Codependency & Reservations?

My sponsor had me read through "Recovery and Relapse" again out of the Basic Text and journal on it, and I put it off until after I went over my step work with her on Tuesday. I felt like it was super important to focus on my codependency, since I constantly struggle with it.

One of my biggest downfalls has always been this underlying need to control everything around me, especially people. I want everyone to act a certain way to provide the outcomes I want, with little regard to how I am affecting the same situations. I'm self-centered; it's all about me, my needs and wants. When things don't work out, I blame myself for my inability to do or say the exact thing that might have salvaged everything, especially in relationships. I beat myself up for months when IP left me because surely he didn't see how hard I was trying, how I got clean for him, how he was mistaken in assuming my future goals because I didn't properly communicate and only complained about my parents' failed marriage. I even considered offering to have his children to keep him around when I found out how important that was to him, even though he entered into a relationship with me knowing I didn't want kids, so it was he who was being deceptive, not me. But I am powerless over him and I lost control of the situation so I considered all of the ways I could manipulate it back in my favor. I reached out for a while until I allowed ML to dominate my mind. I got lax on meeting attendance, step work, and talking to my sponsor and other recovering addicts -- outside of his halfway house. Even before I knew he was using again, I blamed his shady behavior on myself. I did something wrong. I was undesirable and pushed him away. I'd try to cook for him, give gifts, hold him, any form of affection I could think of, but it was never received. He'd stop speaking to me all together for weeks at a time. If I talked to anyone, it was about him. He became my Higher Power. Once I did accept his using, I had to fix everything for him. My own recovery meant nothing, I hated myself, became suicidal, and relapsed. I put others ahead of myself because that's how I've always expressed love, but it's really more destructive and self-deprecating than selfless like I want to convince myself I'm being. I use other people, especially men, to validate myself and maybe it stems from feeling emotionally neglected by my father growing up or these grandiose expectations of romance and wanting to be this fragile thing to be saved, but I only end up disappointed and hurt in the long run. I love the idea of love and someone's potential more than who they really are. I have fun with someone I'm lusting after and mistake it for love, but it's always conditional. They're smart enough to leave after a while, but I will be miserable trying to make things work for as long as they'll allow me to. But feelings are not fact. I know that I truly love these people, but I am obviously capable of loving again, even though I don't want to admit it because the idea of going from one man to another makes me feel like a total whore, even if sex isn't involved. I also have the tendency to go for men who need to be taken care of, as if I'm fulfilling some weird mommy complex. I know that I'm instinctively nurturing despite how much I fight it, but I need someone who is responsible and self-supporting like I strive to be, but first I have to take care of myself and support my own emotional needs, not rely on them. I'll continue to project my insecurities onto every relationship I have and be miserable and alone and make a lot of people resentful of me in the process. I'll continue my destructive patterns because they're comfortable and it's how I know to cope. I have to work on my issues with food and internalizing everything, learn to reach out to the right people, stop reacting so heavily on my emotions, and get outside of myself. I must share in meetings and be more open to newcomers; I must continue journaling, talking to women, and being consistent with my step work; I must pray daily, sometimes many times a day, if only for willingness. I have to be grateful and remember that gratitude is an action. I want to be more involved with service and help others the way people help me, but to do so, I have to be emotionally available in ways I've not been. I have to find balance in my life and apply my recovery to everything I do, because while I can't progress if I'm using, quitting drugs is the smallest part of the process. If I have to devote a certain time out of my day to pray or food-prep or do something for me on top of step work, then so be it. I have to consistently turn things over to my Higher Power until I learn to relinquish all control, and to do so, I really have to work thorough second and third steps.

Throwbacks for emphasis...

01/23/2014

It really sucks for me to have to admit that I relapsed, again, almost immediately after starting this blog the other day. That would make it my third in two months. My original sobriety date, the day I was arrested, was October 3. I didn't even make it a full three months before I talked myself into drinking over stupid shit, and attempting to OD. See, while I was in jail, my boyfriend stood by me and was so supportive. When I got out, I had to move back in with my parents as I lost my apartment, and he moved back in with his mother. The plan was to save up and use the time that I was court-ordered to live here to catch up on bills that I'd fallen so far behind on and find a better place. I moved in right before Halloween, and by the beginning of December, he broke up with me. Told me he didn't love me anymore. I was distraught as it was, until a couple of weeks later, I discovered that he had slept with his friend's girlfriend a couple of weeks before breaking up with me and had no intentions of telling me. I confronted him about it that night, it was confirmed, and the next day I stayed in bed until the late afternoon when I was determined to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Two bottles of wine, a very stout vodka drink, and twenty minutes later, I was buying heroin and having it delivered to me with the works. The people who brought it to me are friends that I had to seriously con into it, and their one stipulation was that they shoot me up because they knew what I was trying to do. I had talked my now-ex into bringing me the blankets I'd forgotten in his car, and everyone knew I was drunk and I thought I was being slick hiding how high I was, but he said he could tell that I was a nod away from possibly not waking back up. I'll admit that my biggest regret is not the anxiety I caused myself over potentially getting caught, what with it being the weekend before Christmas and drug screens being so intense, but the fact that in my drunk-high fog, I managed to lose the remaining drug and didn't finish it. That's a fucked up way of going about things, but that's how my mind works.  

Flash forward to this month. I started hanging out with a friend of mine who is also in the program, and he's literally been the biggest inspiration I could ever hope to find. He was so much worse off than I've ever been, and he was resistant at first, but now seems to flourish. We have so much more in common than I could have ever imagined to find in another human being, and really I'm surprised at how much I can't seem to get enough of someone so similar to me. He's the easiest person to talk to and doesn't seem to judge me (that I can tell). I admitted to him the other day that since my first relapse, I've been drinking on and off for a straight month. His birthday was the twenty-second (the day after my first post), and I spent the night before blogging, making him cupcakes, and chugging rum. I realized after the fact that not only could I easily get into this place where I feel like I'm able to successfully sneak around and get away with things and get eventually caught, but really it was all pointless. What good did it do me to drink? I wasn't any happier during or after. I constantly crave a drink, but it's really the dope I want. Alcohol is just safer because it's out of your system faster. Thinking things like this makes me realize how badly I really do need to be in this program, and that's a huge step for me to admit. The problem is, the longer I go without using, the worse my bulimia gets. I'm so fucked in the head in more ways than one, and I don't honestly know which is worse. I can stay clean from drugs, but I'll always find some way to hurt myself.

After typing up all of this, I logged onto Facebook to see my sister's friend tagged me in a post.

She seems to think I'd be qualified to speak? I hate speaking in front of people, but it probably wouldn't be a bad idea. Does it count as service work? It's not affiliated with any twelve-step programs, obviously, so I wouldn't really incorporate any of that, and would have to watch my language while still trying to focus on strength and hope. Experience is good especially as a scare tactic, but I feel like if it's going to prevent someone from picking up, or leading someone to find help, I need only use enough to get the point across and follow it up as positively as possible. Something to think on, I suppose.

Anyway, when I'm uninspired to blog, oftentimes just a prompt or a topic helps to jump start the process, so feel free to throw in any suggestions of things you'd like to read!

NEDAwareness Week 2017

So this is a big one, and I've really struggled with the concept of making a post about it at all, but I feel like it needs to be discussed, and my mission was to be more open, after all. So it's coming to the end of the National Eating Disorders Awareness week, brought about by NEDA, and this year's theme is It's Time to Talk About It; basically, the drive to end the stigma around eating disorders. They do not discriminate based on age, sexuality, gender, ethnicity, whatever. They can manifest at any time, suddenly or gradually, and can take on many different forms. My experience has shown that the secrets I keep are what keep me sick, and since I am actively working toward recovery in all areas of my life, my issues with food and body image must be addressed or I will continue to destroy myself. 

Not all addicts have eating disorders, just like not all disordered people abuse drugs. Some people have issues with self and/or food, but do not have eating disorders. (Here's a cool resource!) What's the difference? The NEDAwareness site has a self-check screen that encourages anyone with questions to take to better help them get started, as everyone who suffers has a different experience. But an eating disorder is a mental illness, and is not actually about food! It is a warped perception of self and -- in my case -- a means of control. Eating disorders are also the most lethal of all mental illnesses, caused not only by the immediate or long-term affects, but often by suicide. It is common for even non-addicted people to abuse substances to control weight, self-harm, overexercise, go from one extreme (such as restricting or binge eating) to another, etc. I've read quite a few memoirs and biographies of people in recovery to compare, but the easiest way for me to illustrate this is by using myself as an example. Proceed with caution, could be triggering.

I always felt very different from everyone around me, especially kids my own age, beginning when I was very young. My parents always talk about how I was such a happy child, and then one day it was like a switch went off, and I was different. I began overeating in early elementary school; looking back, I believe it had something to do with the stress of moving to a new house, having a new sibling, dynamics changing in school, whatever. The point is, I used food to comfort myself. I played sports on and off all throughout my school years, but otherwise was not very active. I was in the best shape when I swam year 'round in middle school, because I was finally putting all of those extras carbs to good use! I was always very down on myself about my fluctuating weight and began cutting myself around age eleven, but rather than make an effort to change, I would usually cope by eating more. It was also at eleven that I had my first drink, but it wasn't until high school that it became a frequent weekend thing to binge drink, and I began smoking cigarettes which immediately affected my lung capacity and my ability to swim long distances. I had the tendency to isolate and hide junk foods, especially when I went away to my first year of college. I was in a new town where I hardly knew anyone that I didn't graduate high school with, and they all made new friends, so I was alone a lot. I walked around town quite a bit, but I spent most of my free time in my dorm room bingeing, cutting, and smoking weed. I thought it would be a good idea to try to overdose on Aspirin one time, too, but it only left me with tinnitus for a couple days. I was horribly lonely, bored, started skipping classes to sink further into myself, and ended up coming back home for my second year. Once I was back at my parents' home with my truck, I went to school and found a job, but college was becoming less and less of a priority as I realized art was not the field I wanted to pursue, so in my fourth semester, I simply quit going and failed all of my classes as a result. I was drinking and smoking regularly, and began experimenting with any and every drug I could find. It was at nineteen after I had my wisdom teeth removed that I fell in love with opiate painkillers.

21st birthday

I began cosmetology school part time a few months after dropping out of college, hoping a skill would save me from a lifetime of working retail, and went at night part time where I spent every lunch break drinking 2x4's, smoking bowls, and when I could get ahold of any, taking pills and doing lines of coke. My "partying" began to take a toll on school again and my ability to work, and I switched to school full-time in an attempt to make up all of the hours I'd missed and still graduate in a decent amount of time. I was living with a friend in our own apartment for the majority of this time, drinking beer excessively and overeating, and when my twenty-first birthday rolled around, I was at my highest weight. I was so disgusted with myself and everything about my appearance that I was determined to finally do something about it, even though it took a few months for me to finally put those plans into action. The following spring, as I was nearing the end of cosmetology school, I began waking up early before class to do simple exercises to start my day, and severely restricting. My first rock bottom was the day I realized I'd eaten only fast food all day, for all three meals, and I finally committed to totally cutting out meat, not only for ethical reasons, but to severely limit my food options. I joined a gym and began working out for hours at a time every day, heavy on the cardio, and in the month between clocking in my final hour and actually picking up my certificate for graduation, had dropped thirty pounds. The night of graduation, my friends, boyfriend, and I decided to go out to a club, where there was a foam party. I had changed out of my heels into wedged flip-flops, slipped in the wet shoes walking down steps, and broke my foot; my bones had become so brittle from being malnourished.

Graduation

Being in a walking boot for a month greatly impacted my ability to work out, which had quickly become an addiction. I was obsessed with burning every calorie I took in and then some, so I was terrified of suddenly being unable to move like I wanted to. I'd toyed with the idea of vomiting on and off for most of my life, but was never able to force it, until one day my boyfriend and I ordered pizza after I'd been heavily restricting for so long on strictly healthy foods and I ate two slices. I was doing laundry in the on-site laundry room at our apartment, went to change the clothes from the washer and dryer, and proceeded to purge in the trash can. From that day on, for months, I continued to restrict and purge everything I ate. When my boyfriend confronted me about it, I only became more secretive. We worked differing schedules, so it was easy enough to hide when he wasn't around, or so I thought. My drinking was increasing at the same time, and I'd chose alcohol over food for my caloric intake most days. Once my boot was off, I was back in the gym every morning. I was constantly dizzy and light-headed, my face and neck were swollen, my digestive system was fucked, my gums and the enamel on my teeth were eroding from stomach acid, etc. My self-harm was also increasing, as I'd black out on a nightly basis, and I put myself in countless dangerous situations being totally unaware of what I was doing.

"Chipmunk cheeks"

I went to visit my Grandmother in Florida with my family and boyfriend the summer of 2011, and fearing discovery, I had to limit my vomiting, but was still terrified of food to an irrational degree. I began abusing laxatives and diuretics, because any little thing I did keep down would sit and rot in my stomach for what felt like days, and I just wanted it all out. I was so hungry all the time, and would dream about bingeing so intensely at night that I would wake up believing it had happened, and try to purge nothing. My exercising decreased once I began working in a salon and my substance abuse continued to progress. I was restricting all day, bingeing at night, and purging as much as possible. I began putting weight back as my metabolism shut down, trying to conserve whatever it could get. I was either out at the bar every night trying to get my mind of things and drinking my sorrows away with friends, or drowning in self-hatred at home alone with bottles of liquor and pills, curled in a ball on my couch. Grocery stores were terrifying places for me, because I couldn't focus on the necessities to make meals or even snack normally, it was all about the binge foods. I'd stop daily to stock up, hit the liquor store, and lock myself away at home while my boyfriend was at work. I was belligerent usually by the time he came home, but I was so absorbed in the cycle of self-destruction that no matter how much I convinced myself that I needed to stop, that I had to quit taking it out on him, that I was only getting worse, I just wasn't ready to ask for help. I was diagnosed with all of these food allergies and digestive issues as a direct result, and still continued.

That relationship ended abruptly and I continued to act out on my own, ending in a suicide attempt that landed me in the ER and locked in a psychiatric ward for over a week, where I went through DTs and was first diagnosed with bulimia. Upon release I was instructed to move back in with my mother, take my psych meds, and see a therapist, but I went back to my apartment after the first night and was drinking again almost immediately. I began hanging out with a guy who was shooting up, so I did too. My eating disorder and substance addiction go so hand in hand that it's often difficult to separate the two. I stopped drinking almost entirely because all I wanted to do was get high. Food didn't matter, and work was only to make money to keep going. Eventually I got arrested, spent a month in jail where I went through withdrawals, and was put on drug court. I was sentenced to eighteen months of random drug screens, intensive outpatient, regular court dates, and attending AA and NA meetings, but ended up doing twenty-two months because I was sanctioned three times for relapsing. Trying to stay clean kicked my bulimia back into overdrive, and I was bingeing and purging constantly again, to the point that it was affecting the creatine levels in my urine screens, and the court thought I was diluting them to hide drugs, so I eventually told on myself. The center where I was doing outpatient created a special group for me and a few other clients who struggled with food, but everyone was eventually kicked out of the group and a few people graduated, and when I couldn't stop getting, I was sent to the relapse group. I managed to stop vomiting for the duration of drug court under threat of being kicked off, but I continued to use laxatives and binged. When I finally graduated the program, I began getting high again that night, and the past couple of years have just been a cycle of relapse after relapse, in every area of my life.

This last high, I had to be forced to eat anything. It wasn't even a conscious attempt to starve myself, I had just gotten to the point of wanting to die and when I couldn't successfully overdose ever, I lost interest in doing anything. I got down to my lowest weight ever, but I have no idea what that was because I was so sick that I didn't even care about the numbers on the scale anymore. I knew everything was out of my control, and I wanted to succumb to my disease. I worked and would eat every few days just so I could keep getting high, and when I'd wake up still alive, I had to keep doing it. I didn't even realize how awful I looked, or else I really didn't care. I ended up nodding off or overdosing while behind the wheel and totaled my car, and the officer who showed up should have given me a DUI and arrested me, but instead let me leave with my Mom and I vaguely remember him looking me dead in the eye and basically telling me to get help. I had promised my sponsor and my family that if I got high again, I'd try inpatient treatment for the first time, so I kept my word. I went to my judge the next day, and he set me up at a detox facility and rehab, and I went that afternoon.

I didn't fully grasp what I had done to myself with my eating until I completed detox and was sent to rehab, and I can remember hiding in layers of clothes because first off, it was the beginning of winter, and secondly, that's just what you do when you detox. Your body can't properly regulate its own temperature, so the cold sweats become unbearable. I was chilled to the bone all the time. I was getting out of the shower one night and looked at my reflection and was shocked. I've always aspired to be this fragile, skeletal thing, and would revel anytime I could see or feel a new bone protruding where it was once covered in layers of fat, but for once I didn't recognize what was in the mirror. I felt almost as if I'd finally overdone it, and was overcome with this sick sense of pride, but also fear. Was I actually dying? Did I want to live? I knew I needed help, and told my counselor the day I did intake that I was bulimic and had to stop in order to succeed in staying clean, but suddenly I wasn't so sure that's what I wanted. I knew I didn't want to purge anymore, I certainly didn't want to binge, but none of that would ever end if I continued to restrict like I always wanted to. The cycle would simply begin all over again, and if experience taught me nothing else, it was that it always got worse with time. So I tried to stick to a diet that accommodated my allergies and eat as best as possible, was compliant with my medication, and agreed to continue outpatient and therapy beyond my release. So far, I've continued to do all of those things.

I've had a few slips, but I try to work through them rather than beat myself up or give in completely. One thing I've discovered is that I won't be happy with myself no matter my weight if I don't work on myself from the inside out. Exercise is a major component to my recovery, but I have to maintain a balance in that area as well as how I'm eating because I can abuse it, too. My medication has thus far helped keep me stable enough to not feel the need to harm myself in anyway, even when the thought crosses my mind. I have people to talk to through it all. I have healthier coping mechanisms that I just need to put into action. Recovery is not a straight line, but it's worth pursuing. I am not happy with my body, but I'm working on accepting it for me, and not relying on outside validation or drugs to affect the way that I feel. I want to be happy and healthy so that I can better contribute to the people that I love in my life and be there for them, because when I'm consumed with my disease, I'm no good to anyone. I used to be terribly embarrassed of admitting my problems, but there's no message without the mess. Whether I'm leaning on one end of the ED spectrum or the other, it's all the same sickness. You don't have to fit certain physical criteria to have one. You can appear perfectly healthy but be falling apart on the inside, as I've been most of my life. This began for me at a very young age, and has been going on for nearly twenty years, and I'm ready to take action and end it. I want to be happy. I am worthy and I deserve recovery. Everyone does. You do, too.

In Need of Some Spirituality

I haven't done a tarot reading in a long time, and with all of the shit constantly going through my head, I felt like it would be a good idea. I'm still pretty new at this, and refer back to the manual that came with my particular deck (The Renaissance Tarot by Brian Williams) and instructive books often. I lit Nag Champa and laid out amonite, angelite, and a custom Flower of Life organ pendant, set with an equally customized intention: quartz, amethyst, kyanite, shungite, tourmaline, smoky quartz, garnet, tigers eye, moonstone, selenite, obsidian, fluorite, carnelian, amber, iolite, metal flakes, and iron oxide. "I am healed in every way. I focus on positive thoughts and gain more strength everyday. I AM strong, beautiful, and able to overcome and achieve anything and everything." I went with a simple, straightforward layout that is usually referred to as PEMS - how you're doing physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. And it is important to remember that order!

• Physical: The Knight of Cups - The knight rides his mount with trappings of interlaced hearts. His attributes are the constellation Scorpio an the archangel Raphael. Divinatory Meaning: A person of turbulent, poetic, romantic cast. An opportunity or favorable event in the near future. Deep feeling transformed into verse, music, or visions.
• Emotional: The Nine of Swords - In a rage of grief, Achilles drags the body of Hector, whom he has killed in combat, around the walls of Troy. Divinatory Meaning: Revenge. Excessive or violent response to a problem. Jealousy.
• Mental: The Fool - The Fool is dressed in an elaborate slashed costume of a sixteenth-century court jester. The plumes in his hair signify folly, and the staff he holds is surmounted with grapes and a tiny skull, symbols of Bacchic abandon and terror. The Fool's companion deity is, in fact, Dionysus (Bacchus), and he is accompanied by the leopard Dionysus brought back from his wandering revels in India. A lily of the valley flowers at the Fool's feet, symbolizing blithe innocence and simplicity ("Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin..." Matthew 6:28) and the advent of spring. The Fool signifies rebirth and new beginnings, as does the constellation Aries; the pagan god Dionysus, who was dismembered and made whole again, as his grape vine is pruned to be renewed in spring; and the Christian savior, whose resurrection is symbolized by the lily and whose feast, like those of Dionysus and Demeter and Eleusis, is celebrated with the grape and the grain. Divinatory Meaning: The personality in the primal state, the willful child in all of us. Instinct. Innocence. Impulsive actions. Setting off in a new direction in life. Liberation of the impulses. Insight and wit from instinct rather than instruction.
• Spiritual: The Four of Cups - The sisters of Psyche are jealous over her fabulous wealth and her happiness. They plant in Psyche's heart the suspicion that her invisible lover must be a monster. Divinatory Meaning: Jealousy and envy. Suspicion of a loved one. Nagging doubts.

The card drawn for "spirituality" left me feeling weird, but it would make sense if it's my relationship issues keeping me from being where I need to be with my Higher Power, so I shuffled, reset my intentions on relationship specifically, and drew a new card. 

• The King of Swords - The king of swords, an armored and bearded man, sits on a castle-like throne. The sun and the planet Mars attend him. Reverse Meaning: Abuse of power. Tyranny. Cruelty. The empty striving for control. Failed attempt at mastery.

The thing about drawing the King of Swords, for me, is I see myself in all of those attributes. My vain attempts to hold together what obviously isn't there, my codependency, and my need to control everyone and everything around me. I have real issues with letting things go and allowing people to be where they are, because I'm so used to playing the victim and being afraid of rejection and abandonment. I was hoping to get some insight on how to fix my relationships, and what do you know? It all points back to needing to work on myself. I can't get caught up in my own head about where I went wrong and what I did or didn't do to push people away, which is way easier said than done, but it's what I have to keep reminding myself. My failed relationships can't solely be blamed on me; I did play a part, but so did they. I've always been with men just as sick as myself, but where I cling and need constant validation, they tend to emotionally withdraw. At least, that's been my interpretation of it. Save for my very first boyfriend, I have no idea of any potential closure or what happened to lead up to where I am today except for the involvement of drugs and resulting circumstances. One did me real dirty, and the other I can't help but want to believe everything he says to me, but for now I can't look at him, speak to him, see what he's doing, etc. It sucks. I think about him all the time, and that's blocking me from progressing. No wonder I'm acting out! I need attention and validation, and a woman can tell me something about myself but it won't mean anything unless I hear it from a man. I can recognize these things finally, but I have to take steps to change them. No wonder all of my closest friends are men. I have to stop that, because I start wanting to control them. I get jealous when they enter into new relationships and I'm no longer a priority. All of the other cards I pulled - man! All seem to link straight to that relationship card. Okay, HP, I get it. Stop stressing over him and focus on yourself. You can do this.

Other than that, all I've really done since getting back home is make one to even five meetings a day, go to IOP, go to the gym at least five days a week, try to stay busy, and make attempts to get step work done and apply to jobs. I haven't been nearly as successful in those areas as I'd like, but I am putting forth an effort. I also have slacked on my meditations already and need to change that. I'm eating entirely too much again, despite the Prozac, and it's getting to me. I need to stay occupied so I don't wander around the house aimlessly. Half of me wants to lock myself in my room and sleep all day every day, and the other wants to get out and never come back. Neither are good or likely situations, so I have to accept something in the middle. As it is, I've been writing more on my Instagram than on here because I haven't found the time to sit down and plan anything out. I actually had photos to go with this post but my iCloud seems to be acting up, so whatever. This is a half-assed attempt at discipline anyway. I need to get ready to go to a couple evening meetings; so much for trying to skate today. I've been listening to the OST from The Last of Us all day, and I'd rather be in bed!

Some Catching Up

So court yesterday was a joke, but at least I didn't go to jail! That's always a bonus. I got off super easy if all I'm having to do is pay restitution, really. I mean, sitting there for five hours was punishment enough, right? Anyway. I have to call someone who works for the city with my insurance information tomorrow, and then I'm good till next month. Sounds a little too easy, but we'll see. Maybe I'm just too used to chaos and can't accept a good thing when it comes my way? I didn't get as much done as planned because of how long the whole ordeal took, but I did manage to get enough out of the way before going to court to feel like I hadn't wasted the entire day. Since I woke up so early, I was able to make some important phone calls, clean out the bathroom, do all of my meditation, etc. I didn't get to do my hair, but what's the rush at this point? I mean it's awful already. I also didn't get a chance to get up to the gym to figure out my membership, but again, it's not like I really had the time to work out, so that can be done later. 

I also texted a former coworker this long, drawn out amends that I'm sure wasn't even said properly, and I know I'm not anywhere near a place to be doing such a thing, but I needed to get it off my chest. And if it's coming from a genuine spot in my heart, is it wrong to do? I hate that it was a text and not a phone call or in person, but that way she could open it when she has the time and didn't feel compelled to respond if she didn't want to. In the end, I feel like it did me some good and after going back and forth some (in which I had a lot more presented to me than I remembered or was ever aware of), I feel like there can be real healing there and that gives me hope. 

Aaaaanyway, I need to do these reviews! First up, I'll knock out Safety in Numbers, by Brittany Burgunder, again. It's a memoir of the author's personal struggle with an eating disorder that takes her from one extreme to another, being deathly underweight to morbidly obese, and further proving that weight and intake do not distinguish the severity of the disease. The majority of the book is written in the format of a personal journal that she kept during those years and later condensed to tell a story, with a few photos and further narration strewn throughout. And the quality of the book is just that: it really feels like reading someone's personal thoughts. It's scattered at times and very informal, but sometimes very profound in its simplicity. It's certainly no great American novel, but that's not the point. She bares all of her thoughts and insecurities, and in that it is so refreshing. There's nothing quite like reading something in which every word is so relatable. The best thing about it, however, was when she does begin to work on her recovery, she finally realizes that it's not a straight line and that setbacks do happen, but that's no reason to stop working as hard as possible. The initial downside is how triggering some of the very descriptive rituals and weights are, but it's a very easy read and I highly recommend it to anyone who feels confident enough to tackle such a story.

Immediately after, I picked up Carrie Fisher's Wishful Drinking. Now, I've been a huge fan of Carrie Fisher my entire life. I first saw Star Wars when I was about six. It and The Empire Strikes Back were recorded on VHS by my mother while she was at sea, and she purchased The Return of the Jedi, and I wore those tapes out. I was ten when The Phantom Menace came out, but that's a whole different story. So back to Carrie Fisher. I wanted to be Princess Leia. Well, really I wanted to be Han Solo but Leia was a close second and made more sense for me to say out loud because I'm a girl and growing up, people might have thought it was weird that I wanted to be the bad boy, but that's neither here nor there. Turns out, they're both the tough characters that I idolized, but in different ways. I followed Carrie Fisher on Twitter for years, and she never failed to make me laugh. I remember watching her on a roast on Comedy Central one time, and thinking, "This woman! Why can't more people be as amazing as her?"I was devastated to hear of her passing while I was in treatment. But about the book. I didn't realize that Wishful Drinking was a show prior to the novelization, but it certainly reads that way. It's definitely more like a long conversation than anything, a very quick and easy read, but funny as hell. Being what it is, I can't really rate it like I would a normal book, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Sunday and Monday I'd been hitting two meetings a night and getting a lot of fellowship in, and today I can finally go to the gym! I'm so excited waiting on my sponsee sister to come and pick me up. It's been far too long. I also really missed all of the ladies in my IOP, and they seemed happy to see me. I get to see some of them again at the meeting tonight, which is awesome. I desperately need to do my hair and fully intended on doing it after the meeting, but I just realized I don't have nearly enough lightener and no way of getting to the supply store, so I guess that'll be put off for another night. Oh well. Also, my plan of refraining from Instagram hasn't gone so well... At least I'm still not on Facebook. That's the real evil. Pictures are one thing, and as long as I'm not scrolling through scoping out who's liking what, I can just go about my business. But on a more serious note, I really need a better URL for this thing! I just can't decide. I've been toying with a few, but none really stick. I've had such lame blog names in the past and I want something good for once. At least it's not like I have a time limit. But back to planning out my first workout of the year. Hope I don't die!

Back Home!

I've decided to take a break from social media for a while, for my own sanity. I haven't deleted anything because I need Facebook active to log into Spotify, and I'm not on my computer much except to blog, so it's as simple as deleted apps for the time being. I don't know how long I'll go, but the people who truly want to get ahold of me know my number or hey, there's even here. I'm sure some will assume I'm ignoring them, but oh well. I just need to step away from the obsessive scrolling and borderline stalking that I tend to do with social media when I'm hurt. It doesn't do me any good.

So, the past few days! Dad and my youngest sister arrived, and we didn't get too much done. We drove to Lyman Orchard in the pursuit of stocking up on syrup, but it turns out they're closed during the winter (very much to my dismay!). We drove around some more while in Middlefield, and Mom mentioned Powder Ridge, so we wandered around there for a little while, asked about prices, and decided to return the next morning. We had dinner at the Athenian Diner, which is really quite good (I hadn't had spanakopita in a long time, so that made me happy -- lactose intolerance be damned!); drove to Essex to wander down the main streets, see out the historic homes, and check out the Griswold Inn and obnoxiously wandered around while people were having dinner; and then drove by the steam train and riverboat, but by then it had been dark for so long that I couldn't even see my beloved locomotive (I hadn't been since I was a kid!), and the entire place was already closed. Dad insisted on stopping by Cabela's because there aren't any here in Memphis and he's obsessed (plus they were bought out by Bass Pro and my little sister works for them, so she gets discounts).

Friday morning we got a late start, but we went back to Powder Ridge Ski Resort to try out snowboarding for the first time! Now, I figured it would be pretty simple, considering that I skateboard (on occasion), but I had not considered the fact that the board is super slick, my feet are both strapped in, and snow is even slicker. Needless to say, I fell a lot even on the bunny slope. But me being me -- that is to say, stubborn as hell -- I grew tired of the baby hill quickly and wanted to go on the mountain. Granted, it was the beginner's slope, but still, it's the side of a mountain. And I greatly underestimated the speed wobble; I couldn't imagine my lack of balance had I not already known how to correct myself. My poor sister was not so fortunate and was still dumb enough to follow me once before going back with the kids taking lessons. Hah!

I felt like I was about to land on the moon in those boots!

I only pretend I know what the hell I'm doing.

When I say I fell, I mean I fell a lot. I'm bruised all over, and thank god for that helmet, because I smacked my head a couple of times on the last trip down. I hurt to move the next morning, but I had a blast! I'd love to do it again, especially now that I have a better appreciation for the whole thing. My dad kept making jokes that he wished he had gone out with us to show us "how it's done" (he said this as he nearly pulled his back walking back to the car, by the way), because clearly he's the master of all board sports since he surfed while stationed in San Diego. Okay.

We went back to the apartment to change out of our soaking wet clothes (we clearly had not anticipated snow sports and were not properly dressed), and then tried Lamothe's Sugar House in Burlington, because damn it, I wanted my maple sugar candy! It had been years since I'd had any, and I wasn't going home without trying again. We'd never been there before, but Mom's cousins suggested it, and it's significantly smaller than Lyman, but the cutest little shop. We ended up getting the biggest package of candy (made in house), a box of maple cream cookies (a more commercial brand, but again I hadn't had them in years and they're not sold at home), and a huge gallon jug of amber syrup. My entire family are snobs when it comes to syrup; none of us will eat that fake, corn syrup garbage sold at stores or used in most restaurants. We're those people who carry our own with us if we're going out for breakfast. Mom's family used to own property in Vermont until quite recently, when there was death in the family and then the land was sold, and though it's the best, we also get it from local Connecticut suppliers. Dad's family also used to send us some from Wisconsin and Canada, which I'm sure was great from him, but it's not New England maple syrup. Wow, I'm so pretentious haha. I am a foodie, after all. Years of love/hate relationships with food has made me picky and stickler for the real shit, and experiencing flavor as much as possible. Plus, just fuck corn syrup entirely! Who really likes that garbage?

We ran back by the funeral home to pick up Grandpa's ashes, drove around some more with him in the car, and then had dinner at a cousin's house. That was a meal! We had the most amazing peach salsa (the perfect balance of sweet and spicy) and tortilla chips, and for dinner they'd prepared vegetables, mashed potatoes, cinnamon apple sauce, and giant ribs (they were so sweet about me being vegetarian and went out of their way to find me some white bean chili burgers, and they were really good! I'm a fan of black bean, but I'll have to find these myself). They also grow blueberries and freeze them, but when they lost power earlier this winter, they made most of them into pies so they wouldn't go to waste, and they served us one of the blueberry pies and some maple walnut ice cream and good lord was I so uncomfortably full that my head was screaming at me to act out, but it was just so delicious and I hadn't really eaten all day, so I let it just rest.

Saturday morning we got up early and packed everything we could literally fit into the van, and more going to Goodwill in the Explorer, then went to get lunch at Friendly's before heading out around 1:30pm Eastern time. Riding with Dad means driving straight through, and he does all of the driving, so eventually I'd done as much reading as I could handle without getting motion sick, no one was responding to my texts anymore, and my phone kept dying from playing too much music, so I fell asleep and woke up around 6am Central time in Nashville. The majority of the ride was rainy, and all of Pennsylvania and the Virginias were thick fog and nearly impossible to see ahead of us, so pretty early on we had to stop to replace the wipers and clean the windows. I worry about leaving Mom up there alone, because even with me there she didn't have a whole lot of motivation to do much: family or myself had to remind her to eat, and she wasn't sleeping well. I know the full weight of everything hasn't quite hit her, and she keeps wanting to call her father to ask him questions, and then remembers that she can't do that anymore. It just goes to show that no matter how old you are, you'll still always want and need your parents. She's lived away from family since long before I was born, but she talks to them regularly. I'm just really dreading when it comes time for me to seriously consider going through this with her and Dad. It terrifies me.

I had planned on doing more thorough reviews of the two books I completed while away, but I may save that for tomorrow. Since we got home yesterday morning, we all napped for a couple more hours, my cat came and curled up in bed with me for a few more, and then I rearranged all of my color, tools, and products to make them all more accessible in my closet for when I do hair at home or need to pack things to go to clients. It's so much more efficient. I just need to box up all of the books I had to move to make room! I have a huge container of books still in the garage from moving. I may have a problem. I may have to resign to using my Kindle solely from now on simply because I'll need a full personal library to ever be able to unpack, and that's after downsizing! I love books so much. Anyway, I cleaned and organized quite a bit, but didn't get to the bathroom yet (which is next on my list after posting this and calling Mom), went with a friend to a meeting, caught up with a lot of people I hadn't seen in months (seeing my best friend's former sponsor brought up a lot, and it was his home group, so it wasn't the easiest thing to get through, but so refreshing to talk about it to people who know us both), went to a second meeting down the street with a different friend, and then went out to Perkins for more fellowship. It was 2am before I got dropped off! I hadn't stayed out that late in a long time and my contacts felt like they were fused to my eyes after sleeping in them on the car ride. I don't think I fell asleep until close to 4 this morning, tossed and turned the whole time, and was wide awake by 6. That's what I get for drinking coffee before a 10pm meeting, but oh well. I slept more than usual by napping yesterday, and I feel pretty good this morning. I thoroughly enjoyed all of the intimate conversations I had last night, talked to my sponsor first thing before getting out of bed, and did more than my usual meditation this morning so I'm feeling really good. One of the things my mom got me for Christmas is this journal that says "I'm Kind of Awesome" in bold, capital letters across the front, and the idea is that you write why your'e awesome everyday! It's so goofy, but it reminds me of the daily affirmations I had to do in treatment, and when I'm feeling good, I feel better about myself, which makes everything I do feel so great. I'm also super nervous about court today at noon, so I figured reminding myself of why I'm doing all of this was a good idea. Sometimes it's hard. It's been hard the past few weeks -- the past year, really. It's been an emotional roller coaster. I've been the happiest I've ever been and also the lowest in the past twelve months. But really, thank god for it all, because I'm where I am today and that's a miracle.