Denial Island

I live on an island, you may have heard of it. The Island of Denial. Some of you have stopped by to visit. Maybe a day trip or two. Some of you have a condo that you might visit more often or a seasonal cottage in the woods. But I, well, I live smackdown in the  middle of the island in a penthouse apartment. I am the mayor of Denial Island!

Right now, I’m in denial that I have a real eating disorder. Notice I put the word “real” in there. DENIAL. I’m eating less calories but I wouldn’t consider it actually restricting. I’m walking a few miles a day but it’s all because I LOVE walking. It’s okay that I skip a meal here or there. It’s really no big deal. And binging and purging once or twice a week really isn’t all that bad! 

Oh man…. I can hear my therapist now… DENIAL!

What has happened, I’ve allowed myself to get very comfortable on this island. Sometimes, so comfortable I’m in such denial that I’m sometimes forgetting my own common sense.  

Example. I’ve been trying to lose weight. Walking more, eating less. You know… being healthy and all. ***INPUT Side eye from therapist here.**

Anyway, the scale hasn’t made much movement. Oh yea, did I mention that my scale is very much needed. Without it I would be so lonely. 

I go out to eat at least 3 times a week, at the same bar, eating the same boiled chicken and broccoli. Along with that meal, I’ve been drinking a few drinks. At first, it was just one or two of those 100 calorie flavored club soda/vodka drinks. 100 calories here, 100 there. No big deal. 

But soon, I stepped out of my penthouse and sat my ass on denial beach and started drinking margaritas, fruity vodka drinks, long island ice teas…. Yummy yummy..

Yesterday, sitting at the bar with a friend, drinking just water, frustrated that the scale wasn’t moving, I decided to look up the calories of my favorite drinks. WOW! It’s common sense, we all know there are calories in alcohol. A lot of calories but I let myself bathe in the waters of denial and forgot about it. Soo.. let’s just say, I’ll allow myself to have one or two Truly’s but the other stuff, I just can’t do it!!

Let me give you another example of how rooted I am to this magic denial land. Today, I was exhausted and really didn’t want to go for a walk. But  you know, I had to because I love walking so much (LIAR). Anyway, I was talking to a friend as I’m huffing and puffing and complaining how tired I was when somewhere above, I heard my therapist’s voice. 

“You can’t walk if you don’t fuel your body.” 

So here I was, complaining of being tired. Not coming up with one reason why I should be so tired. In total denial of what was really going on. 

Oh don’t worry. Living on Denial Island impacts more than just my ED. I think I’ll be able to teach school, take grad classes, and coach soccer no problem. 

The other day when I had to deal with my daughter and her boyfriend, I would rather believe that his picture on Tinder was a mistake. My ex wants to hang the boy. But guess what? On  Denial Island, that all gets brushed under the rug.

And Ted, well you all know, he’s the constable on the island. 

Wait, before I convince you that Denial Island is a bad place, it has its good qualities too. For years I hung out on that island, denying the abuse I was enduring. I walked the trails in the woods, forgetting the marriage that was disintegrating around me. Sometimes, denial has saved my life. Sometimes, denial has given me some peace.

So, if you found yourself on Denial Island, give me a ring. We can meet for zero calorie drinks and zero calorie burgers. Maybe, we can even go for a long enjoyable walk in the 100 degree heat and love every bit of it. 

My number is (464)-633-6425 or I’M IN DENIAL

All in the family

If you’ve been reading past posts, you know that I am the victim of a victim of sexual abuse by a priest. Basically, a priest abused my older brother who in return, abused me. How I’ve dealt with it over the years, for the most part, hasn’t been good and explains my mental health issues.  

It was a long time ago and I was about six and he was about thirteen. He was young, I get it. He was a victim too. I get it. 

You might be thinking, it was a long time ago, he was young, he wasn’t to blame, well let me put this in perspective, he was thirteen. I work with thirteen year olds all the time. They know better. He was to blame. But again, long ass time ago. Oh and remember, I wasn’t his only victim. 

Anyway, I’ve really tried to deal with my past. I confronted him thirty years ago. He apologized and reminded me that he was young and I forgave him. He was my brother. We had some great memories too.  

Buttt…… I can’t figure out if he’s a true pedophile, just a pervert with a sick sense of humor, or just fucking stupid. 

Yesterday I had a high school graduation party for my youngest. First, can I acknowledge that in the last year, she was 100% remote. Had to process my suicide attempt. Had to say goodbye to me so I could go to Florida for treatment, then cry as she watched us force her sister into the hospital for psychiatric care. All this while working as a CNA with a bad back. And still graduated TOP TEN!

Anyway… back on the farm…

I’m one of those moms who thought it would be cute to put a picture of my daughter, when she was around four years old, on the cake. It was a silly picture, one of my favorites. Well, she was looking at the cake with her sister, her boyfriend, and my dumbass brother. Her sister made a comment stating that she USED to be a cute kid. Hhahahah… and what does my brother say, “Yea, when she was a baby and naked.”

I probably should let you know that my brother isn’t an idiot. He’s got a great job and has his masters in business. 

And my girls, well, three years ago when I had ended up in the hospital, I had sat down with them and explained to them why I struggled so much. They were fully aware of what their uncle had done. At 13 and 16, I was worried about how they would act around him, but they just stayed clear and didn’t say anything to anyone. So this time, they smiled at him awkwardly and walked away in disgust. 

I did talk to them after and reminded them that I had NEVER left them in the care of my brother.

Anyway, what he said was inappropriate to say the least. Right? Or was he just trying to be funny and I’m overreacting because of our past. 

Well let me throw another one your way. Two years ago, my brother, a die hard Mets fan posted on his facebook, “Rooting for the Yankees is a guilty pleasure like sleeping with your sister.”

You should have read the comments. Let’s just say not one person found this amusing. A few comments were from friends who were once altar boys too. My sister saw this before I did and demanded he take it down. But it was up there for a while. He thought about it, wrote it down, and left it there…… That’s not an oops!

Do you still think, maybe, just maybe, he just doesn’t get it? Or maybe he’s really got a warped sense of humor? 

Let me bring you back about 22 years. I was engaged. Most of my family was in town. We went to a club to have a few drinks. My family is really really really good at consuming an extreme amount of alcohol. So there was my brother sitting with my brother in law, drinking some fruity drinks. Both, intoxicated. I was tired of dancing so I plopped down on a chair next to my brother in law. That’s when my brother decided it’s time to be honest and said…”I’ve done some terrible things to my sisters when they were little…” I know right, he sounded remorseful.  

My brother in law got up from the table leaving us alone. My brother looked at me and stated, “If you weren’t my sister I would bring you home and fuck you.”

Yes people, this was his drunk statement to me! So, you be the judge…

A guy with horrible sick sense of humor, a pervert, or a straight up pedophile???? 

(Wait, I’m pretty sure that my last post was about judgement but judge the fuck out of him, he deserves it!)

I Need a Redo

I’ve struggled with an eating disorder for years and years. Struggle for me was never being really okay with my weight. Hating my body. Constantly thinking of food as either good for you or bad for you. I worried about calories, carbs, and fats. Three years ago, my eating disorder got its fangs into my depression and threw me into a life of restricting, binging, and purging with no care about the damage it did. I was 5’2” and went into treatment at 103 lbs. Sorry if numbers are triggering but if you know my writing, it’s what I do.

At that time, they said my ideal weight was between 125 and 135. I maintained that weight for a while, I’m not sure when it went wrong, but eventually I gained weight. Last year, Covid hit, and loneliness and depression came back along with my eating disorder. I was 143lbs. When my eating disorder came back. The depression worsened. When I tried to kill myself and went away to a residential treatment facility I was 129 lbs. Reflecting now on that weight, I actually liked my weight. I wasn’t in love with my body but I didn’t feel the need to hide it either. I was fine wearing a bathing suit and comfortable in shorts. I didn’t need weight restoration but they packed the pounds back on me. They wanted my body to decide it’s size. My body is a toddler, you can’t trust it to make the right decision. 

So now, I’m back up to 145 lbs. And some would consider me in total relapse. My behaviors have all returned and I’m out walking every day. I want that 129 lb. body back. I want to get that body back and work on keeping it that way. The only reason I even went into treatment last time was because of the botched suicide attempt. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered to go. I wasn’t sick. My labs weren’t perfect but they weren’t horrible either. But, they wouldn’t allow me back to work until a doctor said it was okay, and none of my doctors or therapists were willing to sign me off as someone who’s got her shit together. 

Now, here I am again, trying hard to latch onto my eating disorder. I don’t have the patience and will power to do this the right way. I’m someone who likes results and if I can get there sooner by using behaviors that I’ve grown to trust, then that is what I’m going to do. 

I’m not relapsing, I’m just looking for a redo

Don’t judge…

I can’t stand the size of my body. I hate it from head to toe. Last summer, I was okay with my body. It wasn’t perfect but it was 15 pounds lighter. I felt more comfortable. I wore shorts without thought. Where did that body go? Can I get it back? I need to walk more, eat less, and cut out the alcohol. But why? That’s what everyone asks me. Why? Why does it have to be that way? Why do you like  yourself fifteen pounds lighter? I don’t fucking know. Am I being judged by people, I feel like I am, but others say different things. They say I’m not being judged by my friends and family. That people that care about me won’t judge me. That the people who are judging me are not worth my time. 

We all feel judged. You can’t tell me we don’t. In fact, last month I flew Southwest, and everyone on that plane was judged. It’s the first time I had ever flown Southwest and if you haven’t, let me tell ya, there are no assigned seats. I KNOW! Weird huh! How would they identify my dead body strapped to seat B, row 12 if we had crashed into a field somewhere. It’s all about the number on your ticket. The lower the number, the sooner you get to board the plan. On my flight out, I was one of the last people on the plane. As I walked down and looked at the open seats, I was judging people. I was looking for someone to sit with that I thought wouldn’t smell, wouldn’t talk to me, would be easy to win the armrest war. I finally sat between two men who looked like they showered, wore nice clothes, and were already busy on their phones. 

On the way back, it was the opposite, I was the one being judged. I was one of the first, alone in my row, waiting to be judged. I tried not to make eye contact. I started to wonder why I wasn’t being chosen to sit next to. Apparently, I must not look too intimidating because a new mom with a two month old baby sat next to me. We kept her diaper bag in the middle seat. The baby was cute and such a good baby. She hardly cried and I was happy to help retrieve things from the bag. I would like to think she could see the mom in me. 

I spent my first twenty years judging people and being judged. I had siblings that I wanted to be like. Siblings that I didn’t want to be like. There were students that my parents wanted me to be more like and kids my parents wanted me to stay away from. If there was no judgement, would there be cliques? Would the jocks think they were better than the geeks? We stereotyped everyone. Put them in boxes with their peers. The band geeks, the drama squad, the populars… we all judged each other and we all were judged.

So how the hell am I supposed to all of a sudden pretend that’s not happening now. How can I ignore the people that are looking at me? Because guess what, let me be honest with you, I still judge people. I’m not proud of it, I wish I didn’t. But I do. I’ve heard it in my head. Pointing out the girls who I wish I looked like and who I was glad I didn’t. Come on people! We all do it so don’t tell me I need to stop thinking about it!

So why do I want that 15 pound less body? Am I worried about being judged. Yes, yes I am but I realize that the worst judgement is coming from my own mind. My own self-talk is extremely judgemental. 

Hey, I speak the truth..don’t judge.

What not to say….

There is an unwritten rule about a lot of things, one of those is, what NOT to say to people at certain times. It’s got to suck to hang around me, worried about what not to say. Ted struggles with it daily. He says things about my Ed that are not helpful at all. I’ve learned to just be okay with it, there are just too many rules. If I was to point out every infraction he makes, we would be done for sure. Soo… he goes on saying things and in my mind, I continue to correct him. 

If you asked him for a list of “what not to say to him”, he would probably tell you there isn’t one, but there is. I’ve “hurt” his feelings a few times. Why do I think it’s weird when a grown man says, “You hurt my feelings”? Anyways, I know I can’t joke about possibly being a lesbian with my friends. It pisses him off, which I don’t understand. I’m supposed to let him vent and just sit back and listen even when half of what he is saying is not what I want to hear. I can’t say anything negative about “love” and “relationships”. And there are a few others as well. 

The other day, he said something that rubbed me the wrong way. He tapped into the, “what not to say because I’ve been sexually assaulted” things. Ed is getting in the way of intimacy. I just can’t get over my size. Yes, selfish of me but I really don’t care. But the other night, I wanted to test the waters, to see how I would feel so I started something but didn’t finish. And when I say something, it was just a very passionate kiss. His comment, “Don’t start something unless you’re going to finish it”. WOWWWWWWW really! I’ve heard it before, moments before I was date raped. Let’s just say, I’ve not tested the water sense. It’s to fucking cold. 

Another thing he has used in the past is one of my ex husband’s favorites, “or else.” That threat that something bad is going to happen to me if I continue to do what I’m doing. I never found out what the “or else” included. I would ask him and he would just say “you don’t want to know.” My kids have come to the conclusion that there is no, or else, that he’s just blowing smoke out of his ass. Their words, not mine. 

I’m just wondering, is it time to write a few books? “Things you don’t ask or say to a…..” There would be so many,   “Things you don’t say to a pregnant woman” “Things you don’t say to an alcoholic” “Things you don’t say to someone with an ED” Things you don’t say to an assault victim.. You get my point. 

Maybe I’ll carry around a buzzer and any time I hear someone say something I’ll just push the button and point it out. I would be everyone’s best friend, NOT. For now, I’ll just complain about it to you all and keep my mouth shut. 

“Or else….”

Personal choice, is it?

Personal choice. That’s what Ted’s been telling me lately. The fact that I want to work a little over the summer instead of hanging out with him all day is a personal choice. The fact that I put 110% of myself into planning for a lesson is a personal choice. The fact that I feel the need to get my school work done early in the week is a personal choice. The fact that I want to diet and exercise is a personal choice. Yes, I get it, they are all personal choices but what he doesn’t understand is that for me it’s just not that easy.

I know I worry about a lot of things but what I’ve noticed this last week is my racing thoughts. My mind is like a tornado. I’m forgetting things all the time. I go to say something and my thoughts are instantly gone. It’s so frustrating.

Because of this, those personal choices that Ted says that I have become much more. They become personal have to’s. They are fueled by anxiety and fear.  And what if I don’t do these, what will be the consequences? Are they really that bad? Umm…. actually….

I’m taking a grad course. The assignments are posted for the whole 10 weeks but you start a module on a Monday and everything has to be turned in by Sunday at midnight. I have all week to work on it. I don’t have anything pressing to do after school, but my mind won’t just say, “Calm down, do it tomorrow.” If I don’t do it, it just sits in the back of my mind, like an itch that I can’t reach. Just enough to annoy me and take my focus off other things. So I do it. Then I have it done early and think, I should do next week’s assignment too. Why, well what if something happens next week that I don’t have time to do it. Okay, so let’s really think about this for a moment. Let me sit and do my best to be rational for a second. Worst case scenario, I don’t do the work, I don’t pass the class, I quit grad school. That’s it. I don’t need my masters. 

Another worry I have all the time is money. I have enough but I’m always worried that something is going to come up and I won’t have enough. In the summer, without a job, even a few hours a week, makes me feel as if I don’t have enough money. I worry that something will happen to my car or the girls will need something and I won’t have the money. Yes we all worry about money. And my summer job will just be a few hours a week. So what happens if I don’t work??? Well, my paycheck will stay the same. I get paid throughout the summer. My car might die and I might have to borrow money from Ted. I might have to bail my friend Zoey out of jail. This is what worries me? I’m only looking at working for six hours a week. It will be some extra spending money. But what happens if I don’t work this summer…. Actually, nothing. Nothing will happen except I’ll be sitting around, not working and thinking to myself, “I should be working” because I’ve worked every summer that I can remember. 

Planning for lessons is also something I do excessively. I never feel like I’m really done. That I could plan more. I spend hours and hours researching lessons and creating my own. I spend a ridiculous amount of time making interactive slides and activities. I try to make them as engaging as I can. I get to school an hour early, stay an hour late, and usually spend four to six hours a week on the weekends… just planning. Ted thinks I do too much. That I over plan. That it’s my personal choice to work myself so hard. I get it, he’s an outsider, he doesn’t know the hell that is going on in my head. They need to be perfect. If I don’t do them, if I cut back a few hours, what will happen? Actually, if I really think about it, I probably would be okay. But that’s the problem, I can’t just tell myself to relax.

I’ve covered how my ED, another thing that Ted thinks is a personal choice, causes me extreme anxiety. 

My mind is often my worst enemy. I walk around in circles. worried that I’m supposed to be doing something. I have to set timers on things so I don’t get wrapped up into something for longer than I need. I forget what I’m doing. I worry about tomorrow, then the next day and the next day after that. Ted comes home from school and takes a little nap. There is no way that I can just shut down my mind for a little while mid afternoon like he does. When we watch TV I have to be doing a puzzle on my Ipad. I have a hamster in my head running on it’s little wheel, talking to me. 

I’m highly medicated. Possibly over medicated. But at night, without them, I can’t fall asleep. If I close my eyes before the meds kick in, a whirlwind of thoughts and pictures play across the back of my eye lids. They don’t make sense and sometimes I find myself chasing those thoughts. Afraid that those thoughts mean something. 

But, as much as I’m sitting here bitching about my wild crazy ADD mind, I’m thinking about what happens when it does stop, which it does occasionally. When the racing stops. When my mind is quiet and I’m not asleep. When I can hear my own heartbeat and feel each breath. The ED and SI thoughts appear and weirdly, they are truly calming

I need a nanny 😭

Being a parent is both rewarding and challenging. You don’t have to be a parent to know this. You witness it anytime you go out. You see the polite kids in the stores, helping their parents and siblings and you think, how cute. The toddlers give you a big smile while man handling a lollipop. Their hands and face are covered in sticky candy. You think, how adorable. Little sweet angels. But, when you go out to your car you see the mother struggling to get that sticky hand child’s body to bend enough to buckle them into their carseat. The child is screaming as if being murdered, hitting the mom in the head with the lollipop, each time more hair gets entwined. In a ten minute period the child had gone from an angel to a monster. You think, thank god that’s not my kid. You might even come up with a list of, “if that was my kid….” If you are one of those people, screw you. I hate it when people say that. What if that mother was exhausted from working a double shift, her parents both died in a car accident the night before, the child was sick, and…. You get the picture, just don’t judge. Like a friend of mine stated, “Kids are like Sour Patch candies, sweet one second, sour the next.”

Kids control your life. Parents will say, no, but we know that’s not true. Especially that first child. Your plans revolve around this little creature. This creature needs to eat, shit, and nap. The shitting you can’t control or schedule but you do try to schedule meals and naps. Usually you get into a routine. Usually this routine is set by the child unless he/she attends day care, then they set this routine for you. Sounds simple? But, no two days are ever alike and you are raising a Sour Patch Kid.

My ED is just one of these critters. No, I can’t physically keep it in line but every waking hour, what I do for the day has to be thought out and planned. Starting with meals. If you are going to take your toddler out for the day,  you need to plan what they are going to eat for the day. Do you pack it ahead of time? Do you swing through the drive thru and get them a Happy Meal? Do you just wing it? With an ED, winging is not an option. You have to plan. I think first, what type of day am I planning for. Did I indulge too much yesterday and need to be careful today? Is tomorrow a day that might be a future problem and might impact my plan for today? Where will I be all day? Will there be times throughout the day that I can eat? Do I pack something? My eating disorder needs these questions answered. If plans are changed I get super cranky. If we plan on eating at five and five thirty comes around and we still aren’t eating it’s a problem. Inside I’m screaming at everyone around me wondering what the fuck is going on. What I eat throughout the day also has to be considered. Too much sugar is not allowed. I watch the carbs as well. Fruit and vegetables are a must. 

Taking my Ed shopping is also a hell of an experience. It’s sour the whole way. Like I did with my own girls, I try my best to avoid the cookie aisle. I race through the bakery chanting, ‘don’t look, don’t look’.  I walk fast past all the sugar cereal. When I linger too long near the crackers and chips I get nervous. Sometimes I’m throwing a mini tantrum in my head as I debate what cookies to buy and if I’m allowed them at all. I might really want Oreo’s but they are often a binge/purge food so instead, I look for a cookie that I like, but not so much that I can’t stop eating them. A good one for this are Fig Newtons. At the checkout line I face away from the candy and try hard to distract myself. Instead, if I had a good day, I’ll reward  myself with a pack of gum. Sugarless of course. 

At home, I make sure not to have too many sweet or salty snacks. I only allow one of each. I can’t open a salty snack before I consume the last. Too many options are not a good thing and can be overwhelming. I purposely buy individually wrapped packages so I’ll be less likely to binge. Usually, this works out okay. Of course, if I do find myself opening multiple packages I have to throw it all away. My Ed is on my case about listening to my own hunger cues but at the same time, forgetting I really don’t have any. 

Taking my Ed to a restaurant is a pain in the ass. Variety is not something that makes my Ed happy. I only have two real places that I am comfortable eating at. If we go somewhere new I need to look at the menu on the website to prepare myself. With other people at the table I’m always comparing my meals to theirs. Why can’t I have french fries? Why do they get to eat a bun on their sandwiches? It makes me irritable. I play with my food, dragging it around the plate. I cut it up into tiny little pieces. If I could order off the childrens menu I would but most places frown upon that. Meals are often over portioned and I fight with my Ed to allow me to eat at least ½. When done, I ask the waitress to take it away before I start nibbling again. If we sit too long without ordering I get antsy. I go there to eat and the minute I sit down I’m thinking about it. Oh and if they change my order or they are out of something I get super pissed off inside. I sometimes even say ‘forget it’, and don’t eat anything. People around me are like helicopter parents, watching what I eat and making sure I eat enough. 

Do I have to explain to you what happens when I go to a barbeque or a family event? The word No is what I tell myself constantly. No, you can’t have another cookie. No, you can’t have more chips. No, you can’t have the biggest piece of cake. Stay away from that food table! Stop feeding the dog! Don’t waste food! You’ve had enough! 

My Ed has many different personalities. Sometimes it’s my best friend who gives me support and sometimes my worst enemy who is out to hurt me. Sometimes we are happily married and committed to each other, sometimes we separate because we just can’t agree. Sometimes it’s a pouty, needy, greedy, teenager who struggles between doing what’s right and what’s wrong. Sometimes it’s an adult who can make healthy decisions. It’s constantly changing and evolving depending on how close or far away I am towards recovery. The closer I get to recovery, the more evil my Ed becomes. What was once rational thought will turn irrational. I hate everyone around me. I hate food. I hate exercising. I’m just a ball of hate and don’t want to do anything. 

Today, my Ed flips flops between being the stubborn toddler and the over anxious parent. Right now, it’s 9:30 in the morning. My Ed had a big breakfast and is super cranky because snacks before and after lunch are banned. The teachers room has a box of cookies that I can’t allow myself to eat. I avoid the room all together, walking by it quickly, telling myself ‘no, no’, the whole time. What I eat today here at work will impact what I eat tonight at home. My schedule today is already fucked up. 

FUCK ME!!!!  A coworker just dropped two miniature Twixs and a miniature Snickers on my desk. 

Is it nap time yet? I need a nanny.


Please be aware that this post talks a lot about suicide and suicide ideation

I do love my true crime podcasts. I have my favorite. My Favorite Murder is a great one if I want to laugh a litte. If I want straight to the point coverage I’ll turn to Morbid. If I want a bit more of a story telling vibe I’ll listen to Crime Junkie. But if I want one that has real tapes from the police investigation I tune into Sword and Scale. Don’t worry! I’m not all about crime. I do love This Podcast Will Kill You as well.

The other day I was listening to Sword and Scale. Mike Boudet was covering the murder of Dennis and Norma Woodruff (episode 186). In one of the police tapes, you hear a young girl, college age, talk about her past. She mentions that when she was 14, she tried to kill herself with a gun and then, giggled, “I messed up.” Meaning, the gun didn’t go off because she had left the safety on.

The part I want to point out is, she giggled. I knew that giggle. It’s a giggle to cover up the embarrassment she felt. I’ve laughed at myself when talking about my own experience. When I tell someone that I tried to overdose, I follow it with, “but I messed up, I chose two drugs that actually almost canceled each other out.” Why did I have to add this? Why can’t I just leave it as “I tried to overdose”? What was I so embarrassed of? I had failed at something that was really easy to do.

We are bombarded with things about suicide. From how to speak about it to how we are supposed to deal with it. Two years ago our guidance counselor explained to us that the language has changed. We could no longer say someone committed suicide, we had to say they died by suicide. We could no longer refer to a botched attempt as “she failed” because living shouldn’t be a failure.

Before someone takes their life, they had to have an SI (suicidal ideation) Whether it was seconds before or a year before, they had a thought and carried out with that thought. Suicidal ideations, or SI’s, are ideas, thoughts, or a plan, of actually taking your life. This is where it gets muddy. This is where people struggle with the seriousness. People joke about it, threaten to do it, and some follow through with it. And when this happens the questions to ponder are, why do they want to die and how serious are they?

I think most people want to believe that their loved ones are doing it all for attention. They want to believe that they wouldn’t do it. They say It’s a cry for help. To some, the more someone talks about it, the less serious it seems. Weird huh. They might even ask someone to stop joking about it. To stop talking about it. They might challenge them by saying, ‘you don’t mean it’ or remind them that ‘life isn’t that bad’. Some out of frustration might even say, ‘go ahead, do it’. People want to believe that the people that do kill themselves are the sad miserable lonely people who say nothing about it.

Of course, this isn’t always true. This brings me back to the whole giggle thing or why I feel the need to explain my “screw up.” I admit, as a college student I did OD for attention. It was a cry for help. I wanted to live but I just didn’t know how. This time, it was much more different. I didn’t want to live. I did and do see it as a screw up.

But why do people have to know? Because we want people to understand the seriousness. My family and friends needed to know that I truly didn’t ever plan on seeing them again. What they thought was another cry for help was more of a, “shit how the fuck did I make it.” It was much harder for my sister to accept that I truly wanted to die and that for a while, I hated that they were able to save me. 

And that is the giggle. That is why someone that truly fucked up might laugh off a botched attempt. We’ve conditioned people to think that people that “attempt suicide” are most likely just looking for attention and no one likes an attention seeker. They are selfish and it’s all about them. They don’t care about anyone else. Let’s face it, if someone says that you did something for attention you immediately take offense to it. I can’t really explain it but there is a different level of respect that you give someone like the me now compared to me then. For me, I’m more ashamed of the times I did reach out for help than when I tried and failed. There’s a difference between, “ignore her, she’s just looking for attention” and “holy fuck, we better help her soon or she’s going to do it right next time.” How is this even right!

What people need to do is see it all as a serious problem. Even people looking for attention are looking for some type of help. Stop shaming them and start asking questions. I shouldn’t feel the need to explain my screw up, to laugh at myself, to feel embarrassed that I actually didn’t do it right. Why is a cry for help something negative!!! 

Do we wait until the swimmer is too tired to wave their arms before rescuing them? Do we ignore the check engine light until the car breaks down on the side of the highway? Do we ignore the choking victim until they are completely unconscious? NOOOOOOO!!!!! We don’t!!! 

A cry for help is just that, A CRY FOR FUCKING HELP! HELP THEM!


I have some incredible news to share! I’m going back to get my masters in education. Okay, I get it. Woop de do, the majority of teachers do. But I’m different.

You see, everytime I even thought to myself, you should get your masters, I reminded myself it would cost too much money and that I wouldn’t have time.

Time for me was supposed to be short. I never thought or wanted to live past 50. When I turned 50, I gave it a few months to see if it was worth it and after two months I realized, it wasn’t. I said, fuck this, my life is shit, and I wanted out. So, as I shared with you before, I tried. I tried pretty hard but I’m not a pharmacist or a chemist and the chemicals I mixed didn’t produce the reaction I wanted. Hmm… maybe the next time I mix chemicals in science class I might want to do a little more research. The point is, who needs a masters if you’re dead. Right? 

Now, after weeks of residential treatment, weeks of PHP, and one week of IOP (I dropped out a bit early of that) and heart wrenching therapy with my daughters, I’ve come to realize that they need me to stick around. If I’m going to stick around, I might as well make it worth it. So… going back to school sounded like a great idea.

People that know me, really well, know this is a major commitment. Just like the semicolon ring I wear and eventually, the semicolon tattoo I’ll get. To have this stuff before just made me feel like a hypocrite. Yes, I get it, I survived an attempt or two but I wasn’t done planning. so realistically, I had reason to wear it but what a hypocrite I would be. Before, that whole, ‘my story isn’t over’ shit was just bullshit. My story was supposed to be a short story with a sad ending. Now, I guess that shit isn’t bullshit anymore. My story hasn’t ended and I’m willing to write the novel. (Funny thing is, besides this blog, I have a manuscript ready to go if interested. Lol. It’s young adult fiction but about 90% of it is my life and someday, I might just have to publish this blog!)

I’m a new person. I’m not the same person that went into residential treatment. Yes, depression is still weighing me down as well as my struggles with my ED but the will to live is much greater. I’ve been trying to do things that will make it worthwhile. 

I’ve been teaching myself how to play the guitar, writing a hell of a lot more, going for my masters, hiking, and doing paint by numbers. I’ve been spending more time with my kids, quality time. I think I’m a better person. But….. with Ted, things have changed as well. Not for the better really.

Since I’ve been home I’ve had little interest in intimacy. It’s the whole weight thing and past trauma. I don’t enjoy his company as much.  He’s a bit too much of a narcissist for me. His temper and his negative views about a lot of things is wearing on me. And let’s face it, he’s not helping with me at all when it comes to my ED. I keep thinking that it’s all because of my weight change. That if I was thinner then it would be all fine and dandy.

Lately, I don’t think that’s true. I think he fell in love with someone who I no longer am. He might not see it and might think it doesn’t matter but this new me thinks maybe it does. 

I’m not in a hurry to call it quits. I’ll stick it out for now and see where it goes.

BUT, I will not skip to my last chapter. I’ll read every page. I know that some of it will make me cry, some of it will be challenging, but I also know that there will be pages and pages of smiles and laughter too. 

Hmm…. how the hell would I title that book?

Sugar coating through art

I’m an IOP drop out. I know I’ve mentioned it in the past. It wasn’t for me. The clients were too young. Blah blah blah… Is that the reason I’m in relapse? Naahhh. I don’t think you can be in relapse unless you are recovered. Yea I know, recovery isn’t linear… again, blah blah blah.

Ditching IOP wasn’t the original plan. I just wasn’t getting anything from it. My therapist understood why I did it but she wasn’t necessarily happy about it. The IOP that was offered through the residential/PHP place was a daytime thing and I had to get back to work. I was rushing to get out. A part of me thinks that I left Res life too early but I still think I wouldn’t be willing to kick my ED to the curb no matter how many weeks or months I was there. Insurance will kick you out eventually too.

My therapist, again, not a fan of me not being in IOP, not even a big fan of me leaving residential when I did, was only okay with it IF I used the Recovery App to track my meals. 

I tried. I really tried but damn, there were so many questions. How did you feel? What exactly did you eat? Was it acceptable?…. My Fitness Pal is much easier to use but she didn’t want me to use that one.

I’m also going to look into somewhere that I can do TMS for the summer. Don’t worry, I’ll let y’all know how that goes. I’m willing to try it, what’s the worst that can happen? I’m not in my right mind for the most part. I don’t even know what my right mind might look like. Hmm…. would it look that much different than my left mind?

My therapist is really patient with me. I can be amusing sometimes. When I’m bitchy she doesn’t care. You know that awkward silence when you have nothing to say or don’t want to say anything. She’s really good about waiting it out. I’m pretty sure if I just sat there, in front of zoom, and didn’t say anything, she would cancel her next appointment just to give me those eyes and a smirk. Those eyes speak volume! They say,

“Really, you’re going to pull this crap? I can sit here for hours. It’s your dime.”

It really works, I start to get annoyed and uncomfortable and usually start talking about whatever. I’m a child. I know it. She claims she has adults that are in therapy but I don’t buy it. I bet all her clients are middle schoolers, that’s why she is so good with my sassy attitude.

Okay, off topic, back to tracking meals. I hated the recovery app, she wouldn’t let me use My Fitness Pal so I came up with my own way of tracking food. Through art. LOL!

So… let me share a few with you! As far as what I actually eat, please don’t judge. I know, some days it’s not enough, some days it’s too much,….. My therapist already does that for me. At least she tells me if I’m not eating enough, she would never say I was eating too much, I could say I had 5 gallons of ice cream and she wouldn’t say it. She would tip toe around it, maybe checking in how it made me feel emotionally, physically, was I satisfied…. You know, therapy stuff. Hers a few of my favorite…..