To the Most Important Guy in My Life

I love you, I really do. I have also contemplated throwing you into the lake with a couple anchors attached and watch you struggle. You have been there for me, you have laughed at me, you have seen me cry, and have even let me pluck your eyebrows.

You throw cups of water at me, and laugh at me when I trip and fall. You are also the first one to run and jump up when I actually get hurt or need something. When I left an old outpatient appointment one time crying he looked me dead in the face and said, “What happened in there? Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”.

Some of our conversations are as follows:

“Dude, you fucking suck at catching.”

“Maybe if you could throw a God damn ball worth shit.”

“You’re the one who just threw it in the fucking lake, go get it!”

“I’m gonna fall in….”

“….well, don’t.”

*spits*

“Ewww that’s nasty! Nasty ass!”

“Shut up, it’s from that nasty drink.”

“Want some of my water?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Wanna go throw again?”

My brother is one of those shit heads I joke that I would gladly hand over in a heartbeat. Anyone who knows me knows that I would fight tooth and nail for any of my siblings without thinking twice. This year my brother started working for me, at first I was hesitant… Would he make it? Would he annoy the shit out of me?

The answer was inevitably, “YES”. We have laughed our asses off, yelled at each other, ignored each other and went paddle boarding together. When I was at work and got hurt, he was the first one to rush over, no hesitation at all.

He knows about my eating disorder, and we talk about it.

“So, why don’t you just go to outpatient for me today.”

“Will they feed me? Hell yeah, alright.”

When he goes up to the store he will get me an apple, or something, and keeps me in mind. We make jokes about how he can eat all of my starches and fat.

He called my ex a “total dumbass”. Him and I went out of town and I didn’t eat all day. My brother thought he was a complete idiot. “If that was you and I, there is no way I would let you go a whole day without eating. First of all, I’d be fucking starving, plus your ass has to eat.”

I also randomly left town a week or so ago after work, and headed to the beach. I stopped by my house, threw clothes at my brother, who shoved them in a bag. All that was left to do was drop him off at his house and I was good to leave for the beach. As I’m dropping him off at the house he looks at me and says, “So, no clue where you are going, but I threw your stuffed flamingo in your bag too.”

Damn, my brother knows me so well. 🙂

Why Not Me

Ever since I was little, I wanted to take the pain away. Not just an acute injury that might have me sitting on the couch with ice and a lollipop for a while, real pain.

I never wanted to see anybody upset, hurt, or in pain- especially at me.

For many years, and even today, when somebody is hurting I immediately deem that unacceptable and want them to instantaneously be better, cured, pain free. There have been many people in my life who have had misfortunes and been in pain for various reasons.

One who has awful Crones disease, and I’ve wished and prayed it would go away, even if that meant giving it to me. I’d rather take the flares and pain, than see her suffer.

An amazing couple unable to have kids, I’ve hoped for the longest time she would get pregnant, even if that meant me never having any. Watching them become an amazing family.

One of my girls in afterschool who’s mom was absolutely no good. Came to school on more than one occasion with a bruise, stitches. I wanted nothing more to swoop her up, take her with me, or take on her pain myself.

To one of the most amazing people in my life, she busted her shoulder badly and had to have surgery. I prayed so many times that I would have been the one to fall, or that I could somehow take the pain so she could move without hesitation.

For the longest time I have also had the mentality of “Why not me?”

I hate to see others in pain, I want to take it away so badly, help everyone, even take it on myself. Even though I can barely take care of myself currently without help from others.

My Facade of Resting Bitch Face. Recovery

To the untrained eye I could be the epitome of resting bitch face who takes no shit and is in charge. I am loud, quick to respond, quicker to sass and with the mouth of a sailor. I am a very independent, tough, stubborn and, at times, even angry person. I’ve worked tirelessly for many years to accomplish such a façade that one could deem unfavorable or covetous- depending on who you are. I take pride in the fact I work to the point of exhaustion, try my damnedest to never rely on anyone or need anything because “I have it handled” and, “Just get out of my way, I’ll do it.”, is my constant mentality.

So what happens when I am faced with something, such as my eating disorder, which seems to be insurmountable? When the humbling experience of realizing that no, I really don’t “have it handled”, creeps into my mind slowly, then all at once. When my perfunctory routine that I had claimed as “living” in becomes so exhausting but comfortable simultaneously.

There are many times and many days that I have no faith in myself. I question my recovery, my own determination and my own willingness so many times. The mindset that has been with me for many years is one I still fight, being leery of anyone who tries to become too close; certain they will either fuck me over, or just want something. Opening up, being vulnerable, these things are more terrifying than just handling whatever life throws at me on my own.

I desperately want, yearn, and strive to be good enough in the eyes of my mother. To be good enough for her. Feel worthy in her eyes, and get credit and acknowledgement for my accomplishments; which I know will never happen. Indentured to her wishes and expectations at the age of 8 when my brother was born and the bar of perfectionism seemed to be raised higher. When I don’t even have confidence and faith in myself and my abilities, I am so thankful for the people in my life that do believe in me and my recovery efforts.

To the people in my life that are there for me, words cannot ever express the importance you play in my life. Through the peppy/happy times and the discouraging/disappointing times the love, help, support is staggering. I sit on the edge of my seat, waiting for everyone to concurrently stand up, pack their stuff and remove themselves from my life. As if my life is indistinguishable from a theater, waiting for the end where everyone gets up together, lining up to leave in a line and promenade their way out into the streets; finished. My mother would be in the very back of the line, sauntering her way towards the exit too. She would watch everyone leave, looking back towards me, as one last stab, so she could bring up the rear, reassured that I was left alone in the empty theater of my life.

That, has yet to happen though, even with my bitchy avail to those who don’t deserve it. I feel unworthy to those people in my life who do care, I always fall back on the one question, “Why do you care?” and “Why me?” It is an instantaneous jolt of guilt and love that I feel wash over me along with an immense amount of appreciation towards these people. (I’m babbling, and my writing is going downhill fast).

The ability to look someone in the face, be 100% honest, candid, hold nothing back, be unable to lie to them because it doesn’t feel right. It is one of the most nerve wracking and freeing things. Knowing that what I did isn’t beneficial to my recovery, having to fess up and be honest. Also knowing (and hoping), that they are concerned out of love and not just to reprimand me. Being understanding and not critical. Doesn’t mean it is easy to sit there and openly admit when you fuck up, but having that as an option with someone.

Sitting outside with me, eating something scary with me, the hugs, tears, laughs, stories. These are the things that have impacted my relationships with others, as well as aid in my recovery. From motherly figures to best friends to support teams and roommates; I love my space and my independent nature, but it still feels good to have someone there.

(There will be another entry about this soon, just way too tired)

What Health Looks Like To Me

What does health look like to me

To obtain health, or to be healthy. What does it mean?

Does it mean that for another day your heart and the surrounding organs that are housed in an enclosure of skin and bones are able to keep you going one more day? That for an unknown amount of time the blood circulating through out your system is still able to make the continual crawl from the heart to the limbs and back.

The constant synchronized cluster-fuck of organized chaotic systems all relying on each other; waiting for the day that one part decides to no longer hold up it’s part of the deal and gives in.

The concept of being healthy, can be skewed and vary on individualized needs.

When asked the question of what health looks like to me, my off the cuff answer was reflective of my desires: the idealistic/perfectionistic body image. Toned stomach, toned and muscular arms and legs, be fit, but simultaneously I want to weigh less than what I currently do. I want to lose weight, while trying to gain muscle and become more fit. So, trying to accomplish the impossible.

Being healthy shouldn’t necessarily be all about body image and weight, when thinking about health, in regards to anyone other than myself, health varies. To some becoming more healthy could mean just taking ten minutes to go on a walk, to others maybe it is going to the gym, only smoking a pack a day, or eating several times a day. Health is not one of those “One size fits all” general label that can cover the entire spectrum of people and their needs.

Healthy, in my mind, can be correlated with not only happiness, but I also relate it to being capable. People that are considered healthy, are able and capable of doing many things. Backpacking, hiking, traveling, marathons, etc. These people, regardless of weight, are able to go out and enjoy life, accomplish their goals, achieve their dreams and venture out into their passions.

As a society we enjoy constantly putting people in a categorized box of some sort, filing them away in an organized fashion. Able to decipher who is worthy of this, or qualifies for that; health is also one of the many boxes people get shoved into based on their abilities.  Are there any diseases or illnesses, or is the person medically “healthy”. Even some of the basis that people rely on to conclude if someone is healthy is skewed, such as BMI. Also having the questionnaires of “Is the individual healthy enough to:…..” which categorizes someone’s health based on their physical abilities (ex: walk, swim, stand for prolonged periods).

Mental health, self-compassion, self-acceptance, etc. I think of healthy as someone who is comfortable in their skin, they take care of themselves in whatever way is needed for them. I picture balance. Balance between eating and working out, socializing and eating, being able to do stuff. Nobody can put a general “one fits all”, “all purpose” label on the term healthy. Health, can be such a gray area and vary from person to person depending on their needs.