What Might Have Been

My thoughts have been going down that road all weekend, and it’s dangerous.  I look back on certain situations in my past and wonder how they might have turned out if x had or hadn’t happened.  This is futile at best and dangerous at worst.  A decade ago, something happened in my life that lost me quite a few friends.  It’s been an entire bloody decade, and the thought of it still floors me.  I felt I had everything going for me.  Then, one person and one event tore it all down.  The logical part of me realises that means it simply wasn’t meant to be.  The emotional part of me wants to stamp my feet and demand the chances back again.

This has left me quite depressed.  I’m not suicidal, but I keep having these fleeting thoughts like ‘what would happen if I just slit my wrists.’  Maybe I just want a visible indication of how I feel whilst the smile sits on my face.  I wish I could somehow communicate to someone exactly how miserable I feel, but trauma dictates that I keep smiling and avoid bothering people.  Therapy this week.  Hopefully, I’ll drop the facade there and actually process this stuff.  In the meantime, I shall sit here typing away and trying to stay in the present.  The past is just so hard to resist.



There are always stumbling blocks.  I am edging ever closer to the job I’m really excited about, but now healthcare threatens it.  I’m in America now, the land of horrible coverage.  Because I am well below the poverty line at this time, I qualify for what amounts to free care.  If I get this job, however, I will only qualify for reduced care.

What does that mean?  Copays on meds and doctor  visits, and a monthly insurance premium out of pocket.  Work one job, barely afford necessities.  Work two jobs, lose health coverage.  I have two chronic conditions that require expensive medication.  Neither will spontaneously go away if I get the second job.

This has me in a tizzy.  My best friend reminded me that I haven’t got the job yet, but I’m just trying to be proactive.  Too bad finding out information about copays and premiums is bloody impossible outside of the ‘enrolment period.’  America must consider itself the land of the healthy, because it’s almost impossible to afford healthcare.

On a Side Note

Some things are best left static.  I tried to change the theme of this blog yesterday, to put a physical mark on the changes taking place in content.  However, I’ve circled back round to this theme.  The header is just so bloody beautiful.  Misty and cool with a hint of mystery.  And so it shall remain.

See?  Not every post on this blog will be deep and introspective. 🙂

Problems with Commenting

A lovely reader just alerted me via email of a problem posting comments.  If anyone has got a message saying their comment cannot be posted, please know that you aren’t being ignored.  There is apparently a problem with the Comment Gods, as I’m not getting notices of pending comments at all.  Sorry about that!

I will try to suss this out as soon as possible.  In the meantime, please feel free to email me with anything you’d like to say.  Click the ’email me’ link on the sidebar or just send a message to ec1_englishrain@yahoo.com

Frustrating Therapy

Ever leave therapy more frustrated than when you got there?  That was my session yesterday.  I’ve had a great deal of frustration lately, and the therapy session was more like a rant session for both the therapist and me.  Simply talking about frustration is never helpful to me.  I have to actually *work* in order to feel satisfied with the session.  Nothing got done, and thinking about frustrating events only brought back the anger I was feeling at the time.  Lovely.

So what’s the point of this post?  I’m glad you asked.  The point is to decipher the whole therapy process.  It is, after all, important work.  My concept is going in, stating a problem or maladaptive thought/behaviour, and deciding on a plan.  The next step is activating that plan.  I get very annoyed when life gets in the way of therapy, though.  I couldn’t work on the drawing  because my thoughts were all caught up in the minor annoyances.  My brain was almost manic.  I flitted from topic to topic so quickly that nothing got resolved.

My plan was to go in and keep working on the drawing.  The therapist did ask me about that, but she picked up immediately on the idea that I was completely avoiding the topic.  And that’s the problem– I wasn’t *intentionally* avoiding the topic.  I just couldn’t get my mind centred enough to discuss anything of value.  Rant sessions are fine from time to time, but I expect even those to serve a purpose.  I left therapy frustrated, annoyed, and attempting not to let any of that cross over in my demeanour.

Here’s to next session.  😐

Broken Things

It seems like everything in my life is broken these days.  The latest bit?  My bloody car.  She isn’t dead yet, but I think she’s slipping that way.  A bit ago, the radio stopped working.  Actually, it stopped and started spectacularly for most of a week before drifting in to a more soundless existence.  Radios are peripheral to the actual car.  Inconvenient, yes, but still perfectly drive-able.

Next came the windscreen.  This is the third my car has had in the past year and a half.  The first was, to use the term the glass people taught me, sandblasted.  Tiny little specks had penetrated the glass, making it very difficult to see in light.  Once the new windscreen was in place, I could see perfectly.  For a month or so.  I used wipers by the brand of Rain-X, and they left a film on the windscreen, making it almost impossible to see in rain.  The product is supposed to make glass repel rain.  I had no idea it was even *in* the bloody wipers and no idea that, once you stop using the product, it almost ruins the windscreen.

Enter windscreen three.

This one has been beautiful.  It’s been so clear that it appeared relatively invisible.  Then, *it* developed a film on the inside.  I’m told that this is due to a slight problem with a heater core.  Nothing to worry about yet, and a microfibre towel wipes down the film just fine.  Once the windscreen developed a film on the outside, though, I was ready to make my car accidentally go up in a glorious blaze.

A clay bar took the film off of the outside of the windscreen, and, again, it was crystal clear.  Except in the rain.  As long as you don’t actually *use* the wipers, it’s actually relatively clear.  However, rain does require wipers, and wipers leave a very cloudy shadow.  With car lights shining in, I quite literally have to pull over and wait for the rain to slow.  As it turns out, the wipers don’t need replacing– the wiper *arms* need replacing.  And they cost twice as much as the actual wiper blades.  And three out of four local shops cannot order them.  And I can barely afford to buy one, labour not included.  This leaves me relatively unable to drive in the rain at night.  Not that I’d ever need to.

Bloody cars.

Thank You

This blog is growing in popularity every day it seems, and I wanted to say thanks to all of my readers.  Over the years, your emails and comments, as well as the simple fact that statistics show you’re reading, have enriched my life.  I hope you’ve found something useful here, as well!

Given the subject of late, I should say I’m not writing a farewell here.  I plan to keep blogging as long as people keep reading.  Just voicing my appreciation to all of you.  Thanks!  🙂


The SRA stuff is relatively contained right now, so it seems the appropriate time to let everything else fall apart, no?  I’m developing psychological neck injuries with the rate of ups and downs regarding food issues.  Things have been going relatively well in that I’ve only slipped in to the b/p cycle a couple of times as opposed to daily.  As of yesterday, though, the calorie count is falling again.  I think I have this reaction to my psychiatrist.  I feel like he’s either not hearing me or not believing me, so I take on the attitude of being a ‘better’ bulimic.  In regards to food issues, I feel like he’s driving a division between my therapist and me.  She tells me he isn’t, but my mind can’t quite accept that for some reason.

Yesterday, I brought up this issue with the therapist.  I told her I’d likely hacked off the psychiatrist and wanted her input on how the interaction unfolded.  She keeps telling me his response to food issues reflects her inexperience in treating them.  Still, I keep seeing the doctor as this smug overlord who’s telling me I’m doing this bit wrong.  Truthfully, the responsibility is on me.  I need his help with this, and it’s up to me to tell him that.  Until then, he is just a passive participant.  Being me and being excellent at standing in my own way, however, my courage drops before I get the words out.

The important bit to figure out, then, is exactly *what* I need and where would be the most likely place to get those needs met.  Just like with trauma, I think the main thing I need is understanding.  I need someone to understand exactly how it feels to get caught up in that cycle and to see food controlling your life.  I need to express that sense of desperation that comes with wondering when or if I’ll be able to get back in control and when or if the control will break yet again.  Definitely something to take to the therapist (and hope she’ll listen).

Even though I’d never be able to tell him, I’d like the doctor to stop trying to box me in to his medical school textbook on bulimia.  Yes, cuts on the knuckles are tell-tale signs of bulimic purging.  They’re also very easy to avoid if you purge in a way that does not cause cuts.  I’m not a walking advert for the disorder.  Why would I *want* to create visual signs of the behaviour?  Between working in medicine and having a good sense of the balance in my body, I can recognise many symptoms of electrolyte imbalances, and I can work to correct them.  It doesn’t always fix issues, and I have had problems in that regard.  The symptoms are fairly easy to hide as well, though.  Dizziness, fatigue, body aches, et c can be attributed to many other problems.  (I won’t say here, lest someone use this post as a guide for hiding bulimia.)  I want the bloody doctor to understand that I might appear fine on the outside and feel miserable in a physical sense on the inside.  This seems a lost cause.

Always, always, always, I feel stuck in the trap of this stupid disorder.  It shifts about in my brain like a living creature.  I’m back to the idea of bulimia as an addiction, though.  As much as I want it out of my life, I’m still terrified at times to see it go.

It’s That Time Again!

December is a dark month for me, and things have happened in recent years to make it even darker.  Still, every year since I started this blog, I’ve redecorated with this lovely festive snowy background at the start of each December.    It brightens the look of this collection of thoughts that can sometimes be so black.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Hillsborough, 23 Years Later

Today is the 23rd anniversary of the Hillsborough disaster, one of the worst sporting disasters in history.  96 fans of the Liverpool Football Club died, many of whom were literally crushed to death.  I write in memory of those who died, in honour of the survivors, and in grief for those left behind.  You’ll Never Walk Alone.