By Me for You

Dating Myself

2017-06-07T17:20:00.004-07:00

I feel so full I want to purge.

The uncomfortability within my body seems like it's too much and I know a quick fix.
But I also know that that quick fix in the long term fucks me over.

Purging or binging and purging will result in my hunger cues being off, me being more hungry later, me having to eat more than I think is "safe" therefore throwing up again. I'll probably end up drinking to escape the shame that comes with caving again. Stay out and up too late making tomorrow harder on me. Shame, depression will sink in in the morning and take over my day making each assignment, interaction, and to-do that much harder.
And the cycle could repeat itself.

So I'm writing instead. I'm reminding myself that this feeling will pass. That this is how I learn to handle my emotions differently. The high-waist shorts really don't help.

I'm not actually full of any kind of food (there's no way that hummus / cucumber snack did this to me). What I am full of is--you guessed it--emotion.

There's good with the bad, actually mostly good but for some reason I feel like crying. Like my emotions don't know where to go so I by default cry. Probably will do that after I write.

I actually feel a great sense of pride for myself today. Da fuck.

Ever since I started writing again things have slowly been changing largely thanks to you all reaching back out to me as a support, which rocks. But also me making little decisions that turn into big differences.

I made the hard choice to end my relationship yesterday. After my therapist and my body (anxiety) I realized that I barely have the energy to properly handle my own shit so how can I give myself to someone else? I mean they say that all the time, you have to love yourself before ... you know. But well when you're in it it's harder to see.

I have an excitement to be alone for once. Thinking of all the time I will now have to dedicate to me gives me hope. I always do this though. Where I finally become single again and am like okay no dudes and then out of nowhere they come. I've got to be stronger this time around, but it may not be as hard as it has in the past.

Last night I did self-care after therapy and talking things through with my now ex (oh that's weird). I painted my nails, showered (even shaved my legs-GASP), watched my favorite show and hung out with my cat. There was once upon a time when I couldn't handle alone time but seeing it's benefits to my mood today has me craving it.

Another thing that's new is that I've started reconnecting with old friends and making a bigger effort to make new ones. At first I thought they didn't want anything to do with me but it turns out that that was my insecurities. It's new being able to turn / having to turn to a friend rather than a significant other when something cool / new / exciting / funny happens but I like it.

Also working out is getting easier now. With Paradiso quickly approaching and a trip to LA I know I won't really see any change in my body from my efforts but it's a start. Encouragement through Facebook, snapchat, and texts has helped immensely. At the end of each workout I am reminded it's not about what I look like but how I feel.

I've also started to clumsily craft a morning routine. So far it looks like:

Only hitting snooze once
Opening my blinds immediately
Making my bed
Playing with my cat
Positive affirmations
Makeup getting ready etc
NOT being extremely late to work

Trying to work a yoga session or quick walk in there but my snooze habits fuck that up.

Basically what I'm getting at is my two mottos below have really started to pay off:

Don't make it worse.

Each choice can either help or hurt your progress.

I'm just happy to post something not so sad for once.

When Your Ex Starts Dating Someone Else

2017-05-30T21:37:00.001-07:00

Today I found out that my ex, the one that you really never get over kind of ex, is dating someone new. I know these things happen, are supposed to, and that we broke up (again and again) for a reason but that punch in the gut, shaking with anxiety, weak, sad feeling still hit me. And it stayed with me for hours.

I began to get frustrated with myself, wanting to get this intense, incredibly unpleasant feeling away from me, but nothing I tried seem to work for very long. Remembering why we broke up, the hard times, distracting, trying to convince myself I'd be like totally cool if I saw them together and we should all be buddies, contemplating who she is and trying figure that out but no, no no no I will not be that ex: none of this really helped.

Despite the shaking and weak feeling I still went to the gym - in a very poor mood mind you. I was having one of those days where the little things that go wrong become one big thing (like forgetting my wallet in my car at FedEx and then racing out to get it only to get caught on the door handle and jerked back hitting myself and spilling everything out of my purse) and I went to the gym angry.

I got up on that damn StairMaster and did 12 minutes (that's a record mind you) and then 30 minutes of cardio before a quick stretch and then blow dried the sweat out of my hair before therapy. I sweat out most of my poor choices from the weekend I think. It was really attractive. Anyway...

Therapy.

It did it's job per usual. And basically after me blabbing on about whatever, my therapist pulling me back out of my head and asking me to "describe what's coming up"then me getting ridiculously mad and defensive (felt like a typical I'm a kid that's fucked up and a stereotypical therapy case and she can see right through me and my bullshit) and then crying with that bear I always talk about - I had clarity.

When I held Teddy (my big giant therapy teddy bear-he wears a silk green bow) I tried to do that feeling crap. I ended up picturing myself talking to my ex and saying something along the lines of:

"If you move on from me that's just another person that's left me. You've found someone better, and therefore I am less than. I am never good enough, and I will never be good enough. At one point you helped me believe differently. It is the best feeling in the world to be someone's someone. To have them love you unconditionally. To know you matter as much to them as they do you. But if I really actually amounted to anything, was really as pretty, smart, funny, talented as you say there's no way you'd be into someone else. You'd chose someone else over me. (and yes I know this is silly as it's very unfair to want someone who isn't right for you to only love you and no one else) But clearly I'm nothing.

I cannot matter unless you tell me I matter, make me feel like I matter. I cannot do this for myself and I need someone, I need you, to do that for me."

And that's when it hit me.
I know this is one of my biggest issues. Not mattering. Lack of confidence. Always believing I am not good enough and not cool enough and not attractive enough. The fear of being alone is so strong. But it was just nice to figure out why I had that fight or flight response (it was flight), because this is just digging up old shit from my past. It's just the biggest trigger I can have and it's happening with someone I still love.

So that sucks.

But my therapist also pointed out that there are probably a lot of people that do help me feel like I matter, it's just that I'm chasing / hanging out with the wrong people who don't make me feel that way. I push away the ones that do because it's uncomfortable to feel that love, hear those compliments but then again it's what I fucking crave.

AND I KNOW. I'm supposed to love myself and all that shit and be able to give the feeling I got from him to myself but ya know what that's really fucking hard and if I could do it that easily I would and I wouldn't be writing about this.

It's 23? I believe days until Paradiso and after having a breakdown a day about my body image and how much I hate the way I look I'm really going to be on my shit about the gym, my food, the booze and such things.

I've made a calendar where I can track my accomplishments
Set reminders in my calendar of my goals and why I have them
I am determined to write in here every day
Already from my posts I've received support to continue with my goals / and help with personal things (so thank you)
I am making a "So You Think You Don't Want To Workout" List where I have to look at, read, listen to each thing on the list before I can decide happy hour is a better idea
I'm trying to stop snacking while cooking
I am going to a support group for codependency
I am saying fuck it and spending money on a gym membership that's close to home (the one my work pays for is 30 minutes from my apartment and not ideal on weekends)
Doing yoga again every morning

I know that most of my issues aren't because of what I look like but working out, eating better, drinking less will most certainly help ease the pain that my issues cause.

So ya that's it.

Day Whatever: I Don't Want To Write

2017-05-22T17:07:00.001-07:00

So changing habits is apparently hard, uncomfortable, unnatural-did I mention hard?
I don't want to write right now.
I don't want to write because that means I have to face the things I would much rather avoid with a drink after work or skipping the gym. But there's a little something pushing me to do so, and another little thing pushing me to delete this and continue to avoid.

Random things going through my head:

Weekends fuck my shit up. My gym is about 30 minutes away from my house so I keep telling myself I'll do an in-house workout, look for free yoga courses online or in an app, go on a hike. But what do I actually do? Sleep da fuck in, feel ashamed I slept in (whether I drank the night before or not), kind of doddle around all day until I say it's so nice out I want a margarita and then well you know the rest. Or I work, which takes out most of my A. time and B. energy.

Monday is continuously the worst day for me. I cling to the relaxation, spontaneity of the weekend on Sunday night until 11:30 - midnight. Trying to avoid the responsibilities that come the next day, the responsibilites I especially don't want to own up to because I "fucked up all weekend." And have to make up for everything. I'm unmotivated, tired, grumpy. Really I feel like my work week doesn't actually start until Tuesday. Monday is usually when I have a resolve to "never" drink, eat, skip a workout, get behind on work, whatever again.

Scoffs.

I feel afraid to go to the gym. That doesn't quite capture it but it's something like a fear. I just really don't want to go but I can't tell you why. It's like being there sounds awful to me and I'd rather just run home and "clean my house" "unpack my boxes" "make a goals list" AKA go home and eat then lay down and watch Netflix with my cat. I know the things I could do to push me to go:

Putting my gym clothes on
Think about my friends that already went to the gym / will go (I get a weird jealous competitive thing from that, it's stupid but it gets me to go)
Remembering how I've never said I really wish I hadn't done that after I go to the gym
Remembering that I worked really fucking hard to break my silence and ask for help from you guys and how the more I make this a habit the easier it'll get
Sometimes thinking about how uncomfortable in my body I am helps, but right now I just don't care
Looking at fit girls on Pintrest / instagram or reading motivational quotes I've saved
Reminding myself that every decision I make can get me closer to my goals or further
Remembering how much happier I am when I go in general and especially when I go when I'm in a mood like this

I'm pretty black and white. I had decided before writing this that I wasn't going to the gym and I immediately went in search for the cookies that have been sitting out since Friday at work. I grabbed some pretzel chips I wasn't that hungry for. I started convincing myself that just one happy hour drink would be fine.

Shame. I think it all just comes down to shame. I want to run away from the feelings that I have now, which I can't even really pinpoint. If it is a fear of going to the gym or what the lack of wanting to go even means. Even writing now I don't feel I've captured whatever is going on with me, but I know not knowing is pushing me to find something to make it go away. But most of my coping skills or quick fixes just feed my bad habits and will make it harder to go next time, and the next time.

Social anxiety. I keep saying I'm lonely and I don't have a support system. Which is true-ish. However when I think about reaching out to those of who you have said you're there for me, there's more fear. I only feel really comfortable and like myself around about 3 people so I keep talking to them and hanging out with them. I guess I feel like I'm stuck in that department. Plus two of those people that I feel comfortable around don't even live here haha

So to keep in theme with my other posts...

Meal plan have so far stuck to. Lies. Damn it embarrassment. I purged the chips I grabbed. BUT other than that I have stuck to my plan and did avoid those cookies all damn day.

I really have no idea if I'll go to the gym. I DO need to clean my apartment and get on top of things. I guess that would be the compromise. I'd have to actually get on top of my shit at home if I skipped out. But making my space a home is definitely something that will help my overall well being and stop making me feel like I'm drowning.

Okay I'm rambling. I'm out. Thanks for reading friends.

Day 4: Stop The Bleeding

2017-05-19T10:21:00.002-07:00

Welp, that was a good day of sticking to my goals (Tuesday).

You all often compliment me on my ability to be honest and this post is harder to write than the others. Shame weighs heavy on me right now and it's hard to keep my head up.

Wednesday went really fucking well. Writing in here and receiving an overwhelming amount of support from you all had me pushing myself and feeling good.

Workout:
Warm-up 10 minutes
Arm day
Stairmaster (shit owns me) 5 minutes
Stretch

Food:
No overeating no under eating, less snacking

Booze:
...

I got home from therapy feeling good, exhausted, but good. I had planned to meet my friend and watch a show. No drinking just relaxing while I did laundry. Well those plans changed into his roommate and his girlfriend (who I'm intimidated by and don't really connect with) coming over and drinking.

Before I left I grabbed a seltzer water to help deter my urge to drink. I stared at my laptop a couple of times wanting to open it and write in here. But I told myself that would be something to look forward to when I got home.

Well that never happened. A night in turned into a night out and me missing work the next morning. Again. It's not that I didn't try though. I reached out for help, I kept drinking water, I set a time to go home...but when I put myself in such an environment (where I feel uncomfortable, when I'm tired, when there's booze) it's harder to succeed.

Yesterday after missing the morning I had no choice but to go into work with a headache so bad I couldn't keep food down (no this was not a hangover, I actually did well with moderation--better than normal).

The looks I got or lack thereof from my manager coupled with short emails had me hanging my head in shame and the anxiety took over. I literally was unable to look anyone in the eye. Shaking in meetings trying to focus and not get sick. "You're going to get fired." Repeating in my head while trying to write.

I made it through the day and got work done. It's probably obvious but I did not go to the gym, I did not check in with anyone due to shame, frustration with myself.

But what I did do was not make my situation worse.

I still can't believe I came into work with such a headache.
I didn't use my nausea as an excuse to binge (since I'd be purging anyway, yes that's a thing for me, I know it makes no sense).
I didn't use my nausea as an excuse to not eat.
I didn't use my state to go get happy hour right after work. Oh but I tried. I took the fact that no one was able to meet as a sign and to deter the impulsive urge to go continue to hurt myself.
I ate when I got home, I got on my sweats, did some chores and went to bed.

I'm trying to calm the waves of anxiety about being fired or put on probation for missing work again. I'm trying to keep my head up (literally) instead of down.

On my way in this morning I started to rip myself apart. Mad that my happy playlist wasn't doing shit for my mood and that my attempts at looking at the positive weren't sticking. I said to myself something along the lines of:

Today can go two ways, you can keep punishing yourself or you can give yourself grace. And if giving yourself grace doesn't want to stick you can at least be WILLING to TRY to give yourself grace. You are NOT a bad person for missing work, for messing up again. Your demons do not define you, how you deal with them does. And today dude you're going work, you're going to work hard, you're going to not hide in shame but do the things that will stop the bleeding.

You have a choice right now, to continue the negativity, the depression, the shame which will lead to another night like Wednesday or you can believe that this was just a bump in the road and not something that derailed you.

I can't tell you guys how many times I've picked myself up and sometimes especially lately it seems pointless as I keep falling down. There's always something going on with me, always an issue, an excuse, something that causes me to spiral and I'm sick of it. However that's how it's always going to be, but the difference is how I start to handle those things that could derail me. And I believe that how I'm acting now, the mindset, and the actions I'm taking are going to get me to a place where nights like Wednesday will just be a painful memory.

Day 1: I'm Not Happy And I Don't Remember How To Be

2017-05-16T22:19:00.003-07:00

Okay super depressing title, and I swear I won't always be like this (friend's comment pops up in my head that there's nothing wrong with being sad) but the title of this post is what ran through my head today and hasn't left.

It was only after a workout fueled by self-hate that I was able to get to a place where I could cry. One of my oldest friends texted me after reading my post and I couldn't get through the first text without crying. Good thing I was headed to therapy. His text was full of grace, compassion, understanding-three things I have realized I've not given myself.

It's no secret that negative reinforcement is shit, and will send your kids to therapy folks but it's my default method of motivation. At least it got me to go to the gym today. I showed up angry, anxious short on time because I was finishing up deadlines at my other jobs. I hated everyone on their squeaky machines, the jerk face yoga pants Facetiming her mom right next to me, and the men grunting and dropping weights.

But I did it. I finally broke my workout dry spell.

Workout:

-20 minutes HIT
-leg day
-finished with Stair Master, stretching and blow drying the sweat in my hair so I can look like a normal person (fixing my hair did not take away from my bright red face)

During my workout I thought about this post. It's funny that when I start writing again I start thinking in blog post. I zillion quotes came up from my many Pintrest excursions (Be you own best friend, sweat is fat crying, every squat counts). I processed my anger, felt more anger, was on the verge of crying at one point, thought about what I have to do, what I didn't do, people who are mean to me, people who I want to be friends with, how much I wish I had started working out earlier, that I hadn't eaten that thing, that that woman's shoes are untied, and that dude smells. I was all over the fucking map, but my God it felt good.

It was like all the feelings I'm running from my bingeing and drinking came to the surface but didn't kill me. And on top of that I got a good workout in despite the squat racks were taken for most of the time (curses). And at the end of it, I even literally looked at myself in the mirror and said "Good job dude."

That little bit of forgiveness, of grace, of recognition felt like the hope I've been missing for a long time.

Food:

I did well today with food. I did not overeat or under eat. I made a very big effort to not eat emotionally or put myself in a place to risk a binge. I snacked a bit much when I got home which I'm working on combating with a sparkling water as I've noticed that when I snack I feel overly full after eating dinner too (imagine that) and that pushes me to purge.

Accomplishments:

Writing in here, TWICE
Going to the gym
Not drinking
Not bingeing or purging
Going to bed on time (my terrible Instagram / Pintrest before bedtime habit allowing)
Asking for help

The amount of support, love and reminders of that support and love I've received already is overwhelming but much needed. I have not felt this alone, even when I first moved here and to be reminded that my mind can play tricks and maybe I'm not that awful or fucked up is incredibly awesome.

The Beginning: Fat Pants Aren't Cutting It Anymore

2017-05-16T15:38:00.001-07:00

As someone in recovery from an eating disorder I have never really had problems losing weight until now. I have been thinking about writing this for the past week and am finally saying fuck you to my embarrassment, insecurities, and other really great traits I possess and doing it.

I am finding that it's really hard (like REALLY HARD) to get back into shape and to stop my bad habits like drinking / bingeing and purging / staying up all night when I'm depressed. And welp folks I'm depressed.

Anxiety, now that's a real personal trainer. She helps me miss meals, feel like I'm going to explode if I don't get away from my desk and go to the gym at lunch, wake up with a jolt in the morning to do my yoga, constant panic running through my veins all day. But now that I'm rather numb to life I can't "cheat" on my weight loss / fitness / health goals anymore (which I mean is probably a good thing).

I have never had such a problem getting out of bed. I sleep on my lunches in my car. And either avoid my feelings with habits that are not only unhealthy but also deter me from being able to workout the next day or give me normal hunger cues. When I blog and pour out all the ugliness (or beauty for you positive humans) that is me and my vices and my thoughts on this little guy I not only get a support system, I have to deal with the shit that's in my head and causing me to continue downward.

So here we fucking go. Why the fuck am I sweating so much right now? I'm fighting urges to just delete this. This blog has been such a blessing and a burden. I feel like old me, mostly pre Portland me, was such a great writer. It's like I set the expectations way too high and now I'm over here producing Bring It On Again level writing.

The amount of times I have tried to go low carb, no dairy, no booze, no eating (not really), no bingeing / purging and failed is what is killing me. I see old Facebook memories of me this time last year when I was in the best shape of my life and I get so ashamed. What the fuck is wrong with me? How come I can't get back to her? Why isn't it sticking this time? It's so simple just don't drink, just get off your ass and go to the gym, just don't go to the Mc Donald's so unfuckingly conveneiently located down the street from my house after a night of drinking.
With every failure comes more shame, which I know in my right mind only triggers more poor behaviors. I know that the black and white of failure and success and the desire to be perfect perpetuates my poor coping skills. But my God it feels so good to tear myself apart. I live in my 'fat clothes', when I cave and drink I drink more in a way of punishing myself, and I tell myself those fateful words: I'll start tomorrow. Well tomorrow was two months ago darling.

Today is my tomorrow.

It should also be noted that I know it's not necessarily willpower entirely that I lack, it's my lifestyle as a whole. My struggle makes sense.

I moved out of a house that was incredibly unhealthy for me but in doing so I cut ties with people I considered family.
I have stopped going out to the clubs and lost my identity and with that a ton of people I considered my friends, even if it was only on a surface level. Not going to clubs also means I've stopped dancing which has always been such a powerful outlet for me.
I'm on my own again, which while good, also gives me more of an opportunity to hide in my bad habits.
I'm finding it incredibly hard to make friends at 29. I reach out to those who I have some connections with mostly lackluster responses leaving me to want to recluse even more.
Since I have not found something to replace the drinking or something as "satisfactory" as bingeing and purging I will continue to use those coping skills. I DO recognize that exercise helps me feel much better than either of those things but those other coping skills are more quick fixes versus exercise.
Lastly, my job underpays me so much so that I work 3 other jobs and am so exhausted from pushing myself so hard that exercise has taken a back seat. My fitness goals and a new job are equally as important as the other, but I need more support with my health.

So the point of this, is I'm going to commit to writing every day about my food, exercise, mental challenges (or well a summary I mean this isn't a novel and my crazy little self could fill a book) as well as successes until Paradiso.

I'm not sure how I'll structure this entirely and it'll be a work in progress so bear with me.
Here's to the preface to day 1. (fuck now I really can't skip the gym after work or eat all the chocolate in my desk).

Reconnected, Rejuvenated, Ratchet.

2017-03-29T11:36:00.001-07:00

I blink through tears my eyes absorbing the colors in the rainbow rug that my therapist undoubtedly got as a gift from one of her other clients. "Fuck my mascara is running" I think to myself. "I'm a really pretty crier," I say to my 4'' therapy teddy bear, Teddy. He doesn't reply.

I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Me talking to a bear, me worried about my fucking makeup in therapy, me unable to process my feelings-you know the normal shit that makes a normal person laugh.I felt like I was back in time yesterday during my session, old Kris came out, that means shit is really getting bad. I was sassy AF to my therapist, swearing, lashing out at her. Her and her calm fucking voice that I interpret as condescending when really “she’s just trying to help but you won’t let me.” I scoff as I write that, I swear sometimes it is her fault, not mine.

I have been spiraling downward, like it actually feels like I’m spinning, digging, constantly moving steadily down. And it seems as though I can’t come out. That life is too much and I’m too messed up and I don’t know which end is up or where I started.

I call my therapist back in (I demanded she go outside so she couldn’t hear my crying, laughing sobs—talk about embarrassing). My arms held tightly around my body, jaw clenched, makeup close to fixed (thank God for cell phone cameras). “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and I want to feel better. I don’t know how.”

She, per usual, gives me some abstract answer which I’m sure if I wasn’t swollen with tears and a sore throat (I’ve been bingeing and purging again) I would actually not only hear but understand. I do neither.

I ask to leave early, I just want to go. Where I do not know, but because my makeup is fucked I guess I can’t go drink and I am trying to stay sober on weekdays anyway. Off I go, wishing I still lived across the street from her office.

And I binge and purge when I get home despite every belief eating was a good idea. And I crawl into bed and I take a sleeping pill and I pray that I wake up a different person the next day.

That didn’t really happen, but something else did. And now I’m crying at work because that’s when you’re supposed to write really emotional blogs about feelings and bulimia and depression and anxiety and crying. I’m crying because my heart has hope again, and I feel as though I’ve gotten enough to stop digging.I have been cutting out people I believe are not good for me, I’ve been swearing off all electronic venues, and been feeling incredibly jaded toward the electronic music world that once gave me a second chance at life.

But I’m realizing it isn’t the EDM world that’s the problem, it’s those I surround myself with, the lessons I want to take from those experiences, and the venues in which I choose to experience these uh experiences in.What I’m getting at is I was over all the fucked up people in the club I frequent, I was over taking care of them, I was over not being able to dance, I was over the fact that this thing called PLURR is no longer even mentioned in said clubs. I guess that’s just it, they became clubs versus raves. There was no more peace, love, unity, respect or responsibility. And THAT was what got me started on this in the first place—an inclination that the world wasn’t as mean as I thought it was.

Because things have been so hard lately at home, at work, personally I needed an out so I decided to go to Bass Academy. I was going to get on those extra tickets released at noon, pay money I didn’t have, to have an experience that would hopefully be priceless when it came to my sanity, happiness and hope.

And then—fucking tears—my prayers for help and hope were answered by a friend who I’ve known most of my life. You wouldn’t know it because we don’t speak that often, but he gives me a calm, a reassurance and a confidence I don’t feel in people that I talk to everyday.

And this human gives me a ticket. And along with this ticket comes more than admittance, with it it gives me something to motivate me to take care of myself the rest of the week and not purge. With it gives me a reminder that I don’t have to constantly protect myself, that you can give selflessly and always have enough. With it gives me faith that PLURR is still out there and something I can / need to strive for in myself. Basically, he gave me something to live for when I didn’t want to wake up this morning.

With something as simple as a ticket to a show I have drive, excitement, and most importantly hope. You never know how your words or actions can affect people. Yesterday I was asked why don't I write anymore and didn't it feel good to have just one person say you helped me today? And I had belittled the power honesty and openness could give someone else. If it weren't for those around me reaching out and offering help I wouldn't be able to have the guts to write again, and to hopefully help someone else.

I am starting to go in circles, but basically I feel reconnected to the universe. I feel reconnected to myself. And to you.

You Are Nothing To Me

2017-01-18T01:40:00.000-08:00

How would it feel to be loved?
To be unconditionally free?
To be accepted as you are.
To be you in your normalcy?

How would it feel if you didn't have to pretend, hide, escape
To run from who you really are
To fix a mess you didn't make?

How would it feel to be loved?
To not be you anymore?
To be someone better?
Who hoped for more?

How would it feel if you didn't have to psych yourself up.
To try to forget the pain, isolation, the secrets you've kept.
If only reality could be as real as you could be
If only you could stand the possibility of who you can be

321 self destruct
I wish my mind wouldn't but it'll concave
Implode on itself
Miss can you pleases behave?

I face myself, put my hands on her shoulders
If i didn't know better girl you're getting older
older isn't wiser it's more years spent
trying to be that person you always were meant

Failing, hurting, spinning
I can't be here anymore, the depression is winning
I know I'm meant for more and yet I'm stagnant
The beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Fucking blinded

The consistency the persistency of the words on my lips
Is the only thing that's consistent

What if I released those words
And just wrote, felt and hoped
And said fuck the lyrics and the poetry
And just screamed at you what I'm actually feeling
How i can't stand to be myself but now is when I need me more than anyone else
And so I'm hiding this, me, I'm holding me
I'm so blinded with pain i can't see what's right from wrong

Write from wrong
What do you know anyway
Who are you to say that this is me and how i should be
You never put in the work anyway

And everybody hurts and screams
And feels there's no one by their side
But if they'd only look past my blood shot eyes
They'd realize there's me inside

And I don't know who me is and
I can't see who I could be but
Maybe she'll be better than you
And she'll realize
That her family isn't family
And her friends are fake
and her ex fucked that bitch on your first date

And your gut was right but it brings no peace
I told you so lingers on my lips
But there's no one to hear me say it
He, they quit a long time ago
Alone

But fuck that maybe I'm doing great
And maybe all this shit will build me up
Breaking is not an option anymore
When we break we burst
And all I can see is what's right in you and wrong in me

And people that can't handle themselves
or be themselves become their normality
and it's in you and it's in me and i can't see straight
there's so much fucked in my world
i have so much hate

how do talk about what shouldn't be mentioned
That the life you should have has was stolen from you
Alluding to the truth, tip toeing around the issue
Be quiet, behave

How to do you talk about the fact you never had a dad
All you wanted was a human to put you to bed at night
and wanted comfort and love and yet the house was saturated with hate
and it's not you it's them but it doesn't change your nightmares
that was your life
whether he stays or goes doesn't matter to me
because he never will be, never could be, always will be
Nothing to me
Except the force that made me

Buzzing.

2017-01-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

The depression has diminished, no vanished.
Anxiety takes flight and I'm remembering what it's like to be me.
My mind buzzing, my heart fleeting, my eyes are open but I can't see a fucking thing.

I have been struggling with depression off and on since this time last year.
Sinking lower, setting new standards for what normal is. A good day went from a day at the gym, time with friends, productive work day to just getting out of bed. And hit after hit came. Got dumped, lost my friends, broke my foot, broke my hand, crashed my car, sexual assaults, family problems that I can't even talk about.

I can't remember the last time I was truly happy.
And yet I don't give up. I know what giving up looks like.
It looks like drowning, digging, finding a new bottom to climb up from.
I think of the girl who killed it in treatment.
The girl who had dreams, ambitions, support where did she go?

How did I let it get this bad? How did I lose my drive, how did I lose me?

And yet it all makes sense. And grace flows through me and instead of anxiety all I see are tears. The fears are gone and I feel like I can finally see me.

I see a girl (do you say woman now at 29?) who has repeatedly been torn down, got back up only to be torn down again. I see someone who I just want to hold, to tell her it'll be okay. And that's all I want to believe is that this circle of depression / anxiety is not all my life is meant to be. To live not just survive.

And my brain is still pretty scattered right now, I feel like I'm floating (totally sober mind you), like I'm buzzing with hope, possibility, yet sadness and compassion. I'm all over the fucking map.

I have not written in a long time because nothing seemed good enough, or to even make sense. But it's one of my goals to write more because there's so much in me. And because this outlet gave me the most support that I desperately need right now.

When the anxiety comes back I get scared of it. I don't want to have days where I'm constantly-and I know I keep saying it-buzzing. Trying to do a million things at once and get nothing done creating more anxiety and yet I can't seem to just do one thing. My heart sinks right now as I realize I've spent my time writing this versus getting ready for my presentation in 11 minutes.

Failure. Failure. Failure. The word burrows into me and my shame consumes me. Not again, sometimes I really just don't want to be me.

But then when I embrace the beauty that is me, I feel so empowered. Timidly I reach for hope, for better, for positivity and it never burns me, rather it lifts me.

I keep deleting this copy for some reason, well fuck I know the reason, it's the same reason I always have: SHAME. Why am I so embarrassed to tell you my goals, or the things I've been doing well? Why is it so damn comfortable to tear myself apart rather than lift myself up?

Lately I've been really working on moderation, not going out.
I've been getting back in the gym.
I finally stopped being afraid to look like the person I want to (I got a back piece I've wanted for years, colored my hair silver and pierced my nose..I guess that'd look like acting out if I were 18 but I swear I feel more like myself than I have in a long time).
And I'm starting to reach out more to friends I didn't even realize I'd isolated from.
I'm writing "poetry" and "lyrics" basically just a mess of feelings that my friends are trying to turn into songs.
I've been killing it in my freelance jobs.
And I'm moving into a house with my best friends.

Like I said this post really has no point, it's just to start again. Begin again. Because if I don't start I don't think these feelings of shame, regret, and depression will ever stop.

I Moved Here Two Years Ago Today

2016-10-18T15:13:00.002-07:00

And I don't feel much like celebrating.

The panic I felt when we had traveled a whole exit away from where I had called home for the past three years still grips my heart every time I think back to that moment. My no longer long distance (as of that very moment) boyfriend was driving the U-Haul and Max (my cat) was drugged up, laying in my lap. I was numb.

The decision to move wasn't an easy one rather a logical one.

My now ex and I both were sick of riding the Bolt Bus every weekend to see one another. Sick of the Skype sessions and talking to each other's frozen faces on our laptops. Sick of feeling pangs of jealously when we saw other couples taking their same zip code addresses for granted.

Plus, I didn't have a job or much hope to find one left. I had recently pulled myself out of out patient (eating disorder) and made the choice to leave zulily (a negative, suffocating, underpaid environment that sucked the life and creativity out of its creatives) in order to keep my recovery and my sanity. I was flat broke, exhausted by job hunting, and insanely lonely as will happen with unemployment.

I needed a change and this seemed to make sense: move to Vancouver where my boyfriend and soon to be new job was. I sincerely heard the warnings (never move for a guy), concerns (but you love Seattle so much), and encouragement (you don't know until you try) and I made my choice. Plus Seattle isn't that far right?

Fuck that. Seattle is far. Not necessarily in miles or hours of drive time--but when you are no longer central to the things that make you feel like you, make you happy, make you at home--you're far. Far from yourself.

And two years later--which is what they told me it would take to be comfortable here--I still feel far. Even farther than I was before. I no longer have a home in Seattle and I don't have a home here. Life, construction and growth has changed what I used to know and love.

And Vancouver? Portland? I still don't know Burnside from uhhh another city street. My boyfriend and I are no longer together and with that came a painful distance from people I felt like were my family. It's like I moved here all over again.

The past 6 months I've fucked up, scrambled, drank, danced, partied, played, and held on tight to anything that felt like home and belonging no matter how detrimental, unhealthy, fucked up the situation / person / activity was.

Sinking lower into depression, anxiety increasing, my eating disorder and substance abuse oh and you can't forget the inevitable self-hate--I once again feel homeless.

I am unhappy here. I am barely keeping my head above water at my job. My rent kills me. And I have lost my best friend and the people I considered my family here. And yet, somehow the motivation for change isn't there. I'm disgustingly comfortable in this lifeless, depressive, anxious routine I cling to to get by on everyday. I feel useless, unmotivated, unwanted and am getting more and more comfortable with being in this incredibly uncomfortable place.

Making excuses, justifications, and just the slightest alteration so I can continue to wallow in my self-pity. I have no goals, I have no ambition, no dreams I'm just merely existing. I worked so hard to try to make it work here. To do the right thing. And I just feel more fucked up than I was before I left, but there's no going back so I guess I just keep trying to more forward.

Last Night Was A Shit Show-But I Wasn't

2016-10-15T11:12:00.003-07:00

My favorite producer is on. I've waited 4 months for this night. I've got a boss ass outfit on. I'm with some of my best friends. But I'm having a terrible fucking time.

I have been stepped on, spilled on, bumped into, pushed, and harassed for the past two hours. My body is shaking, my mind is saying escape-we are not safe. I use my manners trying to not lose my shit, "excuse me, oh sorry, can I get by?" I'm talking to everyone and yet no one. No one is present, no one has any sense of self, everyone is fucked up and for once I'm not.

I find solace in the green room where it's bright, empty, and you can only hear the bass. I'm talking to two of my friends but I'm not really present. I feel myself shaking. Why can't I calm down? I look at my phone seeing nothing. I fidget and get water. I stand up, sit down. Can't stop moving. They talk casually, calmly and my mind is blank as to any kind of response to the topic. I can't be here anymore. Even in this "peaceful" (as peaceful as a green room can be) place I'm about to explode.

My mind and body are saying get out of here. I dip out as politely as I can which turns into awkward mumbles and sarcastic comments that I don't even think made sense.

I venture back to the stage. Hoping that dancing will help. I get pushed back and forth like I'm a ping pong ball at the bar and I explode. I tear through the crowd heading for the door, I vaguely hear my friends asking what's wrong, "I can't". My anxiety raises to the surface and releases itself through my hands, I gasp for air.

This is not how tonight is supposed to go.

I post up as far away from everyone as I can. And all I can say is "I get it."

Realization waves over me, almost comforting. "I fucking get it."

THIS is why I continually get way too drunk at shows. The stimulation from the lights, the music (as much as I enjoy it), and mostly the fucking fucked up people. Girls with eyes half open, black lipstick smeared over their face that elbow me when I'm trying to get water, the guys that get in my face to tell me I'm pretty, the people that decide to rage really hard when no one has room to move. The guy that needs 3 bouncers to take him down because he's so angry about "some bitch".

This has been my first sober show in a year. I've never been shy about my substance abuse issues so you all know that this is a huge feat for me. And one that I've learned so much from.

It's sad to me that something that used to be so healing, rejuvenating, fun for me has turned into this. A place where I'm so triggered that I am in mid panic attack for hours on end. I have been going to EDM shows for 5 years now and always plan for them to be something that helps me find myself but it's mostly turned into a place where I lose myself.

I always wondered what was so wrong with me. Why, no matter how many limits I set, no matter how many goals I write, how many people I tell I need help I keep drinking too much. And now I get it. Alcohol is a"coping skill" that "works" instantly. And I need to learn another one and also probably not put myself in these situations anymore. It's kind of sad to let go of something that I thought was so good, maybe like a boyfriend you really shouldn't be with but he's what you know, how you identify yourself, how you spend your time, how you feel like you belong.

You go back to what's comfortable but this is no longer serving me. And no I'm not like swearing off shows or anything because it is my life but I definitely will have to be much more selective about which ones I go to and really think about what the environment will be like past the I love that producer that'll be a great show.

And the other half of this is my social anxiety. I don't know what to do about that yet but I know it won't get any better if I continue to self-medicate with alcohol. Last night I finally calmed down after riding through that panic attack and maybe that's just what it'll take.. Being really fucking uncomfortable for a while knowing it will end and knowing how to take care of myself in that moment.

This post isn't really as emotional or profound as I'd like it to be, but I needed to get my thoughts out. And maybe it'll help someone else. <3 p="">

14 Going On 28

2016-09-10T03:29:00.000-07:00

16. That’s how old I feel.

No 14.

When I wore my favorite pink GAP tank top to the school dance. I was sweaty due to nerves?
my self-cut bangs stuck to my forehead. Braces. Puka shells. Etnes.

I am the epitome of trying to be.

He asks me to dance. Or was it me?

All I know is we’re front to front, but not face to face. We're going in circles. I’m so out of place.

I do my best to keep my heart in my chest.

It’s happening, I’ve made it.

We part and my heart is elated.

I cross my hands across my chest an involuntary response that shows I’m a mess.

Physical touch, belonging, wanting to be like the rest.

As we part I am alone. No one could believe what I’ve done. Or him. With her? Really?

My heart sinks. I thought I belonged.

And here I am at 28. Feeling the same feelings I did before I ever went on my first date. Wasn’t I supposed to grow up by now? Where’s my husband, kids, and dog? The house, the job, the regular morning jog?

Here I am, 14 going on 28. Sweaty palms, quiet voice, rapid heart beat. But my head screams.

My need to for love, for family, for loyalty, for belonging is captive inside my head. My actions contradict my thoughts as I sit silently.

I breathe in, I breathe out and then it repeats.

I want to be. I want to be me. I want to believe. I want to see who it is you see. I just want to be me.

To All My Single Ladies

2016-08-10T11:14:00.002-07:00

When I'm not preoccupied my mind wanders-to him.
A mixture of hurt and hate make my heart race.
We haven't spoken since it happened.
Well I have, he hasn't responded.
I'm reminded of the time before and the other time before, and all the other times before when we ended things.
We've been on and off since January 2013.
I've spent most of the past three years trying to make it work.
I've spent it in full bliss, in what I believe was true love.
I've spent it in pure hatred, in what I believe was true heartbreak.

I've never regretted a moment of it.
Every tear, smile, frustration, was meant to happen to lead me here.
And where is here?

Here is a place in which I'm at peace with my breakup. Where I'm starting a journey to be at peace with myself.

And that sounds chill and all but what the fuck does that actually mean?

Well it starts with forgiving myself. Forgiving myself for not being able to give him what he needed. Forgiving my flaws that helped drive us apart. Forgiving my actions during the hard times.

Then it continues with accepting that he's not the person for me. Accepting that it's really over. This part is hard. Accepting that there could be so much love, dedication and work put into something that "fails".

Here means being able to look objectively at our relationship. Seeing that it's not all my fault as my demons would have me believe. And that I'm not too fucked up to be loved.

Here means being incredibly self-aware. Watching my actions and seeing how every time I indulge in attention, drinking, food, my appearance that I'm left empty.

It's accepting that the answer isn't out there. The thing that will fill me isn't a guy, it isn't a job, it isn't a lifestyle, or a weight. It is me.

I have no real clue what that looks like but here are somethings I'm trying:

Therapy
Acupuncture
Cutting guys out unless they are friends
Only going to "the club" with friends
Putting more effort into my friendships
Spending a lot more time by myself reading, crafting, meditating, yogaing, exercising, whatevering
Exploring what makes me me. Accepting who I am rather than trying to change her.
Finding out what makes me truly happy and not momentarily.

For once I'm excited to be on my own. It's scary and empty sometimes but there's also something incredibly freeing about it.

You've Got To Be Comfortable Not Knowing.

2016-07-28T21:22:00.003-07:00

"I feel shame," I say peering at my therapist over my over-sized, tan teddy bear that I've cleverly named Teddy.

"Stay with it, tell me more," she says from the massage table, I'm at my usual spot on the couch. It's itchy against my sweaty, bare skin in this hot weather. I have Teddy on my lap, my arms around his middle and my face buried in between his ears.

"I'm ashamed that I'm not normal," I say into the back of the bear's head as I try to hide further into it. "Aw man it's happening. I don't want to feel this." And then I cry and I let go of that tightness in my chest and I tell her things that I didn't even know I was feeling. It comes naturally, authentically, honestly.

"I'm ashamed that I have to go on walks religiously to get away from feeling trapped at work. I'm ashamed that the chewing and the talking and the typing makes me freak out on people. I'm ashamed that I hide what I'm eating from my co-workers. I'm ashamed I can't seem to show up on time no matter how hard I try. I'm ashamed that I'm inattentive at meetings and that I can't keep my focus for more than 10 minutes. I'm ashamed that I go through a day working so fucking hard but when it's 5 o'clock I haven't finished a thing. I'm ashamed that I bounce my legs in meetings and distract people. I'm ashamed that I glare at people when they eat in meetings. I'm ashamed that I wear the same two pairs of shorts everyday because I feel fat in everything else. I'm ashamed that I'm so far behind in life, at 28 my life is over."

She calls me back into the room. I had left, picturing every embarrassing moment, reliving it as I talked.

"I never realized how much effort I had to put into trying to be a normal person," I say. Relief flowing over me. ignited from realization and understanding.

"You spend so much of your time working to "be okay" that you don't have much time or energy for everything else," she tells me and I nod my head in agreement and another thought catches fire.

"And then I just look lazy. I mean if anyone were to ask me what was going on or why I'm always leaving my desk or why I feel the need to workout at lunch, maybe they'd understand. But they don't. They don't get what it's like."

"Not many people have as severe attachment trauma as you do, Kris. I'm here to tell you it's hard. All you want to do is one thing, to pay attention, to focus, to do good work, to be happy but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to calm your body, to feel safe in your body," she tells me as I realize I've stopped breathing. The relief of being understood is overwhelming.

"All they see is me going on walks, taking a long lunch, I even paint my nails at work because it calms me down but if anyone saw me doing that they'd be like what the actual fuck are you doing?"

I tell my therapist about all the triggering things at work. From the guy that chews ice and stomps around my office to the woman that is like Wilson on Tool Time, popping her head in on me asking me questions before I have even turned my computer on, to the group of co-workers that seem to have nothing better to do than talk about the last restaurant they went to for a half hour right next to my desk and a member of the senior team that sends me emails reminding me of protocols and procedures.

And she says the most beautiful words, "I am going to recommend you work from home at least one day a week."

I give Teddy a squeeze and immediately get embarrassed, avoiding this weird sensation of joy.

"But they'll just think I'm skirting work again," shame envelopes me, joy is gone as quickly as it came.

"I'll have to tell them about your experiences and your diagnosis but it's just so they understand."

"So they understand that I'm disordered," I say in a low voice to my feet. Shame. That fucker.

I change the subject to, "Well what do I do now? I mean in the mean time? Like this won't solve everything, do I still need to look for a new job? A new place to live? How do I cope with all of this (I gesture my hands and make a weird face the only way I can express how crazy I feel these days)? It's unbearable. Not knowing what I should be doing, feeling so sad and uncomfortable all the time, thinking I've got the answer one minute then changing my mind the next."

"Kris, you have to be comfortable with the not knowing."
"Fuck."
"Maybe this is your year of not knowing."
Silence.
"A FUCKING YEAR?"
"A fucking year."

And so now begins my year of not knowing and somehow not giving a fuck.

You've Got To Be Comfortable Not Knowing.

2016-07-28T21:22:00.001-07:00

"I feel shame," I say peering at my therapist over my over-sized, tan teddy bear that I've cleverly named Teddy.

"Stay with it, tell me more," she says from the massage table, I'm at my usual spot on the couch. It's itchy against my sweaty, bare skin in this hot weather. I have Teddy on my lap, my arms around his middle and my face buried in between his ears.

"I'm ashamed that I'm not normal," I say into the back of the bear's head as I try to hide further into it. "Aw man it's happening. I don't want to feel this." And then I cry and I let go of that tightness in my chest and I tell her things that I didn't even know I was feeling. It comes naturally, authentically, honestly.

"I'm ashamed that I have to go on walks religiously to get away from feeling trapped at work. I'm ashamed that the chewing and the talking and the typing makes me freak out on people. I'm ashamed that I hide what I'm eating from my co-workers. I'm ashamed I can't seem to show up on time no matter how hard I try. I'm ashamed that I'm inattentive at meetings and that I can't keep my focus for more than 10 minutes. I'm ashamed that I go through a day working so fucking hard but when it's 5 o'clock I haven't finished a thing. I'm ashamed that I bounce my legs in meetings and distract people. I'm ashamed that I glare at people when they eat in meetings. I'm ashamed that I wear the same two pairs of shorts everyday because I feel fat in everything else. I'm ashamed that I'm so far behind in life, at 28 my life is over."

She calls me back into the room. I had left, picturing every embarrassing moment, reliving it as I talked.

"I never realized how much effort I had to put into trying to be a normal person," I say. Relief flowing over me. ignited from realization and understanding.

"You spend so much of your time working to "be okay" that you don't have much time or energy for everything else," she tells me and I nod my head in agreement and another thought catches fire.

"And then I just look lazy. I mean if anyone were to ask me what was going on or why I'm always leaving my desk or why I feel the need to workout at lunch, maybe they'd understand. But they don't. They don't get what it's like."

"Not many people have as severe attachment as you do, Kris. I'm here to tell you it's hard. All you want to do is one thing, to pay attention, to focus, to do good work, to be happy but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to calm your body, to feel safe in your body," she tells me as I realize I've stopped breathing. The relief of being understood is overwhelming.

"All they see is me going on walks, taking a long lunch, I even paint my nails at work because it calms me down but if anyone saw me doing that they'd be like what the actual fuck are you doing?"

I tell my therapist about all the triggering things at work. From the guy that chews ice and stomps around my office to the woman that is like Wilson on Tool Time, popping her head in on me asking me questions before I have even turned my computer on, to the group of co-workers that seem to have nothing better to do than talk about the last restaurant they went to for a half hour right next to my desk and a member of the senior team that sends me emails reminding me of protocols and procedures.

And she says the most beautiful words, "I am going to recommend you work from home at least one day a week."

I give Teddy a squeeze and immediately get embarrassed, avoiding this weird sensation of joy.

"But they'll just think I'm skirting work again," shame envelopes me, joy is gone as quickly as it came.

"I'll have to tell them about your experiences and your diagnosis but it's just so they understand."

"So they understand that I'm disordered," I say in a low voice to my feet. Shame. That fucker.

I change the subject to, "Well what do I do now? I mean in the mean time? Like this won't solve everything, do I still need to look for a new job? A new place to live? How do I cope with all of this (I gesture my hands and make a weird face the only way I can express how crazy I feel these days)? It's unbearable. Not knowing what I should be doing, feeling so sad and uncomfortable all the time, thinking I've got the answer one minute then changing my mind the next."

"Kris, you have to be comfortable with the not knowing."
"Fuck."
"Maybe this is your year of not knowing."
Silence.
"A FUCKING YEAR?"
"A fucking year."

And so now begins my year of not knowing and somehow not giving a fuck.

Everyone Else Has An Opinion So Here's Mine

2016-06-07T11:38:00.002-07:00

My Facebook is filled with her story, with his.
With opinions both well thought out and others thrown out with emotion.
This post will be thrown out with emotion.

When I first saw the story, about the athlete who was accused of / found guilty of rape (I do not know as I cannot bring myself to read the story but this is what I've pieced together) I didn't know what I was reading.

A friend whose posts I respect and enjoy reading made her status about the injustice of how the case had gone. A sentence or two into it I felt a pain my chest and I was having trouble breathing. I forced myself to stop reading.

I closed the page and distracted myself with something mindless.
And I forgot all about it--or well I tried.
But the internet isn't letting me.

This story is everywhere. And while it's great to see this topic being covered it constantly triggers me to have to deal with things I'd rather not think about. My own experiences with rape and sexual abuse.

And while everyone else has an opinion and can voice their thoughts, I find that this story has silenced and paralyzed me. Well, until now.

Too painful to think about at work, and too scary to delve into on my own at home the thoughts of my past have been preying on my subconscious since I first began to read about her story.

I didn't think it was affecting me until I had a panic attack at the gym yesterday.

I was doing squats in front of the mirror and I see the guy to my left stretching his groin feet away from me. I feel uncomfortable so I turn away trying to stay present. Then the guy behind me begins to go to town on the punching bag. His muscles flexing, his testosterone flowing, grunting, he hits the bag harder.

The two story, warehouse of a gym begins to close in on me. My heart races. My hands shake. I struggle to stay present.

"They cannot win. They cannot win. I will not stop my workout because I am triggered," I tell myself. "I've given too much of my life to my attackers and they will not ruin this for me." I say trying to be brave, thinking I'm doing what's right and noble.

But the more I try to be brave and make myself sit in an environment that has become threatening the harder it is to control my breath and my mind.

To my right a bodybuilder begins to deadlift with an angry force. Jerking the bar up and down. Slamming the weights.

The noise reverberates in my head and I have had enough attacks to realize when one is about to happen. I need to get out of here, but I am frozen. I am surrounded by things that feel threatening to me, how do I move when I am trapped?

The urge to run turns into an impulse. I turn up my music and I book it to the bathroom. I keep my head down. No longer able to control my tears, my body screaming to go to safety.

I bang open the bathroom door almost taking someone out. I muffle an apology and slam the stall door shut, I put my back against the wall, sink to the floor and curl up into a ball.

Make me smaller, let me implode, let me escape.

And I stay like this for I don't know how long, trying to steady my breath and stay in the room even though my brain throws memories violently to the forefront.

It's not fair I think. It's not fair. The gym has become a place of recovery for me where I find myself feeling confident getting stronger mentally and physically but ironically it's also a source of powerful memories from a past I'd rather leave there.

The cold floor helps me mellow. I ask myself simple questions like where was I born and what did I have for lunch that day. And I distract myself until I am calm.

I avoid men as much as I can for the rest of my workout and I forget about this until today when I scroll through Facebook. There it is again. And again.

And I go back to the avoidance and the distracting.

Everyone has had a voice in this, and I wanted to put mine in. While the victim is being very strong (from what I've gathered she's written a powerful letter to her attacker and probably spoken out as this is getting so much attention) and this story creating much needed attention to a serious issue it is also causing me a lot of pain.

Everyone's opinion is out there about this story and this topic but I hadn't seen my perspective voiced and felt a need to, as I usually do when I write.

I don't know what most people have had to go through that have been posting their opinions about this so I could be completely off base but I feel jealous of all of you who can feel stronger by this story. I feel jealous that you can read these stories without having the reaction that I do. My past haunts me constantly and lately it's been brought to the forefront and I'm having a hard time coping.

I can usually ignore it and forget that those things happened but not when there's reminders everywhere. And I'm just angry, and sad, and frustrated that this is a part of my life and who I am and always will be. And I can just hope that maybe one day I can read these stories and feel empowered but I'm just not there yet. Just another perspective to think about.

Silhouettes, Echos

2016-04-25T22:56:00.001-07:00

Just press play.

Song is Silhouettes by Echos. Check it.

Then let's talk feelings.

Like feelings that overwhelm you.

I don't know where to start, let's deal with it later feelings.

Emo, Dashboard Confessional, black nail polish, I never belonged feelings.

And yet I try to adapt.

When I go to write my mind becomes as blank as the page.

Even though I'm exploding with thoughts.

Things I want to share with you.

Things I want to purge.

Things I want to forget.

Things I wish I never thought.

Things I wish I never felt.

Things I can't speak about.

And yet they scream from my skin.
Your traces burn and the smoke lingers.

The only time I feel centered is when I write.

When I rip the words out of my throat and slam them against the wall.
An unorganized, honest attempt at expressing myself.
At making sense of myself.
I dare you to tell me my worst fears.
Tell me I don't belong.
Tell me I'm too much.
Tell me you don't understand.

The memories cut, leaving me vulnerable.
I confess my wrong doings, my shame, my imperfections.

Everytime I write I stutter.

I speak my truth.
And I want to fix it.

It can be better.

That's what my life has been.

It can be better.

I can be better.
And yet there's a voice in me that wants to accept me as I am.
I want to be as impulsive and imperfect as I am.

Is anyone else as confused as I am?

I feel like the unknown destination in front of me should be exciting.

Should give me hope.

But it gives me dread.

I fantasize about a life that isn't mine.

Toy with what self-acceptance looks like.

I never can escape 14 year old me.

The one who decided that starving herself was the way to live.
Limiting her food, bingeing on men.

And now I'm full of regrets.

I want to be someone.
I want to matter.

I cannot be no one.

Because then I will become as insignificant as I feel.

As deep as the hole in my heart is.

Wanting a father who could never be there.
And a mother who had no more to give.
And it's not fair.

And it'll never be fair.

Because the only person that can make it better is the one who caused it.

All I want is you to say my name.

To see me.
Everyone else saw me but you.
And judged me.
And I was this thing.
This beautiful thing.
That never amounted to anything.

Starved, abused, confused.

You did this to me and now I'm captive.

Held by your actions and impulses.

Held by your sickness and weakness.

I don't want to be a grown-up anymore.

I don't want to have to stand tall.

I want to be held.

I want to be safe.

But my soul is housed in a graveyard.

And my body is my enemy.

And my mind plays tricks.

You stole something from me.

I'm paying debt to your sin.

I will never be safe.

I will never be home.

I will never be who I should be.

Because I can never escape who you made me.

Feelings and Shit

2016-03-31T21:56:00.001-07:00

I see my movements getting repetitive.
I flail in frustration.
"You are not sexy. You are not good. You are failing."
I dance to release but it's not some beautiful, metaphorical dance.
It goes like this:
I get my outfit on.
I put my song on.
And I start off great.
Vibing, feelin' myself like E-40 and then it slowly turns.
The emotions I'm trying to suppress come to the surface as the frustration with my inadequacy boils over.
I lose control of my movements.
My emotions cloud my brain and I become the person I do not wish for anyone to see.
I am messy, awkward, ugly even.
I am not this put together, witty, beautiful girl all the time.
And at first I was going to say "I am not this put together...that I wish I was", but that's not true. I am her. I am witty and charming and pretty but I'm just not her all the time.
And that is something I have a very hard time accepting.
Recently I lost someone in my life who meant everything to me.
The silence between us leaves so much space for my thoughts.
AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH?
What did I do?
What did I do wrong?
What didn't I do?
How did it go from I love you to this?
Why did I fall for this again?
It's like did you break down these walls just to see how fast they can go back up?
I was me with you, I was the person that it took a lot of courage to bring out. To believe I could be, the person who I believe I really am and want to be.
And when I showed that person to you you vanished.
And with you you took that piece of confidence I had worked so hard to get.
It's like showing your parents a drawing you did in school when you really think you suck at art but you fucking tried and they just throw it away.
My confidence is shot.
I want to destroy myself.
I want to binge and purge.
I want to drink.
I want attention.
I want anything that will fill this hole.
Because sitting with the feeling that you don't think I'm good enough makes me look at what's really the issue here, that I've never been enough for myself.

They Say You're Supposed To Feel.

2016-03-22T20:17:00.001-07:00

Feel they say, allow yourself to feel.
But how do you do that when it's as though that feeling will take you whole?
When the thoughts of him come and your body tells you to run.
When you forget how to breathe and and instead of gasping for air you grasp for him.
For his familiarity.
For his love.
For what you thought was real and true and was you.
When you lose composure and control of what comes out of you and what comes of you.
And the memories fly at you faster than you can handle.
Each one tearing at your heart.
Twisting it tighter, squeezing the life out of you.
The ones where you were so new and exciting to each other.
Where he made you dinner in his brother's apartment.
And showed you the one shelf he got in the fridge.
And you saw his family's pictures and wondered if you would ever meet them.
If they knew how special this person was to you.
Where hugs were awkward because you didn't know how you fit together yet.
When you can't believe that just last week you were in his arms casually planning your weekend.
Where his body is as familiar as your bed, as comforting.
When you're so exhausted you take naps at 7:30 at night.
And when you wake up you don't see the point in getting up.
And you go through this, the motions, the feelings that you're supposed to feel and you hit them as hard as they hit you because there's nothing that can hide you from them when they are this painful. This real. There is no avoiding the suffocating, heart wrenching emotion that comes with losing your best friend and with it years of your life.
Those seconds you took for granted.
Those memories flood you and consume you until you can't remember why you broke up in the first place because those memories seem more real than the reality that you are without the person that was your reality for so long.
And as you catch your breath and your eyes run out of tears and you realize your cat has been staring at you for the whole ordeal.
You realize that you allowed yourself to feel.

The Breakup Post

2016-03-20T23:20:00.001-07:00

I am somehow full while feeling completely empty.
My stomach will not tolerate food.
But there's a ravenous hunger in my heart.
The emotional indecisiveness is exhausting.
I feel like a contradiction.
I am frozen while I cannot stop moving.
I can't speak about what happened out of respect for my ex.
But nothing feels more natural than to write.
I feel stuffed up, like there's so much in me that when I open up to this blank screen it overtakes me.
Write about your feelings, get them out, figure them out, move on.
Do what you do Kris.
Writing used to come to easily to me, I used to feel. I used to have no fear about what you thought. What I wrote. Treatment gave me this confidence that the real world has suffocated. Having to hide what's really happening, wanting to hide what's really happening. Shame overtaking my better judgement--no I can't tell them that. No you can handle it yourself. But every time I do open up every time I tell you guys I don't know what the fuck I'm doing you open your hearts to me. And like I said my heart is empty right now.
Years of my life vanished in instants.
What mattered most to me doesn't exist anymore.
And what am i left with?
The answer is obviously me.
But I don't know who the fuck that is, I don't know what she's doing. What she's capable of. What she wants.
There are moments of excitement, I am free. This is meant to happen. This will turn out alright.
And then that shaky confidence is ripped out from under me when I am reminded of him.
The night is the worst.
My empty apartment, even though I've spent countless nights alone here, now reminds me of the hole in my life. I wake up anxious and I go to bed with a sick stomach.
Even if this was meant to be and this is right and this will make me better in the long run--it's not the long run it's the now. And the now hurts. The now lost her best friend and with it the confidence, the security, the safety of being someone's someone. Of mattering. Of being loved.
And yes I know love yourself before you love others.
But that doesn't give me peace.
It scares the shit out of me.

I am just me and right now me doesn't feel whole.

To Those Who Think They Are Alone

2016-02-11T10:06:00.006-08:00

You're not.

I might not know what you go through. I do not know what your struggles are. I do not know what your life is like. I do not know what happened in your past. But I do know what it's like to feel like you are fucked up.

I know what it's like to feel like no one cares.

I know what it's like to feel like everyone else has their shit together.

I know what it feels like to be on the outside.

I know what it's like to be frustrated with yourself, wanting change but then repeating the same behavior.

I know what it's like to feel like no one else struggles, like life is easy for them.

I know what it's like to not want to get out of bed in the morning.

I know what it's like to live from hour to hour, day to day on a thread of hope that things will get better.

I know what it's like to not want to be you anymore.

I know what it's like to want to not exist.

And I know how comforting it is to hear someone that I know personally, that I think has their shit together say that they don't and that they experience the same feelings I do.

You're not alone. You're not messed up. You're human, and you're doing better than you think.

I Just Lost My Shit.

2015-12-20T22:15:00.001-08:00

The past hour was spent fighting off increasingly common, relentless thoughts of inadequacy, self-loathing, and insecurity.

I watch myself in the mirror unaware of both my staring and word vomit. I've got my boyfriend on the phone. The words that have been swirling in my head release themselves like a broken dam. They can't come out fast enough and they are lethal.

He will leave me, I'm sure of it. He's already thought of it. He's sick of me, almost as sick of me as I am. I'm convinced. I display my toxic thoughts out in front of him and myself. Wanting him to cut me, wanting him to hurt me. Just say it I tell him. Just tell me the truth. I know you don't want me anymore. You've come to your senses. Just do it.

Manipulative, vicious, and cowardly I cut myself down so he cannot do it.

And I am aware of the little voice screaming in my head..."TELL ME I MATTER."

I find comfort in being able to protect myself in this way. Of course I do not see it when I'm doing it. The feelings are real. I believe with my entirety that I am unworthy, I am insignificant, I am unwanted.

It is safer to believe this than the alternative.

That maybe he could really, truly love me.

Because if I give him that power, he could hurt me.

He could cut open the wound that runs deeper than my heart.

He denies my accusations and I quickly try to pick up the pieces. What have I done? I'm just pushing him away. Now you've really fucked up. And the thoughts take hold again. More powerful than before, hungrier than before.

Power. Control. It's all illusive.

After we hang up I return to reality. Bullshit with friends. The conversation I just had in the back of my mind, buried, safe. He put the Band-Aid on it just like I wanted.

On my way home my mind wanders, as it does. What I should do, what I didn't do, how badly I did what I did do...

And suddenly I'm caught, snagged like on a hook and pulled into my mind. She's there. And I hear "It's not about him." And something to the effect of:

Watch yourself in suffering. Tell yourself, 'I am suffering right now.' You did not get what you needed as a child. As a little girl, a very little girl. And that love you seek from him, that comfort, that security, he cannot give that to you. This desperate, hunger, manic need for love and reassurance stems from something much deeper, much more powerful than him. Watch yourself in your suffering.

And so I did. I said "I am suffering right now." And the tears flowed, PUSHED out of me. Gasping for air, I violently go back and forth between the road ahead of me and the past. Struggling to stay present, struggling to breathe, I let myself feel.

I feel the pain of trying to live in an environment that was not safe. Surviving, not living, through my life. I felt the confusion, the sadness, the anger all at once. I grabbed my cuff I was given at FreakNight from one of the purest souls I've ever met off my stick shift. I cling to it, the stars digging into my hand, keeping me here.

Odesza's Light comes on and I am guided to well, the light. With the reminder of the kindness I was shown at FreakNight and the magic of Odesza's music I am reminded of the goodness in the world. I am reminded that there is true love. I am reminded of the unity I feel at festivals and in the music I listen to and the community I have submersed myself in.

I am reminded that I do not have to be on my guard anymore. I am no longer in danger. I am safe.

And I listen to Light and I cling to that cuff and I breathe in and out and I hold that little girl that didn't get what she needed. And I hold that 20 something that was destroyed over and over again by the evil in the world. And I hold myself. I see myself in suffering and I give myself what I have been searching for everywhere else.

I calm as my car stops. My breathing slows. And I can't really get over what the fuck just happened. The clarity and understanding and peace I look for everywhere else was just given to me, by me.

I'm Back Bitch.

2015-11-21T13:44:00.001-08:00

I look up through puffy eyes and relieving tears and I laugh.
My cat is staring at me, watching me unravel.
I realize I'm not breathing and I gasp for air.
Then the tears come again.
I cling to my accent pillow (I'm a true grownup because I own one of these) harder, hugging myself.
That's all I wanted was a hug and to be told it's ok.
I'm ok.
I'm good enough.
I'm pretty.
I'm smart.
I'm talented.
I'm a good person.
And I tirelessly look for these things from other people, things, substances, and actions.
It's a cycle.
I chase after these things with determination, with willpower, with good intentions and I never find them.
Not really.
What I find in those things is temporary.
And I wake up today after another night of drinking too much. Too much makeup. Trying too hard. And I feel exhausted, defeated, ashamed.
But as I hug this pillow, and myself I'm reminded that I can and am the only one who can give me what I need.
I needed a hug--I gave myself one.
I held onto myself so tight, flooding my heart with the love and secure feeling I have craved since a kid.
And I just repeat this.
The crying. The forgetting to breathe. The laughter.
And I violently go between flashbacks and reality.
I cry for her, and I hold her tight.
And I give her exactly what she needed then, as I give it to myself now.
After what seems like forever which is just minutes I am calm.
I am centered.
I am grounded.
I feel that light that I get when I find myself through all the anxiety, depression, bullshit.
And for the first time in months I feel the urge to write.

I have a love hate relationship with this blog. Writing makes me be honest with you all, and well myself. It makes me feel the shame, discomfort, anxiety, sadness, all the feelings and shit like that that I run away from daily. But I'm finding that running doesn't work because it fucking catches up with you in the worst ways.

So I'm trying to get back in the swing of things because, guys I'm learning some good shit in therapy and about my life and I really want to share it with you.

Update on life:

Attempting abstinence (for now) and it's not going so great.
Eating on my meal plan most days and not bingeing or purging or restricting or any of those nasty little habits that come with an eating disorder.
I can curl 25lbs like a boss.
I decided to put up real boundaries with my parents. (for now)
I am doing well at work, and I really love my job.
I am realizing that my actions have consequences.
I am looking at the relationships I put my time into and see why I have that relationship and if it's really a healthy one for me.
I am in the stage where I finally figured out I'm good looking and take too many selfies. Eventually I'll have the confidence to not have to do this to feel good about myself.
I am trying to simplify my life and only do those things that align with my values and my goals (it's fucking hard).
I am pretty much a brunette now.

Going Sober for October: Week One

2015-10-05T11:18:00.001-07:00

I started my sobriety on September 28th and lasted until this Saturday. I was sober for five days, and while that's not a month it IS the best I've done in months.

I'm going--well as always--to be very honest about my experience in hopes that not hiding my struggles and successes help those of you who are trying to lessen your drinking habits (or anything else too). You're not feel alone in your thoughts, feelings, and struggles -- or successes!

The past five days weren't easy. I was surprised that I actually craved beer. And more often than I'd like I would have the thought to go get a six pack or to go to HH. I was especially triggered by bars, which I tried as much as I could to avoid but hey I'm young it's not that easy.

Having other plans in place, reading my goals list, and working with my support system helped. It's important to note that I didn't just write down my goal but I wrote down WHY I have that goal.

On Saturday night when I chose to drink I made an ass out of myself. I was emotional, too drunk, and spent too much money. I thought after 5 days I'd be able to drink moderately but I drank more than I usually do! I think it's the can't have it mentality that didn't work in my favor.

Even though I wish I hadn't drank, I'm happy I did because everything that I wanted to stop drinking for happened. A nice, refreshing, expensive, embarrassing reminder as to why I need to work on this--and for a while.

So the next day I woke up ashamed, feeling sorry for myself, depressed (with no hangover thank God and well water). I went to lunch with the boy and saw full beers on happy hour all around me. Well I already fucked this up I thought, I'll start clean Monday.

After pleading with him, trying to talk out the craving with him, and listening to him remind me why I want to stop in the first place I left the bar reluctantly without having a drink.

I'm so happy I did.

Summary of what I learned:

New habits don't happen in 5 days.
New habits don't come easily.
New habits happen with work, dedication, and perseverance.
Drinking doesn't necessarily make me less socially awkward.
Writing down your why for goals is so important.
You can restart your goals at any point and time. You don't need a new day, a new month, a special day of the week...if you just ate a donut and you're on a diet that doesn't mean you can just go balls to the wall with junk food the rest of the day--you can make the decision to walk at lunch and eat the lunch you planned for yourself when you weren't in such a discouraged mindset.
Do what will make you feel better in the future. Not in the moment.

To start your Sober October read last week's post. It covers how to approach a month sober with enthusiasm, determination, and realistic goals AKA in a way you can actually fucking do it.

Going Sober For October

2015-09-29T09:46:00.003-07:00

Oh heavens.
Just typing this post makes me anxious.
Fear of judgement and failure--and judgement if I fail rises in my stomach.
But having people to help hold me accountable and to support me is key to my success.

Reducing how much I drink is a path I've been on for years--since my DUI in 2011. And I've toyed with sobriety and AA and moderation. And I've done the opposite: not given a flying fuck.

AA wasn't for me. I hate cutting things out entirely--it makes me want it more. Ever been on a diet? Ya you get it. Don't think about the white elephant. What are you thinking about?

When moving here the relationship I was in was party-centric. And with having no friends and desperately wanting connection I did what everyone else did, party--only I'm not like everyone else. Alcohol and I go balls to the wall or we don't hang out at all. I can't always say no, and have a hard time moderating. And this isn't because I have a problem with it, it's because I use it for the wrong reasons.

-connection
-reduce my anxiety
-boredom
-to be included
-to hurt / punish myself

If I used it for taste, the occasional relaxing night, to celebrate an occasion I think that would be alright, but this uh habit or hobby of mine has become more of a necessity / something I can't say no to.

And it makes sense, it was my crutch and my "friend" (if you will) to try to help me feel at home and relaxed in a place where I felt so homesick, alone, and anxious. And then after my breakup my only social interactions and way of meeting new people was around booze.

Now that I'm on my feet again and in the best place I've been in almost a year, I still have this nasty habit. Drinking one or three a night, getting the munchies, all of a sudden wanting to pay for everyone's drinks, not giving a fuck: really adds up.

And I'm sick of using my disposable money in a disposable way. And I'm sick of being sick. And I'm tired of being tired. And I'm over getting over hangovers.

I have hit a point in my life where moderation isn't working and right now the best thing for me is to go sober. And that's what I intend on doing.

I started this venture last Thursday and restarted yesterday. After losing the resolve I had Thursday after therapy in a matter of hours I realized my therapist was right--imagine that--I need to replace this bad habit with good ones.

So if you're inspired by this and wanting to challenge yourself here's what I'm doing.

The thing about change is that you actually have to change.

Write out what are things you like doing or want to be doing that don't involve booze:

hiking
crafts
improving my portfolio
modeling
dancing
writing for shows
cooking
lifting
shopping / creating outfits
reading

These things are now what you do instead of drink. You HAVE to pick things you really enjoy doing (if you want to run but hate it--don't do that--do something you'll enjoy).

Pick three things from that list and get someone who is sober or will be willing to respect your choice not to drink with you to do these things with. I picked:

hiking
reading
crafts

Call up three friends that will support and respect your desire to go sober for the month. Set one day a week (or whatever works for you as long as you're committed) to do these things sober.

I see this method working because these things and situations are able to give me what I wanted all along: connection and relief from my anxiety.

It'll put me in situations where I can practice going through the social awkwardness, learning how to combat the thoughts in my head and make real true connection with those I'm with--as well as myself.

This er method has already started working. Because of the commitment I asked someone else to make with me, I can't break it and go to the party I was invited to on a Tuesday. I can't go drink after work because I have to meet a friend early in the morning to go hiking.

Once you get a few days under your belt and honor your promise to yourself and in turn yourself it'll get easier.

While last night was my first night of staying sober, I was challenged multiple times and it was hard to say no but I did and I feel so much better for it this morning.

I also have a list written out as to why I don't want to drink (plus other goals) and I keep it printed out on my desk at work. I read it morning and night and check in to see how I did that day. Where did I do well, why? Where did I fall short, why?

It's a commitment and it's not easy but I know it's worth it.

My list for not drinking is:

reduce mood swings and anxiety
increase sleep
reduce spending to save
physical fitness (who wants to go to the gym hungover?)
my job (showing up on time is a thing I heard)
my friends (not being able to be present or there for them is something I've come across too many times)
my relationship (being a new one I cannot grow false connections with him early on)

So while it's called "Sober October" I'm starting well yesterday. Having a goal that's only a month seems more attainable than to never drink ever again in my life.

One day at a time people.

Cheers! ;)