Welcome to My Life

Wow I can't believe I haven't written in over a month.  The truth is, my computer broke and when it finally was fixed I just couldn't think of anything to say.  It's hard to keep this up knowing that the only person reading is my boyfriend.  I told myself I would keep writing until it caught on, though, because I wanted to help someone - even just one person - who was suffering like I was. 

I guess I can breeze through my past month's events.  I put together my own hypothesis for my psychology lab and am ready to start running participants.  I'm about 90% sure that it isn't even a new idea, but I guess I'm going to run the experiment anyway.  I finally have actual homework for my religion class, but since I haven't learned anything yet this semester I'm not sure I'll even be able to write a paper.  I'm getting pretty serious about weight loss because I have to go to the beach with Andrew's family in May.  If I do well, I can lose about 15 pounds.  Not great, but much better than what I am.  And, lastly, I'm looking for a job - any job - to make some money.  I've only looked on internet sites so far, but I really need to go out and start applying at grocery stores and bigger chain stores since they probably have quick turnover.  Can't wait to move on to the next phase in life.

And Today's Religion Is.....

My teacher in Intro to World Religions was talking about how people come to realize different faiths.  He said some people call themselves "Christians" or "Hindus" or "Buddhists"  What do those terms really mean because many Christians believe completely different things about Jesus and Mary and God and heaven.  He asked us about ourselves, saying he didn't want to tell us his own thoughts on it.  He said, "I don't know what I am and don't plan to find out because I'm not interested in forming an image of myself to have something to hold on to."  He said it so passively, but I thought that was the most proverbial thing he has said in all our classes. 

Think about that for a minute.  My whole life I have been trying to classify myself as all these things so that I would know who I was.  I was a white, christian, southerner, seminole fan, doctor's kid.  There's hundreds of labels I gave myself so that if someone asked me to describe myself, I had classifications that described me.  It's a natural thing, something we all do because classification makes our brain work faster.  But this passing comment made me stop and think about this.  I have been trying to figure out my beliefs because I lost all hope in Christianity after my ordeal.  He gave me the answer.  I don't have to be "agnostic" or "atheist" or "christian" because I don't have to lock myself into a category or label.  I am me, I change, my life changes, and my labels change.  That doesn't mean my personality has changed or I am a different person altogether, it just means these things are always evolving.

Flashbacks

I just found a journal entry on my computer from about 2 1/2 weeks before I drank anti-freeze.  Reading it sent shivers down my spine.  I can't believe how disturbed my thinking was.  I'm debating whether or not to post it because a) it's really long, b) it's horribly depressing, and c) it may show way more of my thoughts than I'm willing to expose.  Fortunately, I know I don't think that way anymore.  It would, however, probably help a lot of people with depression realize their thoughts are disturbed but they aren't the only ones thinking it.
I've got to think about it some more....

Think Outside the Bun

I've been avoiding blogging all week.  I can't really say why, except that I started worrying that it was bringing me down.  I have found that going on depression websites and writing about my problems just makes me feel depressed.  That said, I have been avoiding all of those things now, and would like to use this post to re-group.

Last week, I started feeling so shitty because I've gained back almost 40 pounds of the 70 I lost two years ago.  That's pretty ridiculous.  When I made it to my goal weight last August (2008), I told myself I would never be in double-digit sizes again.  It only took me a year to end up a size 10 again.  So, here I am, signing up for a 5K again so I will have to exercise and enlisting Andrew to help me eat healthy.  I'm tired of feeling shitty and I want to look great for our trip to Tampa in April.  I bet I can lose at least 15 pounds by then if I really try. 

So, I've gotten back into walk/jogging and I'm trying to walk to school when the weather is nice.  Now all I need is better eating and alcohol choices - starting tomorrow!

I've found this to be the first step in getting un-depressed.  Get out and start exercising and losing weight.  So much of my self-esteem lies in my weight and appearance, which is probably not great, but that's life.  No one feels good about themselves when they don't take care of their bodies and looks.  SOooooo wish me luck!

A Golden Moment of Understanding

Andrew was exposed to a part of my life that is beyond explaining, but that helped him understand why I am the way I am.  I would never wish that event on him, but I'm glad it happened because there is no way I could have explained it.  Now, he has gone through it himself.


Andrew and I went to dinner with my parents and a friend of my dad's.  My mom and the friend got pretty drunk, and they gave him such a hard time.  My mom kept shouting out things like "He's a great cook, but he needs to learn to clean up after himself.  He's so messy he's not allowed to cook!"  She thought it was great, but he and I didn't.  Then, sitting on the other side of him was my dad's friend who was whispering to him all night about how he wasn't good enough for me and how we would never make it.  I would have thought it was a little sweet of the friend if: a) I didn't love my boyfriend and b) I actually knew the friend.  I've only met him like three times and most of those times have been while I'm drunk at the tailgates during football season.  Poor Andrew.  Fortunately, it opened his eyes to my mother.

See, my mother and I have always been close.  On top of that, I am a perfectionist, and always trying to be liked and accepted by those I care about.  Andrew saw my mother in action.  He told me later that he felt betrayed by her because he thought she liked him, but as soon as my dad's friend started giving him a hard time, she chimed in and started throwing jabs at him as well.  He said he didn't know she would be so hard to please.  This is exactly what I tried to explain to therapists for years! It's like, you want to be "good" in her eyes, so you do all these things she talks about.  Then, she gets talking to someone else, and you hear her say how all the things you heard were good are actually bad.  So you have to change.  It's hard to explain.  Let me try an example: when I first went to college, my mom told me all I needed to do was go to class and I would be able to keep my grades up, or at least pass.  I went to all my classes so that I would pass because god knows the utter disappointment she would have if I failed out.  Then, we were hanging out with my brother (who failed out of college but went back and finished later), and they started joking about how fun college was when they never went to class.  I felt like a nerd, so I tried to chime in with "oh yeah I skipped this one class for like a whole week."  My mom busted out laughing and said "oh come on, we're not talking about skipping because you're sick - we're talking about skipping because you stayed up drinking until 5 in the morning and you're still too drunk to go to class! You haven't done that! Hahaha!" I still remember that like it was yesterday because I never felt so rejected by my own mother.  Here I was trying to be "good" in her eyes, and she turns on me and tells me I'm too good, not cool enough.  Whenever I tried to explain this in family meetings in therapy, I could never really explain it.  I would say "you told me this, and you told me that, and I didn't know which way you wanted it", and she would say "I never said that.  I never said that.  I don't remember that.  That's not what I meant."  It was impossible to figure out what she wanted. 

Lately, I've realized you should just tell her you agree with her in the moment, and let it go.  For example, she wanted me to take it easy this last semester and relax since this will be the last time I have no real responsibilities, so I agreed that I would do that.  Then, a week or so later, she started telling me how important it is that I start looking for a job and start working before I graduate so I'm not stuck with no money and no job when I graduate.  So I agreed I would do that.  In reality, I've been talking to my brother about finding a job, and have been slowly looking around for opportunities that I could start during the semester or in May.  I just can't listen to her anymore, or I would always be changing my plans.  On top of that, when she does turn on me, I can't take it personally, because tomorrow she might turn back on me. 

Oh, That's Aunt Marie for Ya

My great aunt died yesterday.  I know what you're thinking, "great aunt... did you even know her? who cares."  That's probably what I would say if she was any other great aunt.  The truth is, I've only even met her three times in my life, but you didn't have to see her in person to know her.  She was an old maid, never married and no kids.  She lived with her parents until they died, and lived in that same home until she was in her late 80's.  She finally couldn't live on her own anymore, so she moved down to south Florida to live with her brother's family.  She was one of four kids, and all of her brothers and sister married and had kids.  Most of those kids grew up, got married, and had kids of their own (we're up to like 50 people now).  I guess because she didn't have family of her own, she took on everyone else's families.  She sent all the kids candy and cards and a couple dollars for all the little holidays - Valentines Day, Easter, St. Patrick's Day, Thanksgiving, Halloween.  Then, on top of that, she sent us all Christmas and birthday cards every year.  These weren't just cards with her name signed, they were personalized, with our names written on them and every space full of her notes to us about how she loved us and had heard about all the great things we were doing.  Up until last year, she never missed a birthday or Christmas.  The family she was living with wouldn't let her put checks in the cards anymore, so she would get pennies and nickels and dimes to make up however old you were and tape them to the card.  We would always laugh when we got the cards because they were so corny, sigh, and say "oh aunt marie".  I always wrote her back, to thank her and tell her about my life.  I felt sorry for her that she never had kids or a husband, but maybe she wanted it that way.

Anyway, She was 94 this year.  My dad says it's good that she finally passed on because it was time.  I think he is trying to act strong, but I know he is hurt.  My mom says he won't go do anything, won't leave the house.  His dad died as a kid, so his mom spent a lot of time with her family.  Basically, my dad was raised by my Aunt Marie as much as his own mother.  And honestly, she was much more of a grandparent to me than my real grandparents.  My nana could give two shits about my sister and I, my granddaddy on my mom's side died when I was in high school, but I had never even talked to him.  The only other grandparent is my grandma on my mom's side, who we see quite a bit and who I'm sure loves us.  She has never been very nice, though.  The point is, my Aunt Marie was the best grandparent I had, even though she was a little removed.

I wish I had written her one more time.  The last time I wrote her was last year, and I hadn't heard from her since.  My dad said she was kind of losing it, so I didn't see the point in trying to write her anymore.  I feel bad about that now.  After she moved to South Florida, just a couple of years ago I guess, my parents took my sister and I down to see her.  She knew my dad was coming, but was surprised to see my sister and I.  She started balling crying and saying she thought she would never get to see us again.  She kept telling me my hair was just like my dad's dad's hair (grandpa's), which everyone has always told me.  I was so glad that I stayed in touch with her because she knew me and was happier to see me than my sister, who never wrote her.  I can't explain how she just made you feel loved, something my other grandparents never gave me.  It seems weird to be this upset about someone dying that you've only seen in person three times (only twice that I can even remember), but she was a really special person.  She lived a long life, but I'm still sorry to see her go.

Insecurities on Display

It's been a rough couple of days here.  Every time I get dressed, less and less of my clothes fit.  My pants are uncomfortable because they cut into my fat belly, and it's way too cold to wear the dresses that cover up my tummy.  If the numbers on the scale didn't make me feel bad enough about myself, there's more insecurities about Andrew's ex. 

It's actually my own fault.  He told me she called him the other day to ask him something about the Vespa they owned while they were together.  The phone call wouldn't really have bothered me in itself if she hadn't facebook messaged him last month to apologize for hurting him.  Then, just to make myself more insecure, I spent two hours yesterday looking at pictures of her on the internet.  Because of my own self-confidence issues, everything became a comparison.  Is she prettier than me? Is she more stylish than me? Is she funnnier than me? Did they have more happiness together than he and I do?  I know he doesn't have feelings for her anymore, but I think she still has feelings for him, which can be just as bad after a four-year relationship goes sour.  His sister is still friends with her, too.  She and I didn't really mesh well, so the fact that she still likes the ex makes me uncomfortable.

The other night, he said something about when he and the ex were living together, "she brought the tickets home, and we used them when people came to visit us."  Those italicized words were like a stab in the chest to hear him talk about them together, almost like they were married.  I don't want him to read this and think that I'm hiding some feelings, but I just feel like it's stupid to keep bringing it up.  We've talked about how he doesn't love her anymore, and how we share something completely different and special.  What more is there to say about it?  But god, it's like everytime I get dressed I think "is this as good as something she would wear?" and everytime I do something for him I think "is this better than the things she did for him?" and everytime we have sex I can't help thinking "am I as good in bed as she is?"  Why can't I get this out of my brain??

I know what I need to do: I need to make sure I talk to him and get all the feelings out on the table so we can handle it together.  I also need to stop looking for ways to make myself feel bad - like snooping for reminders of their relationship.  Then - maybe the most important thing that always gets rid of bad feelings - I need to keep myself busy and focused on positives.  That includes hanging out with friends, making sure I don't cut myself off from people and become isolated, keep my hands busy by knitting or my mind busy by reading, and get some exercise.  I know all those things work for me, and I know they will get me back to my healthy, confident self.  But I can't help wanting to just sit in the dark, eat comfort food, close myself off, and sometimes even cut. 

I can't let that happen.

Pink Hair, Tattoo, and a Nose Ring

I started my last semester of undergrad today.  I didn't even have to go to class yet because I only have one class on Tuesdays and Thursdays (but two research groups which won't start until next week or so).  I still think it's pretty weird that I'm actually finishing college.  I remember in 2006-2007 and even once or twice in 2008 when there was talk about me never being able to go back to school.  I had to do it though - I just had to finish.  And look at me now- graduating in April!

So Andrew and I had a little talk about his ex today.  I have been feeling a little insecure about the memories they shared and her attachment to his family still.  I felt like they remembered her fondly and spoke of his and her time together as "the good old days" almost.  I talked to my therapist about it because I wasn't sure if I was just being insecure and over-reacting.  She told me that as long as Andrew wasn't remembering their time together fondly, then nothing else about it should matter.  So I asked him.  He sort of chuckled and said that their break-up and the way she changed after that turned the memory of the best experience of his life to disgust.  Apparently, after the break-up she turned into a bit of a tramp, died her hair pink and got a tattoo and a nose ring, and he thought that was pretty trashy.  I laughed, because I have two of those elements.  I got a tattoo in my junior year of college when I was sick.  I thought the rush of pain would feel good, and that the decoration would help my disgusting body.  I regret it so much.  I hate it because it only reminds me of how fucked up I was.  I am sort of embarassed too because I know it doesn't look very professional.   Anywho, the other element I share with the ex-girlfriend is my hair.  I actually have red hair, but a few months ago I tried to bring out my color with some shine and lowlights.  The hairdresser put this bright pink color in my hair!  I left the salon hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought, and as soon as Andrew saw it he said "it's pink."  I burst into tears.  He made an appointment for me at another salon and the girl spent almost three hours trying to fix it.  There is really only a hint of pink in it now, thank god!

I'm trying to shorten these posts up a bit, and stick to stories that pertain to my recovery and keeping me in remission.  I think it's important to realize there are still ups and downs even now, but that is a part of everyday life.  It's not the end of the world if one day goes wrong; and, having downs doesn't mean a relapse as long as I bounce back.