I've started many a blog post out like this, so here's another one.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT FUNNY, SNARKY OR LIGHT. THIS IS HEAVY, HEAVY SHIT ON AN INTENSELY PERSONAL TOPIC.
I never knew losing weight would lead to so much pain.
For me, being obese was a symptom of addiction, and hurts that were so deep I didn't even know they existed. After losing 100#, I thought I'd already come through the storm. I'm coming up on the two year anniversary of leaving my husband, I've lost all my friends, my family barely speaks to me, and I completely changed my life, including my career path. One would think that might suffice on the pain scale. Apparently, I was dead wrong. All of those events and choices were just a warm up for what I'm about to go through.
Everyone who follows my blog, or knows me, knows that I've battled a food addiction, and am winning at the moment. Although, it is always lurking in the shadows waiting for the opportune moment to swallow me back up. Sometimes my God does things for me to help me along. This time, he laid anxiety on me that literally has inhibited my ability to turn to food for comfort in my time of pain. It's the ultimate irony, really. The one thing that could make me feel better, my drug, makes me violently sick. I know how junkies feel when they take a hit and it makes them puke. I digress.
My decision to share this isn't a hard one for me. I'm a private person, but when I have a public platform that should be addressed through my own experiences, I'll put it out there for the world.
I've spent my entire life the child of not only an alcoholic, but a drug addict. I don't remember much of my childhood, and for good reason. For probably the first time in my life, I'm trying to own that I was abused in various ways by my father, who was likely too high or drunk to remember any of it. My brain has locked up my memories to a certain age, and what I do have is memories of shame and humiliation and fear, always fear. He's a pathological, habitual abuser, who didn't start with me and didn't stop with me. But the monster that lives in my mind is rather quickly becoming more than I can bear. It's changed me from the happy, healthy person I had become, to someone who is full of anger and resentment. And for the time being, it has destroyed my ability to be with the one person who loves me and supports me, and has wrecked the little life I've built for myself here.
I have spent so many years in denial over his addiction, my addiction, and my role as an abused child. Now that I'm old enough, God has seen fit to make me strong enough to say it out loud, to own it.
All the people I've lost and war I've already fought was just the spring preview game. I thought when I mourned the loss of the fat girl i used to be, the friends I used have, the man I used to love, that I'd be done. It turns out, confronting the monster that made me, and then mourning him while he's still living, letting go of my guilt and shame, will be like standing in the middle of a hurricane. I'm going going to say it once, and then never again. I'm a victim of just about every kind of abuse that exists. But that monster is no match for me. I'm may be just getting warmed up, but by God, I will rip your arms off and beat you with them, and then watch you bleed to death in the floor. And when you're dead, I'll walk away, close the door, and burn the fucking house down around your body. You don't own me anymore.
DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT FUNNY, SNARKY OR LIGHT. THIS IS HEAVY, HEAVY SHIT ON AN INTENSELY PERSONAL TOPIC.
I never knew losing weight would lead to so much pain.
For me, being obese was a symptom of addiction, and hurts that were so deep I didn't even know they existed. After losing 100#, I thought I'd already come through the storm. I'm coming up on the two year anniversary of leaving my husband, I've lost all my friends, my family barely speaks to me, and I completely changed my life, including my career path. One would think that might suffice on the pain scale. Apparently, I was dead wrong. All of those events and choices were just a warm up for what I'm about to go through.
Everyone who follows my blog, or knows me, knows that I've battled a food addiction, and am winning at the moment. Although, it is always lurking in the shadows waiting for the opportune moment to swallow me back up. Sometimes my God does things for me to help me along. This time, he laid anxiety on me that literally has inhibited my ability to turn to food for comfort in my time of pain. It's the ultimate irony, really. The one thing that could make me feel better, my drug, makes me violently sick. I know how junkies feel when they take a hit and it makes them puke. I digress.
My decision to share this isn't a hard one for me. I'm a private person, but when I have a public platform that should be addressed through my own experiences, I'll put it out there for the world.
I've spent my entire life the child of not only an alcoholic, but a drug addict. I don't remember much of my childhood, and for good reason. For probably the first time in my life, I'm trying to own that I was abused in various ways by my father, who was likely too high or drunk to remember any of it. My brain has locked up my memories to a certain age, and what I do have is memories of shame and humiliation and fear, always fear. He's a pathological, habitual abuser, who didn't start with me and didn't stop with me. But the monster that lives in my mind is rather quickly becoming more than I can bear. It's changed me from the happy, healthy person I had become, to someone who is full of anger and resentment. And for the time being, it has destroyed my ability to be with the one person who loves me and supports me, and has wrecked the little life I've built for myself here.
I have spent so many years in denial over his addiction, my addiction, and my role as an abused child. Now that I'm old enough, God has seen fit to make me strong enough to say it out loud, to own it.
All the people I've lost and war I've already fought was just the spring preview game. I thought when I mourned the loss of the fat girl i used to be, the friends I used have, the man I used to love, that I'd be done. It turns out, confronting the monster that made me, and then mourning him while he's still living, letting go of my guilt and shame, will be like standing in the middle of a hurricane. I'm going going to say it once, and then never again. I'm a victim of just about every kind of abuse that exists. But that monster is no match for me. I'm may be just getting warmed up, but by God, I will rip your arms off and beat you with them, and then watch you bleed to death in the floor. And when you're dead, I'll walk away, close the door, and burn the fucking house down around your body. You don't own me anymore.
You're an incredibly strong woman. One who I've looked up to as a great example for a long time. I'm so sorry about everything that you went through as a child, and growing up, and that it's still with you to this day. It doesn't seem fair that with everything that you've gone through, you're still having to fight off living ghosts, but you're going to come out on top. You're going to come out a skinny bitch. ;) And you're going to have a great and fulfilled life in the end. You're on a great path, just keep running. <3
ReplyDeleteThanks so much that, Rachel. If it seems like I'm sad or a little bit lost, it's because I really am. I'm trying to get back on my path, I just have to take a detour for a while. Today's run was weird for me. I didn't have my gps, and I just kind of ran wherever and took my time and didn't worry about how fast I was going or even where I was going, I was just running(read that n ur best Forrest Gump accent).
ReplyDeleteI want happiness and love and trust. And if I truly am to have those things, I have to deal with this crap. I think the world better watch out when I I'm done!