10/28/2023
Yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans
To be more specific, I bought my first pair of unconditional jeans
No terms or conditions jeans
I’ve purchased several jeans in the last few decades but not one was free of unattainable standards or criticism
Sometimes the purchase was a reward for my commitment to restrictions
I’d squeeze my calves and relentless ass into this unforgiving fabric
Then I’d feel this sense of accomplishment and satisfaction
Sometimes the purchase was a punishment
To prove to some part of myself I was not enough
Wasn’t committed enough, beautiful enough
So, I’d shove the evidence in my own face
Tell myself how unworthy I was and here were the numbers to prove it
My jeans could only be purchased from the same store
The variation in sizes depending on brands was dangerous for me
It could send me into a deep self-depreciating spiral
It could tell me once again it wasn’t enough
Leading to more punishment
Punishment I was in control of
Punishment I could describe as fair
It made sense, it was tangible
I could predict it
Letting go of control is painfully terrifying
My emotions and body respond like I am to be met some sort of torturous death
I’ve avoided mirrors all my life
Doing my makeup and hair with handheld mirrors
Never having to face,…myself
Showering and getting dressed like I’m in bootcamp
I held record times…
Sometimes I still leave my apartment with things on backwards or mismatched for not double-checking
The feeling is like being pants and then shitting yourself on stage surrounded by 50,000 people
Except you’re alone
Over and over, it happens
Every. Single. Day. because how do you leave your body behind?
I’m stuck with this defective meat suit
So, you find ways to manage
Up and down my weight goes
Neither resulting in me loving myself
I never even “looked” malnourished
This also became a weapon, “You can’t even do anorexia, right?”
I spent the last 10 years trying to avoid jeans
In the era of leggings and yoga pants I’ve gone undetected
Especially with COVID
If someone notices my clear aversion to it, I simply note the fabric is bothersome and doesn’t feel breathable
People often offer solutions such as different brands or styles
I let the information slip
I feared being sucked back into dancing with the devil
I’ve kept two pair of jeans however, every once in a while, attempting to slip them on
I feel this is a reasonable size as it’s in-between my lowest and highest weight
Yet the last 4 years they have not gone past my thighs
Again, I’m caught with my pants down
I pull them off like I’m brushing off spiders crawling up my legs
Put them back in the closet
Food will become disgusting and incredibly appealing all at once
I’ll cycle into states of restriction leading to binging, potential purging, and then indifference until I can repress the obsession
I can delay it until the next slip, thought of my weight, comment on my body, or urge to try on these two pairs of jeans
I don’t weigh myself for this exact reason
Can’t even remember when that stopped
Maybe almost 15 years ago
I have it blocked off medical charts if needed
I write 160lbs on anything requiring my weight like my license
I watch myself search for things I can control
Things I can make sense of and seek safety in for brief moments
Convincing myself I’m better in these spaces
Even if I’m hurting myself, I’M hurting myself
I can beat you to the punch
I can hurt myself far more and better than you ever could
I learned from the best…
The cycle began around age 10
Prior to this my family still accosted me with comments on my body any chance they got
I just didn’t understand how food and exercise played a role in what it looked like...
Not yet at least
My mother taught me
She could “help me”, she said
I was standing in the dressing room with her
This new school was trying to look less shitty by requiring more uniformed clothing
Here we are trying to find tan and black Dickies pants
Dickies are made of another unforgiving material and sizes run up
Least for women-I was in between a 12 or 14 in women
I remember because my mother noted I was double her size, a 6.
Children clothes didn’t fit my thighs or chest quiet right so I was indoctrinated into this “size vs women” world as a child
I was standing in that dressing room in just my underwear and socks
I was humiliated as she scanned my body
Pinching and grabbing at the extra stuff
Highlighting the width of the waist band of pants I was about to put on
I wanted to cry
But I didn’t because I knew the response was 1 of 2 options
I infuriate her for making her feel like an asshole when she is trying to help, eventually leading to her striking me
Or she’d get off on the crying and laugh at how ridiculous I’m being
She doesn’t cry so it makes her better than me
I did my best to avoid these interactions with her
I did my best to be likeable
And how do you get the mean girl at the High School to like you?
Hate the person she most despises, … me
Exploring these memories often feels harsh
I question whether I recall them correctly
But then I have friends from childhood make note of me taking diet pills in fourth grade
Younger than my memories go
The feelings that arise in my body make it clear this is true
I imagine a 4th grader on Hydroxycut…
It’s horrifying
That child is me…
In this moment I can feel compassion
I can see why I am the way I am
Then there is just sadness because of how hard it is to undo…
So, yesterday I bought my first pair of jeans
On my period of all circumstances
I forgot my meds and prep this month so my inflammation disorder is out of control
Looks like I’m in my first trimester
I decided last year that I’d make an attempt to care for myself
My physical self, 1x a year… seems reasonable
I spent the entire month contemplating different options of care
Clothes? Jewelry? Makeup?
What does She want?
Here I am, few days before only realizing jeans was always it
I tell myself over and over that the number doesn’t mean anything
I’m struggling to prepare myself
I go into it consciously knowing I am risking exposure to a serious trigger
I walk into the store
Not a brand I’ve ever known my size in
I briefly scan the styles
Immediately filtering the tighter styles
I grab a few baggy options and stretch options
I close the door and take a deep breath
The mirror begins
“Gross” “Look at your cellulite” “You could be so much better” “Look at the spots”
I close my eyes
I try again
I try really hard
I slip on the first pair
I notice I misread the size. It’s a size 2
There is no way this is going past my ankle let alone a thigh
I can hear my heart beating as I think, “Fuck”
I return with more sizes
I decide to go with the larger sizes first
I think it could be easier to stop when it fits
Versus having to watch myself reach for the next larger size
The first one mostly fits
But there is this big gap on my lower back
I know I can’t go smaller so I reach for the stretchy style
I rotate one time
Avoiding my face
“Ok, done”
I head directly to check out and exit the mall
When I get home I toss the jeans into the closet
One hurdle at a time
10/24/2023
She tells me with her 40 years of experience my mom is one of the worst she's known
I noticed the reflex of wanting to defend her
She's sick, yes
But that's only an explanation no longer a justification
She notes my experiences are compounded and traumatic
Unique experiences only leading to a unique result
But aren't we all?
This is brought up because of this stupid pink movie
A movie I didn't even care to see
The annoyance is my resistance to yet another way I have to confront this.. thing
The thing about being different
The thing about being alone and not relating
Today I'm tired
There isn't enough in me to fight that reality
So I acknowledge the sadness
The reality of being surrounded by people but often feeling so utterly alone
I tell her I'm seeking peers
She reassures me they're somewhere around here
But a majority live off 5th and San Pedro
So it's just going to be harder to find now
She tells me it's not impossible
And that I am proof of that
Yet this statement isn't comforting
And maybe it's not meant to be
I'm seeking comfort in something that's never been nor will be comfortable
Often I feel the only difference is I’ve learned to hide my mess
Unless you watch closely, you’ll miss me
Prior to this I spoke with my other therapist
The loudest statement playing over in my head is about my contribution
Just because my experience isn’t the experience of most
Does not undervalue it
My experience can be of contribution if shared
It sticks with me because I think this sums up my internal conflict
How do I balance my existence with the loud backdrop of my history?
So I’m not lost in all the noise
I’m not interested in being the poster child for these types of stories
10/24/2023
When he spoke of his name
I felt he was telling my secrets
He explained the difference between the C and the K
The curtain unveiled the difference
I few years ago I would of dismissed this notion
The use of an E versus an A
It's a shocking realization
But it's true,
I got to be someone different
The E holds no mess
It helps maintain the distance
Since the A is the key that unlocks the door to darkness
It's the absence of light
Ironically so,
As it's also a spotlight
To something I don't want you to know
See the A is unique
It's specific
And if you can find me...
Then so can the darkness
10/24/2023
When the air grows crisper
And the leaves begin to decay
I am alerted of anniversary dates
I've longed to keep at bay
Each year I mark the walls of my soul
Counting the distance
Hoping it’ll grow
10/22/2023
(EMDR Session)
I was found in a dumpster in the back of a shitty McDonalds on Beach
My real mother didn’t want me
My skin was stained from the garbage
My legs are shaking, trembling beyond control
I can’t place the patterns or rhythm
The intensity fluctuates
There’s rocking motions up and down
Then one thigh jumps up
The other follows
They open and close like wings on a butterfly
The source of this is deep
Vibrating my upper body
When she prompts me to speak, my voice breaks through the convulsions
It’s then when I notice my breathing is impacted
I can’t find the emotion
I don’t think is panic
This feels different but also familiar
The ball stops
We’re going to tap now
I begin my attempts at connecting with my thighs
The shaking is erratic
My thighs come up to meet my hands before my hands can come down
My face grows numb
I feel it in my cheeks a lot
They’re dead
My legs give in
They feel tired
Very heavy and tired
No emotion, just energy
10/19/2023
People often ask, "What would you have told your younger self? What would you say?"
I don't think there is anything I could of told Her
There isn't anything I could say
I'm not sure if even showing Her who I am could help
This version of me can see things are different
But this version of me also understands that it doesn't diminish the reality of having to live through what She did
I wouldn't want to invalidate that
I suppose that I would just join Her
I'd stop running for a moment to sit with Her
Not to say anything
Not to teach or demonstrate something
I'd witness the suffering of Her experience
And for someone as lonely as She…
It might just be enough…
-.-
Versions of Her sit in front of me
Which version in my timeline is needed in response?
It isn’t really a decision
I'm becoming aware of the ways She enters
Without Her, there is no me
Without Her, I cannot meet others
-.-
The discomfort was rising
Insecurities wrapped up in anger
I couldn't formulate a thought
Not even an emotion
I was distant
Not because I wanted to be
Nor of their doing
But yet, there was a disconnect
I felt pulled from the circle
I struggled pulling myself back
Scanning my mind for the thoughts and emotions
Those that would pull me back into their worlds
And maybe that's just it
I cannot speak to something I've never lived
No matter how common
I couldn't fake it
10/17/2023
I'm mourning the loss of versions of myself
Looking at the memories engraved on the tombstone sparks the cycle of despair
Grieving the belief I ever held these memories as memories of being loved
10/13/2023
The echo never seems far behind
Most days I can feel it's pulse
The shadow mirrors my every move
The darkness is me
Some days it enters me
10/11/2023
I increase the pace
Until the pounding in my chest makes sense
Hoping the endorphins drown out the noise
I want to be louder
I need to be
I find the numbness
I recognize it as it enters through my feet
There isn't relief here
But there's gratitude as I gasp for air
For someone with so much experience with drowning
You'd think I'd learn to swim...
10/8/2023
I imagine She sits across from me
Her eyes are scanning my face
She's looking for my decrement
I look to the floor
She fills the room with Her uneasiness
With insecurities and doubt
"I'm stuck", I tell Her
I'm trying to make the best choice
I'm hoping I do
And I'm now more aware of how it impacts Her
The pressure is too much
I can only imagine Her hands
This is the only clear image ever
They're containing themselves
And I think, "This is wrong"
But in this moment I do not trust Her hands to be safe in mine
And I don't think She does either
We don't reach for one another
We sit in silence
In the stuckness
Both relying on me to keep us safe
I'm lost in Her hands when she speaks
"You're going to leave me for him?"
It's a question
But also a statement
It's history
I notice the importance of the question and my inability to have a clear response
I feel it coming
The rage begins to rise
It begins to set me on fire
It spreads when I think...
"Is this flame meant for me, for us?"
I'm not safe
I'm not clear
Yet I'm the best chance
I'm the only option
I reach for her
Unsure of my ability to listen
To find courage
To learn
10/8/2023
The tension roams my body
It lingers at my chest and in my throat
I open my chest
My attempts cause my body to tremble
No air comes in
My throat is so tight I can't swallow
The tightness will sever my tongue right off
His return has drained me
My body is difficult to pull along
All the aches I've learned to move with are suddenly in the forefront
Too much in my awareness
I wonder if I haven't progressed as much as I think I have
I've worked so hard and yet I'm pulled back so quickly
A couple words, few syllables
Root me back to a place I fought to get back up from
I'm exhausted wondering if I'll have to fight my way out this forest forever
Why do I allow him such power?
Logically I can argue
I can observe these thoughts
But the emotion, that's where I'm fucked
10/5/2023
She filled the room with facts
Facts about her life
She hesitates to acknowledge the suffering laced in these details
I hold it
I ask for more
She vibrates with fear
The energy reaches me with such a force it tears down locked doors
The intensity rushes in and awakens a familiar fear
It's reflected in her eyes... in her tears
It's communicated through her body
I remember
The world is a scary place from there
I recognize it and pull for more
Attempting to hold the weight of the fear with her
Giving her whatever ounce of stability I can pull from
The weight of the boulder digs into my spine
I pull for the fight
Having her lean the weight on me
This is how you heal
You get two good breaths
And you go back in to work
10/3/2023
(Dream)
Cutting him fruit. Serve it with tajin
I ingest warmth as I watch his satisfaction
The lights turn off and turn back on
The lights are still a warm hue
But the feel is different
There is a smell I can’t describe
He’s gone.
Everyone is
The air feels damp
I notice I’m tied up
I look up and the room is different
I’m not alone
I see 4 people on a wood plank
Side by side
I hear a cranking sound
The plank lifts
I hear her scream and watch her tremble
As it lifts I see they’re being pulled by a metal bar through their septums
This and their ankles raises them
It doesn’t hold. Obviously, I knew this
It rips through one of their noses and it all falls
The metal bar snaps through one of their heads
Making them unrecognizable
The other vomits all over the others
Her nose is ripped off too
I’m calm as I watch
I feel no cold, no heat
Even knowing that I’m next
I feel a presence behind me
I awake
I manage to jot this dream down before I
return for more.
This is the only one I can hold onto today. I ruminate about it.
The sadistic nature of my dreams always shocks me.
While awake I struggle keeping the shadows at bay but unconscious, they feast on my mind...
Ruminating on them always brings great discomfort. My mind quickly moves to repress the images, narratives, emotions...
I fight to keep this one.
The emotion is the most disturbing part. This is what sticks out.
The warmth I initially feel is brief. It quickly disappears. It almost feels like that’s the dream and what follows is the reality.
When I’m transported into the new room there is no fear in my body. I’m watching and observing every detail like it’s a movie. Hollywood props. I don’t like scary movies when I’m conscious but in this reality I’m numb to it.
I know I’m next and there is acceptance about it. I’m clearly trapped. Tied up and I have no other choice but I’ve accepting the circumstances.
I’m fixated on the pain. Almost eager about it. Eager to feel something. Even if it’s pain. Maybe it’s the only feeling I deserve.
The presence behind me is hard to describe. It’s something in the air. Absolute danger fills every particle in that space and overwhelms me.
All day I feel this sort of distance from myself and my life. Like I’m not quiet awake and it takes a lot more energy to, show up. To process things. Today, it’s my default.
I notice tension in my jaw at my desk.
I stand up and pace around. Trying to move this tension around my body. I use my right hand to grab my jaw to massage it.
I can smell him. My brain pulls it forward.
First, backwards... then it plays the tape.
I’m up against the wall with no where to go.
He’s gripping my face so hard my teeth begin to slice into my cheeks. My mouth fills with iron.
My stomach aches. My chest is getting tight.
I take a deep breath.
I can feel the heat off his breath. It’s making my face hot. I’m crying and pleading to be forgiven for existing. He pulls my head back by my hair. I’m locked into his eyes and I can’t find any life in them. I accept it- Death.
He presses the metal against the side of my head. The thought enters my head as a wish. I stop fighting and hope he keeps going. He’s angry there’s no fight. The metal spits the skin on my head and I fall to the floor.
He thinks I’m pretending but I can’t move. I have no force. No desire. I can smell the rage off of him. His skin reeks.
The scent changes. It’s that smell from the dream. A smell I imagine only prey can identify. A smell you only know until you’ve smelt it. His pores communicate what I am and what I am to become.
He’s heavy. So incredibly heavy. His weight alone bursts blood vessels all over my body. The pain is intolerable but I don’t move. He whispers I’m trash and his. I don’t argue. I agree.
Then there’s this switch. A switch I think he seeks to find. He wants the fight.
Suddenly he isn’t so heavy. Suddenly I’m not so heavy. I fight to keep just one more piece of myself. In the end, possibly only making it worse for myself and loosing it anyways. The rage can’t be stopped. I can’t be soothed.
He’s going to have to rip me apart... and he does. He always did.
I oscillate between acceptance over something I will not stand a chance at winning but also can’t help but stay in.
The clock on the wall ticks. My mouth fills with saliva that tastes like metal. The clock tells me it’s time. The clock tells me it’s coming. The clock also reminds me to find the rhythm…
9/29/2023
“It’s a struggle, and it always will be. Sometimes the darkness comes on, as though I’m falling into a pit. I have to look at the darkness, and, in an act of pure will, try to put a space of objectivity between me and it. To say, “Okay, there it is. It’s haunting me”. It doesn’t cure me, but it does allow me to function and, inevitability, work out of the horror, knowing that yes, the horror will come again, and know that yes, I can survive it”. -MMV
The oxygen in the room suddenly was out of reach
I found myself in a vacuumed sealed room
His voice became clear and slow
The presence of others became distant
I wanted to run
But my feet were rooted to the ground
My face felt hot
Like a spot light had been turned on above me
He spoke
He put words to something I never could
I worried others would smell me
See that I too, in fact, spoke this language
I felt the rumble
Coming from a place long silenced
The monster that lives in me has been awoken
Fear moved through my skin
It ached
I desired to rip it off
Start fresh, start clean
I might as well been standing there naked
Then I could make sense of the noise
Make sense of the current moving through me
Had I known the earth would come up from beneath me…
I wouldn’t have come
I can speak to darkness
To Her mess
But this, there are no words
It’s a language
One I didn’t realize I spoke until that very moment
9/26/2023
Adagio for strings fills the room
I place my hands over my chest
Trying to contain the pace
By the end, I’m trembling
When nightmares haunt you relentlessly
You never think you’re unfamiliar with the timeline
I opened Pandora’s box
No where near prepared for what’d begin seeping out
The more I’m confronted with
The more I feel out of my depth
I hold the clips as they flash through my mind
Stretching them further and further
Finding words, art, messages, anything
That may have survived the fires of my rage
I’m both relieved and disappointed at how little is left
The intensity of the words scare me
But the lack of words is more terrifying
Remembering how so much was left unsaid, unexpressed…