Monthly Archives: September 2015

First Year

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 I have been told that the first year of losing a loved one is the hardest. I spare little exaggeration when I say that since my dad died, I’ve had to learn how to live again. I’ve had to learn how to listen to music without his voice singing along. I’ve had to learn to laugh at jokes that we both would have found humorous. I’ve had to learn how to wake up in the morning knowing that they wont be a part of your day. I’ve had to learn how to breathe with what seems like a permanent knife in your chest. I’ve learned how to make mistake without hearing him say “It’s ok.” I’ve learned how to stand without the person who taught me how to walk by my side. Sometimes I panic with the thought of “How am I going to get through this day without him? This week? This month? This year?” And there are times where I think of solutions but in reality, you get through it because life keeps going no matter how firmly you want to plant your feet in the ground and refuse to move. Even in the darkness of this grieving process, there are moments where you can look back and see that with the absence of the person you’ve lost there has been a somewhat silent growth. I appreciate relationships more, I hold onto memories with a tighter grasp knowing that at any moment, those memories are the only portal I have to a person.
It’s about to be the time of the first year that I have dreaded since March. Friday will be the golf tournament that he isn’t playing in, Tuesday will be the birthday where I wont buy him a card, and the next week will be my birthday where I wont hear his voice saying “Love Puff”. I wish I could close my eyes and these upcoming events disappear but that’s not going to a reality. I’m terrified for what these next few days bring but if there is one thing that I have learned throughout my dad’s years of being sick and his death, it’s that hope is stronger than fear. I, as well as my whole family, will be stronger when we go to bed October 6th than when the day began. I also know that as my days without my dad begin to multiply, there will be more moments where I can live for him and because of him rather than days that feel completely empty without him. My Dad being gone is never going to be “ok”. I miss him more than I can explain but I am not going to live in fear when I can live in the love that he established, be the ‘Puff’ that he wanted me to be and continue to embrace all the days, good, bad and in between that come my way.
 

To the Wise, Healthy & Better Person

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I am back again. I have taken a pretty long hiatus from this blog for no profound reason other than I can’t get myself to actually publish anything. I have mentioned many times that behind every blog post there is about 12 drafts that I never have the courage to put out there. Hopefully this one will find its way on my blog, who knows. The main motivation to write today is to convince you, reader, that I am actually not illiterate. I say that knowing that my last blog post represented the whinings of a 12 year old. Sad sad tears of a clown. Don’t judge me, I was anxious.

I am back living at my university. It’s nice to be back into a routine but I am starting to believe that this safety of consistency I have put up is unhealthy. I spend most of my hours alone, I don’t talk to people, I rarely go out and, what is the most problematic, I don’t fucking eat. A wise, healthy and better person would probably think I am insane and maybe that’s true. For the first time in a very long time, things in my life are relatively normal. Nobody I love is dying, which is a first, things are settling down, and I am beginning to wrap up the final semester of college. That’s supposed to be a good thing, a positive thing, even but yet I find myself lost in this normalcy. Everything in my life is running relatively smoothly but I can’t keep up. My eating disorder is completely out of control. I wish I had a more powerful sentence to describe it because 8 words cannot begin to amount the complete dominance that is Anorexia. So instead of enjoying college, I spend all my energy trying to fix myself.

Another wise, healthy and better person would probably mention that recovering from a disease is not a task for one person. I am not convinced. I’m not trying to recover, I’m trying to graduate. It’s ridiculous, actually, I know it would be the best thing for me to leave school, adventure to a rehab, and establish some sort of relationship with food. But sadly, wise, healthy and better reader, I can’t do that. “Can’t” makes it sound like a choice and maybe that’s how it seems, but it isn’t a choice for me. I’m not leaving here unless I have my degree or I’m in a casket. That’s intense, I am not seeking death at all, I am just trying to convey how serious I am about staying here. it’s just something that I need. I know myself, I know that pulling me out would cause a mental hell that I couldn’t bounce back from. There is no greater hell than packing up your stuff and leaving behind your job, your support network, you education, etc. I know I am side tracking but getting to my first run around the rehab train was one of the most humiliating things that has ever happened to me. I would not survive doing that again, and I mean that in it’s most literal sense.  So now I am in this cycle that is restrict, freak out because my weight is getting so low, eat a lot of terrifying food so I can be “better”, panic again, self harm, and then restrict. I hate myself for this. I despise this person with every inch of myself. I need to be better, I need to do better and I need to get better. I’ve failed at everything else, I need to at least prove that I am not a complete waste of space.

Wow. That got more real than I was expecting. Sorry. I digress.

So it is safe to say that my eating disorder is keeping me from embracing the new normal. I am not a wise or healthy or better person, I’m just me, trying to survive this, knowing that it will eventually end and I will get the help I need when the time comes. Until then, I will continue to get up, cover up my scars, and try to accept that I am sick and that’s ok.

More than anything 

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In a perfect world, I could fix myself into being a flawless person who doesn’t cause worry, concern or anger to the people who I care about most

In a perfect world, I could fix everybody else because in the distorted world that I am taking residence, I am the cause of every persons unhappiness 

Side note, if somebody can explain to me why my whole night has been ruined by the fact that somebody said my idea was better than another girl in my class, that would be extra swell. Please let me in on that logic. I’m driving myself crazy for no logical reason. Why. 

In a perfect world, I could recognize and believe that what I just said wasn’t true 

In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have to be me all the damn time. 

I want things to be different more than anything. Not recovery different and not situational different. Different in the aspect that I never had a mental illness. I’d even keep my problems with my family and my personal life, I’d give anything just to have a different filter. 

I fucking suck.