There is no easy way to say this. I honestly don’t even know if I want to say this. I have been thinking and overanalyzing what I should and should not write about on this blog for months. Should I be something that I am not? Should I push myself to hashtag this and hashtag that? Should I focus on marketing and influencing and all these foreign things that blogging has become? The internal struggle triggered my recent super bitch fest post and then I thought NO I can’t say all those things, I can’t trash all of these women it’s just not right. I am not here to put other people down. I might not be doing a great job of raising people up but I’m really not trying to hurt anyone in my process.
My process. What does that even mean? Does anyone on the planet even blog like this anymore? I honestly thought NO until this morning when I remembered dooce.com, all I had to do was read her about page and it hit me like a ton of bricks, Heather B. Armstrong is apparently my muse. Strangely enough, we both started blogging over a decade ago, back when people actually wrote about their feelings, I can’t help but make the connection.
This to me says, if she can still be writing from this place of truth and honestly, if she can talk about her kids while mixing in jokes about marijuana with a healthy dose of fuck this and ass that then, why can’t I? I mean ok- so I obviously fucked my life up by not sticking to one handle since the beginning of time like she did. Ergo I don’t have the following or the clout to be acting that way but you know what, fuck it.
I’m at this place in my life right now where honestly, if I don’t find a way to heal myself I am going to loose everything. Because my head is just that fucked up. I am just that lost. Not all the time. Not every waking moment of my life. I am certainly no longer the train wreck I was earlier this year but not I am just stuck in this strange limbo period where I feel like anything and nothing are possible at the very same time.
I have insomnia. I apparently have some “special” form of menstruation that causes me to go into fits of uncontrollable rage once a month. I am also pretty sure I spent the first year+ of my son’s life unknowingly suffering from postpartum depression. My life has had more ups and downs than I can possibly count on two hands. I find myself feeling lost, friendless and alone. I question if I can even be “fixed” or if my life has just been so fucked up to date that my personality has somehow formed from a mashup of all my unresolved issues.
And because we cannot afford a therapist and even if we could, I don’t know how I would possibly find the time. On top of the fact that really, who wants to talk to one of those people? Sit down and be judged while they write a bunch of bullshit about your life in some notepad and try to direct you on what they think is best for you. Like bitch, your overly educated ass doesn’t know shit about me. How dare you tell me what you think I should do with my life or how I should feel.
… I’ve decided to just throw caution to the wind and let it all out here. Because, fuck it. I have put so much work and effort into this blog, and have stuck with it longer than any one I’ve ever had before. I can’t just throw in the towel now or start another one just to keep this one family friendly. I am starting to think one of the reasons why can’t get to a place where I feel like I can focus on these super vanilla things like home decor and craft time is because I’m too busy inside of my own head worrying about what a bad person I am, like I don’t deserve happiness or to feel good about my life.
Which brings me here. To the 3rd maybe 4th post of me going on and on about how I need to talk about my past and never once (ok maybe once I touched upon it) do I actually start to talk about my past. Instead I just keep talking about, talking about my past. Did that even make sense? Anyway. Maybe one of these days I will finally start from the beginning and go from there. For my own sanity, I need to. Wow did I get super far away from the entire point of today’s post.
My husband and I recently got into a really bad argument. Quite possibly the worst we’ve ever in our sixteen years together. I honestly wasn’t sure if we could get past it. No one cheated or anything crazy like that. It was just a lot of stress and things in our life coming to a head. STRESS being the key issue. Stress due to finances and having his brother currently living with us while he is looking for a house and all of life’s normal bullshit. Stress because honestly I have been mild to full blown depressed for most of my adolescence and the entirety of my adult life. I’ve been through some I guess what you would classify as “major” trauma in my youth that was never addressed which turned into years of anxiety, self harm and an eating disorder which I can’t say I even now that I have a completely “normal” relationship with food or my body.
So how do I say this without sounding like an asshole… or delving too far into my story that I am not quite yet ready to tell…
We like to unwind and it feels like over the past year it has progressively gotten to a point where we need to take a major break. This is all something that I would never reveal to ANYONE. I am a “good girl” and a mother. I do not EVER give the impression to ANYONE that I am not perfectly put together and even so, I never thought that I had any type of a problem until recently when I started experiencing some pretty frequent sleep deprivation. Which is why we have decided to focus mainly on our quality of life for the next month and not use alcohol to relax.
So why on earth would I just broadcast all this on the internet? Honestly, I don’t know. But if I don’t open up about my life to “someone” I will never tell my story and therefore, I will never get the help I need. Writing is the only therapy I have ever known. The only thing that has ever helped.
…. After this monumental fight, I shared my true feelings openly for once in exchange for hugs in flowers. I told my husband that we needed thirty days. You know, like rehab. Thirty days of healthy unaltered sleep. That’s it. Pretty simple. Well, really not at all because apparently this shit is really hard but hello, I saw that one coming. So today is day 2. For the past year we have been using alcohol as a crutch way too often. With the exception of .. maybe a month where we were only drinking on the weekends, in September, right when school started but then my brother in law moved in and I just couldn’t deal again.
So here we are.. day 2.. and so far it is really hard to fall asleep but SO MUCH EASIER to wake up. Yesterday I felt really good all day, not tired AT ALL and only slept a mere 5.5 hours the night before. Today I woke up with Mark (my husband) at 5:30 in the morning and went to the gym. This in itself was a monumental moment. Honestly I should have taken a picture of us. It was my first time EVER joining and going to a “real” -not resort because we are on vacation- gym. And I never thought I would live to see the day that my husband joined let alone actually went to a gym -every week- for the past month. I am so proud of him!!! Like unimaginably proud. And still in a bit of shock.
I have been running for almost 17 years. I started when I was fifteen years old, which I guess is also when my eating disorder started. No that’s not right. I was a major overeater as a child so I guess when I started exercising and crash dieting at fifteen it was all like an unraveling and reversal of my original strange relationship with food. I have always run outside, always alone and never even considered joining a gym. I have always kept myself slim and toned but at just under 5 ft 3 it has been near impossible for me to achieve and maintain a weight under 130 lbs. With the exception of the 7ish months we lived with my dad while we were building my house (my weight was a steady 126 but I was hardly eating) my body pretty much rested at 132 always.
-until last year
After my son was born and I left my office job most of the baby weight poured off with breastfeeding. Then my brother bought me a Fitbit for Christmas and, I lost even more. Then I gave up dairy + bloat pretty much became non-existant. So for over a year now I have maintained a steady 10-15k steps a day without any exercise AND an almost constant weight of 123 lbs no matter what I do. So you can understand my hesitation for now joining a gym. Like, why bother? Plus, in the back of my mind I am worried that adding running back into my life will cause me to be hungrier, overeat and gain weight. Which is most likely crazy talk because I am no longer chained to a desk for 40 hours a week but I can’t stop the fear, it’s just always there.
So, for the first time in my life I am at this place where both my husband and I see that I need to do this for my health. Strictly my health. I clearly do not need to loose any weight. Which is actually really refreshing because this is also the first time I have ever gotten back into running without the feeling that I was doing it to achieve some perfect body image. I just need to be able to fall asleep at night. And stop drinking, and wanting to drink. So here I am. Going for 30 days of sobriety hand in hand with the closest connection I have ever made, my husband. The guy who has literally given me his entire life. All of which I will share with you. All in good time.
So if you stuck around long enough to read all this, you are awesome and I love you. You know, the way a writer loves anyone willing to read their work, or their life, something like that.
Well…. Off I go, pressing publish. No looking back.
Until next time,