done. Done. That translated to an eating disorder: Starving myself and over-exercising was a way to end my life in the most painful and slow way possible. I didn't even deserve a quick and painless death...

I had gone to treatment in 1997, and I saw how the women treated each other: Competing for who could be the "sickest", berating those that ate, being fed via  tube up the nose was a "badge of honor". I didn't want to be in that environment again, but in January 2008, I started to wonder if that was my best choice.

On the one hand, I knew how to eat. I knew what to eat. I just didn't want to. I had done it before: Forced myself to eat because it was what I had to do, because it made other people happy, because there was no other choice... but I didn't want that life anymore. I felt like my choices were either to die, or to somehow find a way to want to live. I wasn't sure if anyone could really help ME... but... I chose to give it a shot.

On February 18, 2008, I checked myself into Center for Change.

Going inpatient to CFC meant turning my WHOLE LIFE over to other people. They tell you when to eat (and what to eat, and what happens if you don't eat everything they tell you to eat), sleep, go to the bathroom, everything. Your whole day is scheduled out to the minute. They tell you what you can talk about, what you can't talk about, what you HAVE to talk about. They ask you to share your deepest, darkest, hardest parts to share, about yourself. There is no such thing as a private life in treatment. (You even get people standing outside the bathroom door with it cracked open.) It sucks. Even if it is totally necessary, it SUCKS!

I knew it was going to be hard work. I knew there was a lot of things I had to face and changes I'd need to make, but at the same time I had no fucking clue. I feel pretty lucky that I had the opportunity to go to a safe place to do the work that had to be done. They took care of the business of keeping me alive, so that I could put everything I had into healing myself. I know how RARE that opportunity is. (Only 1 in 10 people who have eating disorders get to go to treatment. Most are sent home LONG before they have had the chance to face the problems that caused the eating disorder in the first place.)


There are so many powerful experiences I could share. Here are just a few:

The women I met there
I was afraid I'd have another experience like the one in 1997, but I had nothing to be worried about. I went at the exact right moment: With the most intensely beautiful, strong, amazing women on the planet. Fighters with huge loving hearts. The fact that most of them had survived their lives was a miracle to me. Every single one of those women have been through hell, and not just a little bit of hell: HELL!!! Every single person I met there had faced life experiences that "normal" people can't even begin to fathom. Before CFC, I had sat in church, and listening to the women there, I felt jealous at what they called "trials". Sitting with the women at CFC, I felt understood. Finally, not alone.

Petey, the wheelchair
Chronic low blood pressure, combined with random drops in blood pressure, combined with anxiety and dissociation, combined with trying to gain a lot of weight in a short amount of time, combined with blood sugar issues, combined with emotional exhaustion, combined with who knows what else - all those things made me so dizzy, I had a hard time walking. I was a "fall risk", so I had to sit in a wheelchair.
I spent months sitting in that wheelchair. I learned to rest. I learned that I didn't always have to push through and push my body past it's breaking point. I learned to take safe risks, and to avoid unsafe risks. I learned to let others help me..
One of the reasons I hated the chair was how much space it took up, but in that chair, I had my own space. For so long, I'd convinced myself that my mere existence was somehow infringing upon other people's space. I'd tried to make myself as small as possible... Since it was my chair, and no one was going to sit in the thing with me, it was okay to take up the whole wheelchair. I relaxed and began to let myself take space.

The assignment to "Stop doing all the things you do to prove to others that you are loveable"
For me, at that moment those things were: Smiling, talking to other people about their problems (not talking about myself), and following all of the rules.

At first, I wanted to please everyone by doing that assignment perfectly... and then I decided that was silliness, because I would still be doing the same damn thing I'd always done: Trying to get other people to love me by doing what they wanted. For the first time, I started thinking about what I wanted. I WANTED to smile, so I did. I WANTED to break the rule of getting out of that stupid wheelchair and walk to the dining room, so I did. Before that day, it had never even occurred to me that I had choices, that I could want something. It was also the first time I ever said "no" to someone in authority. (I was such a rebel. I wouldn't give her my watch when she asked. She didn't know what to do. I felt bad for saying no, and I felt SO GOOD that I could.) It was an eye-opening day for me.

Beating the hell out of a couch cushion in "Care Bear's" group
In group therapy, a friend was sharing an experience she had had with her husband. He had said things to her that were just... awful... and I remembered Larry saying the same kinds of things to me. I told the group that I was angry, but I didn't know what to do with that feeling... Care Bear (therapist) got a tennis racket and a pile of couch cushions and had me hit them. With every hit, I was supposed to say, "I am angry!" like I meant it. That was not an easy thing for me to do. It took me a long time, and a lot of trying before I could say "I am ANGRY!" (It's funny, looking back now, I can see that I was still very restrained, even when I thought I was "out of control" angry. It was just the start of learning to be present with my own emotions.) It was incredibly intense for me, and for others in the group. They still talk about that day in group when Jen finally let go of the some of the anger.

Ceremonial Group: Standing before a jury of my peers, I had to convince them that I was bad
I had believed my whole life that I was worthless and unlovable and "no-good", but I couldn't tell you WHY I thought that. In a court, there has to be evidence, so the assignment was to lay out my evidence to the women there. I shared the most painful things that had happened to me. I shared the worst things I had ever thought. I KNEW that they would hate me, but they didn't. To this day, only BJ and that group have heard some of those thoughts... Because of the way those select few responded, I'm not afraid of myself anymore. Those women gave me the courage to face the "worst" parts about myself, and let me know it was okay to love me. Pretty much changed my life.

RAD (Rape Aggression Defense) training
I wasn't allowed to do the training, which was okay by me, because just watching OTHER people do it caused panic attacks, dissociation, flashbacks, and generally awful days. As awful as it was, watching my friends go through the training, helped me face my own past. Going through flashbacks and panic is AWFUL, but it was necessary for me to heal. By facing my past, it stopped having the control over me.

I still have the plan to take a RAD class sometime. The final day includes a simulation: Men "attack" you. You use your voice, your body, everything you've learned to get them off and to get away. I'd like to be able to do that. (Still don't think I'm ready for it. I'm shaking just thinking about it.)

DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) "Non-judgmental stance"
I learned that things aren't "good" and "bad". Things just are. There aren't good people and bad people. There aren't good emotions and bad emotions. There isn't a right or a wrong. There isn't a should or a should not. Everything just is. Very powerful lesson that helped me to stop being crazy. (I've sat here trying to think of how to say it, but honestly... I was crazy. Trying to put everything into it's little box of "good" or "bad" or some derivative of that, made me insane.) Life is a lot more gentle, peaceful, and happy. There are still times when I get caught up in judging things (mostly myself or my emotions) as "good" or "bad". Then I remember Espra and getting pillows thrown at me. (I know that last sentence won't make sense to most people. But in group, if you said anything that was a judgment: good, bad, right, wrong, should, shouldn't, etc., you got a pillow thrown at you. It was a good way to make me aware of what I was doing. Now I use phrases like, "I prefer" or "I don't like", because that is more effective.)

The "pinky promise prayer"
This one still brings tears of love and joy to my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'd been at CFC at this point. A couple of weeks, maybe? "Bubbles" was a teenager who was a new patient. Her body was failing her, and the group of us sat and watched helpless as the nurses worked to take care of her. Together, we prayed for her and then made a pinky promise that none of us were going to give up the fight with the eating disorder. Eating disorders claim so many lives, but not ours. That night I wrote in my journal: "CFC. At this moment. With these women. Is EXACTLY where I need to be". We've all kept that promise thus far. 1 in 5 people diagnosed with an eating disorder will die. The fact that I don't know anyone who has died from an eating disorder is astounding to me. I know of people who have died: Friends of friends, but no one I know personally. And no one from that group. They're all still fighting like hell, and I love them for it.

There were many times after I left CFC that I just wanted to throw in the towel, and be done. I didn't want to fight for my life anymore. I was so tired. In those moments, I thought of the women in the group, and there was no way I was breaking that promise. There was no way I was going to give them any excuse to give up their fight. That promise I made to them, and that we made to each other has saved my life more than once.

Sacrament meeting
Since we couldn't leave to go to church, they arranged to have the young men bring the sacrament to us. A small group of women gathered in one of the group rooms. We sang a hymn a'capella. A prayer (and the prayers offered by the women there were the most sincere and beautiful prayers I've ever heard). No talks, but sometimes we'd share thoughts with each other. So much love in that room. If church had felt like that, I probably would have never left.

Your definition of recovery
We were all asked to define what recovery looked like to each of us individually. Mine was, "When I  love myself more than I hate myself."
According to that definition, I am recovered, but I think recovery is just life. I keep learning and growing and changing and living. According to that definition, I'm still working for recovery and always will be.


I know that most people won't understand the rest of this list, but to myself and the few that will:
"Love you to pieces"
J and C dancing to "Beat it"
temper tantrums
ripping up phonebooks, throwing ice, throwing pillows
challenge day
NIA
"Let it be okay"
Fedder and Le Freak
music listening
drum circles
arguments about the fireplace or walks
Boost
that nasty bean salad
singing and peeing
"hit snap clap hit hit snap clap"
table manners? what table manners
"Goals change lives"
FNS
Curses
"How is that like your life?"
illegal exercise
the big white van
the race to get out and the race to check back in
scream therapy
"auto" group
the vitals machine
games at the dining room tables
the "f word" wasn't fuck - it was fat
"The voice is no longer hidden in me. I've let go, Now I am free!"
and this:



I'll never hear this song and not think of the dining room, saying goodbye to beautiful women, not knowing where life would take me...it turns out... I like where life has taken me.

And the best part: I REALLY like the girl that I've become.

Lesson learned

Something to remember about myself:
I feel anxious when I am not acknowledging myself and my wants.
As soon as I acknowledge what I want, I feel better. That doesn't necessarily mean I have to say a word to anyone else. I just acknowledge I have wants. To MYSELF.
Doesn't mean I will get what I want. It just means I am honest with myself about what I want.
The End.

hey you.

Not grateful. Peaceful.

In a conversation with BJ, he once said he felt guilty for feeling grateful I am in his life. In essence, he was concerned that by being grateful for the way things are today - that also meant he was grateful for the pain I had suffered.

Can I be grateful for where I am today without being grateful for the circumstances that got me here?

I've thought about this a lot. I've written and rewritten this post several different times over the last six months.

The first was really snarky. (I might have just made that word up, I don't actually know what it means... Sarcastic? Bratty?) It talked about feeling gratitude that there are abusive people in the world. If no one was abusive, how would we ever grow? I could go into it more, but there IS a reason I deleted that one.

The second was very tearful. I don't believe abuse is what made me who I am. I was already strong, kindhearted, empathic. My friends who have been abused were already clever, funny, compassionate, beautiful, wonderful people. Their abusers didn't make them that.

The third was a little closer to what I wanted. I talked about how I might not have never met some of the amazing people I know today if I hadn't been through the hell of abuse. I might not have ever seen how strong they are if I didn't know how hard they had to fight just to survive. We might not have connected if we hadn't been through so many similar (and extraordinarily painful) experiences. I am grateful they are in my life today. I am amazed and astounded at the people I have the privilege of calling friends.

I'm trying again.
I am not grateful for the past. I am at peace with it.
When I think about my life, I don't have a need to change what has happened. I've accepted it. That doesn't mean I think for a second it is okay for a man to rape his wife, but I am at peace with where my life is. That makes me at peace with my past. (Or maybe being at peace with my past has made it possible to be at peace with where my life is. I'm not sure which came first.)

I don't know who I would have been, or what life would have been like if I hadn't been abused as a child, or married a man who raped me, or any of the other circumstances. And, I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't need to know. I am done mourning who I might have been.

I am grateful that BJ understood what emotional abuse was, and I also wish he had never experienced it. I wish he didn't understand how damaging it is. I am grateful to have people in my life who really understand the pain of rape, sexual trauma, PTSD, eating disorders, and depression, because it feels GOOD to be understood. I also wish for their sakes, they had no idea how it felt.

I don't know how or why there is so much pain and heartache in the world. I don't know why some people choose to hurt other people. I don't know why a God that can bring these amazing people into my life couldn't also have stopped them from being abused. If it was left up to me, I would have sent down angels with flaming swords to prevent children from being molested, spouses from being abused, or young women from being assaulted. I suppose I'm glad it isn't up to me.


I guess what I'm saying is I feel trusting. I trust the process. I trust where I have been lead. I trust God to balance it all out. I trust me to find my way. I trust my friends to find their way.
I trust. There is someone or something who takes care of it all. I don't know what that looks like. I don't know how it all works out, and... it does.

The words are just not coming the way I want them to.
Why does this feel so hard to write, and yet so important?
Because it is far more personal than I am letting on. There is ONE thing, one piece that I need to face, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid to admit how deeply I feel...

I would give up everything I love in my life if it meant that BJ had never been abused. I would trade the feeling of love and acceptance I have from him, if it could just mean he hadn't been hurt so deeply by someone who claimed to love him. I love my life today, and still... it just doesn't justify someone I love being hurt so much. I HATE it!  I feel so sad. By being grateful he is in my life, am I also grateful that he was abused?

The answer to that question is No! And still, I accept that it is the way it is. We are all connected. We help each other. We find the people that will help us to grow, to learn, to love. We also find people who hurt us. We learn to move on from them. We learn to trust, and we learn who and what to trust at any given moment.

I am not grateful for the pain in my past. I am not grateful for the pain in BJ's past. I am not grateful for the pain in other friends' pasts. I am at peace with my life today.

Self Acceptance takes away an abuser's power

I really like this post.

There were two quotes that jumped out at me:

"If you want to know who your truest friends are, ask yourself who encourages you to accept yourself as you are. For it is all but the very mark of true friend that he or she encourages that in you. Yet, most of us have few friends of that caliber."

 I thought of all of the amazing friends I have that encourage me to accept myself as I am.

The second quote that hit me was this one:

"It is possible that no one but your truest friends will accept that you do not condemn your “darkest impulses”. The rest of the world is reluctant to give up that means of manipulating you."

I was SO afraid of accepting myself. I was terrified I would suddenly become a horrible person. I was afraid of who I would be without guilt and shame driving me. I have seen first hand what "darkest impulses" can do, and I didn't want to BE that. I didn't want to hurt others like I had been hurt. I fought with Paul constantly about this - he believed his job was to help me accept ALL of me, including the darkest parts. I believed I had to manipulate and force myself to be something I wasn't. I didn't even require outside forces doing it.

Today, BJ asked me what was wrong with him going after his wants. What was wrong with him doing what he wanted? I didn't have an answer... other than, "Nothing. Live YOUR life."  He asked me to play the devil's advocate. Come up with a reason that he shouldn't do what he wants to do. I had a hard time. Years of therapy where I kept telling Paul that I couldn't just be ME, because ME wasn't good enough... I couldn't just do what I want, because the whole world would fall apart, or I'd hurt people, or... and today, without coming back and reading old blogs, I couldn't remember how I used to think. (cue trumpets!)

For most of my life, I was told that having control over my own life was selfishness. It was not okay to pursue my dreams or goals, or to take care of my wants and needs unless I FIRST took care of everyone else. That is SO WRONG!

There are many people who don't want me (or you or anyone else) to accept ourselves. If I accept myself, I will not use anti-wrinkle cream on my face, or get plastic surgery, or eat this or that diet, and there goes a billion dollar industry.
If I accept myself, I might not do what everyone else thinks is right. I will do what is best for me. Always.
If I accept and love myself for who I am, I do not have to be a slave to you to earn your love.
If I accept myself, I will not allow myself to be abused. When someone tries to manipulate me into doing what they want, it just won't work. Power hungry people cannot handle a person who loves themselves. It takes away all their power.

I stayed in relationships that were very unhealthy, because I believed no one else could love or accept me. After all, I hated me, how could anyone else love me? Through a miraculous combination of therapy, books, friends, horses, and experiences, I have come to love and accept myself for who I am. With that love came the power to walk away. It didn't matter what they said, because I knew myself and I loved myself.

I have amazing friends. On a hard day, they remind me how much I am loved by them. And then they remind me that their love doesn't matter nearly as much as my love for me. And I am grateful.

Who is the better friend?

I had a friend post this on facebook as her status:

"Let's hear some opinions- Do you think a friend is someone who lets you be your self or is a friend someone who helps you become better than yourself?"

I wanted to put an answer, but the only thing I could think of was, "Who the hell are YOU (or ME) to decide what makes someone better?" That didn't seem like an answer that would create the feeling I wanted.

I have literally spent the last two days obsessing and mulling over the question, as well as other people's answers. I've had discussions online, on the phone, and over dinner all about this same thing. I laid awake last night unable to sleep, because I couldn't turn my brain off.

Round about five o'clock this morning, this is what I came up with:

"The friend who accepts me and loves me for who I am is the truest friend. It feels amazing when someone sees ME, knows ME, and loves me. That kind of friendship feels hopeful, healing, and inspiring. That kind of friendship inspires me to be the best me. They don't love me, SO that I will change anything. There is no expectation to change... And ironically, that provides the best environment to change and grow and learn, and become better.

When a friendship is based on, "I love you and I hope you'll change," that feels confusing, lonely, sad, "dried up", and withered away... The opposite of inspired. It eats away at me. Until I have no desire to be around that person, because it is painful and empty.

I also used to get confused and think that I should accept everyone just as they are, which meant accepting things that really hurt me. (Like a friendship I described above.) Now, I can say, "That hurts me, so I won't be around you when you're doing that." That isn't about changing them to be better, its about creating an environment I like being in. I can't know what is "better" for someone else. Only they can know that. And only I know what is "better" for me.

I really like the saying, "Accept me as I am or watch me as I walk away." And I feel like that goes both ways, "I will accept you as you are, or I will let you walk away." That feels like love (true friendship) to me."

I posted it to her status. I feel terrified. At first, I wasn't going to... I didn't find this answer for her, it was for me. But, she did ask for opinions, and just because my opinion was pretty much the opposite of everyone else that posted doesn't make my opinion wrong... 


It might open me up to nasty messages. It IS her wall, so she can hate it, delete it, tell me not to post there, and I think that's fair. I'm still scared. Speaking my truth is new for me, and scary. I'm not used to voicing my opinions when they are different from others... yet.

Gender

I posted this http://www.parentcentral.ca/parent/babiespregnancy/babies/article/995112--parents-keep-child-s-gender-secret on facebook this morning...

One of the required readings for one of my Sociology classes in college was X: A Fabulous Child's Story. I had never heard anything like that before, but I found the idea fascinating and revolutionary. X is genderless... Meaning, X's parents will not tell any of X's teachers, friends, relatives, neighbors what X's gender is. Everyone gets really upset. An Xpert is called in to interview X.

In the end, X is said to be one of the most well-adjusted child the Xpert had ever seen, and when gender is important, X will know what to do...

These parents who are trying to do what X's parents did are fascinating to me.
Is it the "right" thing to do? I don't know. Those kids ARE going to be teased a lot. The parents seem aware of that, and are trying to be there for their kids.

I imagine that eventually those kids will want the approval of friends... so they won't always be so free... but what better time to be free than when you're five? And besides WHO decided that dresses were for girls? Or boys couldn't wear pink? I'm pretty sure that at one point in this country, it was considered immoral for a girl to wear pants.

Is it possible to live in a world where we just accept everyone just as they are?

Serenity

In the book Controlling People, it basically says that when a person thinks they know what I feel (without me telling them), that is controlling.When I think I know what someone else is thinking or feeling, or that I can change what they are thinking and feeling, that is controlling.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.

A few years ago, after leaving CFC (eating disorder treatment), but still VERY new in this whole healing process, I had to make a decision. I knew what I needed to do to heal my life, but I knew other people would think I was crazy. I kept trying to find another way around it, but finally gave up. "I don't care what people think. I don't care what other people do. Here goes nothing."

For me, what happened next was terrifying. I stopped trying to control myself so that I could control what everyone else thought of me. I cried uncontrollably for hours at a time. I screamed and ran away when I was scared, even though there was a part of me that could have controlled myself, I didn't try. I left the church. I withdrew from my family.

Some people thought I was crazy. Some people thought I was a bitch. Some people thought I was incredibly selfish. I had to give up who I thought I was, and who I thought others wanted me to be, and I had to give up the idea that I could change what other people thought of me.

I was threatened with hospitalization. I was able to say, "I'll go if that is what you need me to do. I understand that this is MY journey, and you are not required to go with me. I trust you to take care of you."

I ended up not going, and I'm glad... But that is not the point. I finally trusted me enough to let go, and I trusted the people in my life enough to let go of them. I didn't know what the end product would look like. There was a lot I didn't know, and it really didn't matter.

I didn't feel the need to control anything. Not me. Not them. Whatever happened, happened.

Fast forward to now.
I got the email from my cousin. Sent me into a kind of crazy place. At the same time, I was getting emails from BJ's kids and ex. They were telling me how I ruined his life. The combination was a little more than I could handle, and I went back to old ways of thinking.

I started to believe I was responsible for his choices. I started to believe I was responsible for their choices. I started to believe I couldn't trust myself or them or him. I forgot to even THINK about what I needed, even though that is the only thing I could know. I was trying to control what everyone else thought, rather than take care of myself.

I was quickly becoming all that I hated.
Luckily, I have some amazing friends. I changed course. I stopped trying to control what others were thinking and instead decided to face the things I could face: the memories and the secrets from my cousin.

I'm not going to say this is easy, it is NOT. I'm hurting. I'm crying. I'm scared. I'm sad. At the same time, I'm trusting the people around me to take care of themselves, and trusting me to do what is best for me, and knowing that whatever happens next is okay.

I cannot control what other people think about me.
Believing that I can, only makes me (and everyone else) incredibly miserable.
Knowing that I can't, frees me to live.

God, grant me serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

Courage to change the things I can.

And wisdom to know the difference.

Stories

I love the books by Don Miguel Ruiz. (Four Agreements, The Fifth Agreement, The Voice of Knowledge, and Mastery of Love.)


One of the big foundations for the books is the idea that we are all storytellers. We are all writing our own stories. None of our stories are true, but they are true for us. Even as he says this, he says this is HIS story. He believes his story and he still knows its just a story.

I have had questions about the church my whole life. I have always wanted more than the explanations I got. There were many things that just didn't fit for me. Three years ago, I started writing about it. I started talking about it all. I started this blog. I prayed about it. I stopped forcing myself to believe there was only one answer.

Somewhere I realized, Joseph Smith was just a kid trying to make sense of his world. He found a story that rang true to him, but that didn't make it true for me. And all of the prophets since... just men saying the things that rang true to them. Saying the things that brought them comfort. Or the things that made sense in their life. Possibly even inspired, but just because someone is inspired to say something, does not make it true for everyone.

When Monson gives a talk, he uses the words that help and comfort HIM. When some dude stands up and gives a talk in church, he uses the words that help HIM. Everyone in church. Everyone, everywhere, say the things that help THEM. Most people don't talk from any place other than their own experiences. (I have found the rare person that sees and cares about things outside of their own experience. To me these people are heroes!)

MY words. The stories I tell. The things I share help ME, (well, except for when they don't, but that's another story). I want to help others. All I wanted three years ago was to know that someone else had been through this process and survived. I HOPE I can help someone else, but I don't think for a second that every word I write is for every person out there. How arrogant would a person have to be?

If the Bible and BOM are actual historical documents, then they are several men's stories. The solutions and explanations that worked for them. To say that their solutions and explanations should ALWAYS work for me is false. They won't. They can't. Do those men know what it was like to live with a husband that raped me every day? Can they really offer a solution for that? No. (I KNOW. Many people will say that they can, but they don't... At least I couldn't find a solution or explanation that worked for me.)

I have found peace and comfort from books. The Four Agreements, Tao of Equus, the writings of Thich Nhat Hahn, Time to Break Free, and the books by Wyatt Webb, all of these books have changed my life. I found solutions and explanations that made sense to me. I found ways to understand my dissociation, my body memories, my fears, my thoughts, and a lot more from these books. Still, I don't expect everyone will find the same things I found. Does that take away from my experience? Do my stories make other people's stories any less true to them?

I realize I am all over the place... I was going to say that I wish I could write a beautiful essay that would make perfect sense to everyone reading it. And then I realized I really don't wish that. I want to write my thoughts as raw as possible, and hope that people can still understand.

...walking around with my skin peeled off.

A friend once told me that trauma work was like "walking around in the sun with your skin peeled off". I thought the analogy was PERFECT. Its painful, and I feel vulnerable, and painful, and other people don't know quite how to handle me, and...

I'd forgotten just what it feels like. For more than two years, I felt it everyday, all day, all the time, never a break. But with life being calmer the last six months, I was beginning to forget.

I've had a rough couple of days. I shared things about myself that were hard to share. Although the feedback I have gotten has been 100% positive, I have still felt icky.

I realized this afternoon, when all I wanted to do was hide in my room, I've now bared myself. Everyone has been very kind, better than I could have expected, but it hurts to peel off your skin...

I'm feeling very vulnerable and raw. I'm not planning on disappearing, and I need some time to nurse the raw wounds. I'm taking extra special care of myself. I've spent most of the day curled up in a blanket in the backyard with Sunny. (Thank goodness its above freezing!) I don't know how long I'll need, and I will take just the right amount for me.

Thinking vs. Feeling

I had an epiphany last night. I'm going to try to put it in words... But, I don't know if I will be able to do it any justice. Here goes:

There are two parts of me: The Thinker and the Feeler.

An example:
The Thinker thinks, "I should call Amanda," but then it also thinks "I should call Lauren, and Steph, and Mellen, and Dann too. And I should get some work done. And I should..." Until I can't even remember that I was going to call Amanda.

The Feeler just calls Amanda.
The Feeler doesn't have to think about things, because I just do them. I don't need to explain anything to anyone - not even myself.

The Thinker is where a lot of my "negative" emotions come from. I think about things, and then get bogged down in shame and guilt and fear. The Thinker has a long list of "shoulds".

The Feeler never feels guilt or shame. The Feeler feels fear, and then moves away from what I am afraid of. In a helpful, productive sort of way. (For instance, I don't like the way that guy is looking at me, so I am not going to walk closer to him. I am definitely not going to put myself in a situation alone with him.) The Feeler feels anger, sees it for what it is: a sign that something needs to change, and I make changes.

The Feeler makes very good decisions.
The Thinker can't make a decision. I get so caught up in thinking about what everyone else is going to think, or what I should do, or what is right, or best, or... I get paralyzed in my own thoughts.
The Feeler just does what is best. Its AMAZING how easily life moves when I am in that place.

The Thinker thinks through every possible consequence of every possible thing I could say, and then usually doesn't say anything because its ALL bad.
The Feeler says things that I didn't even know I knew. I learn a lot from myself when I am in this place. I am very wise. The Feeler is very honest, but isn't disrespectful or hurtful. The Feeler doesn't offer advice... just shares. Seriously. Sometimes feel amazed at the things that come out of my own mouth.

The Thinker has huge expectations of what I should have. What I should do. The goals I have to achieve.
The Feeler doesn't. The Feeler is very present in this moment, and loves this moment. And understands that great things ARE happening without trying to make anything happen.

The Thinker hears thing and BELIEVES them. No matter who says it or where it comes from, the Thinker knows its true. And tries to live by whatever it was that was said.

The Feeler hears things, wonders about them, and chooses what works best for me. And if new information contradicts the old, the Feeler doesn't need to justify either one. It can ALL be true, and I'll just do my best to live true.

I've been caught up in Thinking. I much prefer to be Feeling.

Let it go

One of the things that people say about anger is to "Let it go."
You have to let the anger go and forgive. Its good advice, but most people don't actually MEAN "let it go". Most people mean, "Repress it, shove it away and don't talk about it."

"Let it go" means I won't be able to control it. "Let it go" means that I let whatever is going to happen, happen. "Let it go" means I stop hanging on to it and actually "let it go".

If I am holding on to a wild tiger. I don't want to let go, because it might hurt me. I'm scared to death. However, once I let it go, it leaves. The tiger doesn't want to hang around - it wants to go home. I could put it in a cage, but then I have to take care that it stays in its cage... If I let it go, I take the chance that it might hurt me...

That's what anger is like. I could put it in a cage, but then I have to work hard to keep it in its cage. It doesn't like its cage. It wants to be free. It doesn't even want to hang around me... So, I let it go.

It lashes out for a moment, until it realizes its free, and it goes away.

So, don't tell me to let it go, unless you actually mean let it go.
And, don't tell me to repress it, because I won't listen anyway...

Tron and Perfectionism

I don't enjoy movies much, and theaters are particularly difficult. That said, I now live in the middle of nowhere, yet there is a theater. (A nice one!) Stadium seating. Popcorn. And only three of us in the theater. Suddenly movies in the theater are less intimidating. If I freak out, everyone there knows me and knows that I freak out. Which strangely enough makes it so I freak out less...

Tonight, I went to see the movie Tron: Legacy. I figured it would be a little strange, lots of cool lights, and a happy ending. (I only see movies with happy endings. Life has enough crap in it, movies should resolve nicely at the end.) I found myself sobbing at the end... not because it was sad, but because I identified with it.

*Spoiler Alert*
The Grid, the digital world, was supposed to be a perfect world. That was the whole mission. Daddy Flynn created this world. Then he created Clu, and gave him the job of creating the perfect world. This all went wrong. Daddy Flynn got trapped in his digital world. Son Flynn goes in to save him.

They are all about to escape and Clu says, "I did what you asked me to do. I created a perfect world!" Daddy Flynn's reply is what got me.
"Perfection is unknowable and right in front of us. I didn't know when I created you. How could you have known?"

I cried. All my life I have been searching for perfection. Taught that THAT was the goal. One day, if I worked hard enough God would make me perfect. In the next life, everyone would be perfect. I didn't know what that meant, but in my mind, we would all become the drones we pretend to be. We wouldn't have to pretend anymore. But thinking about that caused me dis-ease. What did perfection really mean? Would my friends with black skin suddenly become white? Would they suddenly have smooth hair and a nose that looked more like mine? Or would I suddenly have a nose more like theirs? Would I suddenly enjoy church and living the way I was trying so hard to live? Would gay friends suddenly not be gay anymore? Would there suddenly be no anger and no emotions? Would all of my wants and desires just suddenly go away?

The answer to all of those questions is, "No." We are all already perfect.One of my favorite authors is Miguel Ruiz. He supposed that the biggest lie is the lie of our imperfection. When Eve took a bite of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, the biggest lie took hold of her. The lie that there is good and bad. The lie that we aren't enough just as we are. Some of my biggest questions about the church have come from the story of Adam and Eve. It didn't make sense to me, but the way Miguel Ruiz explained it did make sense.

Because of that lie, we go searching for perfection, but we never find it. In our pursuit, we miss that it is already here. Eating disorders are (partially) about the quest for the perfect body, and the cure for that part of eating disorders is to realize that my body is perfect, because its MY body. Not because it looks a certain way. Not because I can push it to do things. Not because of anything except that its mine. And its perfect. If I need to sleep or eat or sit down, still perfect. If I can't fast, or stop myself from feeling pain, or push it to run a marathon, still perfect. If I sit in a wheelchair, still perfect.

The cure for perfectionism is to see that perfection is right in front of us. We don't have to go looking anywhere, because we've already found it.

"Blast this Christmas music. It's joyful AND triumphant."

Christmas is hard for me. I know its supposed to be a time full of happiness and joy and good things. It just isn't for me. I'm stressed. Anxiety through the roof, and I can't even really tell you what I'm anxious about. This past week I have felt urges that I haven't felt since... well... probably since last Christmas...

I have wanted to just take whatever I had to take to make me go away mentally. Then I can be wherever anyone wants me to be physically, but I don't actually have to be there. (I have prescription anti-anxiety meds. They make me a little TOO out of it. I was told to stop taking them, so I did. But... I have never thrown them away just in case I might "need" them one day. I find comfort in knowing that I have a way out. I'm not going to throw them away, even now, because even though I will never take them, I still feel comforted knowing I could. Or something.)

Anyways, BJ told me to go back and read what I wrote after Thanksgiving. He pointed out that I was stressed and scared then, but it turned out okay. Better than okay. He's smart. It helped some, but this also FEELS different. Today just feels icky. Here is me trying to sort this one out.

Being in my parents' home is still hard. Often, I revert back to some former form of myself. Christmas has so many "traditions" and all traditions feel like to me are old memories of things I don't want to remember. And some good things that I do want to remember... But. Oh. Even the good things bring pain right now. Dann has always worked so hard to make Christmas special and fun and good. Even when we didn't have money, or things were really bad between us, he made Christmas awesome! Remembering all of our Christmases together is sad, because I don't have him in my life like I used to. We're still friends, and... still, its just not the same.

I really struggle to let other people buy things for me. I have often NEEDED Christmas. I refused to buy anything for myself, so things got worn out, and Christmas was about my needs.

I was always told that I shouldn't want anything. And with Christmas, it just gets stronger. I shouldn't want presents, but I shouldn't buy anything for myself, so I really need some things, but I shouldn't, because I can do without, and there are others that don't have anything. I should give my presents to them. But my family likes to give to me, so I have to accept whatever they give graciously, but I don't want it, because I shouldn't want presents. What a horrible cycle I've gotten myself into!!!!!

Add that to, the belief that I can never give enough. No matter how much money I spend, or how much time I put into presents, or how much I think about the perfectly right gift, I will still feel bad for not doing more.

ITS NO WONDER I HATE CHRISTMAS!

This year, I am going to do it differently.

I have done better at taking care of my own needs and wants, so there is nothing I need.
I like presents. I will admit that to others and to myself. I like getting things. I like seeing what others have picked out for me, and I like just opening gifts. Even tearing the paper, I love it.
I like watching others open presents. If its not the perfect gift, oh well. If its a horrible gift, I hope they enjoy exchanging it. And I hope we can laugh about how horrible it was.
I will smile at the memories that were happy. Cry for the changes that are sad. Create new memories.
I will participate in the traditions I want to participate in, and I won't participate in the parts I don't like.
And if at any moment, it all gets too much for me, I have a home to come to. I have a place where I feel safe and comfortable.
If I decide to spend Christmas alone, I'll be in great company.
This year, I'll think I'll just try living.

Just writing all this down, I feel better. Lighter.
Who knows, maybe I'll even like Christmas this year.

Body Memories

Although things have drastically improved since my move, the one thing that will not leave me alone is the body memories. The physical pain when I know there's nothing physically wrong. It makes me feel a little crazy, but mostly, I can deal with them now. At least they don't come with the flashbacks and the completely losing my mind that used to come...

I spend a lot of time on the After the Silence boards. I first went there, because I wanted to find someone, ANYONE who had been through what I was going through and survived (at the least, and really I wanted to find people that were happy.) I realized while on those boards that most of the people there are there looking for support, but when you don't need support anymore, you stop going to those boards. I want to be there to give encouragement to people who are just starting their individual journeys.

Today, I found something that could help me.

"In order to heal from a body memory, you must do the opposite of what you want to do - you need to let your body release the memory. Just like with visual flashbacks, you will only be haunted by them while you fight them. After you release them, your body no longer feels the need to experience them.

Releasing a body memory is not fun. You must surrender to the awful feelings and allow your body to feel really bad for a little while. However, if you talk yourself through them, then they will no longer plague you. Tell yourself that you already survived the abuse, so you can survive the memory. Be loving to your body and tell it that you are sorry that it endured so much abuse.

It helps if you can connect back the source of the memory to the traumatizing event. This gives the body memory a context and helps you move past the need to continue experiencing the body memory." 

I have understood this concept, but putting in the context of body memories... it just makes sense. Stop resisting. Accept the pain. Move with it. Listen to it. When it has said its piece it will leave me alone.

Here's to the next step in the journey.