Solving a Problem by Creating a New One

Rehashing through my sexual history can seem amusing or entertaining to most (sometimes to me too,) but quite honestly it takes quite a mental toll on me. 

I’ve been busy fucking up my relationship and trying to keep it together. Quite the hypocrite aren’t I? ( not really fucking it up, I’ve just been PMSing and shit has been rough my depression blah blah blah trouble in paradise.) 

ANYWHO my brain had to take a break from Paul. I don’t think about or talk about him… So yeah I needed to set that aside for a little while. Writing helps me sort through things. Sift out the tiny details that I missed or make sense of a situation I was too close to to understand. When I wrote about my past and my experiences it’s not always pleasant. It needs to be done though, it does help me ventilate issues I won’t talk about. 

One of the major issues in my life besides my taste in men and my skanky decisions, is my eating disorder. I suffered under its reign from 2005/2006 (that would have been my eighth grade year) till current (2015). I must admit, my eating has gotten better in the past two years but I still struggle and have bad months every once in a while. 

I never had a good body image or good self confidence. I was always the strawberry blonde, freckled, fat kid. I didn’t really become “attractive” per say until I reached my senior year of high school. (That’s my own opinion. I’ve been told otherwise.) My parents were going through a tough time after my eighth grade year. My grandfather had passed away whom I was very close with and my sister was off at college getting DUI’s and failing classes and spending lots of money. Plus my parents had their own issues. 

My dad would drive me to school in the morning and bitch about my sister and my mom. My anxiety and the pressure from listening to a 40 year old guys problems crippled me and a lot of times I’d throw up once inside the school. I always thought it was nerves or my anxiety or whatever but once I realized how much better I felt after throwing up I started to make myself throw up whenever I felt an anxiety attack coming. (I later learned it was a coping mechanism and sometimes a trigger for anxiety attacks.) 

Then after school my mom would pick me up and is listen to her. I was always back and forth between the two. A owl, a messenger a tennis ball being belted from one player to the next and crashing against the ground only to be whacked again. 

When a girl and her friends in the hall at school made vomiting noises at me after I came out of the bathroom I knew my habbit had gotten worse. 

You’re still fat,” I remember her saying the further I got away from her the better. But her words clung to the back of my brain like a leech and I’ll always remember that. I started making myself throw up more. Even when I wasn’t having anxiety. I was hiding it at home. I’d turn on the water in the bathroom and throw up. When that became a problem I learned how to throw up almost silently. 

By the end of my freshman year every time I threw up it felt worse and worse until one day I threw up blood. It terrified me so bad I stopped puking for a week. The next time I forced myself to puke my throat felt raw and tired. “I can’t keep doing this, what if I die,” I remember talking to myself. That was the first time I thought dying might not be so awful. 

A friend Tara, cut herself a lot and when she was trying to stop or ran out of room to cut herself in places that could be hidden she used a tight hair tie to snap her wrist when she felt the urge. Conditioning yourself to stop. It worked a little for me but I found the best way was not to eat. If I didn’t eat I’d have nothing to throw up. 

I had “solved” one problem and created another. How did I deal with my anxiety? I started cutting. It was easy to do. It made everything in my head go dark and quiet, like laying your head on cool tile in a dark bathroom when you have a migraine. 

By my sophomore year I had lost a significant amount of weight and had been rollerblading everyday at my brothers football practices. I got a lot of response from my family and friends and people at school. “You’re so thin,” “wow you got skinny so fast,” “you look the best you ever have,” “I was worried you’d turn out like your sister.” 

It only made me feel better. Reinforced my need to grow thinner. Vain. I know. Then it became so much more. Every time my parents would fight or use me for a councilor I wanted to disappear. I wanted to hide. I didn’t want anyone to talk to me about their problems because I could barely manage my own. 

My sister had gone to school out in west Texas and got a warrant out for her arrest for writing a hot check. I remember my dad blowing up. He was never happy. He made my younger brother cry. I didn’t want to talk to my dad, I didn’t want to exist when he was around. I was painfully aware of my parents financial situation. I knew how much they paid for everything. In stride, I never asked for anything. 

So when Kathleen told the people she told at our church who then told my parents they were ready to send me off to a inpatient treatment center. I felt so selfish and awful I didn’t deserve to recover or get help. It was too expensive. I objected till the final day that I walked into the facility and my parents turned me over. It felt as if I were punishing them financially for something I was doing to myself. 

I really hated myself for it and sometimes when I think about it, I still feel guilty for letting them try to help me. 

** image used with this post is not my own. It was downloaded from the interwebs. 

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I Learn Lessons The Hard Way

Before the end of my junior year is when I met Patrick.  Patrick and I started dating after Zoe and I broke up. Patrick was a year older and graduated that year. We hit it off pretty well. He went out of his way to hang out wth me and spend time with me.

Patrick was an important chapter in my life but unfortunately I didn’t learn the MOST important lesson with him. I had to repeat the atrocity to really learn. 

Patrick was unlike any of the guys I dated. Skinny, scrawny, very intelligent and abusive. The abusive part didn’t start till after we had been together for a while. I’m not entirely sure how into detail I can allow myself on the subject. I love to believe I’m a stronger woman because of my experiences but I still to this day can not look at the couch in my mothers den without wanting to shed a few tears for my naive stupid 17 year old self. 

He was charming, went WAY out of his way to see me and hang out with me. Introduced me to a ton of his friends and I became apart of their circle. They respected Patrick. We smoked a lot together and fooled around in his pick up before school most mornings. He had my family fooled and loving him. 

The first time it happened (right after school was out for the summer before I turned 17) we were at a book store not far from Patrick and his friends neighborhood. I was in a skirt and in the book store Patrick tried to finger me in between one of the isles. I wasn’t really okay with that seeing as I didn’t want to get caught and although I’m quite the sex addict I don’t find public displays of THAT nature okay. Plus it was not discussed he just started to do it and I had to push him off and he got. Mad. Very. Very. Mad. 

We left the book store and were walking back to Luke’s house when I asked Patrick why he was mad and he turned around and punched me in my stomach. It knocked me off my feet and onto the sidewalk. He grabbed my face with his hand and sneered at me to never reject him to never disrespect him. “Next time will be worse.” 

Shocked and scared and very fucking confused I walked silently back and called my dad and asked him to come pick me up. He said he would. Patrick cried outside of lukes house while I waited for my dad to come get me. 

He cried and told me how sorry he was and to forgive him and he lost his temper and he’d never do that to me again. He begged me not to tell anyone. So I didn’t. That was awfully stupid of me.

Patrick told me about the college was accepted to and that he was going out of state. We had sex for the first time and he gave me his favorite tshirt. 

(I should mention after my trip to Santa Monica I started starving myself again and throwing up sometimes. I was spiraling out of control. So now this on top of that. My boyfriend leaving did not help anything.) 

So Patrick left and my senior year began. I hung out with Felicia more than ever. I skipped school. We starved together. We were pretty inseparable. I still hung out with Farrah and she helped me through a lot of my boy drama. 

My friend from the eating disorder clinic, October. She committed suicide in August. It devestated me. (I’ll write about that soon.) When I called and tried to talk to Patrick he was on his way to the beach and couldn’t talk to me. Shortly after in September my friend Preben was hit by a pick up while on his skateboard. (That’s another post for another day.) He didn’t last long in life support and died. Patrick was of no help and no where to be found. Never texted or called and when he did he was distracted. I needed someone and I felt alone. 

My friends did what they could but nothing helped. Neither did church. I had to go for a confirmation retreat over a weekend in October. You’re suppose to feel different and enlightened or something. All I felt was confused. Plus both Greg and Frank were there which did not help. Greg and I became closer friends though. I also thanked Kathleen for telling on me even though at the time before that I hated her for it. 

When she asked me if I was relapsing I lied and told her no. I didn’t want my secret told this time around.

I went back to school and talked to Ralph in my English class a lot. He smoked with me and I tried cocain with him. We became fast friends but even though I was attracted to him I never tried anything and neither did he. 

Patrick came home over break and even though I was mad I still wanted to be with him. His mom took us out to eat and when we went back to their house and we were alone in Patrick’s room he pinned me down and fucked me. I was terrified and excited by the experience. Although I never came, I was more frightened than anything else. 

When Christmas came around Patrick came back home but had been fighting with his family and had no where to stay so my family welcomed him into our home. He stayed with his friends a few nights but two nights before Christmas Patrick and I were in the den on the couch with my dad in the other room. We had a movie on. He had made me upset earlier that day.  (I don’t even remember what made me upset.) he went to kiss me and I turned my fave. Bad idea. His hand slapped over my mouth and he forced me face down into the couch. Before I knew it he was already on top of me.

Now. I still to this day don’t know why I didn’t make noise. Why I didn’t call for help. Why I lay there not moving through the pain. My dad was in the next room. He could’ve easily stopped it. But.. I didn’t. 

He apologized the next morning. I forgave him. He went to Christmas at my grandmas house and then he went to see his mom who then took him to the air port. It was awkward the time I was with him and after he went home he was distant and mean to me over text and phone. We fought constantly. 

I finally broke up with him at the end of January. He tried to commit suicide while I was at school one day and I had to call his mom from the councilors office. I cried so hard feeling responsible when I shouldn’t have felt a lick of remorse for him. It was just another manipulative move on his part. I was a wreck. It was a mess. I couldn’t seem to catch a break. Emotionally unstable I began cutting myself on top of starving. 

Then. The “knight in shining armor” swooped back into my life, you guessed it. Greg. He got me a Valentine’s present even though we weren’t dating and he talked to me on the phone at all hours of the night when id wake up from nightmares or couldn’t sleep. 

He was my number one supporter as far as men in my life. Felicia was on and off there for me and Farrah helped me as much as I allowed her to. My other friends felt like more of aquaintences. Before prom Padme came back into my life and I realize I left her out of my earlier posts but I’m kind of flashing through my high school years because my memory of it all isn’t the best and I’m not exactly proud of it all either.

Padme, she came back into my life via a letter through Facebook and it messed me up emotionally…. again.