Friday, August 21, 2015

Read Me

I'm amazed as to how long I've been writing.
I was forced to start this for my COM 101 class in 2008.
I think I wrote about food--(smirks, no surprise there).

It--somehow and you know what I'm not sure what made me want to start writing so openly on here--turned into a place where I shared my exploration in recovery. It turned into my best friend. Ya best friend. This simple little blog has always been there for me to pour my heart out to. To help me understand myself. My thoughts so plainly in black and white for me to read. See I like to talk but I don't like to listen--it's interesting when you listen to yourself. What are you really saying?

What I'm getting at is tonight I want to write about my night. I want to write about the fact that I had the guts and confidence to approach my favorite band after seeing them live. That I only had two drinks. That I didn't binge or purge tonight. That I felt like myself with people I used to put a front on for.

But when I write all of this and I start crying and laughing like a psycho at the same time because I don't know what to do with all of this emotion, I realize what I'm really writing is: I feel at home. At home in Vancouver (shudders) yes but mostly I feel at home with myself.

I'm constantly looking for belonging. I'm looking for acceptance. I want love. I want to be wanted. I want to be appreciated. I want to feel like someone. And with a lot of practice, tears, anger, drinking, eating disordering (totally a thing), money, therapy, and years of work I feel at home with myself.
There is no rush, there is no desperate pining for more: more love, more attention, more acceptance, more fucking food. I am. I just fucking am.

Letting go is something I've written about in here hundreds of time, with anger. If I could fucking let go I would. How do you let go? Those words vigorously typed out here while I succumb to tears. But that's exactly what I am finally fucking doing. I am living in the moment, I am changing my perspective, I am just here to enjoy my life.

Depressed me would want to punch me right now.
Easier said than done, but easy never got me anywhere.

I write in here about some very dark things, and some powerful emotions--and happiness, security, authenticity are among those powerful emotions.

The more I work to accept who I am, remove those things that don't align with who I want to be, the easier my life is getting.

I titled this "Read Me" because I will every so often comb my posts, the ones you read the most (that Face of Bulimia one pretty much kills it) and I ache for the girl that poured her heart out to an unknown audience hoping for some kind of acceptance.

And girl, I'm here to tell you, and remind you, that you can give yourself that acceptance.

Monday, August 17, 2015

I Figured Out What's Wrong With Me

Recently, I've been told more often than not by you all how much you appreciate my blog.
It means the world to me that you read and call me things like "brave" and "inspiring." Your comments are what keep me writing. It feels good to know that I'm heard, and perceived in the manner in which I intend: honest, flawed, hopeful, real.

I haven't written in a while because I have not felt I have anything useful to say. There is no epiphany, no morale of the story, no insane amount of feelings that needs to be purged onto the page.
And more often than not, I am having a hard time making sense of my feelings.

It's like when I am asked, "how are you?" I cannot answer. There's a blockage. I think back to therapy, when the tears and words flow so easily. I try to do the same in the comfort of my own room, the privacy of my desk, my car. And I just spin. I cannot connect. I get frustrated.

And I think it's because I do not actually want to feel what I feel. My mind is protecting me from feeling that deep, dark, loneliness that has haunted me since I was 12. I do it subconsciously, I do it routinely, I do it well.

I want everything to work out, I want to know what is going on, I want to have a path to follow. But every time I try to force my life down this path that I THINK I should be on, I get this stuck feeling in my mind. I want to avoid the feelings of anger, of dislike, of hurt because these feelings are telling me that what I'm pursuing isn't right for me. Isn't going to work. And that means I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore. That goal, that life, is not going to work for me and now I'm left with the unknown. And that is scary.

So I push myself down this path, invalidating who I am, ignoring my heart, the universe and it's signs in order to have some sense of safety. Some sense of worth. And yet the more I do these things, the more I feel less secure, and  like shit about myself.

I am reminded of this, "What you want and what you need are two different things." I need to get out of my own way and let it happen.

I have been listening to a lot of motivational speeches throughout the past month and something that stuck out to me was: in order to obtain your goals, you have to focus on the WHY not the WHAT. So why do you want a million dollars? That reason, the why, is what gets you up in the morning, the why has to be greater than all your excuses you have in your head.

And I've been realizing that I don't really have a goal, and I most certainly don't have a why. So I think that's why I'm so stuck. Why I make the same mistakes. Why I care so much about what other people think. Why I feel stuck. Because I have not found anything that drove me to want to do better and be better than my relationship. And now that that's over, I'm just idling. And I am ashamed that I don't have a self-righteous path. I guess it's because I don't see my worth. I can live for others, but I can't yet figure out how to live for myself.

I love the idea of being an independent woman. Of knowing who I am, what I want, being driven, passionate, dedicated, confident etc. but there, for whatever reason, is nothing driving anywhere. Nothing pulling at me. No passion. No goal. I just don't really care right now and I'm not sure how to find what that one thing is.

Thank you again to everyone who tells me they appreciate this. You are the reason I wrote today. And this helped to sort my thoughts, and also gave me a small sense of purpose, which I guess is what I'm looking for.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

What It Feels Like

As the anger dissipates the pain takes hold.
The tears swell and my throat tightens. 
I don't want to feel this way anymore. 
I'm sick of feeling this way.
I'm sick of thinking about you.
The only thing that seems to stop the thought of you is you. 
My strength, my determination, my pride flows out of my body with the tears.
I want comfort. I want you.
The thought of laying safe in your arms, overrules all logic. 
I can feel your body next to mine.
I know it. Every curve, muscle and scar.
I was once safe, I was once yours. 
The thought is too much.
My body braces as though ready to run.
I want to run to you.
Release the emotion in movement.
I'm frozen as my heart drops and reality sets in.
I can't.
There is no you anymore.

It's impossible to move forward when you can't stop looking back. 

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

I Just Want To Belong Somewhere.

I just want to belong somewhere. I want to matter to someone.

After 30 minutes of writing about my breakup, my move, and recovery that is what broke me. I ugly cried for what felt like forever.

I feel so insanely alone. The more I go to Seattle the more I feel I don’t belong. I ignore the sinking feeling I get when I feel disconnect but it’s there. My friends are changing, the city is changing, I am changing. And then I come here, and I don’t belong either. I lost my best friend, and with him all of his friends, our places and activities are haunted with what was, and I’m left with the ghost of what I thought I had. I don’t belong anywhere. I have never felt like I’ve belonged, and this feeling is the most painful for me.

I didn’t fit in in school, I was the friend that was picked on, I was the problem (am) the problem child in the family, work, sports teams whatever, I have never had a place. And now that hole that I’ve been trying to fill all of my life is gaping. I cannot hide, or fill it, or run from it anymore. Every time I try to, every time I go back and try to force things it doesn’t feel right and it doesn’t work. The pain of trying to force something to fill it  and failing is less than accepting what I have grown up believing is true: There is something wrong with me and I will never fit in.

My friend told me today something I really didn’t want to hear but I know is true: There’s a difference between what you want and what you need. And all I can really do right now is ask for the strength to accept what I need.

When I allow myself to feel, to give into the darkness and the emptiness that lives inside me, I completely lose myself. I open my mouth as if to scream and nothing comes out. I go blind. I can’t breathe. The feelings of my past come flooding into my body but my mind is black.  I curl into a ball and gasp for air. It hurts.

And I grieve for myself. And I beg to no one and yet everyone that it can’t be true. It can’t be true that I’m so terrible, that there is something so wrong with me, that I don’t have a home. I don’t belong. But this time around it’s really hard to pick myself up and try again. That is why I am having the hardest time of letting go.

I want nothing more than to belong. I want someone to call me and ask me to hang out. I want a group that isn’t complete without me. I want to be thought of. I want a person to sit in sweats all day with me and have unawkward silence with. And someone that I can tell stupid shit to and they actually care. I want to be someone’s someone.

I just want to belong somewhere. I want to matter to someone.

Monday, July 13, 2015

I Said Fuck In Front of a Grandma



I was in my head as I went into the locker room of my gym. Thoughts of whatthefuckamidoingwithmylife mixed with howdoIstopfeelingthisway and a hint of flashbacks to my ex take up most of my day, the breakup has been over 4 months now. Sigh.

Unknowingly I pull on my favorite cutoff and bitch face simultaneously. I walk to the mirror to do my hair. I don't know what I was thinking a about when I catch an older lady out of the corner of my eye gesturing to me.

"What could she possibly want me to do?" I think. I rip my headphones out dramatically, my nonverbal "I was fucking listening to that and YES I had them in to avoid humans like you."

And the 5th Golden Girl (and yes I'm writing this with the cutting tone I had earlier, I would never speak this way normally about people) asks me if I'm wearing my shirt because I am a chiropractor.

I look down at my skeleton cutoff, putting two and two together. And look back at her.

Her calm tone, smile, and adorable question make me realize I've had a bad attitude for a while, and that I'm being extremely rude, but the emotion her question evokes in me overpowers my manners.  I immediately feel embarrassed because no I am not a smart human that went to school for sciency stuff and gets paid a lot. I just bought this tee because it made me feel tough, I think it looks cool and it gives me a much needed confidence boost when lifting...basically it hides my insecurity. So of course I spit out. 

"No I'm too fucking stupid for that."

REALLY KRIS, REALLY!? You just said fuck in front of a nice old lady who is making small talk with you you asshole. 


I try to cover up my insecurity that I just spat in the all too quiet locker room with a laugh and a "I'm just a writer." 

Unphased, this ray of sunshine laughs and says, "Oh honey there is different kinds of smart. Somethings that one person is good at others aren't and so on, but we're all smart."

My iciness melts, and I break into a smile. Good for you lady, I think. And dude you're so right, and I tell her so. 


She continues to laugh and fluff her white hair and says I look pretty awesome in it. My spirits have lifted and I'm catching this woman's easy, positive energy and I jokingly say "Ya I'm smart, good-looking, and strong." And then I--oh Lord yes I'm admitting this--flex in front of her. She calls me the bionic woman and I tell her she's sweet.

I leave the locker room the best I've felt all day. I have the confidence to hold my head up as I walk to the squat machine and smile at those who pass me. I ask a trainer for help with a lift. I tell myself good job after a couple hard sets instead of thinking about getting sexier. 

What I'm getting at is I love moments like these, when I am reminded that life can be a little easier, a little more enjoyable if I let it. And no it's not that easy for me because my brain doesn't work that way, but seeing how a simple interaction, a smile, a change in perspective can really make my life easier is well now going to make my life a lot easier.


Friday, June 12, 2015

I Fucking Hate Love Songs.

Now that I'm single and going through what I can dramatically yet honestly call heartbreak -- I fucking hate love songs.

And yes it's because they remind me of what I thought I had, and what I thought was true (still working on how to work that out -- it looks something like radical acceptance, grieving, and a stark change in perspective).

But it's also because all they talk about is being reliant on the other person. NOT HEALTHY (said in Gru's voice from Despicable Me--watched that too many times lately--no, there's no such thing). Like I can't live without you. Fucking romanticizing codependency.

No, no, no.

And as I go through some of my playlists now I'm doing a major overhaul because sadly but not surprisingly most of the songs that used to make me happy make me sick. They remind me of my twisted, distorted view that I was supposed to throw myself into love and my relationship to be happy. My existence revolved around my other half, my Mr., my man.

GAH NO.

I can't say it enough. Seeing what happened to me when he left my life--how depressed, and seemingly incapable I was freaks me the fuck out. That just one person had such a hold on me. That I thought I was being a great girlfriend by being so dedicated (well yes loyalty and commitment is important) but just that I threw myself into the relationship with such abandon that I abandoned myself.

I mean it makes sense. I came here in early recovery, no friends, no car, no stability but him. So I can't blame myself but I can learn from, er--myself.

They always say you can't love anyone else until you love yourself. And that is so true. I couldn't find peace within me, I couldn't give myself grace, I couldn't give myself credit--I NEEDED him (and others) to tell me all of these things.

And now I'm learning how to do that. I think I bitched about not seeing how this was a good thing a while back, but now...I see the light ha no but really it's fucking great. Like I talked about before. I'm finally learning how to take care of myself emotionally and well physically (since we're on that subject--yay for eating) which I never learned before.

By doing the following:

-positive self talk (it feels really fake and stupid sometimes but my goodness it makes my days easier)
-learning how to ground when I start to spin in anxiety
-asking myself what I need (am I scared? how do I comfort that? am I lonely? let's call someone)
-distraction (not avoidance)
-and that's about it for now

I'm not sure if my posts are getting repetitive. I just have never seen life in this way and I am so damn excited about it (scared, scared should be put in there too). I've been posting a shitton of selfies and I'm proud of me statuses because I've never given myself credit for my looks or my efforts before and I'm in the honeymoon? stages of all these beautiful realizations. And also you folks are pretty damn nice and boost my spirits (hey I'm not that self-sufficient yet).

So while being so intertwined with someone you can't live without them (Twilight?) sounds romantic and what most of the media seems to tell us is what we should be searching for, the idea of being independent, confident and reliant on no one but myself is so sexy to me. Powerful.

So screw you Disney (but seriously I love your work---I just think it's fucked), and love songs, and Twilight. I'm out to be my own Prince Charming.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Mom, Look at What I Did!

I had no urge to write for months and now I'm flooded with thoughts.
I danced alone in my room for the first time in months.
I dance usually when I don't know what to do with my energy and emotions.
And it's not like interpretive dance -- rather Missy Elliot. Video to come. I swear.
I feel like I'm running, tripping, grabbing at everything I'm learning.

Yesterday at the gym I weighed myself and I didn't like what I saw.
I'm afraid I'm losing weight.
The thought overpowered me as I watched myself curl 20s (heck yes) seeing my muscles, lean and toned.
I discarded them--it's just because you're too skinny now they have to show through.
You're failing on your own again.
God haven't you learned by now?
I convinced myself that the guy behind me thought I was disgusting.
I hung my head in shame, forcing myself to look down as I moved through the gym.
It was my unspoken cue to everyone that I know I'm shameful, so please for the love of God don't tell me.

I began to panic as the thoughts raced in louder and faster, feeding off each other. I couldn't control my mind--again.
Most days I feel out of control. No matter how hard I try to make lists, plan my day, set reminders -- control, control, control I can't.
The more I try to control, the more I lose control.

People always say (mainly my mom's voice comes into my head) "I wish you could just let go."

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? I can't. I can't just let go. Don't you think if I could I fucking would?

But yesterday something clicked. I realized the more lists I make, the more I try to negate what will inevitably happen, the more I shun my ADD brain and try to shut it down the more I spiral out of control.

So yesterday when my mind was spinning and my heart was pounding I told myself that these are the moments that matter--this is where you do something different, this is where you try, this is where you grow.

And I put back the weights, and I did some yoga and noticed the thoughts without judgement and tried to recenter myself. I made the scary decision to scan my body, connect with it (real hard for me). And I turned my music up loud. The pulsing beat, feeling my body's natural pull towards balance--I calmed.

I got up smiling. I FUCKING DID IT. The thoughts did not consume me. I was not powerless. I actually do have control.

I have been acting like life is happening to me, and I'm helpless. Moments like these and a lot of Beyonce and Britney remind me that I am stronger than I think.

So I got back up and finished my workout with my head held high and my heart a little more whole.