Monthly Archives: February 2013

I’m Movin On

You know that moment when you’ve just decided enough is enough, things CANNOT stay the way they are, and you’re going to change shit, even if it kills you?  Yeah.  I’m there.  And that moment gave me the motivation I needed to get stuff started, get my ass moving, and start making our dreams and goals a reality.  One step at a time (I can’t handle a DAY at a time yet), but we’re doing it.  We’re moving on.  No more bitching about how bad it is and how good it could be.  Just action – to change it from what it is into what we want it to be.  And for the first time in a LONG time, I’m not only NOT hopeless, I’m actually hopeful. I’m not apathetic, I’m optimistic.  And determined like I can never remember being before in my life.  I look at our boys, and I want better for them, especially D – C has all he could want and need.  But I can’t sit around and have a pity party anymore.  I deserve better, Jeff deserves better, D deserves better… everyone I love deserves better.  And it’s up to us to make that happen.  So that’s what we’re doing.  Hoping, praying, and crossing my fingers that I stick with this.  I’m well known for starting strong, and then just… well, losing interest.  This isn’t a project though – it’s my life.  It’s my family’s life.  And together, we’re gonna make it happen.  Yesterday was filled with toxic people.  Today?  It won’t be.  And neither will tomorrow, or the days after.  I saw too clearly how they drag me down yesterday.  I do a good enough job of that on my own, I DON’T need my parents or so called “siblings” reminding me that I’ve never been good enough for them, I can’t be trusted, and I never WILL measure up.  My ex drilled that into me for 16 years and I walked out on his ass.  Why would I now allow others to do the same to me???  Why HAVE I been allowing it?  So… we’re moving on.  Life won’t be perfect when we get where we’re going.  But it WILL be better than it is where we are now.  There’s a few I’ll miss.  Very few.  But they’ve all been issued invitations to come visit once we’re on our feet, to see what it CAN be, instead of what they’re used to.   I’ve had enough, Jeff has had enough, and so has D.  We’re outta here.  (Not HERE here – this blog means a lot to me, and I’m going to start utilizing it for what it was meant – to better myself, to learn to believe in all those dreams that I gave up on long ago, to make me into the person I know I can be.  Not the one that I’m tired of being.

Yeah, that was a rant, sorry bout that.  But it needed to come out.  Now, it’s time to get my ass outside for some fresh air, then back here to cook Jeff a nice(ish) dinner, and start purging and tossing and packing.

As I mentioned on Twitter yesterday – UP FOR ADOPTION – 34yo female, comes with fiancee, 18yo son, 14yo disabled son with little time left with us, a kitty, and a shitload of baggage.  But even with all that?  We’re worth it.


“I’m Moving On”  Rascal Flatts

I’ve dealt with my ghosts and I’ve faced all my demons
Finally content with a past I regret
I’ve found you find strength in your moments of weakness
For once I’m at peace with myself
I’ve been burdened with blame, trapped in the past for too long
I’m movin’ on

I’ve lived in this place and I know all the faces
Each one is different but they’re always the same
They mean me no harm but it’s time that I face it
They’ll never allow me to change
But I never dreamed home would end up where I don’t belong
I’m movin’ on

I’m movin’ on
At last I can see life has been patiently waiting for me
And I know there’s no guarantees, but I’m not alone
There comes a time in everyone’s life
When all you can see are the years passing by
And I have made up my mind that those days are gone

I sold what I could and packed what I couldn’t
Stopped to fill up on my way out of town
I’ve loved like I should but lived like I shouldn’t
I had to lose everything to find out
Maybe forgiveness will find me somewhere down this road
I’m movin’ on

I’m movin’ on
I’m movin’ on



Not Afraid (Okay, I lied… YES, I’m Afraid)

When I first started blogging, I used to look at this blank white space and get excited.  I saw the potential it held – it could become anything, it was up to me.  I could make someone laugh, smile, or cry.  I could make a reader think, examine themselves the way I intended to examine myself.

This was way back at the beginning of my first blog – maybe 2007?  I had a niche, somewhere that I fit very clearly into.  My blog was very specific as to its content, its readers.  There came a time where that blog came to the end of it’s natural life.  I was no longer living the lifestyle that I had been writing about, the purpose of the blog no longer existed.  So away it went, disappearing from the internet (other than the cached files in Google, of course – because we all know that once something appears online, it never really goes away).

Not long after, I started a new blog.  Not so specific, more along the lines of this blog… more a journal than anything else.  I struggled with the face that I didn’t “fit in” anywhere.  I certainly wasn’t a mommy-blogger, I wasn’t crafty or a DIY’er, I wasn’t LOL funny or a brilliant poet.  I didn’t have expertise to share or hints to give (I still don’t, in case you were wondering).  Now, everyone blogs, for such diverse reasons – you don’t need a “why”.  You don’t have to fit into a category.  Just a few years ago, if you said (or wrote) that you blogged, the next question was almost always “What kind of blog?”.  Uhm, gee, I don’t know, the kind where… uh… well, the kind where I write about my life?  You’d get a confused look or a repeat of the question, with the person putting extra emphasis on the word KIND, as if you were too dumb to understand the question the first time. Now, the answer can be a simple “oh, it’s  a personal blog”.  I remember quite a few bloggers going through that whole where do I fit in thing around the same time as me.  I guess it was kind of like a virus, and all us bloggers naively passed the germ from one to another unintentionally.  I didn’t have a purpose for blogging the second time, other than the fact that I had fallen in love with it the first time around.  That blog faded away…  I didn’t really intend to stop blogging, but my life was in turmoil – there was no room for blogging.  (Yes, my life is also in turmoil now, that little fact did not escape my notice.  But this time, I’m choosing to blog through the turmoil.)

I love to write – often I find it easier than speaking.  I’ll post openly here about my addiction, my mental health issues, my medical problems, my emotional turmoil – yet I cannot name a single person (other than Jeff)  that I speak freely to about ANY of those subjects, let alone all of them.  Even here, I’m still kind of standing at the edge of the water, inching my way in.  Every few steps forward finds me taking a step or ten backward.  There are days where I’ve backed up so far I’m standing on dry sand, and others where I’m in up to my knees.  A full dive in would (to me) include using my real name, and linking to my real facebook page, where any and all, friends and frienemies could come and read the pages where I pour out my heart.  That’s not gonna happen.  One day?  Maybe.  Not now, not while certain people still have the power to harm me, not while words that I write have the power to put me back in jail.  I’d like to get in the water, though, and swim.  I want to keep walking forward, deeper into the water, until I’m standing on my toes to keep my head above water (that’s not too hard, though – I really AM short).  So that a few steps backward doesn’t mean dry land, it just means chilly shoulders.  Because when you’re in that deep, it’s more comfortable IN the water than it is out.

I’m just tired of the cycle of depression, of physical pain, of self abuse, of self hatred, of using not even to get high anymore but just to get numb.  I want off this ride.  And to anyone who hasn’t been on this oh-so-fucking-fun ride of addiction, the answer is simple.  Just get off.  To anyone who doesn’t comprehend chronic pain, it’s also simple.  Just get off.  The one thing that (most days) keeps me from crying in pain is the thing that’s destroying my life.  ANY addiction is hell.  Opiate addiction is hell to the 10th power.  Throw chronic pain and bipolar (mainly depressive) in and I’m left running in circles that leave my head spinning and my stomach queasy.  I want off… but I don’t see a stop button, or an off switch – and the ride is moving too fast to just close my eyes, jump off, and hope for a soft landing.  Step 1 is clear – get clean.  But to complete step 1, I need to first cover steps A, B, and C.  And it’s seriously overwhelming.  Nothing is going to get better until we’re clean.  But getting clean is so much easier in theory than in practice.  When I’m not dope sick and going through withdrawal, it’s easy to say “This was the last time.  We’re clean, tomorrow morning, no matter what”.  Then tomorrow comes, and we wake up sick… and tough it out a few hours.  By halfway through the day, what seemed like a wonderful plan the night before now feels like sheer lunacy.

I know there’s a way to do this.  A way WE can do this.  I know there is.  Because this?  Living in a shitty motel, struggling to pay the rent daily, putting Jeff’s life at risk every day to drive into the city to an area NO sane person feels safe in to buy what we need to keep a roof over our heads and from being sick… this isn’t us.  We’re better than this.  And I can say this right now – because while I’m nowhere near high (or numb), I’m also not sick.  That’s coming in a few hours.  Then?  It’s not as easy.  We deserve better than this.  I could pull out the letters we wrote back and forth when we were in jail, talking about getting out and going to meetings, going to church, how we would never go back to the way we were living before we got locked up.  And we didn’t – we went even further down.  Then, we had a beautiful home, a nice car, and D living with us.  Now?  Well, you know the now.

We have somewhere to go… somewhere safe, free, and supportive.  Yet with our habit, we haven’t been able to save up the money to get there – and if we’re going there, we have to go there clean.  Sober.  They’re eagerly waiting for us.  And yet here we are – months after we said we’d already be there, we’re still here.  True, we’ll miss the boys – but D (our oldest) understands why we’re going, and is already planning a road trip (seems teenage boys will take any excuse to hop in the car and drive a few hundred miles, lol).  And C (our younger) doesn’t comprehend a calendar – he’s not going to hold it against us.  But staying in the area we’re in isn’t an option.  Not if we a) want to stay out of jail or b) want to stay clean.  And we want both of those things.

We’re know the odds are against us.  But we’re fighters, both of us.  We wouldn’t still be going if we weren’t.  But this hurdle is a big one.  And while we’re each others biggest cheerleader, strongest support, and best friend… we also have the ability to drag each other down.  It’s so easy to feed into each others addictions.  He might be having a strong, hopeful day, and I’m having a weak and pessimistic day, or vice versa.  We’re determined as hell NOT to give up this 3rd chance we’ve been given.  We’ve been blessed to get a 3rd shot at making our love work – when many don’t even get a 2nd chance.  To throw it away a third time… no.  We’re gonna do it.  Not doing it is NOT an option.  I will not leave my children without a mother and/or a father because I or we were too weak to get clean.

I’m just ready for life to not be so hard.  I know, nobody ever promised it would be easy.  I’m okay with not easy.  But this hard?  Damn.  Really???  I miss the Jeff from when we first got together, and I know he misses the Bonnie from back then.  I miss LIVING – what we’re doing now is merely existing, and that’s a sad way to live your life.  I want to laugh again, to smile again, hell, some days I’d even like to CRY again.  I want to do things again – take walks, go to the beach or go fishing, jut ordinary, everyday things.  We also want bigger things… to travel, to take a vacation.  to not have to go back to jail, ever again.  We want to buy an RV and get a dog.  We’d even (God willing) down the road, maybe like to add to our family.  I’m fixed, so it sure won’t be easy (or cheap) but it is possible.  As long as we are the way we are, those things are not going to happen.  But sober?  They can.

As a little girl, I had dreams… and they did NOT include being a heroin addict in my 30’s, having spent time in jail, and facing MORE jail time.  I was gonna be a teacher, or a counselor of some sorts.  As I got older (read: raped at 11, heroin/crack addict at 14, knocked up and in an abusive relationship at 15, had a newborn baby with a fatal diagnosis at 19), those dreams changed.  I was going to be a counselor, for sure.  Maybe for pregnant teens, or addicts, or rape/domestic violence victims, or families of special needs kids – but regardless, I was determined to be the one DOING the helping, not the one NEEDING the help.  And I’m feeling the stirrings of those dreams again.  I see our situation, and I wish I had someone, anyone, to turn to, that could help me climb out of this hole we’re in – to show me a way out.  I want to be that someone for others like me.  But in order to do that?  I have to get out of this hole.  I can’t help anyone from way down here at the bottom.

Right now?  I’m determined.  To make changes, to make something happen, to… to something.  Anything.  Because anything is better than nothing.  So tomorrow, I’m going to take one step.  Not sure what it’s going to be yet, but it will be a step.  And maybe the next day it’ll be easier to take 2 steps.  All I know is that I can’t keep sitting here whining about how bad it is.  It’s not going to get better all by itself… only I can do that.  So… now that it’s almost 5am, I think maybe I’ll try to sleep.  Because I have something to do tomorrow.

I deserve more than this.  Jeff deserves more than this.  Our boys deserve whole parents.  I want to stop hiding – from myself and everyone else.  That means I have to stop doing shit that needs to be hidden.  But I know I can do ONE thing, make ONE change tomorrow.

Then maybe I’ll get something posted (2 days in a row!!!??? SHOCKING!!!) about what that something I accomplished was.

Thanks for listening to me ramble…


“Not Afraid”Eminem

I’m not afraid (I’m not afraid)
To take a stand (to take a stand)
Everybody (everybody)
Come take my hand (come take my hand)
We’ll walk this road together, through the storm
Whatever weather, cold or warm
Just letting you know that, you’re not alone
Holla if you feel like you’ve been down the same road (same road)[Intro (during Chorus ^above)]
Yeah, it’s been a ride
I guess I had to, go to that place, to get to this one
Now some of you, might still be in that place
If you’re trying to get out, just follow me
I’ll get you thereYou can try and read my lyrics off of this paper before I lay ’em
But you won’t take the sting out these words before I say ’em
Cause ain’t no way I’ma let you stop me from causing mayhem
When I say I’ma do something I do it,
I don’t give a damn what you think,
I’m doing this for me, so fuck the world
Feed it beans, it’s gassed up, if it thinks it’s stopping me
I’ma be what I set out to be, without a doubt undoubtedly
And all those who look down on me I’m tearing down your balcony
No ifs, ands or buts, don’t try to ask him why or how can he
From “Infinite” down to the last “Relapse” album
He’s still shitting, whether he’s on salary paid hourly
Until he bows out or he shits his bowels out of him
Whichever comes first, for better or worse
He’s married to the game, like a fuck you for Christmas
His gift is a curse, forget the Earth, he’s got the urge
To pull his dick from the dirt, and fuck the whole universeI’m not afraid (I’m not afraid)
To take a stand (to take a stand)
Everybody (everybody)
Come take my hand (come take my hand)
We’ll walk this road together, through the storm
Whatever weather, cold or warm
Just letting you know that, you’re not alone
Holla if you feel like you’ve been down the same road (same road)

Okay quit playing with the scissors and shit, and cut the crap
I shouldn’t have to rhyme these words in the rhythm for you to know it’s a rap
You said you was king, you lied through your teeth, for that
Fuck your feelings, instead of getting crowned you’re getting capped
And to the fans, I’ll never let you down again, I’m back
I promise to never go back on that promise, in fact
Let’s be honest, that last “Relapse” CD was ehhh
Perhaps I ran them accents into the ground
Relax, I ain’t going back to that now
All I’m trying to say is get back, click-clack, blow
Cause I ain’t playing around
It’s a game called circle and I don’t know how, I’m way too up to back down
But I think I’m still trying to figure this crap out
Thought I had it mapped out but I guess I didn’t, this fucking black cloud
Still follows, me around but it’s time to exorcise these demons
These motherfuckers are doing jumping jacks now!

I’m not afraid (I’m not afraid)
To take a stand (to take a stand)
Everybody (everybody)
Come take my hand (come take my hand)
We’ll walk this road together, through the storm
Whatever weather, cold or warm
Just letting you know that, you’re not alone
Holla if you feel like you’ve been down the same road (same road)

And I just can’t keep living this way
So starting today, I’m breaking out of this cage
I’m standing up, I’ma face my demons
I’m manning up, I’ma hold my ground
I’ve had enough, now I’m so fed up
Time to put my life back together right now! (now)

It was my decision to get clean, I did it for me
Admittedly, I probably did it subliminally
For you, so I could come back a brand new me you helped see me through
And don’t even realize what you did, believe me you
I been through the ringer, but they could do little to the middle finger
I think I got a tear in my eye, I feel like the king of
My world, haters can make like bees with no stingers
And drop dead, no more beef flingers
No more drama from now on, I promise
To focus solely on handling my responsibilities as a father
So I solemnly swear to always treat this roof, like my daughters
And raise it, you couldn’t lift a single shingle on it!
Cause the way I feel, I’m strong enough to go to the club
Or the corner pub, and lift the whole liquor counter up
Cause I’m raising the bar
I’d shoot for the moon but I’m too busy gazing at stars
I feel amazing and I’m

I’m not afraid (I’m not afraid)
To take a stand (to take a stand)
Everybody (everybody)
Come take my hand (come take my hand)
We’ll walk this road together, through the storm
Whatever weather, cold or warm
Just letting you know that, you’re not alone
Holla if you feel like you’ve been down the same road (same road)

I was sad, and then I wasn’t…

I don’t like where I’m at.  I’m not quite sure exactly where that is, but I DO know that I don’t like it.  I don’t even know where to begin on the map to find “here”.  NY? China? Australia? Yeah, I  really AM all over the place lately.  Cause those 3 places aren’t all that close together.  I mean, I sucked at geography, but I’m 99% sure they’re a fair distance apart.  Right?

I’m stagnant.  We’re surviving day to day, barely… and in so many different ways.  Financially.  Emotionally.  Spiritually.  Physically.  I feel like I’m falling apart – and I’m watching Jeff struggle to hold HIMSELF together, forget about piecing my million little pieces back together.  The words that come to mind are hopeless, terrified, lonely, desperate, on the edge, ready to break, physically in horrible pain, sometimes wishing as I go to sleep that I just won’t wake up in the morning.  It’s just too hard.  And I don’t know if I can do it.  Putting off all the things that need to be done to better our life… because right now I feel like doing them is pointless.

I had that post started… Lets be honest, we all know when I say “started”, I probably mean either a) I titled it or b) I typed about 100 words and maybe inserted an image.  This one was dark, I was NOT in a good place.  I just couldn’t pull out of that pit of despair and hopelessness, that certainty that no, everything is NOT going to be alright. ,

And then I received a Tweet (yes, I was hiding over on Twitter to avoid blogging, lol – sue me) that just lifted my spirits.  And instead of going to sleep worried and filled with anxiety, it was with the start of a smile  Thanks, @osaxy – you said just what I needed to hear, just when I needed to hear it.  But, that doesn’t change where I WAS.  So I posted above what I had written (until that Tweet), because that’s where I was.  And when I’m there?  The pain seems completely unbearable.  I’m okay today, though.  Jeff and I broke down and yelled and cried and said mean things and wonderful things and honest things… and it was needed.  We were both holding too much back.  Too much in.  Too much being kept from each other.  Tonight?  I believe we’ll make it.

I’ve left out the image I intended to put there because of a post I read over at Barking Mad – about stealing.  Lol… she, too, distracted me at the exact moment I needed it – just as I was about to use a (stunning) image found on Google that I really hadn’t planned on sourcing at all, and now I’m having a really hard time sourcing it period – but I’ll get it up here eventually!!!  It’s too gorgeous not to share.

Never win first place, I don’t support the team
I can’t take direction, and my socks are never clean
Teachers dated me, my parents hated me
I was always in a fight cuz I can’t do nothin’ right

Everyday I fight a war against the mirror
I can’t take the person starin’ back at me
I’m a hazard to myself

Don’t let me get me
I’m my own worst enemy
Its bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don’t wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else

I wanna be somebody else, yeah

LA told me, “You’ll be a pop star,
All you have to change is everything you are.”
Tired of being compared to damn Britney Spears
She’s so pretty, that just ain’t me

Doctor, doctor won’t you please prescribe me somethin
A day in the life of someone else?
Cuz I’m a hazard to myself

Don’t let me get me
I’m my own worst enemy
Its bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don’t wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else

Don’t let me get me
I’m my own worst enemy
Its bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don’t wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else

Doctor, doctor won’t you please prescribe me somethin
A day in the life of someone else?
Don’t let me get me

Don’t let me get me
I’m my own worst enemy
Its bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don’t wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else

“Don’t Let Me Get Me” ~Pink

Not Gonna Be Fun


I came across this in the $1 aisle at Target today, and like a dumbass, I bought it. Because… well, I have REALLY bad eating habits. Like today? I ate 4 Oreos. Nope, not missing the rest of the list, that’s what I ate. In a 24 hour period. Well, probably more likely a 48-72 hour period.

Posted from WordPress for Android

I wrote that up there on the Tuesday the 5th.  Tonight is Saturday the 9th.  Since I wrote that… I’ve kept track of what I’m eating.  And in all honesty, I’m eating more than usual, because I know it’s being tracked, and Jeff has really been on my ass about it (though, looking at what I’m eating, I can’t fault him).  So, here we go.  My menu for this past (almost) week.

Tuesday: 4 Oreos and probably 3 sips of the milk I dunked it in.

Wednesday: (coerced – he wouldn’t eat unless I ate with him) 3/4 cup rice krispies, half a banana, and about 2 oz of milk (cause I couldn’t drink the leftover milk)

Thursday: 1 cup dry froot loops (all on my own – I just wanted to make him happy)

Friday: uhm… a cookie.  A chips ahoy white fudge chip cookie.

Saturday: Just downed 6 oreos and I feel like my stomach is going to burst (this was after Jeff offered me some of every single food item we have in the hotel room, which is quite a variety).

So yeah.  My eating habits?  Suck.  I was diagnosed as anorexic when I was 14, and have struggled with it on and off (mostly on) since then, so 20 years now.  Holy shit.  I was 14 TWENTY years ago – all of a sudden I’m feeling my age, lol@!!!

I had a really bad stretch this past year.  Here’s kinda how it’s gone over the past few years.  Around 2005/2006 I had a really bad manic episode, so they added an antipsychotic to my antidepressants.  That antipsychotic added about 40 lbs to the healthy (though NOT happy) 120 I was at the time.  So at 5′ ZERO inches, I was 160.  Way overweight, by anyone’s standards, not only mine.  I couldn’t get the weight off… I had gone from being in a size 2 to a size 13 in less than 6 months, and even though I stopped the medication, the weight stayed on.

I finally started losing it in 2009 when I was getting ready to and finally did leave my ex – stress, alcohol and pills don’t do much for you calorie wise.  It came off pretty steadily, and I stayed at that 120 until last year.

Opiates aren’t healthy for the body in any form, but it turns out that heroin is a lot harder on your system than prescribed (though abused) narcotics.  When I got locked up, I was 96 lbs.  At my worst, a few weeks later, I weighed 82 lbs.  The hell of heroin withdrawal stripped the last few pounds of anything that resembled fat or muscle.  Even I could see how sick I looked, how unhealthy.  I was so glad that Jeff was only able to see me in passing, through the glass, in baggy clothing.  That he couldn’t see how I was literally down to skin and bones.  That my (though nowhere near perky, thanks to my kids, lol) 36C/D boobs were lucky if they would fill an A cup.  (I bitch because my boobs sag from gestating and breastfeeding 2 kids – but let me tell you, I was so glad there were no mirrors, because there was NOTHING there but skin. To me, that was the worst part of the extremely low weight.  Every morning, I woke up with new bruises, depending on how I slept.  If I slept on my right side, my ankle, knee, hip, ribs, and shoulder would be black and blue.  Every day.

I was trying to get into rehab (I was clean in jail, didn’t think I needed it, but hey, if it would get me out of there…) to avoid a jail sentence, and was told straight out that no rehab would take me at that weight.  They wouldn’t take the risk, medically.  So I busted my ass to add some pounds back on.  I’d take the servings of potatoes that anyone else didn’t want at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and save them in a bowl until bedtime – mix in a tiny bit of seasoning from a package of ramen soup, and eat it, cold.

Let me tell you… I am the definition of picky eater.  I make 3 year olds look easy.  I have a very short list of foods that I eat – though Jeff has been working on getting me to at least TRY new things.  Ask me if I like something, and I’ll tell you no.  Chances are, I’ve never tried it.  I didn’t try seafood (other than tuna or fish sticks at age 7) until 2 years ago.  Lol – that I actually DON’T like.

The local newspaper where we were locked up ran an article last year bragging about how they feed their inmates on FAR less than$1.00 per day.  Think about that.  I don’t care how you’re cooking in bulk, to feed a person what’s considered a balanced diet (3500 calories per day – keep the inmates lethargic and lazy) on less than ONE DOLLAR per day, for all THREE meals.  I didn’t eat a bite for the first 2 weeks.  The water is noted for having one of the highest arsenic contents in the country, so gagging that down wasn’t easy either.  Turns out you CAN taste arsenic… or something else in that nasty water.  But, eventually, even I had to eat.  Slowly, my standards lowered.  What I gagged at the sight of during week 1, I was calling my “favorite meal” by week 12.  With Jeff and I both locked up, there wasn’t anyone on the outside that could help us out with money to buy they fancy stuff – ramen, sugar, coffee, crackers, peanut butter, even things shampoo that works, or conditioner or underwear, stamps and paper to write home… you’re given a comb, a pen, shampoo that doesn’t work, soap that could clean your car tires, a 4″ toothbrush, and a sample size deodorant.  Anything else is a luxury you must pay for.  Anyway… my whole jail experience and perspective on inmates and the justice system is another post.

For the first few weeks, I threw up everything I put in me – food, water, juice, anything.  I couldn’t keep anything down.  But like I said, your standards drop.  So around week 4 I started gaining… by the time I left after a little over 3 months, I was up to 111.

And since getting out, I’ve gained another 10 or 15.  I’m at about 122, last I checked.  Healthy, according to charts.  But I’m miserable – I feel huge at this weight.  I cried the first time I saw the scale go over 100 pounds.  Seriously – I went back to my cell, laid on my bunk, and cried.  I was content at 99 pounds.  Maybe it’s a mental thing, the double digits as opposed to the triple.

I swore that being in jail cured me of my anorexia.  That I would never deprive MYSELF of food, of nutrition, of things I enjoy eating again, now that I’d experienced what it was like to have it taken away. But I do.  I make excuses – we live in a hotel, we don’t have a lot of money, etc.  But I don’t have caviar tastes when it comes to food (Shoes and purses, yes.  Food, no.)  Cereal, fruit cups, yogurt, bagels, grilled cheese, pizza, chicken noodle soup, anything italian… those are the foods on my “approved” list.  And every single one of them (except the italian, pizza, and bagels) are currently in this hotel room, in the mini fridge or the drawer.  Yet I don’t eat them.

I’ve learned not to feel, notice, or give in to the physical feeling of hunger.  I don’t know WHY I do it.  I don’t know if it’s a way of punishing myself, of depriving myself, of hurting myself.  I’m currently wearing either a (little girls’) size 14 or a womens’ 5, depending on the brand, the style, and the fabric.   How can I complain about my weight?  I see so many women struggle with obesity, and I feel guilty.  Guilty that I’m nowhere near obese and yet I see myself as fat and disgusting.  Yet I can look at a woman who wears a 14, or a 22, or whatever, and SEE HER BEAUTY.  I want to get to a point where I can see my own – regardless of the weight I’m at.  I’m not sure if 99 is within the healthy range for my height.  It’s become a mental obsession to me, though.

Yet I KNOW – with every bit of my brain, every bit of my heart, that NOT EATING AT ALL is not going to get me to that weight.  I know from experience that my metabolism shuts down, and I stop losing.  And now I have this obsession with walking… so I’m not eating at all and walking for 2-4 hours per day.  The adding exercise to no food probably WILL have an impact.  I don’t own a scale, so I’m not sure where I am right now – I haven’t weighed myself since October.  But I know my jeans are tight.  One pair doesn’t even fit anymore.

My caloric intake?  Comes from what I drink all day.  The only way I drink coffee is very light and very sweet.  Iced coffee was a concoction we managed to make occasionally in jail – and that’s ALL I’ve been drinking since we got out.  I take a 16 oz cup, add (OMG, I can’t believe I’m actually admitting this) 5 tsp sugar, 2 tsp instant coffee, and 2 sweet n low – then fill the cup with milk.  No water, just milk.  So I drink about 4 of those a day on average.  I drink it to disguise the hunger, to be able to say “but look, I’m drinking a lot of milk”.  I used to ALWAYS have a bottle of cherry coke with me.  Then it was coffee from a specific convenience store, then hot chocolate made at home, then tea from home, and now this.  But at least the coffee and tea contained water – it wasn’t pure milk.  64 oz of milk a day?  Holy shit.  That’s crazy.  No wonder I don’t eat…

I haven’t even touched on what the horrible diet does to my pain levels, my autoimmune issues, or even my bipolar/anxiety.

I never claimed to be a rocket scientist – it just clicked in my head that the ONLY way I’m going to change my eating habits is if I change my drinking habits first.  Ugh.

I just ranted here… I accomplished nothing, but I got a whole lot of shit out.  The anorexia is just a symptom of my issues, I know that.  I just need to be willing to do something about it, and right now… I don’t know if I am.


Comfort Zone

Forcing myself out of my comfort zone has become something I’m trying to do more frequently.  Not really something I enjoy doing – at all.  What I do enjoy, though, are the results.

I can’t say I ever really remember being prouder of myself than I have been over the past week or two.   I’m getting out of the hotel room EVERY day, pretty much.  Today?  I’m skipping, for a couple reasons.  Yesterday I had Jeff drop me off at a different shopping center (I’m REALLY getting bored with the one right here).  He and D were headed to the junkyard for some man time (I’d much rather walk around Kohl’s, thank you very much) and parts for the truck.  They were gonna be about 2 hours, possibly a little longer.  Well, they dropped me off at 11:00, and I walked, and walked, and walked… until they finally picked me up at 3:00.  Then I wound up having to walk over to the shopping center closer to me (it’s like a block away, not even a 5 minute walk) twice  before 5pm.  And then insomnia crept in and I was still awake at 4:50 – WTF?  4+ hours of walking, I should’ve passed out at 8:00 last night, lol… But, anyway.  That’s one of the reasons I’m proud of me.  I’m pushing past the depression, the anxiety, the fear, and the just in general I hate to exercise-ness and walking.  A lot.  I should get a pedometer – get an idea of how MUCH walking I’m doing.

My anxiety had gotten to the point where the ONLY time I left the hotel room was in the morning to go to the methadone clinic.  And the entire ride there, the 5 minutes inside the building, and the entire ride back, I’d be on the edge of tears, visibly shaking, pale, heart racing and short of breath.  Every morning this hour was hell for me – I spent it just on the edge of a full blown panic attack.  The once a week I had to sit through an hour of counseling was hell.  I didn’t walk across the street to the gas station to get milk or cigarettes – I had to wait for Jeff to get home.  It was absolutely horrible – making excuses to my son as to why every time Jeff stopped by my mom’s house, I wasn’t with him.  My brother asking me to go to a doctor’s appointment with him and not being able to do it for him.  I finally gave up on it and was honest with them about my anxiety – they were both a lot more understanding than I expected.

I was stuck in this horrible cycle of anxiety, depression, and anger.  Too anxious to go anywhere.  Depressed from sitting in a dark hotel room day after day after day.  Pissed off at myself for not being strong enough to overcome the anxiety so that I could pull out of the depression.  And it just kept going around and around.  Then I’d look at Jeff, and see how helpless he felt, how badly he wanted to help me, but not knowing how.  Trying everything he knew, and getting reactions ranging from hysterical tears to angry or fearful silence to an occasional grateful smile.  He was watching me fade away, regress back to the injured and broken (and perpetually drunk) girl who found him on Facebook back in 2010.  See, he knew me at 15 – when I only had some of my issues.  Sure, there were the scars from my childhood and the rape.  He knew me as a strong, mouthy, opinionated, don’t-you-dare-tell-me-what-to-do teenager who was determined to make it, to have her baby and raise it, to defy all the odds and stereotypes.  And that’s what he was expecting (only all growed up) when we reconnected in 2010.  He had no idea that he was getting a woman with a “problem” teenager, a dying disabled preteen, and all the baggage that comes from being abused for 16 years.  He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t fight with him – because I didn’t know how to.  I wasn’t ALLOWED to fight with my ex.  He couldn’t comprehend why I’d flinch if he moved wrong, or was SO anxious about pleasing him.  He didn’t get my complete lack of self-esteem and self respect, my inability to believe that HE respected me, loved me (because I wasn’t loveable), found me beautiful… my inability to believe that he was in it for the long haul, that he wasn’t going anywhere.  I believe him now :).

Wow, I got off track, I think.  Anxiety, that’s where I was.  I got  a prescription for xanax, and that helped me get started on getting past the anxiety.  At first, I was taking it every time I left the room.  Actually, I’d take it in preparation for leaving the room – rather than wait until I was shaking and losing  it, I found taking it when the anxiety first started, usually as I was getting dressed & ready to go somewhere, was how it worked best.  If I tried to tough it out and put off taking it, by the time I took it, I’d be suffering and going crazy waiting for it to kick in.  Then, I started experimenting with the adderal.  I found that if I take that in the morning (though I did figure out the hard way that I need to take that earlier in the morning – if I take it too late, there’s no falling asleep that night), I’m able to focus, my mind is clearer.  I’m able to approach the anxiety from a more rational angle, picking it apart and talking myself down some.  With the adderal, I need less of the xanax.  I find it strange that what’s pretty much a stimulant, an amphetamine, is helping my anxiety.  It’s only a small dose, but it clears my head.  And now instead of taking xanax 3-4 times a day, I’m down to taking it only that many times in a week.  Granted, it’s been a “good” week.  If I have a bad day, I take it.  I’ve stopped beating myself up for needing it at times, that wasn’t helping me one bit.  Now I have to convince my doctor to write me a script for the adderal, lol…  I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it if it means less xanax, though – after my struggle with opiates, he’s concerned (who can blame him) about me abusing or becoming addicted to the xanax.  Either way – less than 2 weeks ago, I had barely left the hotel room for 2 months.  Walking out the door clinging to Jeff’s hand brought on a panic attack.  Now?  I’m able to walk around a shopping center, by myself.  Not zombied out on xanax, either.

Something that I’m not sure is related, but it’s happening along the same timeline, so I can’t see it NOT being related – I’m sleeping better.  A few weeks ago, I was taking xanax 2-3x per night to get to sleep.  Bedtime, then 1 or 2 more times when I woke up in the middle of the night.  I’ve always had insomnia issues – falling asleep, not staying asleep.  I’ve taken a sleeping pill for… well, about 13 years now.  When you have a kid whose life is dependent on machines, you learn to sleep halfway – part of your brain (or your heart?) listening for the beep of the machine that means your child isn’t breathing, or his heart stopped.  You’re always listening for something wrong coming from their room.  So when I finally got a nurse to come in and stay with him at night (he lived at home til 2010), I couldn’t really sleep.  No deep sleep, I’d trained myself to kind of doze through the night.  Started on sleeping pills, and never came off them.   Well, until I was in jail.  And when I got out, I didn’t have a prescription, so I’ve been off the sleeping pills about 6 months now.  Now, I still have some difficulty falling asleep, but I’m  not waking up and not being able to fall back asleep a few times a night.

I’m bipolar, I deal with chronic depression (with some mania thrown in just to mix it up a little and keep things from getting boring, ya know).  I’m a worrier and have always had (what I considered within or just outside the normal range) anxiety issues.  But NEVER in my life have I dealt with anxiety like I have in the past 2 months.  But there’s anxious and then there’s borderline agoraphobic.  Then there’s the insomnia.

There’s only one thing that changed about 2 months ago, when my anxiety spiraled out of control.  And changed again about a week ago, when I began to get it under control.  Methadone.  Again with the whole is it related thing…  In my mind, it’s too coincidental not to be.  Don’t get me wrong, when we signed up at the clinic, they gave us a whole bunch of paperwork, and some of it was on the side effects of methadone.  But it’s only now, in hindsight, that I can piece it together.  Why is that, lol?  One more reason I’m so thrilled to be coming off that crap.  Every morning when we walk into the clinic, the nurse asks me how I’m feeling.  And she looks at me kinda strangely when I tell her, “pretty good, actually”.  I don’t think she believes me.  But it’s true.  We’re not feeling sick from coming off of it, and we  haven’t gone back to getting high like we were before starting it – which isn’t the norm, I’m guessing.  They started detoxing us when we were honest with them – we can’t continue to paying the fee, and can’t catch up on our balance.  Instead of the standard 21 day detox, we got the 14 day screw you special, though.  And they were very insistent on telling us, repeatedly, that within a day or two of starting the detox, we’d be using just as much as when we started at the clinic.  They’re not too happy with us proving them wrong.  10 days ago we were at over 100mg each.  Today we’re at just over 30mg.  And we’re okay.  We’re better than okay.  And Tuesday is the end of the clinic, the end of getting high.

Shit.  I just reread that sentence.  The clinic part I’m thrilled about… the other part?  Completely mixed feelings.  That’s a post I know I need to write.  Just not looking forward to it.

Enough for tonight… gonna veg in front of another episode of Hoarders until Jeff gets home.  Today was a PJ’s day.  Fleece neon leopard print PJ’s, of course.  Or maybe I’ll start wrapping the presents that go in my sister’s box… all 41 of them.  Yeah, I should probably start that if I wanna mail the box tomorrow, lol…