Love affliction

two weeks to go but you wouldn’t know

by the lack of excitement for my new home

with each box that’s sealed

more sorrow’s revealed

thoughts of Lover return in full colour

this house serves as my one last memory

of a love before it turned into my enemy

I have not one shred of his evidence left

except this place and leaving, I’m feeling bereft

I don’t know why I still cry

I guess grieving takes a while

I know I served as a distraction

a mere thieving transaction

I have no doubt I am washed from his mind

except for my name to be used in his lies

but he broke me and realistically

it’s an eternity to heal and feel whole again

especially after his ill gotten gains

a conman who held my heart in his fist

I wish I could give this love affliction a miss

Flying free

I had such a lovely day

doing everything my own way

I splurged and bought a new dress

so that I don’t look such a hot mess

blue shoes to match

I look a fine catch

not that I’m looking, hell no

relationships for me are a no go

I’m happy just to be

splendidly me

‘cos a girl can’t fly if she’s not free

and free is what I choose to be

Painkills2, your words inspired me and, as I said I would, I put your inspiration on my Whatsapp profile. Thanks my friend, you’re exceptional! And if anyone is not following her blog All Things Chronic well you’re missing out on a beautiful, diverse, informative, fun, intelligent work of art.

My profile

My profile

Fat Anorexic feature image

I’m not fat

I am bipolar and a recovering anorexic made fat by both side effects of bipolar medication, and a damaged thyroid caused by Lithium. Living single and alone, its not only a challenge to cook for one, but it’s a daily battle to eat a nutritious, balanced diet. Or even just to eat at all. I transition between starvation, comfort and binge eating. Everything to extreme, and nothing balanced. This is my weekly journal documenting my eating patterns, moods and thoughts. An attempt to keep account of my successes and failures with food.

I been away in a self-imposed emotional ICU. Depression being the culprit. I’m getting back on my feet, but my internet connection at home has died a slow death. So I’m sneaking the use of ‘work resources’ to get the Fat Anorexic Food Journal up and running again. Well, not quite running…. more like walking, or perhaps ambling along slowly (exercise does not live here).

I’m upside down and everything is inside out at home with the imminent move, so no food pics for this week. But I could totally relate to this pic with it’s sound logical thinking, and I’m sure you will too…..

fat hot

Like mother like daughter

they wanted a child

for a very long while

I took nine years to make

so I was no mistake

but this little girly

arrived too early

I wasn’t quite due

and it was all too new

and frightened she withdrew

nurses called it ‘the baby blues’

but that’s not true

it was the start

of her slow depart

from this reality

to her own private sanctuary

a world only she knew

and one for which there was no cure

I thought I had made her ill

but now I take the same pills

and slowly depart

down my own personal path

genetically linked

its hard not to think

I will follow her flight

and descend to the light

Detaching with love

Last night I got to thinking about my silent treatment post. I felt confused and conflicted because he’s my father and I love him, despite his mistreatment. I then thought back to the days when I was married to my alcoholic ex and I attended Alanon meetings. They constantly talked about detaching with love. They would say – tell the alcoholic ‘I love you, I just don’t like your behaviour right now’ .

I never understood the concept at the time, but as of late, I have. And I realised that’s exactly what I can do with my father. I don’t have to oust him from life or go no contact. I can still love him, yet not accept his damaging behaviour. I can still see him and talk to him as long as I have healthy boundaries in place to protect my well being. I need to strategize now, think what my boundaries will be and how and when I will enforce them. I feel at peace now. I love him, I just don’t like his behaviour. I won’t allow him to break me down anymore.

South African band, Seether and their song ‘Breakdown’ wraps it up nicely for me

 

 

Shhhhh, it’s the silent treatment

This past week I did the unthinkable – I set a boundary with my father, and said ‘no’! Shock, horror, call the bad behaviour police! It was a boundary set to protect my mental health. I don’t do change well and let’s face it, I’ve got a lot on my plate with the move.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it’s become a big deal. His retaliation when I don’t please him is ALWAYS a solid dose of silent treatment. Purely from my own experience, it ranks right up there as being one of the cruellest forms of punishment and manipulation because you are denied that which is intrinsically human.

All contact is withheld – written, verbal, even eye contact. You become invisible; the message that you don’t exist is very clear. If you are nothing and nobody, what value do you have? What self-worth do you carry? None. You have been damned, abandoned, and the message is ‘you have only yourself to blame‘. Deep shame combines with a compulsive need to please, conform, obey, comply. Anything to get that person to acknowledge and love you again. You don’t know what the rules are, but you live in constant fear of breaking them, and your fate is at the mercy of someone who is supposed to keep you safe. So you reshape yourself over and over again, you shamelessly grovel and beg to please in the hopes of forgiveness. Buy hey, if it allows you access back into the fold, you’ll sell your soul.

Well, I may be in the dog box, but this old bitch ain’t doin’ tricks no more! No more codependency. I’m building myself from the ground up and I won’t see my hard work go to waste. His displeasure frightens me and the urge to please and grovel is ingrained. But I’m doing things differently, and this time I’m going to protect the child that was never kept safe.

Worlds apart

I know its true

I disappoint you

over and over again

but the reason remains the same

what you want to see

is not the real me

so you feel ashamed

and I take the blame

once again

for your misunderstanding

while I’m battling

head barely above water

in your eyes I’m bad daughter

that child you expect

is made of regret

she doesn’t reflect your ideal

‘cos Dad, she’s not fucking real

Tired of lying

I’m a liar and I’m tired of lying.

I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of wearing a mask that has to change shape with individual people and then changes again for varying circumstances.

I’m tired of saying I’m fine when I’m not. I’m tired of being judged for simply being born as me. I’m tired of pleasing and feeling like a dog performing tricks for treats and approval. I’m tired of trying so hard yet always falling short of expectations – always, always, always. I’m tired of saying ‘I’m sorry’ when it’s beyond my control.

I’m tired of being met by silence when an emotion slips out. I’m blatantly ignored, my emotions unvalidated and no one offers support or comfort. Instead the collective eye-rolling causes a Pacific Ocean hurricane as they label me ‘oversentive’ and ‘what a drama queen’…… I’m tired of my emotions treated as imaginary, being ignored and brushed under the rug – if they don’t see them by default they don’t exist. For them. But not for me. Oh they’re very real to me. So, if you can’t handle my emotions isn’t that your problem, and not mine?

I’m tired of intolerance.  I’m tired of being taken to task for my reactions, motivations and reasoning because they’re different to ordinary folk. BUT YOOOOHOOOO! I AM DIFFERENT. My brain is different to your brain. I was born into this genetic illness. An illness that is legally classified as a disability but to ordinary folk I am a hypochondriac with a wild imagination. I’ve found ordinary folk all too ready to say ‘nooooo, you shouldn’t feel like that’ or ‘nooooo, you’re being silly now’

I’m tired of people trying to change who I naturally am. I’m angry, furious, indignant. But still I take another pill to subdue the ‘undesirable’ parts of me to ease the discomfort of those around me. And I carry on sitting in my private pain, drugged, apologising and doing tricks like a dog to please.