Let's talk...

When I was about thirteen or fourteen I started writing in a diary. I was beginning to go through so many hormonal changes that I needed a therapeutic way to express myself. I wrote about my first kiss, my boyfriends, about drama that happened at school, and most of the time about my mother. My mother is a lovely woman, but she used to make me so damn mad! Page after page I would write about how she was ruining, complicating, and destroying my life. Of course she really wasn’t, but I was a crazy hormonal teenager after all, and any kind of interference in my personal life seemed like an attack. Writing about my feelings though seemed to work out pretty well for me and as the years went by I gradually moved from writing in a diary to writing in an online journal. In fact, if you have any desire to go back and read what I wrote between 2003 and 2007, go ahead and click here. But don’t judge me for the content. Most of the stuff I wrote about was an affectation of my real personality and not the “real” me. Plus, I was like 18 years old when I started it and what matters at 18 isn’t the same as what matters almost nine years later...

But as usual, I digress. I used to write all the time—even if it was dumb, silly, juvenile, or emotionally intense, I would write about it. And then I met Ted. And I stopped writing. I’d write an entry here or an update there, but after the first couple months of dating him I stopped writing pretty much altogether. Suddenly I was having all of these amazing experiences and I didn’t feel like sharing them. Plus, I didn’t want to be one of those sickly sweet girls who are always going on and on about their boyfriend. That kind of stuff makes me want to gag. I hate when I’m reading someone’s facebook update and it says something like, “I love my boyfriend. He is SOOO amazing. Thank you for making my life better just by being in it.” Blah blah blah gag! Puh-lease! No one gives a shit that your life is better because the guy you’re fucking bought you flowers. He bought you flowers so that you’d give him a blow job. Now get over yourself! Yes, I have some hostility. This is why writing is therapeutic.

But then something happened. My relationship with Ted suddenly—almost overnight it seemed—went from blissful and amazing to depressing and hostile. And that’s when I stopped writing and started first acting out, and then suppressing every single emotional feeling I had. When I met Ted I was young and naïve—like most 20 year olds are suppose to be. I was aware that he suffered from some minor depression, but what I wasn’t aware of was that I was in a relationship with an addict. We started dating in February of 2005 and it wasn’t until May of 2009 that I realized that I was married to an alcoholic and drug addict. It’s truly amazing how something can be in front of your face the whole time and yet you may never even see it.

Lately I’ve been going through a lot of emotional distress. My husband of almost three years has been in and out of rehab three times, has lied to me, stolen from me, manipulated me, and has taken away so much of my joy and optimism. And instead of writing about it and truly processing the pain and anger, I’ve suppressed it, put on a happy face, and pretended to the world that I am just fine. But I’m not fine. I feel broken. Until about four weeks ago, I used to come home from work every night, pour myself a big drink, pig out in the kitchen while I watched reruns of Bones/Grey’s Anatomy/Six Feet Under—anything to take my mind off of my real life—and just zone for about 2 hours while I stuffed my face and drank until I was ready to pass out. And then something happened. Ted started getting better and I got an ulcer. I think my bleeding stomach was symbolic of my bleeding heart and then I realized that if I didn’t do something about it, it was only going to get worse from here.

I started seeing a new therapist in February. I’ve seen her four times now. We’re currently working on my resentments, my fears, my worries, and my pain. And I have A LOT of pain. Yesterday she gave me a plastic bat and had me swing at a punching bag as hard as I could. It only took about three swings until I broke down and completely fell apart. I think I need to fall apart more often. I also haven’t had a drink in almost three weeks (but that is more due to the ulcer than anything else) and this morning when I woke up I had lost 2.4 lbs since last Wednesday. So here is my New Year’s resolution (even though we’re mid way through March): I am going to write more, drink less, eat only when I’m hungry (my biggest challenge!), and try to cry as often as possible. And the writing is going to be raw. There will still be some silly entries I’m sure, but I need to get this stuff out. I’ve been suffering silently for too long.

“Think about any attachments that are depleting your emotional reserves. Consider letting them go.” ~ Oprah Winfrey