I have so much to say and no idea how to say any of it

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I sit here right now, at 9pm, thinking about a lot.

Thinking about what happened just a few nights ago,

thinking about how I feel about it, why it happened,

thinking about how much I want to not be thinking about it.

I sit here right now feeling like I’m forcing myself to write this,

not out of a fear or anxiety of doing so, but rather a lack of interest in what I am saying.

I always have so much to say, so many thoughts and feeling in my head, but the second I type in this website address and hit “add new post”, my mind goes blank and I become robotic.

It doesn’t make much sense to me because just sixty seconds ago I had thoughts upon thoughts ciricleing and suddenly they’re all silent.

I sit here right now trying way too hard to write what is on my mind, but don’t you comment anything like “you just have to go with it, let it flow, relax and type” because that’s not how my brain works. I’m a thinker. I live in my head. Getting out of it, even just putting words on paper, which is actually something that lyrically I am quite good at, I can’t seem to do it here. I’m guessing it’s a judgment thing towards myself. I don’t know.

I sit here right now thinking this is not at all where I thought this was going to go, nor is it what I wanted to say at all.

I wanted to recap the events that transpired on Saturday night, the good events, the events that happened after the bad ones.

I wanted to write about how confused I am so that I could lay it all out in front of me, but I can’t seem to figure out how in the heck to make that happen.

I wanted to write about my coworker for two seconds because I am so envious of her and that makes me feel guilty because I’m not being fair to myself.

I wanted to write about how I have opinions on very controversial topics that would piss people off, but I do not think I could pull that off because I value being liked over stating how I feel.

I wanted to write about how grateful I am to have this one specific person in my life and write about how I feel about that person both positively and negatively.

I wanted to write about how I feel guilty for telling another person about what they did to me and how I took it. I want to apologize and take it back and let them know that they aren’t a bad person. But I cannot do that.

I wanted to write about how I’m kind of over what happened to me physically, but I’m not over all of these thoughts of guilt and acting about it. I should talk to someone but then I feel terrible for having to go back to therapy AGAIN.

I am so torn in so many directions and I am so very confused.

I have so much to say and absolutely no idea how to say any of it.

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I wish you never did it

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I wish you didn’t do it

I wish that I hated you for it

I wish that I was genuinely mad, but I’m not.

I’m scared, and I’m hurt, and I feel very violated and dirty

but angry is an emotion I do not have towards you right now.

I  think you’re a decent human being who made a bad decision,

who sucks at reading body language.

I wish you didn’t do it because we could have been really good friends.

I wish you didn’t do it because we have common interests and  could have talked for hours about them.

I wish you didn’t do it because now I’m wrapped up in my thoughts and feelings of nothing but chaos, confusion, loss and lies.

I wish you didn’t do it because I’d be happy right now if you didn’t

I wish you didn’t do it because now I’m back in a place I havent been in for a while. A place I worked hard to be free of. A state of mine where I judge myself constantly and think I am lying and making up stories and solely  to blame when that is not the case.

I wish you didn’t do it because I am a person. I am not an object.

I wish you didn’t do it.

I wish you never did it.

Dreary Monday Mornings

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Today is nothing more than a stereotypical “Monday”.

It’s raining, it’s dark, it’s so very cold and I’m not even outside but I can feel it already. It’s probably also foggy and slippery. It’s another Monday. The kind of Monday that makes you want to curl up in bed with a book or a TV show…or a cat/dog if you’re anything like me. Who needs a partner when you’ve got a pet, right?

However, I can’t do any of that. Well, I have about 30 mins or so to do that, then I have to get ready for work. I have to get up and have a productive day. I am working all day today, 7:30am to 8pm. Alone. I work a front desk position in pediatric doctor’s office. Monday’s are CRAZY. So needless to say I’m not totally looking forward to it, but I have to do it.

But I mean, I slept decently last night, which came as a surprise given recent events. It took me awhile to fall asleep, but once I did, I was OUT. Then my alarm went off and I said “well fuck” and laughed at myself because I never do that. I usually just roll over, lay there for a minute…or like, 10…and then get up. This morning though, I said “well fuck”. My day started with me dropping the F*** bomb. That’s awesome.

So now I’m here. I got my breakfast, which consists of some overnight oats and a banana. I think I’m going to make a chocolate-cherry smoothie to take to work with me because it was the first post I saw this morning when I logged into WordPress! So now I must have something chocolatey and indulgent. Besides, it’s a typical dreary Monday, chocolate is always a good idea on days like this. I mean, if I ever actually finish this oatmeal that I’ve been eating for a good 15 minutes now. I’m blogging, there’s only so much I can do at once!

My lunch is prepped though and I am feeling fairly calm, I say as I take a very big inhale and exhale it slowly. Literally, that’s what I just did unintentionally while typing I’m feeling totally calm. It’s a Monday, but it’s also a new day. It’s going to be a long day and I already know that I’m going to have some drawbacks and some intrusive thoughts and probably some shifts in mood that I’ll have to work myself through…it was quite a weekend guys. There’s also the rain that I’m going to have to commute 45 minutes through to get to my solo 12.5 hour day…there’s that…but it’s okay.

It’s okay because I am going to have a chocolate cherry (not cherry banana, I love it, but I’m not in the mood for extra banana today) smoothie. My lunch is prepped, my breakfast is yummy, my hair’s a mess but I’ll fix that….and it’s a new day. It’s another new day.

I feel dirty

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He kissed my boobs.

He kissed them and he held my hands above my head.

I felt like I was stuck. Like I couldn’t move.

I got scared.

He kissed my boobs.

Why the hell did he do that?

What made him think that was okay?

What did I do that made him think that was an option?

He kissed them and now they feel dirty and I feel so violated.

I’m going to bed now.

I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…

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“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…”

he says while holding onto me and grabbing my boobs

“There’s just something about you”

as he kissed my neck and back

 

I’m sorry. How exactly am I supposed to take that? A casual compliment? As innocent as saying “oh you look pretty today”, because that’s NOT how I took it.

I told you that you aren’t going to kiss me, that I wanted you to be my friend. You agreed, you said okay. Granted then you pulled me in close to you and wrapped my legs around your waste while saying “you need to trust me”. But you said okay. You said you kissed my cheek and that was enough.

Then you proceeded to kiss my neck and back and pull my pants down lower. And lay me down and wrap me in your arms like I was just a doll you were holding and didn’t want to let go of. I didn’t feel like I could move.

You said you’ll give me the special treatment when I said you can practice your massages on me since you were going to school for that. I didn’t ask for anything more. I didn’t ask you touch my legs. I didn’t ask you kiss my back or my neck. I didn’t say no, but I also didn’t yes.

I didn’t say it was okay for you to kiss my boobs. I didn’t say it was okay for you run your hands up my inner thigh. You were testing your boundaries. The VERY first time I met you.

I said I wanted friends. I said you weren’t going to kiss me, but all you kept doing is pulling me in close to you. Sitting me on your lap. I didn’t want any of that.

I didn’t want you to touch me like that.

I pulled away from you so many times. I shook my head no so many times. I did not verbally say it, but I kind of figured you could read body language, but I guess not.

I asked you to take me to my car, and you said lets just lay here for a couple more minutes and then you pulled me down.

All I wanted was to leave. I was so uncomfortable. I got so scared. You didn’t want to know me. You wanted to touch me. You wanted to feel me. But I did not want any of what happened last night.

You said you’d respect me, but nothing that was done last night was respectful. There were no questions asked. You said “let me know if I shouldn’t” as you were unhooking my bra or pulling my jeans down lower. You kissed my boobs and held my hands above my head. I wasn’t allowed to move.

You knew what had happened to me in the past. You didn’t know details, but you knew there was abuse, and yet, that didn’t matter. Because you got to touch me.

Maybe I am partly to blame here because I knew I should have been forceful, but I got so scared. I had flashbacks and I got timid and I thought that if I got aggressive, so would you. So I let it happen. You did not fuck me.

This is not a document of rape or even sexual abuse or assault.

But what you did was so wrong in so many ways. So I’ve blocked you and I don’t want to talk to you or see you. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want anyone new to touch me anymore.

I was just trying to be social, I think I can take a break now.

Good Men do Exist, I Promise

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There’s this guy. He is something so special and so rare. Something so sensible and pure. He took the girl who was broken when he found her and he supported her while she found all the missing pieces and super glued herself back together.  He is a truly good man.

I pushed him so far, so many times, and break up after break up, he remains here for me. He remains standing beside me in whatever role I need him to play. He is supportive and encouraging. He doesn’t always understand, but he tries  to. He makes me laugh when that is the last thing I feel like I could do. He puts a smile on my face without even trying simply because of who he is. He chooses to be a part of my life. He repeatedly chooses to stay when I give him so many chances to run.

He respects me and he understands that I have a hard time with certain things, like sex. I have a very hard time with sex sometimes. Tonight, I had a hard time with it, mainly because we were on a time limit and that messed with my anxiety, but still. He told me, “it’s not about the sex, it’s about getting to spend time with you” and then he kissed me. That is not the first time he has said that to me, it’s just the first time that I truly believed him. He doesn’t have expectations of me. He has always just wanted me around. He likes having me there. He likes me for who I am, even if I don’t even really know who that is yet.

He is so pure. So good. So kind and supportive. I am so grateful that he is a part of my life even if we’re on a sliding scale between friends and lovers. I don’t mind because he’s here. I don’t mind because I am the one in full control of that scale. I decide where we are. I decide what we do, and he is okay with that. He made that decision. Are there things I don’t love about him, of course, #human, but he is this amazing guy that I am so lucky to have in my life and I felt like I needed to share just a little bit about him. I wanted to let someone, anyone, know that there are good people out there. There are people who will truly love and care for you, you just have to let yourself find them and let yourself be raw with them.

I miss having an eating disorder…

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I have a question; is it wrong or abnormal to miss struggling with an eating disorder? I know that sounds strange and probably also sounds like I’m still struggling with it. I don’t necessarily miss the starving or calories counti…no that’s a lie. Yes I do. Okay, let’s just break this down a little bit.

When I think of my past with the eating disorder, I don’t get that sense of pride for having “beat it”. When I think about my past behavior, past addiction, I actually almost miss being anorexic/bulimic. The main reason being, I never felt as if I reached the stereotypical physical image of someone who is considered to be anorexic/bulimic, like I didn’t reach my “goal weight” or goal “appearance”. As if I was striving for something but never actually got there, like I had failed. I see images of girls (and I say girls because I am a girl so naturally those are the images I was looking at) and I feel like I failed. I feel like I wasn’t really anorexic because I didn’t look like them, not yet at least. I was on my way there, but I got stopped in my tracks. The weird part about that is I wasn’t stopped by someone else like a doctor or a friend or even a family member, I was stopped by myself. So, that essentially means I knew I was sick and I didn’t want to keep getting sick so I asked for help. I didn’t want to look like that or be like that. Why is it then, that looking back, I feel shameful? I feel like I failed? Shouldn’t I be proud that I stopped myself before it got so bad?

The other reason I feel as though I miss being sick, miss having an eating disorder, is because it gave me a sense of identity. It gave me something to work towards, a reason to get up in the morning and keep going, because I had a goal. It was an unhealthy goal, a life threatening, dangerous goal, but it was a goal. It was me. It was all that I was. Even though I had other passions, other desires, a common sense level smart enough to know that it needed to stop, the eating disorder was my identity. Almost like a secret identity…actually…exactly like a secret identity. Nobody ever knew I was sick. Nobody knew I was counting calories. Nobody knew that eating an apple freaked me out because it has about 100 calories. ED gave me an identity, a purpose, and a goal. Taking that away, I’ve lost such a big part of myself and I am struggling to find things to replace it with.

So, if someone reads this and can give me some answers as to whether or not it’s normal to “miss” an eating disorder, I would appreciate it. If someone would clarify why I feel that way or what your interpretation of what I’m saying is, I would love to read your responses and get some feedback.

p.s. I’m not looking for counseling, I have a psychologist I can call if I need to. I’m really just ranting and wondering what you all reading this think. I am not in any danger, I have no intentions of going back to ED behavior. These thoughts happen somewhat often and I just wanted to share them and get some feedback on them.

Let me know what you think!