Relationships

Today I find myself reflecting on the relationships in my life. Some old, some new, some tarnished, some inspirational. Some bring sadness from which I discover a new growth in my character. Some bring such great joy to which I have to actually learn how to embrace and be part of that joy. But there is no one relationship I have or ever have had that meets the standard of perfect.

No relationship is perfect.

My relationship with myself is far from perfect but as I sat down to read out of my inspirational book I was reminded of a phrase that I seldom forget.

"Progress, not perfection, is our goal..."

I am learning to be wary of my need for perfection. The more I need, or want, perfection, the more I see myself as not good enough. What I do, what I strive to do, is not good enough. The role I play in my relationships is not good enough. 

But then I stop my thinking. I take a deep breath. I close my eyes. I release my inner anguish. I remember that I need to be honest with myself as to the direct roles I am playing. I need to take an honest personal inventory of my thoughts, actions, and reactions. I need to ask myself if I did the best I could have done in each circumstance. I need to ask myself if I made the best choices. I need to ask myself if I reacted fairly to the situations of my day and the people in it. 

If I cannot honestly answer yes to all of those questions then I know that I contributed to the negative forces that inevitably affect all of those around me either directly or indirectly.

But then I have to let go. If I dwell on where I went wrong or who I affected negatively then it will hinder my progress to move forward with knowledge and tools needed to make the next day better than the last. 

Progress. Process. Patience. Understanding. 

I am slowly learning how to accept and change myself to be able to better myself internally in which will better my relationships with those I have been privileged to have. 

Which now brings me back to relationships.

"Kindness and intelligence don't always deliver us from the pitfalls and traps. There is no way to take the danger out of human relationships."

~~Barbara Grizzuti Harrison

I am learning now that relationships are vital in every aspect of our lives. They help us to escape the loneliness that can so easily consume us eventually triggering our minds to regress and spiral into a negative state of doubting all of which surrounds us. The loneliness turns to despair and we eventually become blind to the positive influences and moments that when we open our minds, are always jumping out of odd moments in a blissful surprise.

I also am gaining an understanding that relationships do not guarantee any kind of release or freedom from feeling pain.

"There's a risk in human relationships, and it's often accompanied by pain. But I am guaranteed growth, and I will find the happiness I seek. I will reach out to someone today."

~~Karen Casey

Strong words. Especially to me given the complicated nature of the relationships in my life right at this very moment.

My relationships seem to be filled with so much pain, stress, misunderstandings, miscommunication, stubbornness, drama... Each relationship is intertwined with the next and when one falters negatively, it is almost like the telephone game we used to play as kids, where each relationship gets a dose of what preceded it and the next gets some of that but tweaked to the point where all are confused as to how it got to be so incredibly complicated. Almost too complicated for words to even make sense of it.

 I have one relationship right now that seems to be exhausting all ends. Feelings get hurt, but the lack of communication makes it unknown to the other party, therefore festering. Words get misconstrued, but both parties are so stubborn that neither will sit and talk about it in a calm adult like manner. Communications get cut. Opinions are made that really seem so silly now to me, although they are quite serious. Loneliness creeps in from the missing joys of that relationship. Sadness appears like a gust of wind for how easily that one relationship has seem to fade away. Now in it's place appears a mirage. One of wild imaginations as to what the relationship should be, could be, was, is.

Loneliness creeps in.

I am so exhausted and confused as to how this relationship got to be so extremely complicated.

And now it trickles into other relationships around me. It seeps into my deepest thoughts. It consumes a big majority of my emotions. It creates the opportunity for me to regress back into a state of self doubt and negative perceptions of myself and who I am and what my meaning is to those around me.

I no doubtedly have made some bad choices. I can honestly admit that. I have reacted in terrible ways, for myself, and it doesn't make me proud. I have asked myself if I have done the best I could in this relationship and the challenges we have faced, and I cannot honestly say yes. I have tried to believe that I was perfect in my side of this relationship, but it's a lie. I have not done my best by far. I have held onto things of the past that have just festered into this anger and rage and unfair judgements of the present. I know now that I need to find a way to let go of the past.

That is exactly what it is. The PAST. I need to find a way to move on and live for today. I own my negative influences in this relationship. I am sorry for my reactions. I am ready to let go. Forgive not only the past actions the other has delivered over time, but I also forgive myself for my faults.

"Self pity need not cage me today..."

I am letting go of the need to feel sorry for myself and to stop feeling like I am the victim. I can only hope that the other party can find a way to do the same in all of the understanding that mistakes were made on both parts, but the relationship is so wonderful and always has been, and we need to find the positives once again. In turn, I hope that it not only heals within each of us, but it might help heal the indirect influence it has had on those around us as well.

I read this quote that didn't make much sense to me til right about now, after I have attempted to spill out my thoughts which have exceedingly consumed me.

"And what a delight it is to make friends with someone you have despised!" ~~Colette

"what does it mean to say we "despise" someone? Usually it means that we have invested a lot of energy in negative feelings; it means that we have let ourselves care deeply about someone. We would never say we "despised" someone who wasn't important to us....Sometimes that negative energy became almost an obsession, consuming our time, gnawing at our self-esteem. But in recovery there comes a moment of lightning change; a moment of release from the bonds of obsession. The other person is, after all, just another person--a seeker, like ourselves. And since we cared enough to devote our time and energies to disliking her, she is probably someone who would be rewarding to know...Today, I will look into my heart and see whether I am clinging to obsessive concerns with other people. I will resolve to let them go."

~Each Day a New Beginning

December 30

So I resolve today to let go of my feelings of a negative force. I resolve to do so not only in that one complicated, yet desired, relationship with someone whom I honestly care deeply for, but in all relationships where I have chosen to obsess over the negative concerns that have in turn, quite possibly, clouded my own judgement. I will embrace the meaning that today and each day thereafter, is a new beginning.

                                       

    

                                                                                                                                 

Motherhood...the ups and downs

I wish all aspects of motherhood were easy. You know like what you would watch on television in the old days. Leave It To Beaver was one of my favorites. The perfect mom who always had cookies made, the house clean, always greeted so sweetly by her son...

Come to my house right now and you will see such a different picture.

Dishes clean in the dishwasher. Dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter. Crumbs from the kids on the kitchen floor with the stains of Popsicles and spaghettios that were spilled. Piles of laundry on the floor that have yet to be washed. Laundry still in the washer and dryer. A box of papers that needs to be sorted and filed. Paint brushes from the kids projects sitting on their arts table with paintings strewn about. Beds unmade. Towels piled in the bathrooms.

The list could go on.

An extremely exhausted woman, me, who spent last night in tears. A little girl who is fighting a cold and needs extra attention at the moment because she is feeling left out with the extra attention her brother is getting. He is getting that because he had surgery five days ago. He is also sick on top of the healing and fighting fevers, congestion, coughs, sleep deprivation. A husband who is also exhausted from no sleep, work, and also sick.

Sounds fun right. Nope.

You take the events from last night and I can honestly say without a doubt that this is the part of motherhood that I hate!

My poor son hates taking his pain medicine with a torturous passion! In the beginning it was just the narcotic that we would fight to get into him. And I promise you it is at least five minutes of pure hell. You grab a washrag, measure out the medicine in a plunger, grab a cup of water, and very cautiously approach Tyler knowing that if spotted the freak out will begin before any medicine is administered. Then comes the battle.

Pin him down, squeeze the cheeks and quickly squirt in the medicine a few drops at a time, wait for a swallow, duck from the spitting medicine, grasp a tighter hold against the kicking and hitting to escape, squirt some more, keep squeezing, squirt the rest, duck from more spit while waiting for the swallow followed by the choking from the screams and swallows, release, swoop him up in my arms holding him close and whispering in his ear that mama loves him and it's all over, soon he will be better. The screaming and crying continues 20 minutes more but instantaneously halts and is replaced by running and laughing and playing and EATING like he hadn't eaten in decades. Sit on the couch in exhaustion fighting back the guilt ridden tears that come despite my best efforts to reassure myself that I am doing what is best for my sore little man. Grab a glass of my trustworthy vino, relax, and witness the effects of comfort that the medicine, once kicked in, provide so he can enjoy playing. Take another sip of my vino because I realize that in 4 hours the battle will start all over again. Call the doctors office who FINALLY confesses that this is all normal and day seven is the worst not only for the patient but for his exhausted, emotional parents.

More tears are shed. More fights ensue, not only with Tyler, but also amongst his stressed mommy and daddy. Tears are shed by his sad, feeling left out, scared older sister. resulting in more tears shed by her heartbroken mommy.

Fast forward to now.

Christmas is over and I feel like the past month was a blur. Maybe because it was. But nothing prepared me for the roller coaster recovery we endured after Tyler's surgery and the magnitude of his defiance against the medicine. Was it really because of the taste? Was it because it burned as it went down? Was it because he has been through stitches, ER visits, and now surgery, all in a matter of 3 months? Was it just fate of a typical 2 year old? I still don't know. I still hate what we all went through and the toll it took on all of us. I still hate that I had to pin my baby down to give him medicine. I hate that it consumed so much of our energy. But I love that my little guy is out there now, talking up a storm, running and playing with his sister, screaming things that make me laugh, and at night, although he still crawls into bed with us, he breathes normally as a child should. He sleeps in peace. For that, I believe it was all worth it and I am blessed to have been able to give him comfort that he so deserves.

Dumb and Dumber...True not quite.

I almost gave up.

I almost quit my blog.

I let two people almost get the best of me.

Then, I watched Barbra Walters and her interviews of the most intriguing people of 2010.

Jennifer Lopez was one of those people. I couldn't tell you exactly what was said in the interview ver-batim, but, I can tell you that the conversation was close to the following...

"What did they say about your voice?" BW

"What haven't they said about my voice...how I can't hold a tune...look at me now." J Lo.

Then it hit me. So what if someone doesn't like what I have to say? What if someone thinks I should be saying more than I am or less? What if they think I hold a responsibility that is not mine to hold?

WHY should I let them dictate what makes me feel better? What gives me purpose. What I essentially believe might actually help someone esle with their own struggles. Bulimia, Alcoholism, Cutting, Annorexia, Obesity, Meth... We all have a commonality and that is we turn to something toxic to cope with struggles we all share but don't quite understand, nor have the capability, to throw it away. Or so we think.

We all are dealing with the same stresses and struggles. Some worse than others. Some of us have always had the guidance and tools to make us confident in dealing, while some of us have been shown that it is easier to mask a problem with the above, and some not mentioned, and we find it has been programmed into our minds to hide our stuggles and numb ourselves to the realities we are scared to face.

Point in check.

I have a friend. It has been a rocky road in our friendship. But let me tell you, she is an AMAZING woman with a potential far greater than she is capable of seeing in herself. 

You might look at her and me and step back while processing our addictions, alcoholism for her, bulima for me, and you might say to yourself dumb and dumber. You might look at us and say to yourself, "oh well, this is the life she chose..." and go on your merry way. It happens a lot. More than you might think possible or ever imagine.

Let me tell you a secret.

This is not something we "chose" to do lightly. Instead, just as with any kind of toxic addiction, it kind of just happens. Then it spirals out of control.

My heart is heavy for my friend. I just spent Thanksgiving with her and I knew then, as I do now, that she needs help. More than I can fully give, but yet, she needs something from me as I need from others.

An unconditional friend.

I don't judge her, but funny thing I just realized this very moment of typing, I judge myself. I don't fault her. I know she is hurting, as am I. I know that when you have a 2, 3, or 4 year old pushing every last button you posess, it is easy to cave into that desire to turn to the numbing poison of choice. I know that when your husband is having a bad day and you can do nothing to make it better, again you want to turn to that poison. I know that when you look in the mirror angry at whatever emotions you let consume you, unintentionally, as you know you deserve better, you STILL want to and do turn to your numbing poisonous action of choice.

Oh my God. Right now, I can't find the courage to kiss the man I love more than anything out of fear of what might be felt or thought about the gaping hole in my line of teeth. Or should I have my fake tooth to fill the hole and make him feel like I am a teenager wearing a retainer. OR do I get so very drunk so I don't give a second thought about it and enjoy the moment.

What about when I go out into public forgetting to wear my fake tooth. I laugh out loud in the moment exposing this hiddeous sight I believe to be so blatantly realisticly obvious to everyone else when in fact they might not even notice. (But then I say yea right! It is so freaking obvious)

You know right now I have so many thoughts and issues racing through my head that I don't know how to make them go away, or process to let go, or even deal. I feel like I am the dumber one of all.

I was dumb to trust certain people and events.

I was dumb to believe that I could "properly" deal with events and emotions.

I was dumb to even think for one second that just because I got two, 2, TWO, negative remarks, I should give up and quit. Because if I let someone else dictate my emotions, my actions, or my process of dealing with events, then I am no better than they.

If my friend let her alcoholism dictate her every move then she would not be seeking help right now, again, as she is and I would not be so proud of her for her courage to fight back.

I have problems. I know you do too. We all do. But we all fight to deal with them the best we know how. None is perfectly right or perfectly wrong or even perfectly bad. They are just perfectly us. We each have a duty in our lives right now. To find peace within ourselves no matter what others might think. To be comfortable within ourselves.

Oh wow! So much easier said than done.

My struggles of the week are those of dealing with my fussy, clingy, two year old whom just had surgery getting his tonsils and adnoids removed ON my birthday. Not easy. Sleep is almost exinct for me. I am sick. I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I have not chosen the best ways to deal with it but I am trying to find a way to focus on the positive points of my day. Trying.

Am I so dumb to believe that I have a right at this very moment to cry?

I feel like I am.

My goal with my blog

So I started my blog as a way to express the emotions, struggles, and events that come along the way in my journey to overcome my issues with bulimia. "Perfect Mom, Perfectly Bad Secret" was the perfect title as it expresses the fact of my desire to uphold an image of perfection to the outside world and in doing so I lost sight of who I truly was, what I was capable of, the ability to handle situations in a rational manner, and yet I was upholding this incredibly bad secret from my husband, friends, family, and most of all, myself.

I still struggle on a daily basis to uphold that image. I am learning that it is not so important to look so perfectly composed to the outside world. I am learning that if my house is a mess because I am too tired, so be it. I am learning that it is OK to cry in company of friends or even a stranger. I am human. I am learning many lessons of life as I spend each and every day finding the strength to recover. I am not yet there to believe every lesson or grasp a hold of them to be able to make acting out those lessons an every day thing. I struggle each and every day.

I am not here to tell anyone how to recover from an eating disorder. I am still figuring that out myself.

I am not here to tell anyone what is right or what is wrong. I am no professional.

I am here to express my feelings. My thoughts. My emotions. My battles. My victories. My pain. My life journey.

I am not strictly speaking to any one person. I hope that others who know me and know what I am going through develop a better understanding as to who I am and why I do the things I do. I hope to release my thoughts and feelings and as I do so publicly, I hold a responsibility to  to maintain a piece of integrity and pure honesty within myself. If I cannot be open and honest in my blog about what is in my head and the actions I am performing or experiencing then I cannot heal in a true way. I owe it to myself to be honest about my disease. This is me being honest.

I am not here to steer anyone in a specific direction. If you like what you read and find it touches you in some way, fantastic! If you don't like what you read, that is fine too. I am not here to do anything specific other than share my story, heal, recover, throw out and let go of what is inside me so I can move on.

I have had several inquiries about my blog that seem to be question my intentions. I intend to help myself. I intend to share my story. I intend to heal. I intend to survive. I intend to find a way to let go of the desperate need of perfection. I intend to find peace within myself to love myself the way that I am. I intend to let go of the need of control.

I can change only myself.

I can choose only my own reactions.

I can choose my own path.

I can choose to do what I believe is in the best interest of me.

I can choose to choose better.

I can choose.

So I choose to continue to blog. Not about one specific thing. Not about one specific anything other than my life. Bulimia right now is a huge part of that life. My struggles to accept my missing tooth, the infections, the pains, the emotional battles, the impact on others, the way I perceive myself. Those are all things I am struggling with right now. I blog to let go of the pain. Let go of the negative emotion.

I am taking care of myself for myself and for my family.

I'm not perfect, oh how I wish I was, but I am doing the best I can.

Bulimia is no joke. It is a serious disease.

"Because society would rather we always wore a pretty face, women have been trained to cut off anger"
Nancy Friday

So today I have tons on my mind and am not sure where to begin. It has been a while since I blogged and I owe that to the fact that I had my tooth extraction which resulted in a dry socket followed by a massive infection that affected the whole right side of my face. I don't know if you have ever had an infection in your mouth but the way it radiates through your face and head is unbelievably intense and when you try to find focus it is nearly impossible. In fact, it kinda makes your world stop as you cannot remember half of what went on around you. Your world becomes a blur. Your thoughts mesh into one another and you cannot remember who said what, where you put things, what you ate, what day it is, or how you survived through limited functionality without hurting someone.

At least I didn't drive during that time.

Not to say I wish I had taken better care of myself and addressed the issue in the beginning. My dentist, a kind and understanding man, took my many calls over the Thanksgiving weekend, offered to see me before I left for Las Vegas, which I declined out of guilt, and was sensitive enough to my pain to help me make it back home comfortably until I could get into his office. I wish now I had taken him up on his offer to see me over the weekend, but I felt so guilty taking his attention away from his family, yet I knew deep down that his wife would have understood. She is wholeheartedly kind and forgiving of things and generous and sweet in a way I have been blessed to experience.

I went to Las Vegas on a birthday girls trip the Sunday after Thanksgiving. It was the first time that I have ever left without my husband or children. It was liberating and fun and crazy at times and, as the old saying goes, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

When I first decided to go public about my eating disorder I was terrified. I was afraid of what others would think. I was putting their thoughts and reactions, that had not yet occurred, ahead of what I knew was best for me. But then I took a step back and realized that it was vital in my own self to be open and honest about my bulimia to others in order to hold myself to a recovery that was honest to me. If I kept it a secret from those around me then I was more likely to keep the realism of how bad it (the eating disorder) was to me. I would keep lying to myself, as I had been for years, that I was still in control and that I didn't have a problem. So by being open and honest with others, I have learned to be completely open and honest with myself. I cannot control how others feel, react, think, or judge me or any situation, so why was I so worried about what they might think? I know who I am and what I want for myself and I had to honor that first.

When I was approached by the news to be part of a story on the realism of housewives desperate to be perfect and the ways we might deal with that false perception, I was immediately on board but then began to worry about what kind of response I might get being so publicly open. Then I sat down with my husband and we came to the conclusion that to each is their own. Some might find it inspiring, others might be disgusted by it, some might think I am crazy, maybe some might find it ridiculous. But at the end of the day if I am doing what is best for me and I am recovering in the most effective way possible for me then I need not worry about what might be said. That is out of my control anyway. What is in my control is how I react and how I process those things and how I choose to let it affect me. I have had great response and support from most until very recently.

 

But what kills me is the lack of seriousness about bulimia. It is no joke. It is not something to be taken lightly. I think that is what I am hung up on.

 

Let me assure you, it is a disease. No matter who is dealing with it, it takes control of you and you loose all senses of reality, giving into the darkness that possess your perceptions of yourself along with your perceptions of the world around you.

Bulimia can kill.

Many have died from it. I truly believe that if I continued on the path I was on, to the extent of severity I was allowing, not woken up one day scared to death of the reflection in the mirror, I would not be sitting here now sharing my story with you. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, I will help someone else who is feeling as scared and alone as I once was.

Bulimia is no joke.

It's not cancer. I know that. But still, it can kill.

I choose to live.

It's not easy but I am fighting.

"Anger is an emotion. Not a bad one, nor a good one...We can get free of our anger if we choose to take action appropriate to it. Anger can be a healthy prompter of action...when no action is taken, anger turns inward, negatively influencing our perception of all experiences, all human interaction...It's okay for me for me to be angry today. It's growthful, if I use it for good."

Instead of harvesting and ignoring my anger I am using the emotion as a tool to push harder, fight harder, press harder to raise awareness. Not only for me but for my children's future...

Another Day, Another Challenge, Another Success

If you have been following my blog then you know that I recently had to have a tooth extracted after it broke off and was discovered to be dead. The journey has not been fun. In fact it has been painful, detrimental to the way I see myself, humiliating, and something I can accept and grow from.

The days leading up to my extraction I put myself on a liquid diet. Not a healthy liquid either. It was that of sugary wine. Lots of it too. I thought that if I numbed myself to the reality that was about to unfold then I would feel no pain emotionally or physically once it was over.

I WAS WRONG!

The whole experience of walking into the dentists office with my husband and children by my side was of many rushing emotions. Pride that I have such a loving and supportive family. Humiliation that I was walking in that office to have a tooth pulled as a direct result of my actions. Fear of the unknown.  I was holding my own surprisingly well while he was twisting and wiggling and pulling on my tooth that was so stubbornly hanging on to me, or maybe it was me hanging onto it.

Deep breath. Close your eyes. Let go. It is just a tooth. It is just a tooth. Breathe. Again. Now let go and be done with it.

As I said those words in my head, the inevitable happened. I felt the release and out came my tooth. The emotion swept over me like a blanket being thrown around a hypothermic baby. I felt my lip begin to quiver uncontrollably. I felt the tears well up inside my eyes.

 Be strong, I told myself over and over. Don't let them see you cry. Your kids will be waiting for you and you need to show them that you embraced this for what it is. Just a tooth.

I walked into the lobby where my kids embraced each of my legs with a joy that only a child can hold and I knew right then was my chance to make the change I had been promising over and over but was unwilling to accept. It was time to stop purging.

Not to mention that I was under strict doctor orders to not vomit or I would face painful consequences of the hard work he and I had just endured.

I walked out of the office with my head held high. I went shopping with my family for the things I would need the very next day for the baking prep for Thanksgiving. I went home. I went to bed. I slept for hours and hours. I woke. I looked around. I could not deal. I slept more. My husband took care of the kids and I took care of me.

The next day I woke to Scott leaving for work. I rose out of bed and I did what I do best. I cooked. I cooked for two Thanksgiving dinners. One for my family and one for my friend who I felt needed what I had to give more than words can express. She just had a baby, here third, a colicky one too, and I felt I could give her a peaceful calm Thanksgiving so I cooked for her. I kept all the dishes clean as they became dirty, I swept ten times. I was unstoppable and by the time I was finished at the end of the day I had accomplished 6 pies, 10 casserole side dishes, two batches of cookies, a cookie cake, relish dish, veggie tray and my kitchen was spotless.

Therapeutic.

Then came more sleep. Then came the pain. Terrible pain. By Thanksgiving I had not eaten one good meal other than yogurt, I was drinking my calories in the form of protein shakes. I was miserable. I still am miserable. I sucked it up though and ate the soft dishes I made in attempt to share in the Thanksgiving traditional dinner but was tormented in the end by pain that has yet to cease.

 Stitches are being tugged, broken free, stabbing. The gums are bruised and tender to the touch. The fake tooth looks great but hurts so badly at the moment. I look in the mirror and feel like I look like a white trash hillbilly. Toothless. Embarrassed. 

Last night I spent the night in so much pain I was laying on the couch begging my husband to shoot me, commit me, take me in for a shot. Anything. Nothing was numbing the pain. Finally after a few extra vicodin I passed out. 

Today we went to the store. I had my fake tooth in afraid of showing the dark, bloody, stinky, gaping hole. I was in pain for vanity. We went out to eat. I had mushy french fries, onion soup, soggy bread. I watched as my husband enjoyed his big, juicy, loaded with yumminess, burger. I feel like I am starving but cannot eat because the pain is so bad. 

So I am on day 4 of no purging and yet I am not proud. I am not eating. I am miserable. How is that something to celebrate? I did this to myself. So I ask for no pity. But yet pity would be so nice at this point. 

I know. I'm kinda crazy.

Tomorrow is a new day. A monumental one at that. I am getting on an airplane with my good friend Christy and we are leaving husbands, kids, and our realities behind while we let loose and enjoy a fun 48 hours in Las Vegas. No expectations. No demands. No schedules. No pressure. Just good friends. Good laughs. Good break. A much needed break. A first for me. But it won't be the last. 

No if only the pain would stop. 

My Long Path of Self Destruction

It is amazing to me how so many people can see something so clearly that you struggle with accepting in yourself. I know that I am a good person on the inside and know that I have a lot to offer the world and to those around me. However, I am not nice to myself. I don't give myself credit for those good things but instead I point out and punish myself for the bad.

I started my self destruction when I was ten years old. I had just gone through a major life change, moving from Kansas where I lived with my mom, two step-siblings, her not good husband, and the new baby they shared together, to Colorado where I would join my father, step-mother, and older brother. I had endured a lot of traumatic events growing up with my mother, non of which were ever intentional. She did the absolute best that a young, 18 year old, could do for her child. But we moved a lot and there were things that I didn't understand at the time. Her marriage to my brothers father brought about some unpleasantries that diminished my self-esteem that I don't think I have ever regained.

When I moved in with my dad there was a lot of adjusting on us all. I went from being the oldest in the house to the youngest; my brother went from being the only one to now having to share everything with me; my parents were trying to figure out a comfortable balance of getting to know me as I was them. I was hating myself for reasons that are no longer important but they pushed me then to hit myself with my hair brushes, fists, kick holes in walls, and try my hardest to inflict such physical pain in hopes it would numb the emotional pain.

I went through all my years in school bouncing from one friendship to the next, always finding some way to sabotage it so no one could ever truly get close to the real me. I was afraid of showing my pain, weakness, hurt, and fear of life. I was trapped in a dark torturous dungeon of self deprecating thoughts and feelings and I felt like I was sentenced to a life of isolation from experiencing the possibilities that when presented would open the door to a world of color, excitement, experiences that exceeded my wildest dreams.

So that is the place I stayed.

I assumed the other girls didn't like me, the boys just wanted a piece of me, my parents were burdened by me, I was an inconvenience to those around me. I hated the way I looked, talked, walked. I hated everything about me. I had no real relationships because I could not have a healthy one with myself. I judged myself based on images in society, images of the popular girls, images of what I thought others wanted me to be. Nothing I did was ever good enough, or so I thought. I had been beaten down so badly, sometimes unintentionally, I started to join in and beat myself down even more.

I prayed time and time again that something awful would happen to me that would put me in a hospital just so I could see if anyone would notice. See if anyone would care that I was there. I begged for a way to escape. Not die, let me clarify that, but just to escape. Eventually I found my way by puking in the toilet, taking ephedrine pills for energy, excessively exercising, not sleeping, and changing my appearance over and over again. None of it cured the pain. It just masked it allowing me a chance to shove it deep into the back of my mind where I would close the door on it and throw away the key.

Now I have come to the realization that by locking away those thoughts and emotions and never dealing with them actually gave them a chance to fester and grow to the point of overpowering that door and bursting free. My relapse into my bulimia has allowed those demons to rise again. I have given them power over me and have come to that deep dark dungeon once again where I have been torturing myself. This much I do know. I have lost my focus on the good points of myself and when I make a mistake or a bad choice, I embed it into my head telling myself that the consequences are justified and I deserve to endure the punishment those consequences have developed.

My closest friends (AMAZING FRIENDS!) today were there to hold my hand, embrace my sobbing and trembling body, talk me through this detrimental breaking point of realization that I have once again beaten myself down so bad that I am truly lost as to how I start honestly, successfully, take care of myself. It was even pointed out that I really do put expectations on myself to be perfect with an image that is not realistic or fair to myself. I really feel lost as to how I put myself first and take care of my needs so I am capable of taking care of my family. I don't know how to look in the mirror and acknowledge to myself that I am a fantastic mother, loving and nurturing; I am a great friend who accepts my friends for who they are unconditionally; I am a loyal, faithful, wonderful wife to the man I was blessed to marry; I am a good person who gives more to others than I give myself. I don't know how to say those things, accept them to be true, embrace them, and take myself to new heights.

I do know that I am at a point in my life that I am ready to face my demons, find a way to move on, find a way to start living joyously. I am grateful that I wake up every day, I have these two amazing children, have my husband, have the amazing friends that have now seen me in a state I have been to afraid to share. I am grateful for the gifts of being able to share my pain with others who might think they are alone. I am grateful for the knowledge that I want to change and that I want a better life for myself, rather than this destructive path I have been on that is literally killing me.

I am ready. I just need to figure out the how now.

From the book Each Day A New Beginning:

"Do not compare yourself with others, for you are a unique and wonderful creation. Make your own beautiful footprints in the snow."

~Barbara Kimball

'Comparissons we make of ourselves to other women do destruction far greater than our conscious minds are aware of...Within any moment might be the opportunity we've awaited...We must not miss our opportunities...How wonderful and how freeing to know that we each offer something uniquely our own...Envy eats at us; it interferes with all of our interactions. It possesses all of our thoughts, caging us, denying us the freedom to achieve that can be ours.'

To My Husband, I Apologize.

Tonight I have been presented some challenges, along with some epiphanies.

First I want to apologize to my husband. Scott, I am so sorry that you have had to deal with me being so ill in the many many years we have been together. Through all of the hospital visits, some were weeks at a time, themany surgeries I have endured, and counting the scars there were 8, I am so sorry to have put you through it all. You have been amazing in every aspect as being my rock and holding steadfast throughout it all.

Had I known 11 years ago that I would endure so many surgeries and trying times, I am sure there would be no one who would commit to loving me and supporting me for this long.

It started at 19 when I and my husband found my first lump in my breast, which was the size of a golf ball. I immediately went into surgery to discover it was borderline cancerous and along with it had two others removed. Luckily they were benign. But it set the stage for a life of my body growing things out of my control.

In 2001 I had two other small benign tumors removed from the same breast. I was accused of living a "precarious life" that "resulted in my state". Following that I was hospitalized for a "rare infection of the lining of my organs in my stomach" for a full week and later was hospitalized for a week for hemorrhaging from treatment for endometriosis. I was a mess!

Through it all consistently was a man who later became my husband. He was my strength when I had none.

Then came the accident that forced me to re-learn how to walk and use my back muscles. One that also forced me to loose my job and one that eventually led me to become addicted to pain killers. Not good. Learning to come off of those was like coming off a bad meth addiction and the withdrawls I experienced were so horrific I am surprised Scott stayed with me.

Then came the horrible cystic ruptures on my ovaries, one after the other. So bad that at one point I collapsed at work and was rushed to the hospital where a doctor finally diagnosed me with endometriosis. Shortly thereafter came the news that there was a tumor of some kind growing on the bone in my ethmoid cavity. Of course that resulted in another surgery.

Fast forward to the laproscopy to help me with my endometriosis, which then resulted in another hospital stay because the treatment, a shot which would put me in menopause (NOT FUN) resulted in more hemorrhaging. So comes the verdict get pregnant or have a hysterectomy.

Fast forward another year when I met a doctor who did one more laproscopy in a last ditch effort to avoid the hysterectomy and I got pregnant soon after.

Then was the news of a cystic tumor in my pancreas which was noticed years before but was neglected to be presented to me.

It had not changed over the years til after I first gave birth and then three months later was discovered that it had doubled in size and changed properties so much so that it was advisable to be immediately taken out out of fear that I would develop cancer. So came the removal of half my pancreas plus my spleen. 

Fast forward to giving birth to my second child which soon resulted in the removal of one ovary and eventually my uterus. Not to mention a mole that was "suspicious" but benign but then followed by a removal that turned out to be pre-cancerous lesion.

Now I have to be extremely careful in the sun for I am at a high risk of skin cancer. I have to have vaccinations and flu shots since my immune system is extremely compromised from the removal of my spleen. Added to that my bulimia which has also compromised me. And now I have to have a tooth extracted with a bone graft because I have purged to the extreme, ultimately resulting in a no win situation.

So comes the apology.

Babe, had I known that I would grow so many damn tumors, gotten sick beyond extremes we never saw coming, had difficult pregnancies resulting in so many meds and bed rest, so many hospital visits along with so many surgeries (ha, spinal headache included) I would never have enlisted you to be my partner and put you through so much heart ache, nor would I have put you through my detrimental disease of bulimia, which is now consuming our lifestyle, finances, and well being. I am so sorry.

For all of this, I apologize to you. Scott, I love you and I adore you for being so steadfast, strong, supportive, and my partner through it all.

THANK YOU SCOTT. MY LOVER. MY SOULMATE. MY BEST FRIEND.

I LOVE YOU!

Now this is something to think about

 My Declaration of Self-Esteem:

 I am me. In all the world there is no one else exactly like me. There are persons who have some parts like me, but no one adds up exactly like me. Therefore, everything that comes out of me is authentically mine because I alone chose it.

                                         ~Virginia Satir

Pain. I feel pain. Bulimia is pain.

Today I am somber. Well more like down, depressed, humiliated, embarrassed, angry (at myself), disappointed (in myself), ashamed (of myself). Why you might ask? Because I have been failing miserably in my quest to be healthy.

So much so that I have once again neglected to focus on what is truly important which is taking care of myself so I can take care of my family.

In fact I have slipped so bad that I am ashamed to look in the mirror and find the strength to avoid bashing myself or even bashing my head against the mirror to try and knock some flipping sense into me.

I want to scream.

I have spent much of the morning in tears after the one moment that I don't know what it will take for me to let go and move past.

This weekend was amazingly calm and cool with my family. Each morning we were greeted in bed by smiling kids, laughing and cuddling and living in the moment. Our Saturday was completely lazy, other than the brief period of Tyler puking after coughing terribly hard, but we lounged in our pj's all day playing and enjoying each other. We built choo choo tracks all across the living room floor, played candyland and life, watched movies, colored, all things that we seem to be to busy to do any other normal day. It was a good day. Sunday was just as great with more productivity. We got some laundry done, spent time with the in-laws, put up indoor holiday decorations, cleaned a few rooms, and once again we played. It was another good day.

Today, however, is different.

The morning started off the same as it has with the added joy of MiKayla racing into our room shouting, "Mommy! Daddy! It is snowing! Look it snowed!!" You would think this child had never seen snow before with the kind of excitement radiating from her little body. Tyler, wanting to be just like his big sister, quickly followed suit and joined in her excitement. They were singing and playing and it was great. Then Tyler changed his attitude back to the needy, clingy, mommy do this, only mommy, do that. I felt my tension start to rise. Maybe he sensed it, Scott was packing a bag once again to make the quite normal occurring trip to Wyoming. It seems we struggle with the stress of daddy leaving more and more each time and it always brings a struggle to find the balance once he returns that we were so lucky to experience within our family over the weekend.

So we all bundled up and the kids got to play outside in the snow while Scott loaded up the truck and we eventually and reluctantly said our goodbyes. Daddy was off to work and we were off to prepare for our normal Monday duties. The kids were in the living room eating cereal and watching their allowed morning cartoons, i fixed myself a bowl of yogurt with a banana and went into my room to watch my morning news. We were good. Then in the midst of a bite of yogurt I crouched down on something large and HARD. The sound alone inside my head was as shocking and loud as a gun shot bouncing off the walls of an enclosed room. I fished around in my mouth hoping maybe I got a chunk of a bad pecan but was mortified to find I was holding a tooth. Not a piece of a tooth but the amount of a full tooth. I felt around my mouth with my tongue and found the large gaping hole that extended past my gum line (thankfully on the back side) with the outer shell of my tooth hanging down so no one would be able to see the damage I had inflicted on myself with this stupid stupid disease of mine. STUPID. 

I didn't know what to feel nor did I understand how I was feeling. I felt some of the obvious, you know the sick stomach and the upset feeling we all get when something goes bad, but there was something else churning inside me that I had no understanding of. 

I called my dentist and he refused to see me unless I could pay in full since I had a past due balance and my insurance was maxed out. If you know me then you know that we struggle financially and there was no way I could honor his request. I was freaking out. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  

I was amazed when my husband exceeded my expectations and called a friend explaining our situation. She called her husband, who happens to be a dentist and the kindest most invested dentist I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and they opened their doors to me helping me arrange the best options for my finances. 

Reality did hit me smack in the center of my face though once I was sitting in his office. My tooth was beyond repair. The whole thing is dying. Dying. Because of me. Dying. It has to be extracted in a surgical extraction. So I am going to have no freaking tooth close to the front of my mouth. A big fat hole. At 30 years old. To get an implant will cost close to if not more than 3000 dollars. So in the mean time I am going to have a flipper tooth. You know one of those teeth that attaches to a piece of plastic like a retainer. Take it out when I eat, don't throw it in the trash. Humiliating. FREAKING HUMILIATING!

But this is my doing. My fault. 

The kicker. Insurance will not cover one penny of any of it, this year or next. 

I have spent most of my day, in the office of this nice dentist and out, in utter tears. (Except for the part when my best friend looked at me and said matter of factly, "you really are my ruthless toothless friend!" sending me literally into a laughter that brought me to tears. Explanation of that to come.) But I must admit that I was astonished by the compassion of this dentist and the fact that he looked at me and said he wanted to help me, not only with my teeth, but HELP me. You don't find that every day. I am honored to have found that today. 

So now I am preparing myself for what is to come next week. The extraction. Until then, I am terrified to eat, wondering when the next part of the tooth will break off, or any tooth for that matter. I am constantly feeling the reminder of my F-up with my tongue which makes trying to let it go almost impossible. I can't seem to stop yelling at myself for being so utterly stupid to let it, being the bulimia, get the best of me and giving into the temptations of binging, ultimately leading to purging, knowing I really didn't want it but yet could not stop it. I say it is a control issue but as Kiele pointed out to me, I kinda lost all control and what I think I have control over, I don't. 

I don't have control. 

Right now, in this very moment, I am wanting, more than ANYTHING, to binge and purge. Badly. But I can't. I won't. Partly out of fear, but also because I know it won't help me in any way shape or form. I know it will cause me more pain.

That is what I feel. Pain. Physical. Mental. Emotional. Pain.

How do I stop the pain?

I am so tired of being tired to the point of feeling lost...

I know I am supposed to be writing about the amazing day on the river with my brother but for some reason I am not ready to give details. Maybe it is because I enjoyed it so much I want to be a bit selfish and save it for myself or maybe I am just plain lazy and can't seem to convince my mind that it needs to work. Either way it will be transferred into words when I am ready.

But speaking of a lazy mind...My mind has been incredibly lazy lately and it is driving me insane! I look around my house at the endless chores that require my full attention and I know they need to be tackled yet I have no burning desire to get them done. How lazy is that! Although I do have the mindset to scold my daughter for the monumental mess that has piled up but I am doing nothing to help rectify the situation.

Instead I find myself pushing myself to pull out the treadmill and work a program on it for an hour, before that though I do a strength training program with the tools available to me in my house, and I feel that at the end of each I should be able to find the energy to go about my chore filled day as I used to be able to, but I feel lost. I feel emotionally drained to the point of an emptiness that never seems to get filled. The satisfaction of accomplishment knowing that the house is clean and perfectly habitual for my family should be enough of a motivation. But all I want to do is sleep. I want to sit and do nothing. So the feeling gets darker and deeper and my body just won't perform the way I want it to.

I would like to blame it on the fact that we have had a long two months. Between the multiple injuries, broken down cars, sicknesses that pile up one after the other, mouse infestation, vacation with it's demands, being a single mom through most of it, having new challenges pop up each day faster than I can process...I am just plain flat out exhausted.

Quit complaining right? The thing is I seldom do complain. Instead I bottle up my emotions, feelings, stress and hang onto them til the point of breaking. Take two nights ago for example. Just picture me curled up on my bed sobbing in my husbands arms because my bottle overflowed and I could no longer hold onto another ounce of emotions. So I emptied a few. Not many but a few, enough to get me through the next day or so and now I am just tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of fighting to be healthy because let me tell you it is not easy. It would be so much easier to quit and give up, reverting to my old habits which are still there, and live the way I was. But I know it would not last very long before I would end up in the hospital or even worse, dead. So I keep fighting. But I am so freaking tired of it!

Where is my Fairy Godmother with her magic wand? I could really use her help right about now. My kids would appreciate it to because then their mother would not be so stressed that she snaps at the most asinine things instantly regretting her behavior and they would have nothing but sheer illuminating happiness surrounding them all the time. What I would give to be able to give them that perfect ray of light all the time that they so deserve...What I would give to be the perfect mother they so deserve...What I would give to shield them from feeling any ounce of my despair...

For now I suppose the loves and reassurance that mommy loves them will have to be good enough for now. So I am going to leave you now and go wrap my arms around my kids and tell them I love them and am thankful for the gift of being their mom and we are going to go about our day the best we can.

Roll Me Away...A Day Closer to Heaven

There is this song, an AMAZING song, by Bob Seger called 'Roll Me Away'. If you have never heard this song then I suggest you click over to YouTube.com and listen. The music combined with the lyrics are so powerful, more so to the music lovers soul, but so powerful that even the most skeptic will feel this fire deep within the pit of the stomach that builds in intensity for a feeling of euphoria bursting in sheer inspiration for peace within.

This song reminds me of an amazing trip I once took with my dad before our relationship became complicated with the demands of the balance between being  a daughter and becoming an adult.

My family was once into motorcycle riding, so much so that I even got my license, and had this desire to make a trip down to Taos, NM. It was the day before we were to leave and Dad had gotten into a fight with my step mother, for reasons I cannot remember, which resulted in him opting out of this trip. So, as planned, my brother, aunt and uncle loaded up and headed out. My day with my parents was relatively normal in the sense of work, stress and more stress. That night my dad sat down with me and asked me if I really wanted to go with everyone and I expressed my disappointment in missing out on what would be a great experience with my family.

That next morning my dad woke me and said we were going. We would take an alternate route and hopefully intercept the rest of the clan, taking them by surprise. I asked about mom and he simply left her a letter with a short explanation. With that, we loaded the bike and left.

We took this amazing route over the mountains stopping in a town by the great divide next to this breathtakingly beautiful lake. I was freezing but did not have the audacity in me to complain, I was having the time of my life with the man I had placed upon a pedestal and looked up to my entire life. It was wondrous in the way I would possibly imagine heaven to be. I was with the person whom made me the happiest, doing something both of us loved with a passion, and the surrounding atmosphere was something out of a fairytale novel. We had the best trip of a lifetime, and even though we did meet up with the rest of my family, I was still cherishing the thought that it was just my dad and me, living vicariously, sharing an experience so monumental that my words cannot even begin to express in the way of the realism of that adventure.

As much turmoil that my father and I have been through, the meaning and enormous emotional impact that that particular moment had on our relationship is completely detrimental to the emotional bond I have with him and the respect that I have towards the man whom not only made life possible for me but also whom spent many many early mornings grabbing cinnamon rolls at a now extinct diner, or secretive stops at a liquor store, or amazing moments working on a piece of art within the garage to metal that once transported human beings similar to you and me but in a different era, but a man whom I am honored to call dad, missing terribly due to the stupid (and I mean STUPID) events that took place in the transitional time of me becoming an adult, and a man whom I respect and thank for teaching me that life isn't perfect but as long as you are honest and follow your dreams, living the life and dreams YOU have, not someone elses, you have done good. You are successful. That is the man I love and am thankful for.

Why is this important? You may be asking yourself this very question. But I assure you that it has a lot to do with my now distorted image of myself yet the knowledge that no matter what pain we have endured or brought onto each other, I still unconditionally love my father, thank him for his teachings, and am grateful that he gave my brother the skills possible to make yesterday, not only a dream, but a kick-ass reality.


So I bring you to the Westwater run I shared with my brother just yesterday.

ER...A Mom's worst Nightmare

I thought I had been through the worst of things when MiKayla got her tonsils removed and the recovery was a bit on the harsh side. Then I realized I was so very wrong when I spent a night at Docs on Call clutching Tyler to me as tightly as possible, 3 other women helping restrain him, while a doctor administered three stitches to the bottom of his chin while listening to the ear piercing shrieks emit from his tiny body.

Then came last night.

I walked into my bedroom to check on my sleeping boy, whom only two hours earlier was in a peaceful and comfortable state of slumber, to find his head twitching backwards with each struggle of a breath, skin a pale white I had never seen before, and a fever. Not just feeling warm to the touch fever, but a fever that you could feel the heat pouring out of his body just by standing within a foot of him. I ran and grabbed the thermometer. 104.8 was the reading. Panicked I rushed to get the Motrin ready and into his system and as he sat, body trembling, fighting to swallow the medicine he had no energy to fight, I knew it was time to make that dreaded trip to the emergency room.

It all started last weekend, Halloween.

MiKayla woke one morning with a voice that sounded like she had been screaming endlessly at a rock concert the night before. She didn't feel badly, just couldn't talk. Later that night she entered our room and woke us from our peaceful slumber, yea I made that up, we never have peaceful slumber, but she sounded like a seal crying.  We cuddled her and gave her medicine to treat her symptoms and the next day she was fine. Halloween night came lots of Trick-or-Treating but without the spark of excitement you usually witness in a child. We knew she was sick and when her breathing sounded just plain weird the next day, it was a trip to the doctor.

Croup.

What we were hearing when she breathed was what they called stridor. Just as quickly as they diagnosed her, they were giving her steroids that seemed to instantaneously cure her breathing. We soon left with a fair warning from the doctor that Tyler would more than likely develop croup so keep a close eye on him. I figured, sure he'll get sick but we will manage as he never has any serious complications, MiKayla is usually the one to worry about and that ship had sailed.

Two days later Scott once again took off for Wyoming and I settled into a nice quiet routine with the kids, taking it easy and allowing us time to rest and recover. That night at 12:10 came the loud, barking sound of my son coming into my room, me scooping him up and cuddling him, loving him, ready to tackle the familiar sickness that he could not escape.  The next day he seemed fine to an extent and we were lounging around the house as I was feeling quite a bit under the weather myself.

It all changed at 3:00 pm when Tyler woke from his nap with a fever of 103.4. I did what mom's do best and filled him with the fever reducing medicine, opened the windows, convinced him to drink water, and then we cuddled to a movie. I was quite prepared to have to take him into the doctor at some point since his breathing was making noises I had never really heard but was telling myself it was part of the sickness and he would be just fine. I gave him his bath, made him his milk, and before I knew it I found him snuggled in my bed, peacefully resting for the night. Or so I thought.

Fast forward to the Emergency Room.

Poor Tyler was so delirious and lethargic from the fever of 104.8 that we struggled to get an accurate weight, accurate temp, accurate vitals, accurate everything. He screamed in the most god awful shrill when the stethoscope was placed on his back which prompted an attack of coughing followed by struggles to breathe. They rushed him into a room where a Respiratory Therapist, reeking of smoke, walked into the room with a scowl on her face that seemed to imply we were interrupting her precious time. She barely said two words other than the bitch that her pager doesn't go off and quickly exited the room.

The nurse came in and tried to check Tyler but he wanted nothing to do with anyone other than me. His arms wrapped tighter around my neck, legs clenched around my waist, face nestled into my neck, all the while crying "Mama, I want mama." The doctor came in to listen to him and without much luck came to the conclusion that no matter where his vitals were at that moment, we desperately needed to get meds into his system to make him more comfortable. The chest X-ray was ordered. The steroids, Tylenol, and epinephrine were ordered. The hell began.

Now I know some kids fight taking medicine and we deal with it. We convince them that it is only for the better and soon they will understand. Usually our kiddos relent and take the medicine because they trust in you.

NOT MY KID. NOT TONIGHT.

Three of us had to hold him down while trying to squirt medicine down his throat. His mouth was being pinched, he was trying to spit the medicine back at us, his legs were kicking me, arms hitting, vocals being stretched to a limit I never knew existed. The strength that came from that little body utterly rendered me speechless. I had a little strong man on my hands. You know those guys that you see on television throwing cars, pulling over trees, lifting obscene amounts of weights. Yea that was Tyler in the ER.

Finally the battle of the liquid meds were over, I was drenched in sweat from both Tyler and myself, he was pooped from the fighting and I wanted to cry from the episode of torture. Then comes in smoky, bitchy, lady, who made the tension and the aura of that room so rash you felt like your body would explode if there was no release of something. Tyler took one look at her and the tube that was going to blow out misty air filled with medicine and the screaming commenced. This time it was louder, longer, more adrenaline filled than the episode before. My arms wrapped around him tighter to hold him in one position, arms were being wrapped around me and him to help keep him from knocking me over, hands were clenching to his poor little head so tightly as the air was being blown into his face. He screamed, cried, tried to hold his breath, would tire out and give in only to have it instantly kick in again.

I was exhausted, devastated, emotionally drained, not sure how much more I could put him through, nor how much more I could handle before I broke down.

Then it was time for the X-Ray. Let me just tell you, I lost it so bad, I had to leave the room and have two other people fight him and pin him into the positions they needed for the two pictures, listening to him scream that all he wanted was his mama.  Me. The one who had to walk away because I could not take anymore. And when it was all over he ran into my arms and held me so tight and I collapsed in tears.

Finally we were done. He was breathing better, the fever broke, there was no pneumonia and we were free to go home. Strict instructions of following up with our doctor were given, I signed a piece of paper while holding my wiped out son and we came home. Tyler nestled himself into my bed again, MiKayla, who woke while we were gone, went back to bed, in my bed and I was wired. Wired with emotions of rage, pity, love, sadness, resentment, distress, pain, every emotion possible. That was me. Two hours later, I was in out of control tears. Thirty minutes after that, I did what I do best and that was to purge my emotions into the toilet. I don't know why, but I did. I went and cuddled in bed with my two kids, dealt with the endless waking and freak outs from my sick baby, finally dozed for a couple of hours and woke to a new day. A day of exhaustion and horrible emotional hangover.

Tyler is now sleeping for his nap, preceded by much effort to avoid on his part, MiKayla is at school, Scott is finally home, and I...

I feel lost. Today I am lost and tired and scared by the events that took place last night and the feelings that followed. My son is OK. Granted he is still sick, looks sick, and yet, smiling at me and loving me all the same. For that I am thankful.

Are we desperate housewives as portrayed on television?

"People don't let us down, it is our expectations of people that let us down."

I had my first interview today with an extremely laid back, kind hearted, amazing woman regarding my blog, the pressures of being a housewife in today's economic times and the need to live up to unfair pressures of complete composure. We talked about how you can turn on the TV and see images of what could be perceived as the perfect housewife.

The conversation focused mainly on the example of 'Desperate Housewives' and the first image that came to ligt was Eva Longoria as the perfectly beautiful wife. She portrays the most unique of them all as I don't believe you will find many people like her in today's society. I tend to lean towards the characters of Lynette and Bree. I find myself struggling to balance both worlds that they seem to portray. Lynette is scattered and overwhelmed with the demands of her kids, chores of the house, medical issues, all the while trying to find balance with her marriage.

All of those things I find myself struggling with on a day to day basis.

Bree on the other hand has dealt with so much turmoil that it has scarred her emotionally. Part of which lead her to turn to alcohol, as I find myself doing from time to time, as a coping mechanism. She fights within herself to hide her addiction from the outside world and in doing so, puts up a front of the perfectly composed, properly dressed woman, baking goodies, and presenting a distraction from her imperfections with her perfectly clean, poslished house and attire. Something I have tried my hardest to do, but in doing so have lost valuable time with myself, my kids and my husband.

So where do we draw the line?

I was then asked the question as to what pushed me to start purging and I am not sure I answered in the best of my ability, might I remind you I have never been in front of a camera, and I am now processing my answer in my head as I wish I had in front of that electronic device that in no way could understand my thoughts the way I once expected my scale to.

Contrary to what most might think, I did not intend to loose the amount of weight I did, nor did I intend to become so obsessed with body image. 

 I was not "fat" nor was I "skinny". I was a woman who had just had my second child and I was perfect then for who I was supposed to be. I turned to the purging for the one reason of control. I was loosing all control over the events of my life at the time. The economy was taking a horrible downturn, my poor husband was being forced into an impossible position with his job, I was putting unrealistic expectations on things that I had no business even trying to, and we, or maybe it was I who, truley began to drown. We went from happily surviving to the point of drowning that we were grasping onto arm floaties to keep our heads above water financially. My coping mechanism with our newfound stresses quickly became the purging.

I started to think about how everywhere I turned was someone who's life was so much more manageable, perfect, and full of the promise and stability I was aching for. They had the perfectly put together homes, the perfect hair, clothes, nails and even shoes, the perfect family life with gifts, get togethers and projects that we never seemed to have time or opportunity for. But once I looked deeper past the surface of what was being presented to the outside world, I discovered each one of those homes I had envied so much, had the same despair I was dealing with, only each circumstance varied. Some were dealing with divorce, others with addicts, a few with chaos that never made any sense to anyone. And each was dealing with it in their own ways. Alcohol for some, denial for others, and for me, bulimia. 

We each are faced with similar and compelety different challenges that affect us in the same ways emotionally, but we each cope in our own ways. The one thing I think we all have in common is we see the images of housewives portrayed on our televisions, prime-time dramas or even day-time soaps, and we feel the need to follow in those portrayals. For me, it was trying to dress in the cutsie tops, tight skinny jeans, perfectly clean house, stick thin body (most of what you would see a woman on TV portraying), none of which made me any happier.

I don't know if ever there was a time when a woman on television portrayed an image of a housewife that was true to it's time. Ifind myself thinking back to one sitcom in particular, Leave it to Beaver. His mother, June Cleaver, was always in a proper dress, high heels, apron, cleaning and baking, serving dinner on the table when her husband got home, happily smiling 24/7.

I am perplexed to think that living like that can even be possible. Can it?

For me absolutely no way in hell could I have dinner on the table the same time every night, bake all the time (and not gain 200 pounds from all the sampling of the goodies I was baking), smile constantly, look as good as she did day in and day out, have the laundry all caught up all the time...I am exhausted even thinking of the possibility. The one thing I do know, is that if I lived that kind of a life, I would probably miss out on the little things that I am finding mean more to me than a clean house. Those being the moments of growing and developing my kids experience on a daily basis.

I still feel like the cross between Bree and Lynette are closer to reality than most would like to admit. If only I could have the outgoing voice that Lynette posesses then maybe I could rid myself completely of pouring my voice into the toilet...

"It is who I am, not what I do, that makes me worthwhile..."

Then the question came up as to why blog about my life and my journey.

It's funny because I am not sure what the one reason was or even if there was one reason. I just knew that if I continued on the path I was on, lying to those around me, lying to myself, I was eventually going to end up in a deep dark spot that I am almost sure of, I would never have been able to get out of. I most likely would have let my thoughts and actions consume me to a state of self destruction that scares me now to even imagine. I turned 30 and looked around at the house I had, the two precious children I had produced, and my husband with whom I could not imagine my life without. I just knew I needed to change and the only way I could truely work on making that change was by being openly honest with those around me and myself. So the blogging began.

Right now, at this very moment, I am questioning my decision to blog.

 Questioning the importance of sharing my experiences with the world. and I find myself automatically thinking that I am kidding myself of the amount of people whom I am hoping that might even be glancing at my writings. All of the sudden I am not sure that I am holding any kind of importance to anyone with this information.

Funny isn't it? 

 I started off motivated and excited with these reflections and now, I have this burning desire to cry. Incredibly I am second guessing myself and the meaning behind the events of today as I thought they should be, but seem to be playing out into something different. So comes the question I must now ask myself.

Have my expectations once again let me down?

"they say that pain is inecitable but suffering is optional. If I learn to accept that pain is part of life, I will be better able to enure the difficult imes and then move on, leaving the pain behind me"

"...difficulties remind us that oaks grow string in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure..."

~~ Peter Marshell