Friday, April 12, 2013

Go go go go now
Out of the nest
It's time
Go go go now
Circus girl without a safety net
Here here now
Don't cry
You raised your hand for the assignment

Tuck those ribbons under your helmet
Be a good soldier
First my left foot
Then my right behind the other
Running in the cold

Mother the car is here
Somebody leave the light on
Black Chariot for the redhead
Dancing dancing girl
And when I dance for him
Somebody leave the light on just in case
I like the dancing
I can remember where I come from

I walked into your dream
And now I've forgotten how to dream my own dream
You are the clever one aren't you
Brides in veils for you
We told you all of our secrets
All but one
So don't you even try
The phone has been disconnected
Dripping with blood
And with time
And with your advice
Poison me against the moon

Mother the car is here
Somebody leave the light on
Black Chariot for the redhead
Dancing dancing girl
And when I dance for him
Somebody leave the light on just in case
I like the dancing
I can remember where I come from

I escape into your escape
Into our very favorite fearscape
It's across the the sky
And across my heart
And I cross my legs
Oh my God
First my left foot
Then my right behind the other
Breadcrumbs lost under the snow
Mother the car is here
Somebody leave the light on
Somebody leave the light on just in case
I like the dancing
I think I just might, gasp, start blogging here again.  I want a private space, a space I can call my very own.  I have other blogs and this one, obviously, gets neglected.  My dream has always been to write.  From a very young age I have always wanted to tell my story.  Why would a young child want to write a book about herself?  Is it vanity?  Did I really think that my life was that interesting? The answer is not simple but neither is my life.  I know I've written about my mother on multiple occasions but, at the time, I was sure that the problem was me.  My mother hates me, is disgusted by me so, oh my god, I must be this horrible, wretched, vile disgusting piece of shit.  My mother doesn't love me, doesn't care so I must be unlovable.  I spent 23 years thinking that there was something wrong with me because if my own mother is disgusted by me then it must be my fault. My entire life I thought if I could just tweak myself a little bit then maybe she would love me, maybe she would look at me and actually fucking see me instead of looking right through me.  If I could just be the very best little girl in the whole wide world maybe she wouldn't be mad, maybe she would be in a good mood.  I walked on eggshells and so did my sister.  I do not know where I would be without my sister. My sister and I have helped one another to see through that insanity that is our mother.  We can talk to one another about her insanity, both past and present, and know that we are not the ones that are crazy, we are not making all of this up to make our poor poor mother look bad.  We are not imagining, and have not, imagined our lives. 
It wasn't until I finally recovered from my eating disorder that I began to understand that my disorder did a damn good job of covering up my past.  I learned very quickly that if I was visibly unwell then my mother cared, my mother became my knight in shining armor battling with the insurance companies and doing her motherly duties.  The second I was in treatment she stopped caring and the same monster mother came out to play. She used to tell me that I was a sociopath and that I disgusted her and that she didn't know how something like that could come from her body when all she did was love me.  She was a single mother and not a day went by that she didn't remind us of how hard she worked and how much she sacrificed to raise us and that she could have such a nice life if it weren't for us.  The earliest memory I have of my mother is of her explaining what an abortion meant and telling me that her friends' wanted her to have one and that she probably should have but that we'd make it work.  For the majority of my life I had this image of my mother in my head, it was of her standing in the doorway to our bedroom with her fists clenched while she screamed.  I, eventually, pushed it aside and went on with my life.  I asked my sister about this and she said that that was when things got really bad. 
There are so many other memories that I just pushed aside because they were too painful, I suppose.  I desperately held onto the ideal mother, a mother who loves me unconditionally. 
A few months into my recovery I began having these dreams.  I wouldn't particularly call them nightmares because the content was not particularly terrifying.  They all had the same theme: my mother.  In some I would be in a store and couldn't find my mother and I was sobbing and searching for my mother, panicked because I knew she would be furious with me(she used to leave me in stores if I took too long).  In some I would do something wrong, it was always something as simple as not putting a dish in the dishwasher before going to school and I spent the entire dream terrified that my mother was going to kill me. The situation was always different but the end result was the same: my mother left me somewhere or that she was going to kill me.  I started seeing a therapist who did EMDR on something completely unrelated but it brought up more than I could handle.  I began dissociating and was barely functional.  Long story short I finally took my diagnosis of depersonalization disorder seriously and began researching other symptoms I have and everything came coming back to emotional abuse.  I didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it.  My sister had sent me a book on emotional abuse and so I read it and called her and asked her if she thought our mother was emotionally abusive and she said, "oh, absolutely." I went through a couple of therapists and finally found one that was helpful. I began seeing a semi-new therapist in September and after one session describing my mother he immediately said that it sounded like she is narcissistic and/or borderline. I immediately looked up children of toxic parents, daughters of narcissistic/borderline mothers and was just absolutely blown away as my mother oozed from the pages.  I sent my sister links to various articles and she, too, agreed that that sounded like our mother. 
I've sort of been in a state of shock since because, having to change everything you've ever believed about yourself and your life, is really fucking hard.  Having to accept that I did not, and will not, have a mother is utterly devastating. 
I have still sort of been in denial but have had to recently move back in with my mother due to a house fire.  I lost everything I own aside from what was in my car and my dog.  I had time to get my roommate and my puppy and, in the five minutes I was in the house I had inhaled enough smoke and there was CO2 in my blood and my airways were SLIGHTLY burned.  I ran from my home barefoot and carrying my dog as it exploded.  My therapist, sister and everyone else in my life has been adamant about me getting out of her house.  When I do I am going to cut her out of my life and tell my story.  I never could tell my story because I knew how angry my mother would be. 

Thursday, November 1, 2012

I wait for the postman to bring me a letter
I wait for the good Lord to make me feel better
And I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders
A family in crisis that only grows older
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I am broken but I am hoping
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I am crying, a part of me is dying and

These are, these are
The confessions of a broken heart

And I wear all your old clothes, your polo sweater
I dream of another you
The one who would never (never)
Leave me alone to pick up the pieces
A daddy to hold me, that’s what I needed
So why’d you have to go

Why’d you have to go

Why’d you have to go!!

Daughter to father, daughter to father
I don’t know you, but I still want to
Daughter to father, daughter to father
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me
Cause these are, these are
The confessions of a broken heart
Daughter to father, daughter to father
I don’t know you, but I still want to
Daughter to father, daughter to father
Tell me the truth...
Did you ever love me!!!?
Did you ever love me?
These are....
The confessions...of a broken heart
I wait for the postman to bring me a letter..

So here I am again, all bleary eyed and small, fighting the ever growing insanity that's flows in my veins. The longing and heart ache.  It sounds so trivial, so simple, so mundane but I just want a heart that isn't broken. 

Why can't I just accept that my mother will never be able to give me what I need(ed) and that I will have to find ways in which I can soothe my own self.  The thing is, once I get to this point in the thought process I get fucking frustrated.  WHY DO I HAVE TO BE THE ONE? Why should I have to do that, isn't that what her job is? 

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

ramblings of a crazed woman


Be loud let your colors show
Try to keep the madness low
If they hear and it's wrong
And they come with torches on
Yeah come on
Be loud let your colors show
Try to keep the madness low
I tell them no with my hands
Make them understand the plan of it
Bright and gone
And I'm done forever
It's you and me forever
Cause I'm done forever
It's you and me forever
Be loud let the others know
First a whisper then it grows
I tell them go with my hands
Make them understand the last of it
Yeah come on, pain and all
Leave out pack your things and go
Leave the baby makers home
There's a time (now) and a place (now)
Someone built to take the race
When it calls you go head down
Head down don't you make a sound
Keep your plans all to yourself
They'll come true they follow you
They're what you're obligated to
Don't you listen to nobody else
And I'm done forever
It's you and me forever
Cause I'm done forever
See it's you and me forever

I'm not really sure what I want anymore. I fear that I've been compulsively overeating which has led to this tremendous weight gain.  I just can't handle my body at this weight.  It's completely unacceptable.  I wish it were easy. I wish I could eat normally and be at a decent weight and not care what my body looks like.  If only I had known just how ingrained this disorder would become.  If only I had known that it would take over my entire life, ruin relationships and cause me to crash and burn.  Most people have somewhat of a love/hate relationship with their body.  They gain five pounds over the holidays so they diet and take it off.  They care enough about themselves to give their body what it needs.  A person with an eating disorder will not do that.  My mom is remodeling my bathroom so I have to use hers and the mirrors are horrific.  It's like everywhere I turn I see fat and rolls and blubber.  I need to stick to a meal plan and I'm starting tomorrow.  Today was okay

My mood was okay.  I spent the day with a good friend who is still in treatment.  Of course there was the comparison factor.  I just don't think it's fair that I have to be so big.  There's that and she engaged in behavior and would make simple comments about food.  Part of me just wanted to shake her disorder and knock some sense into it, or better yet rid her of this disease.  I see so many talented, intelligent and beautiful women losing their life to this disease and I hate it.  I hate it with the same passion I hate my body.  I just want to shake this disorder out of them.

If only it was just about the weight.  It's so much more than that.  It gives me security and it gives me my mother.  Here we go again with the mommy complex.  I wish it weren't an issue but unfortunately it is.  I'm living with my mother right now and in the past it was pure hell(I was also VERY eating disordered which caused a lot of tension).  Things are okay.  Not great, but okay.  For once I want my mother to just accept me for who I am and not who she wants me to be.  She says she does it with good intentions and I don't doubt that but it doesn't make it any less annoying. 

My eating diosrder gives me the opportunity to focus on something other than what lies in your head.  I'm afraid of what is in my mind, I'm afraid that deep down I am a bad person  I know right from wrong

Friday, October 29, 2010

I can't let go

There, I've said it.  I can't let go of my eating disorder.  I have no intention of doing so.  Not until I have proved myself a good anorexic.  Yes, I am aware of how silly that seems but I despise  my body.  I hate it with such a passion that it's quite sad actually.  I just miss my old body.  I miss thighs that don't touch and boobs that aren't there.  I miss the chest bones and being able to see and count my ribs.  I loved the bump bump bump of my lower spine now it's just the top. 

Saturday, October 16, 2010


 I sat for about 30 minutes in the shower today just letting the water hit my body, my eyes closed, hoping to drown out the sound of my mind.  Unfortunately that's not always the case.  As each drop of water hit my skin I wished it were a tiny pellet penetrating my skin, something to snap me out of this funk.  Something to make me feel something or anything other than hopeless and disgusted.  I cannot even change or shower with my eyes open these days I am so disgusted by my body.  These breasts are not mine.  What happened to the hollow right in the middle and the chest bones so prominent?  A dear friend of mine came to visit me yesterday and told me that this was the important part, the gate.  She said she knows it's uncomfortable but I need a healthy body or I could die.  I realize that but my mind, oh my mind.  My mind is in quite possibly the worst state it's been since I tried to kill myself earlier this year.  I just don't see the point in anything really.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

I never wanted this. If I had known exactly what it entailed I wouldn't have wanted it. Or maybe I still would have, maybe I just hated myself enough then that I would have thought any amount of suffering, small or large, was what I needed and deserved. You can never truly know what it's like to hate your body with such passion unless you have an eating disorder. I didn't know then that it would grab me by my shoulders and pull me down so quickly and bury me deep within the earth. I didn't know that not only would it bury me but it would build mountains and make lakes above me so that it's damn near impossible to get out. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but how could I? I read the books, did the research but you don't know the hell of an eating disorder until you develop one.

I hate myself. I honestly hate myself. I hate who I am on the inside. I hate who I am on the outside, and I hate that people notice my appearance. I hate it when people stop and glance back for a double take. I hate that they are so obvious and I hate that by now it's become obvious. I have spent the last ten years running from some former version of me. I hate the things that I've done, the people I've hurt and I hate the things that have happened to me. I wake up every morning and am both amazed and disappointed that I'm still alive. I have always been terrified of getting older. It's a terror that causes my body to tremble and my mind to blank. It's a terror that causes my mood to dip and my body/mind to turn to a device that numbs. I dealt with it before by taking a blade to my skin and becoming nothing more than a pile of bones covered in skin. How do I deal with it now? It's not like I can prevent it, getting older is inevitable and, quite honestly, a right of passage. How do I deal with the demons inside my head? How do I prevent my mind from going into such dark and deep places?

My mother wasn't there for me, I get it. I get that it makes sense for me to have issues surrounding that. This is the part where I should cry and ask her to be there for me and happily ever fucking after right? Wrong. When I was younger I made a pact with myself that I would never show any emotion to her. She tore me away from my family and my home, she tore me away from the desert. She planted me somewhere and never bothered to help me deal with such a major transition. She gave me a roof over my head, a bed to sleep and put clothes on my back. She fulfilled her parental obligations and left it at that. I had watched her pick and tear at my sister. I watched my mom yell and scream and throw things. I held my sisters hand as she wiped the blood from her face and sobbed. My sister left and I was alone with her. I became the outlet. I became her punching bag and her target, if you will. It wasn't quite as bad at first, it was more neglect than anything else. She was a single mother trying to support her children without any help, and she reminded us on a daily basis. She told us we should be happy because we were alive. She told me that she should have had an abortion and that I ruined her life and we should be more appreciative. Tip toe through the house now girls, you don't want to wake mommy. Stop that now girls, you aren't being what I want you to be. Girls, how many times do I have to tell to stop being children and stop needing things children need? Don't cry girls, can't you see how hard I've worked? I've done everything for the two of you. I put clothes on your back and gave you a roof over your head, the least you can do is smile and be studious and thank me daily for all my hard work. What's that? Oh, I'm sorry your life must be so hard being a child, quit feeling sorry for yourself.

Everything she said and did was completely irrational. When I was 14 I overslept and missed the bus, she had to take me. The next morning she came in my room at 4am and told me to get up. I told her I was tired and would wake up at 6am. She yelled at me and said she wasn't going to take me to school if I missed the bus and stormed out. She came back in with a bucket of ice water and dumped it on me. I said, "what the hell?" and she started yelling at me telling me to "GET OUT OF THE FUCKING BED YOU LITTLE BITCH!" I got up and went into the dining room. She was stomping around, slamming things and started throwing Tupperware at me. I begged her to stop and to calm down, she ignored me. She left big bruises all over my legs and a week later asked me how I got them. In high school I took honors and AP chem and stayed late one day after cross country practice to get some help with it. She was supposed to pick me up at 4:30pm. I waited until 7:45. I sat there and waited and kept reassuring the principal and school sheriff that my mom was coming. Finally they told me I couldn't be on school property anymore and had to leave. The sheriff gave me a ride home and on the way we passed my mom. I instantly knew I was going to be in trouble. When she got home she started yelling at me and telling me that she was never going to pick me up from school again because I wasn't there. I tried to explain to her that I couldn't stay there any longer and "what was I supposed to do mom, tell the sheriff 'no thanks, my mom is coming?" Those are the kind of things that happened on a regular basis. I forget to take the trash to the curb so she dumps all the trash(including food waste) in my room. She comes home and one of the dogs has puked on the carpet, she picks up the rug and tries to shove it onto my face, I try to stop her and she backhands me. I don't make my bed so she takes it away and I'm left with a pile of boards stacked up in my room. I didn't do the laundry so she takes away my clothes.

It's not fair, it's just NOT FUCKING FAIR! I feel like by posting this I am wallowing in self pity. I would give anything for all of that to just be a lie. I run from this, I run from the sexual abuse/exploitation because it's painful but also because it means there's a whole hell of a lot more on my plate(no pun intended) than I ever bargained for. I run because I worry that I will never be normal and I've spent a lot of time trying to convince myself I was. They say your past makes you who you are and while I don't doubt that I just don't know how to deal with it. I can accept my mom for who she is today because she has changed, she was forced to change. After my behaviors were revealed to the guidance counselor and my bruises revealed to my band director she was forced to change. She was forced to acknowledge that there was a problem. At first she spent all her time blaming my "mental illness" and "oh poor me" I have a daughter who is mentally ill. mentally ill my mother fucking ass you bitch! My actions do not automatically equal a mental illness, they are a reaction, an inability to cope with what life has so thoughtfully thrown my way. They held a mirror to her face and forced to look at herself.

What bothers me is that, in the end, it's not her actions or my past that's the problem. I've removed myself so far from any and all emotions that feeling anything is painful. I worry that I am destined to search endlessly for something I can never have and never had. I have tried, and failed, all my life to get what I didn't get then. I WANT A FUCKING CHILDHOOD god dammit! I want someone to love me no matter what, no matter how flawed. I want someone to hold me and take care of but am too embarrassed to ever admit that. I don't let people love me though because I fear I am unlovable

/novel like entry

I feel myself floating, floating above myself. The world around me is merely an object to observe, a way to pass the time. The clock is ticking and my time is running out. The clock sings to me and tells me another hour has passed, it reminds me of what I have done with my life, absolutely fucking nothing.

The little girl is twiddling her thumbs, except the little girl isn't so little anymore. She is grown, but doesn't know she's grown. She is longing for what she missed. Go ahead and paint yourself a picture, you can paint it with the prettiest colors in the world. You can paint it with happiness and sequins and diamonds and all the love in the world. Create your masterpiece out of cardboard and clay but in the end it's still just cardboard and clay.

She doesn't know it yet. She doesn't know what lies before her. She creates images in her head of what could be and what has been. She spends her time either with her head in the clouds or with her mind in places that terrify. She needs everything yet wants nothing. She smiles at people in hopes they smile back. Mother always said to lend a helping hand because you get what you give. It's best to listen to mother because mother knows best and mother is never wrong. She's a good little girl and doesn't give much of a fuss. To fuss is to complain and complaining never got anyone anywhere now did it? Mother says, "hush, little girl and wipe those tears. they are not needed and you are making a scene" "cut that out now, little girl, quit feeling sorry for yourself." So the little girl laughed and played and danced around as if all the world was good. The little girl never told anyone her secrets, because secrets are meant to be kept. "It's a difficult place to be," she says, "but you learn to live."