Tag Archives: shame

Holes

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I usually dread when I wake up in the morning.  Mostly because my thoughts begin to race as soon as cognition begins.   Fears trickle in slowly at first, a few drops at a time.  Then it’s like a deluge, as if a faucet was turned on in my head.  Will things ever be “good” I wonder?  Will I ever feel happy and free?  Will I ever love myself? Will I ever accept myself? Can I ever forgive myself?  Then depression  sets in.

I lead a very solitary life.  Most days the only people I see are my kids and my fiancé.   I isolate a lot because of how bad I look.

The weight gain from this food addiction has made me want to hide from the world.  I look like bloody hell.   My teenager tells me this on occasion.  Half of me is hurt and and half of me is proud that he tells the truth.  Then he says he’s sorry when he sees my eyes look down at the floor.    I’m not sure whether to believe he’s sorry for what he said,  I think he just feels bad that it hurt me.

It’s difficult to find the motivation to get up in the morning and face the day.  I have a lot of anxiety about all the things that are going wrong in my life and all the things that are about to go wrong.   I want to reflexively face all of them the same way, with food.

Looking in the mirror is not something I want to do anymore because I feel a lot of shame about how I look.    I’m ashamed about it but also know I’ve done this to myself.  So don’t feel I have any right to wallow in pity.

I am destroying my body for food but still can’t stop no matter how hard I try.   It’s so fucked up.    Maybe the answer is to be locked up somewhere for 28 days.

Talking in therapy about it just isn’t doing jack shit.    The therapist is nice but she is ill equipped to help me.  I end up telling her jokes to pass the time.  I already know that my fucked up childhood is where my unhealthy relationship with food began.  I was alone a lot as a kid, desperate for love and attention.  I didn’t get enough of either.  Instead I got abused.   Holes developed in my heart.

As a child I remember family members giving me yummy treats when I was having a hard day.  The same family I wanted to love me.  It was then an unhealthy relationship with food was born.

At some later point rather incidentally, I found myself turning to food when I became upset,  for comfort.  I guess it was like a vicarious way of having a connection with them through eating the food they gave me.  Their presence was unpredictable.   The food that was in my house however, was always at the ready.

It’s been decades of livimg this way.

Eating is what I want to do all day long.   So I eat whenever I can.  If people are around and watching, I will sneak it.   Food always makes me happy.    It helps me forget about all the shame, anxiety, and depression I have in my life.  It’s like it takes me to a better place even if it’s just for a little while.   Everything seems like it will be okay but it’s only lasts as long as I’m eating.   As soon as I stop the bad feelings return, plus a stomachache.   At the same time I know that food addiction is part of the reason why my life is like this.  The more I eat, the worse it gets.

Every addict has the voice of an angel or getting healthier and a devil or staying in the addiction on either shoulder.   So far, the food addiction is winning.

I know that I am killing myself with food.    I don’t want to get sicker but I’m losing hope with this battle.

 

 

 


Best friend

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Okay, so I haven’t been able to string even a day of clean eating together in what seems like forever.   This addiction has morphed into a beast.   I haven’t stopped fighting though.  I just don’t know how to fight it.    

Food addiction is a physical addiction with a cravings and withdrawal cycle.  Anyone who tells you different hasn’t done their homework.  They are uneducated and ignorant regarding the matter.   There are certainly emotional triggers that can bring about an eating “binge”.   

When I feel a certain way; my pattern of eating changes accordingly.   Actually, that last line is complete BS.   There is virtually no emotional state that won’t drive me to binge.  I eat when I’m happy, I eat when I’m sad, I eat when I’m nervous, I eat when I’m angry, I eat to celebrate, I eat out of boredom.  Food has been there when people haven’t.  In a strange way food has been a best friend.   It’s just that my best friend is trying to disfigure my body and ultimately kill me so it’s like an abusive relationship that I need to end.  

I truly believe that people with addictions don’t get better until they hit their bottom. I don’t know what my bottom will be because it keeps getting lower.

In my 20’s I told myself I’d never go above 140 lbs.  Blew past that.  In my 30’s I told myself I’d never binge at someone else’s house on their food.   Did that at my moms.    Promised myself I’d never binge on my kids Halloween candy.   Did it.  All the while saying “I’ll replace it while they are at school before they realize it’s even gone.”  But really? Really! Who does this shit!!  Who takes candy from a baby? Besides that, even if they never found out, I knew….I knew.  And looking in the mirror became harder to do for more than the obvious reason.

Even though I’ve been asking God for help I don’t know if I will get better because I’m not sure that I’m ready to part ways with this toxic relationship.   Does that make sense? 

Part of me is ready to get healthy but only part of the time.   It waxes and wanes on any given day.  How far down river will I get, when I don’t have both recovery oars in the water?

For a non-food iaddict, food is just food.  For me, food is so many things:  Food is comfort, it is stress relief, food is safety, it’s happiness, food is love.   I know some  normal people will read that line and think, “wow that is so effed up!  ‘Food is love?’ they will say to themselves?  I know it’s true seeing it on paper does sound crazy, but that’s the powerful distorted connection it has in this writer’s  life.  That’s why diets don’t work or if they do, the weight loss usually returns so fast.   Once weight loss happens I go right back to that missing friend, that missing thing which used to comfort me.  That’s why Oprah Winfrey who has millions in net worth cannot, even with the aide of a personal chef, trainer, and psychotherapy seem to keep the weight so easily.  It’s goes so deep.    

Hpw does one unwed the thing which for years that has brought them relief day in, day out? I have no idea but I know the solution isn’t in merely counting calories.

I know there are people who have broken free from food addiction.

I wonder if I will ever be able my shit together and get some decent clean time in.  This is so demoralizing.   My instinct is to to just hide out all day at home .  All the weight I’ve gained makes me feel self-conscious and ashamed.  Of course I could always traverse through the world wearing a bag over my head.  

Seriously, I don’t know anymore.   I need a plan though, because this is just not working for me.   


Public Apology to dragos1229

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Some time ago, around mid July , I was perusing the blogs and I came across a blog:  thestoryline.co.uk

The blogger had posed a question to  readers asking why he thought his blog had been banned several times.

I did a very cursory look at the content, less than 5 minutes and wrote to the blog authors contact page privately to tell him what I thought:

”Firstly, You don’t have the balls to let readers leave a comment. That’s fucked up. So I guess that makes you somewhat of a stalker that you get to comment on others blogs but not let anyone comment on your own. Secondly the content of your blog sucks. For example,  you wrote about the night you spent with a hooker and another high-end escort you brought home to your folks. Big deal. Do you know how many “I fucked a hooker blogs” are out there that say that, but are actually in interesting read? Thirdly, it is clear as day that you are misogynistic. So what, all us women should be clamoring to read your words wielding shit about us neatly hidden (or not) behind saccharine pleasantries. So we should be grateful you let the hooker stay with you overnight instead of paying her and letting her go home.  She was probably counting the minutes to get the hell away from you. If you’re such a great fucking guy why the need for a whore? Get a relationship. Real men don’t need to pay. So yeah, unless you want to bunch of blokes reading your blog, try little harder. Hide your vitriol towards women a little better, or just openly admit you fucking hate women. Just because you have a fat wallet and a fat cock doesn’t make you Ernest Hemingway.

It was only after I sent it I realized I shouldn’t have.   Often times we don’t think about how words impact others.  Normally,  I do.  Normally I am careful with people’s feelings, I am very empathic.  The multitude of personal and relationship issues I had been going through made me lose my own basic courtesy.  The deaths of two parents 3 months apart, losing my son to a year long treatment center, a slow steady disintegration of my diet of my present relationship with daily verbal abuse were among the stressors.

There is still no excuse to displace aggression on another.  There is no excuse treat anyone with disrespect, either publicly or privately.   I would like to extend a public apology to him for my words.   Also to the blogging community at large.   It marked a personal low for me. I feel ashamed of my actions and wish I could go back in time and have simply said nothing.

Dragos1229, I am very sorry for my actions.  None of what I said had any basis in truth, it was more representative of grief and my own mental state.

 


Compass Rose

It’s still the same I suppose. Every spring as Easter approaches. I drive past the various Churches, with their steeples acting like beacons, sending their Celestial signal up towards the heavens. I pass there aching to go inside.

The ache rises in my chest as I pass, and then my heart sinks as I sit glued in my seat. My blood runs cold as I nervously think that ‘maybe I am unforgivable’.  How dirty I feel. Less than. Not quite good enough to stand next to any of the people donning their Sunday best.

I ache for closeness with Him like I once had. The only One who ever deserved my whole heart, who ever deserved my obedience and love.   He was the only One who would never betray me.

I can’t remember when I had stopped talking to Him.   Some call it praying.  But it was more than that to me.  It wasn’t rattling off a bunch of rote prayers, though that was how I had begun.  We were close back then.  It was like a friend that was sitting at the foot of my bed, just as real as you are reading this now.  I’d talk about everything.  Then listen.   Oh yes, He would answer.   He spoke through my intuition, I believe.  Sometimes I would ask for a sign.  Sometimes He would give me one:  a gentle cool breeze on a hot night or a small butterfly dancing at my window just as I would ask.

I had stopped going to church.  No one particular reason really and not in anger either.  Then a few years later I had stopped praying.   Other things had seemed to take precedence.  It was like one day He was just gone.  You see, it wasn’t an event, rather it was more of a process. Like most good things in life that slip away.

When I tried praying again?  it felt empty and perfunctory like I was running through mathematical computations.  Something was severed.   And I knew it hadn’t been severed by Him.   That pain of knowing what I lost has been unbearable.  The emptiness, nothing thus far can fill.

A thousand miles I have strayed off that chosen path on which I should have tread, maybe more.  It is easy to get lost out there in the darkness. Still easier to stay lost.

I don’t know how I will get back to Him.   I’m so far off course and a compass rose made only of hope in my grip.   I hope that He finds it in His heart, to forgive me.   Hope that this prodigal daughter can come home.   Hope that lost Faith will be found.

 

 


Toxic Shame

0E6185B6-ADF6-490A-9675-B1E2F5FD549EComplex trauma has left a wound on me that I don’t know will ever heal.  Or maybe it’s that there’s so much scar tissue I just need to get used to that “new normal” of who I’ve  become.

Complex trauma is still a relatively new field of psychology. Complex post-traumatic stress disorder.  (C-PTSD) results from enduring complex trauma.

Complex trauma is ongoing or repeated interpersonal trauma, where the victim is traumatized in captivity, and where there is no perceived way to escape. Ongoing child abuse is captivity abuse because the child cannot escape. Domestic violence is another example. Forced prostitution/sex trafficking is another.

In my particular case, I was a victim of childhood incest.  It is the hardest thing to type that sentence, harder still to say it out loud.  I want to delete the sentence and delete “it” from my history.  Additionally, there was heavy-handed corporal punishment which by today’s standards would be considered physical abuse.   There was definite emotional abuse and at times neglect.  Continual domestic violence pervaded my childhood home.  My home did not often feel like the safe place it should.

Later in adulthood, I was the victim of domestic violence within my two major long-terms relationships.   I don’t know that I even recognized it happening as such it seemed so familiar.  If that makes sense.

All of my life I have struggled with low self-esteem.   Underneath my low self-esteem  belies a  darker feeling .   There is this deep sense of shame I have carried since as long as I can remember.

Unlike ordinary shame, “internalized shame” lingers and changes our self-image. It’s shame that has become “toxic.

When a person is ruled by toxic shame it interferes with their ability to accept positive regard.   For in childhood they internalized the belief of not being worthy of being loved or given any attention.

It dawned on me today as I couldn’t look into the mirror, that I just hate myself because I’m ashamed of me.

I wonder if this shame will ever leave.  I’ve got a new shrink I’ve been seeing for about 9 months.   I’ll call her Lee.  One can’t help but feel disillusioned after 20 years in/out of therapy.   I’ve ditched seeing Lee the past month.  Made up some excuse or other.  I mean everyone needs a mental health day from the mental health provider.   Oh wait this can’t be treatment resistance this soon can it?  I am feeling vulnerable because we are past the point of rapport building, and she’s a quick study.  She sees through my best defense mechanisms, and is trying to dig deeper and I’m running like hell.

There’s no shame in investing in a sturdy paper bag to wear over my head to hide myself, right?  Wearing bags are so much easier than facing your own demons.  ‘Cause Lord knows I’m hoping for a loophole.

 

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