The title of this blog comes from an episode of the show ‘Friends’. Basically, Monica buys some really beautiful, really expensive boots. She tells Chandler that the expense is ok – she can wear them with everything. Of course, the first time she wears them, she finds out that they are super uncomfortable! But determined not to lose face, she keeps pretending to wear them. She finally gets caught out after Chandler makes her wear them to a work function – and they have to walk a fair distance. She gives up, tells the truth and takes them off…and then promptly lusts after the same pair in a different colour that are on sale! Continue reading
A gorgeous young woman, full of grace and joy and wearing a beautiful white dress, is escorted down the aisle by her Father. A handsome young man anxiously awaits her arrival, ready for the life together as a new family to begin. There is a kiss, and confetti , and a slow dance…and so much love and joy.
Fast forward, and the woman’s pregnant belly is blossoming before her, and her husband wraps his arms around it. First, a baby boy is born, followed a few years later by his little sister. There are tears as these new lives begin, but tears of great joy and love.
They are happy. They are fulfilled. They work hard, but not too much. They enjoy spending as much time as they can together.
This is a family full of respect, joy, love and compassion…this is the dream.
A feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else’s possessions, qualities, or luck. Verb
Desire to have a quality, possession, or other attribute belonging to (someone else): “he envied tall people”; “I envy Jane her happiness”.
You know how sometimes it can feel like you’re not living you life, you are merely a spectator? And at other times you feel like you don’t have a life at all – no friends, nothing
good happening? And you sit and you wonder and you think…how did I get here?
I saw a movie today, and it changed me. Just in this moment…I know it will fade. Right now, though, things are clear. I constantly complain that no one asks me out to anything. I’ve always blamed them for not thinking of me, but maybe I haven’t put myself out there. Maybe I haven’t shown that I’m free, that I’m keen, that I will turn up. I talk a lot, but I’m actually really shy. New people, new experiences…they scare the crap out of me. So, this is me putting it out there: I want to see people and go places and be slightly crazy. I don’t need to be wrapped in cotton wool – it only makes things worse. I know I can be encased in the relationship bubble, which is why I need my friends to help burst it (and by that, I mean, drag me out of the house to be young women in the prime of our lives!).
Please don’t let me quit therapy. I know sometimes I go on about how my therapist sucks, but I think it’s got more to do with the fact that (for whatever reason) I don’t want to be truly honest with her…like I think I should be ‘healed’ already and move on with it. The thing is, we’re just getting to the important part. I’ve dealt with the overwhelming tragedy of my abuse, but not with the everyday reflexes that are there in my life because of it. So please, I am begging you do not let me quit therapy. or change uni courses (again).
I am so lucky to know you. In real life and in cyber space (although, sometimes I think we’re more ‘real’ online…but that’s another post!) I am lucky to have crazy, awesome people who love me and annoy me. I am so young. I have my whole life ahead of me. I can do whatever I want, become whoever I want to be. This is a bit of a rambling letter / post, I know…but the point is this: we accept the love we think we deserve. And we all deserve to be wonderfully loved. So learn to love yourself,including all the things you think are flaws and failings, so that you will accept no less than that.
There is a word that people with my conditions hate.
It sits in the pit of my stomach, heavy with foreboding.
It gets stuck in my throat…I just can’t get the syllables out.
It’s the scariest word I have in my vocabulary. This year, Fiancé and several of my friends have gone down the paths of full blown relapse – hospital stays, concerned looks, confusion and desperation. I am not there yet – but I am on my way down that slippery slope again.
It began sometime after Fiancé was discharged. I don’t really know why or how or when, but at some point everything has become screwed up again. The voices in my head are there, whispering and niggling. Not screaming like they use to, but there. I am crying more and eating less. I find that I could stay in bed all day. I am anxious and angry and agitated. It has been better, it could get a lot worse. So here is the next scary word…
I create what I think and feel, and am in control of what I do or do not do. The same is true for you. We need only note the impact of our reality on each other. – Internal Boundary Statement, SPP Client Handbook
My responsibility is first and foremost to myself. I’ve spent a lot of time over the past few months taking on other people’s problems as my own. Seemingly contradictory, I have become more insular and withdrawn into myself. I have let my therapist convince me of things that she can’t possibly know as true, because that’s what I wanted to hear. I have not asked for my needs to be met. I have not been responsible for myself, and I know if I continue not doing so that the ED voices will completely overwhelm me again and I do not want to become sick again. So my responsibility is to find a therapist who will work within reality. My responsibility is to reach out when I need help. My responsibility is to love my friends and family (and the best way I can do that is to love myself). My responsibility is to keep continuing down the road of…
A relapse, however small or great, is not the ‘death’ of recovery. It is a setback, a hurdle to overcome. I love recovery. I love the joy and life and hope it brings. I love the feeling of being ‘able’. I am willing to do most anything to reclaim my life. They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. And I do. And I will NOT be overcome by it.
I have been avoiding writing this post, most because the reasons behind it had me ugly crying for the second time in less the a month. So I’m going to start off with a bit of rant about the romantic comedy/drama genre (which has been inspired by post on both KiKi&Tea and Mamamia).
***** ***** *****
I have to confess that I used to love romance films. I devoured them. Whenever I went to the movies, they’re what I wanted to see – boy meets girl, they fall in love, there is a misunderstanding / catastrophe of some sort, they sort it out and get married in a gorgeous ceremony. I would laugh, I would cry and I would leave the cinema feeling full of hope and joy. For many years, my favourite of all of these was ‘A Walk To Remember’, which though incredibly sad, sparked my fascination with Nicholas Sparks (see what I did there?) who is also credited with such marvels as ‘Dear John’, ‘The Last Song’ and of course ‘The Notebook’. All epic romances that featured pretty normal people – people that I could identify with.
And there’s the rub.
Of course, it’s not Mr Spark’s fault that I had a hard time separating fiction and reality (Stephanie Meyer and Jodi Picoult are also partly to blame), but that’s what happened. I was convinced that I just had to wait and everything would turn out fine. That my story would turn into something epic that people would talk about forever. I was utterly convinced that I would marry my ‘highschool sweetheart’ that for a better part of year, I ignored the fact that he was cheating on me. I knew he would realise the error of his ways and come back to me. It didn’t happen, I screamed at him, he sent my abusive messages and now…well now he is reformed (from what I can tell) and is marrying the sweetest girl ever (who is not me, by the way).
This rant has a point: somewhere along the way, someone forgot to mention to me that real life doesn’t happen like fiction. And, it’s also my own responsibility now to make sure I live in the real world. Which brings us to ugly crying…
***** ***** *****
In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to have this particular conversation with darling Fiancé this week. But I had to, because I’d started planning again. Like, actual, serious, “we’re probably going to get married next November” planning. Because I believed for some insane reason, that he would magically be ready. He isn’t, of course, because real life doesn’t happen like that. So I was ugly crying and screaming that I wanted my special day – for something to go right for me once in my life. (because i’m kind of an insensitive bitch when I’m hormonal and dreams have been…delayed…again). My therapist asked me this week if I’m staying with him because I want to get married or because I love him. I know I love him, but I’ve still had to think that question over this week and I know that if I ever can’t immediately respond with “I love him” then I should leave.
For now, there is a plan. On my end, I am going to work on detaching myself from the problems of my parents, as well as working on the whole living in reality thing. On his end, he’s going to continue to work on his budgeting and his overwhelming need to ‘provide’. Together, we’re going to work on supporting each other, taking turns to talk and cry and comfort (but not placate). We can do this – I am certain of it. I love him. He loves me. We care for each, we ‘see’ each other.
Hollywood can go bite itself.
It’s no secret that Fiancé (and I) have mental health problems – depression, anxiety and various non-illegal (but still ‘dangerous’) addictions. For one year and nine months, we have been each other carers. Lately, as I’ve gotten better and he has relapsed (and then spurned forth in early recovery) the main ‘caring’ has fallen to me. Added to this is the fact that my mum is also acutely unwell (and refusing to recognise it) … well, I have a lot on plate.
The role is unofficial – I receive no money from centerlink, no respite. Everyday, I wage war against the diseases and the diagnosis and I try to help two of the people I love the most out of the dark depths. Some days are great – Fiancé and I play putt putt and laugh all evening; Mum and I go shopping and talk all day. Other days are not so good – Fiancé shuts down; Mum bursts into tears at the drop of a hat. And every day I’m there, in my own recovery and doing uni, just wishing, hoping and praying that they will get better. Not just so that my life would be a little easier, but so that they would be able to do what they really want to do.
Fiancé is, thankfully, having more good days than bad at the moment. He is taking control of his therapy, of his life. I love it. I love seeing him shine through the darkness that has consumed him for most of this year. Mum, I think, is getting worse. But I can’t do anymore to help her than I already am. I can’t force her into treatment that she doesn’t even recognise she needs.
I did not write this post for sympathy. I just wanted to share. Each day is a battle, and a balancing act. Helping the people I love, while taking care of myself. Sometimes, I wish I could save them, but in the end they have to save themselves.