Monday, March 8, 2010


Miserable.  I don't deserve to be miserable.  This has been my mantra over the past several weeks.

I was stopped dead in my tracks shortly after my last post.  I went to therapy, minding my own business like I always do, and my therapist told me he had a possible solution for handling my vices.  Or addictions as they should be more accurately described.


Are you fucking kidding me?  Turns out he wasn't.  And that was a sobering moment.  To come to the point in my life where I'm told that I am essentially out of control and I need to be locked up to gain control is probably enough to get most anyone's attention. 

I am all about control so coming to the reality that control is not something in my arsenal; well, that one is a tough one for me.  I came here and had nothing to say.  Perhaps out of embarrassment.  Perhaps out of fear.  Perhaps I was wordless.  And so I was quiet.

Back to the rehab thing; I used my daughter as a reason... excuse... and asked for a month to get my shit together.  I then went home, armed with a list written by my therapist for my husband.  And I actually gave the list to him and did a lot of explaining.

I've left my husband in the dark about a lot.  Especially when it comes to the food and cutting problems.  When I told him that I still cut his response was, "but that's what fucked up people do". 

I met his remark with a smile and a raised eyebrow and said, "yeah".

So I'm doing what fucked up people do.  I'm talking; not in my head but with audible words for real humans to hear.  I'm trying to express my feelings better.  I'm being honest about my habits.  And I'm letting people help me.  All novel concepts. 

To keep busy, I'm also quilting and sewing everything in my path.  I made two quilts in a week.  My husband is worried that he is going to wake up and find himself quilted to the bed.  I told him that if it keeps me sober then perhaps he should pick out some fabrics that he likes.

I'm doing better.  I am thinking before I eat, drink, or hurt myself. 

And politely speaking, really all of this has just been one form or another of hurting myself.  Impolitely, I have been self-destructing or fucking myself up.  Whatever it is, I don't deserve it. 

I've been hurt enough.