Saturday, October 15, 2011
I was so pissed off I couldn’t move. No tears. No raging outburst of profanity. Just pure, hot ire. It blazed up from my insides, scoring holes into the wall. Silence engulfed me – the world taking on a crystalized hue - encrusted by a terrifying calm.
So it had come to this.
These last few months have been soul-draining.
My concussion from derby got progressively worse. I couldn’t speak in complete sentences for two days, walking was a chore, the art of opening my mouth was a herculean feat, and the perpetual mind-stabbing migraine refused to yield. I did not have insurance to go to the doctor so I suffered and prayed. Gritted my way through the day, splitting my time between two jobs, lesson planning, paperwork, attempting to be healthy and running a household. On top of this I got a cold. Add a little snot-nosed-single-nostril-brea
thing to a concussion and you got yourself a party.
My relationship was falling apart. Again. The search commenced for an apartment that would allow dogs and was within my price range *I was not leaving a pet behind again. I refused*. No apartment could be found. Money dropped to the lowest it had ever been.
All the money I had in the entire world was reduced to the change in my car.
Absolutely. 100%. NO. Exaggeration.
And I spent it on McDonald’s.
I prayed that my choking-on-fumes car would make it back to my broken and dark household and made my last phone call to my father. My phone would be shut off the next day and I would be completely shut off from my world- unable to get to work- on the street.
For the first time in my life I felt completely hopeless. I am an optimist by nature – stubbornly refusing to give up; knowing that time after time God has always been there to scoop me up just in the nick of time. This was an absolutely foreign feeling.
The absence of empty.
The absence of a void.
More all encompassing than a black hole – yet nothing at the same time.
I was going to stop trying. My mind darted down the various dark avenues that I could take.
And I considered them all seriously.
Of course there was always suicide.
I shook my head fiercely – I would NOT begin thinking like that again. Its siren claws retracted – leaving trails of putrid slime across the landscape of my mind.
Hmmmm. Drugs. I contemplated all my choices. Which ones would be the most accessible, which ones would cost the least *as I had nothing I even began thinking about what I would be willing to do to get them without money*, what the real effects of the drug would be on my body, the pros and cons, how long the high would last, what would happen if I never recovered from the need for drugs, what would my life be like if I did come back from it.
The idea snatched at my clothing, trying to pull me deeper.
Squeezing my eyes shut I refused once again to be drawn in.
Over the next few weeks – my torturous ideas watched me from the shadows – lurking – waiting for me to come closer. The binges became longer, more intense with more quantities of food. It was amazing at how I could dig up change to fulfill my cravings. I would have my fix – no matter the cost. Stooping so low as to put four dollars of QUARTERS in my gas tank and taking a few bucks I had found in some deep, lost pocket to purchase more food.
One night as I sat stuffing my face, in some drugged-up state, I realized I was full.
It didn’t matter. I still had the food and I wanted to indulge. Wanted to make it all go away.
And for a while it did. Blindly watching some episode of freaking Biggest Loser –hand mindlessly – mechanically piling food into my mouth – my stomach could not handle it any more. It stretched and stretched and the next thing I knew that coppery taste came spilling into my mouth. Here I was mid-vomit with a half chewed piece of candy bar in my mouth. I grit my teeth and willed with all my might to swallow.
Mercifully, I was successful.
Woken for the first time in several days - I looked around. Candy bars strewn on the floor, melted chocolate on my shirt, stomach near bursting and almost vomiting – and I took another bite.
I finished my candy bar, threw the rest of my pop out – and went to bed ashamed and scared of my actions.
Eventually I decided that I would stop trying to lose weight all together. That once and for all I would accept the fact that I was fat and live the rest of my life in that happy acceptance. I considered the consequences – would I be able to have children, would I develop a disease, would I be attractive, would I be alone for the rest of my life? It didn’t matter.
For the first time in my life I did not care.
Had no hope.
My soul had escaped my body and I was merely a husk of bones and flesh. Albeit a lot of flesh - but merely flesh alone.
Delete my Spark account and just let what happened – happen.
I cried out to Spark people on message boards and they came rushing in. Full of hope and promise and good wishes.
But not a single word could penetrate my heart. I kept watching Spark vlogs – until little by little I would not even check Spark. Would not go on to Facebook – only check my email once in a while – and didn’t weigh myself altogether. What was the point? Nothing helped.
I was done.
One night I had a sudden urge to go onto Skype and hope to find a Spark friend online. I waited several minutes and out of nowhere – she appeared. It was like it was meant to be. We talked awhile – sharing stories and grieving together the terrible – long journey that is: “changing one’s life”. Eventually we both decided to participate in an online OA meeting together.
I sat back and watched the words scroll by – wondering if it would be my last time talking to my Spark friend, being rude and playing devil’s advocate in the chat room.
The OA folk took me with grace and encouraged me to keep trying.
At the very end of the meeting - as I was closing that little red X button –* you know you just looked at it ;) * I felt a teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy bit better.
I was still convinced to shut this whole thing down. But I couldn’t now.
Life didn’t get any better. As a matter of fact it got worse.
My father was able to float me enough cash to get my phone back up and a tank of gas so I could get to work. A paycheck came in. But I still wasn’t able to get caught up on my month’s bills. Work was getting terrible – my clients continually testing me – not complying with rules, verbally abusive and all around disrespectful. I braved the scale only to see a horrifying number.
I was still trying to piece my life together though.
Slowly – my relationship was getting better. *Don’t ask me how – and who knows how long it will last – but for now – it’s good*. I know this because I suffered from a HORRIBLE episode of withdrawals the other night. I was cussing out my boyfriend, stomping around the house, yelling at every sound – from dogs shifting their weight on the floor to floor boards creaking as one walked, I finally threw myself on the bed and dissolved into uncontrollable tears.
My brain was so itchy!
My anxiety skyrocketed. I scratched at my chest, the walls, my bed. Sweats and dizziness came in waves. And the sobbing came out in tiny – pathetic – animal noises.
He came in the room.
Bracing for battle – I clutched the bedspread – buried my sweaty face in it and listened with every fiber of my being.
Say any Fing word and I will come unglued, you filthy piece of sh- my brain vibrated with the intensity of my wrath.
He slowly lowered himself into bed – eyeing the wounded animal I was - and wrapped his arms around me in silence.
I lost it.
He stayed with me until I had cried myself out, until the screaming and the whining stopped, until I was quietly sniffling, clutching the teddy bear I’ve had since I was six years old – and softly switched off the light.
I went to an OA meeting last night. It was good to see people again.
I paid my car note today –just in time to delay repossession.
Or so I thought.
As of an hour ago – they came and took my car.
Just as I thought I was going to be able to breathe – beat this thing –and continue on with just another war story – they came and took my only salvation.
So there I stood – in overwhelming pain and anger as I looked into the eyes of the man taking my car keys from me and choked out the words, “Thank you.”
Walked quietly – chin cemented upright – into my house and shut the door.
And here I sit.
And here I am.
I know it’s going to be okay.
I know everything will work out.
There are lessons to be learned here.
I am still here, damnit.
I am still fing here.
And even if I don’t win the battle – like some fellow Sparker blogged a few days ago – I will not give up.
Come hell or high water I am going to keep trying.
F the rest.