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. 🙂

Advertisements

Dichotomy

That word defines my mother.  She was at once child and adult, beauty and darkness, safety and absolute danger.  Her multiplicity threw an interesting hook in to our relationship; I was more often parent to her than child.  She was very abusive to me and even moreso to my sister.  Even in her death, she left a sting.  The suicide note blamed me.

It’s taken years for me to accept that her death was not my fault but a bad choice on her part.  It’s taken years for me to learn that her treatment of me was not a reflection of me as a person but of her dealing poorly with her own Stuff.  Now, as I make changes in my life, she is on my mind.  I’m thinking of her as what she was, though: a person, separate from anyone else.

My mother had a very difficult life.  She told me in graphic detail about things that happened to her as a child.  She met my father early in her 20s.  A handsome soldier, he must have seemed heaven sent to rescue her.  She told me once he pitied her and married her for that reason.  Instead of rescuing her, though, he brought her to a cult where she was abused further and used basically as a breeder.  In an odd sense, she probably felt more wanted there than anywhere else.  Early in to it, before the serious harm would have started, the cult must have seemed like the first place to *need* her.  That breaks my heart.

She ran out of time at aged 51.  She made the decision to end her life because, if the note is to be believed, she thought I wanted her out of mine.  I had been making plans for both of us, though.  Had she just hung on a little longer, I really think things would have improved for her.  As it is, though, none of us will ever know.

New Directions

It occurs to me that, since I have started blogging again, this blog will likely take on a new direction.  I’m not the same person I was when I first started the blog, and I haven’t got the same concerns.  Back then, life was all about finishing graduate school and coping with the recently-divulged secret of my multiplicity.  Now, grad school is a distant accomplishment, and I am fully integrated.  Life has definitely changed.  Looking back at old posts, even the tone of my writing has changed.  Frightening and exciting all at once.

So what am I doing now?  Glad you asked.  Now, my life focuses primarily on bipolar disorder– something that can’t be resolved via therapy– and veganism/animal rights.  As well, I am proudly Wiccan and involve many Pagan practices in my daily life.  These are the pieces of me that remain post-integration.  I still deal with trauma flashbacks and will likely write about that subject from time to time.  It’s no longer a daily focus, though.  Now, my life is about using my beliefs to walk as gently as possible on the Earth.  I feel whole in my mind and spirit, so my focus is sharper on the causes I support.

That’s the funny thing about change– it’s ok!  We all change as life progresses, but we never lose our value.  Thanks for following along with this new leg in my journey, dear readers.  I hope you continue to share parts of your journey, as well.

Taking Chances

I’m slowly learning that taking chances doesn’t always mean failing or getting burnt.  Mercury is retrograde, which is typically a bad time to make business decisions or important changes.  Before I realised that, however, I made a request of my bosses and waited all day to see how it would turn out.  It was *amazing* news.

Taking that one chance has opened up the door to another chance that will open the door to opportunities I have been missing.  If things work out as such, some of my financial stress will be lifted, and I’ll be able to put money in to my savings account for a rainy day fund.  I won’t have to be so careful with every tiny cent.  I won’t be nearly rich; in fact, I’ll still be under the poverty line.  From taking this one chance, however, I stand to be one step closer to where I want to be.

Taking chances is so difficult.  It is also so necessary sometimes.

Hopeful

Today, I feel some hope.  This is as surprising to me as it probably will be to you, dear readers.  I’m cautious in my hope, though.  My brother-of-choice pointed out that I seem to have ‘time warped,’ and he is absolutely right.  This helps my perspective.  I can see the old tapes for what they are:  the thoughts that were meant to hold me down.  My living situation complicates things, but it doesn’t make life impossible.  I need to remember that.

Tomorrow is my job interview for the part-time position that I *really* want to get.  I tried not to get my hopes up, but they are.  To some extent, this is a good thing.  I didn’t think I’d feel hope again any time soon.  Hope I shall, though, that this job works out, that life outside of my house happens again, and that reconnecting with myself is an attainable goal.

Torn

I seem to be in an impossible situation right now.  My living situation is volatile, to say the least.  My housemates, especially one, tend to be violent.  Based on ties from my past, though, I can’t move out.  This leaves me, to some extent, trapped.  I’m trying to come to accept that, although I do still fight with it from time to time.  The best choice here is just to accept it and work within the confines.  Hence the reconnecting bit.

Today, an opportunity presented itself.  I’ve been working from home for many years, which has been both a blessing and a curse.  It has shielded me from the stress of commuting and allowed me to set my own schedule.  It has also allowed my social anxiety to grow and let me seclude myself.  Working a full-time job is a bit overwhelming to consider; working part-time is turning out to be less viable these days.  The opportunity that came about today is a part-time job in a place I truly love.  I know I can do the work, and the fact that it’s only part-time makes it doable.  The problem?  My housemate, who became threatening at the thought of my working outside the house.

This has led to me being overwhelmed, confused, and torn.  At the time of the conversation with the recruiter, all I could think about was my happiness at the thought of working in this place.  Then, my resolve faltered with the words of my housemate.  Now, I’m overwhelmed and questioning everything.  Will I still get to spend enough time with my cats?  Will I be able to handle my routine being interrupted?  Will I be able to juggle *two* part-time jobs?  I can’t answer those questions, and I’m really not sure whether they should stop me even doing the interview.

Life is so confusing sometimes.

Reconnecting

I’m going to try, at least for now, to update this blog more frequently.  This is part of a grand effort to reconnect with myself.  Yesterday, I felt like nothing.  Not in the degraded sense.  Just in the emotionless-floating-in-nowhere sense.  I read some quite old posts from this blog and realised that I feel almost no connection to who I am now.  This might be due, in part, to the integration, but it’s also due to my secluding myself.

Years ago, I had school and work outside of the home.  Now, I have an in-home job and almost no social circle.  I do not attend social functions, and even a trip to the shops can be overwhelming.  My social anxiety feeds on the lack of need to leave my house, and it’s time to reconnect with the world, as well.  It’s time to force myself out, kicking and screaming all the way.

So what are my grand plans?  I have been looking for a job outside my house, but that will be debated with my therapist soon.  In terms of socialisation, I’m thinking of attending a local support group for people with mental illnesses.  What better place to start than somewhere where others are struggling, too?  It isn’t much, but it’s a start.

In terms of the deeply personal, I do plan to start blogging again.  I also plan to start journalling again, or at least writing fiction.  Something to draw me out of my head.  When I had alters, it was easier to escape my thoughts; I’d just let someone else get lost in theirs for a while.  Now, it’s up to me to plan my own escape from my mind and in to the real world.  Again, kicking and screaming all the way.

Nostalgia

It has been ten months since my last post, according to the date here.  I sometimes wonder why I keep the blog active, but then I realise it truly is about nostalgia.  I started this blog many years ago.  Life has changed so much since then, but this blog is a constant.  Hopefully, it still helps people.  It certainly still gets views.  But it helps me, too.  It’s a documentary of my life through graduate school, through multiplicity, through traumas that have been resolved and some that plague me still.  In a life like mine, constancy can be hard to come by.  I cling to it wherever possible.

So thank you, dear readers, for your constancy.  I hope you still find meaning here.

Hiding

So the food issues are back full circle now.  I want to write about the behaviours, but someone will undoubtedly find this blog and use them to further their own bulimia or anorexia.  Suffice to say there is alot of hiding going on.  Food has become the enemy, but it’s all I can think about.  I worry in advance about this weekend, as I know my best friend and I will be going out to eat.  I’m trying to plan ahead, thinking of the least caloric thing at every fast food place I can imagine.  I’m trying to figure out how to avoid eating at all during the day on Friday and Saturday to make up for the evening.  And I’m trying so hard to hide this from my best friend, to keep it from affecting his life.

Everything I eat seems like failure.  If I feel full, I also feel guilty.  I’m exercising a great deal each day, hoping the calories I’m consuming will burn away.  And I know this is so bad for me.  I know the results of restricting calories tremendously whilst exercising heavily.  It scares me, but I can’t overcome it.  Part of me wants desperately for this to stop; another part of me truly believes it will when I feel small enough.  It’s a downward spiral, and it’s getting deeper every day.

Control

Things are out of sorts for me, and, for some lovely reason, lacking a sense of control = self-destructive behaviour for me.  This time, it has equalled the return of my disordered eating.  I’ve eaten two small bowls of spaghetti over the past two days, and I’m still obsessed with the thought that pasta is a carb-heavy food.  I know, in logical terms, that I’m not eating enough.  I just feel so overwhelmed and guilty for eating at all.

That said, I do need to lose a fair bit of weight.  I just can’t seem to do it in a healthy pattern.  I’ll go on these near-starvation diets and lose 60 pounds in a matter of two months.  Then, I’ll start eating again but start purging the minute my weight starts going back up.  Then, the weight will go up to the unhealthy *heavy* size, all in a matter of months.

So what’s the driving factor?  First, control.  I feel like my entire life is out of control at this point.  Restricting calories and obsessing over food makes me feel more in control.  Second, an offhand comment.  Someone recently mentioned something about my weight that has made me feel disgusting inside and out.  I feel bound to prove to this person that I can, in fact, limit myself and lose weight.  I guess that goes back to control, too.  Never really thought of it like that until I started writing here.  Hunger becomes a sign that I’ve succeeded that day.  Sore muscles become a sign that I’m disciplining my body properly.

I’m scared, frustrated, and so tired of not being able to handle food in a healthier way.  I have no idea how to get out of this food shame cycle, and it’s very hard to fight my mind on this subject, anyway.  *sigh*  Here we go again, I guess.