No regerts. 

My half-sister is getting married this Saturday. I find myself trapped in a myriad of emotions; she and I don’t get along. 

She was born during my parents’ marriage and not of my mother. I knew that as a child and placed this “fuck you” label on her from the get. How dare you be born and ruin my parents’ marriage!  It wasn’t until I was in my teens that I realized their relationship was over before she was even in the picture; this is also when it dawned on me that no one asks to be born – it’s all about the stars aligning for just one brief moment. 

Throughout the years while we were both in college, we became close. I visited her, she visited me; things were ok. It wasn’t until I snapped that things spiraled downward. 

It takes two to be in a relationship- I am well aware. I stopped reaching out. I shut down and the feelings returned. I’d love to blame this all on my illness, but that’s a cop out. 

Things got a bit nasty. We were able to stab each other in the back without ever talking. Messages through her mother, my father, and Mom. She’d tell her mother all the things that were shared in confidence. Her mother, forever trying to lift her daughter up while tearing me down, would share this confidential information with my father who complained to my mother, who brought it back to me.  My father never would have known my extreme distaste for his ability to breathe (not anymore however), when I lost my virginity, and when I failed a class.  I felt I couldn’t trust her anymore; I started only telling her about things I wanted my father to know. Eventually I revealed to my father a dark secret of hers; one that I was sworn to secrecy because it would tear the family apart. 

And it did. And everyone began playing Telephone all over again. 

It wasn’t until she announced her engagement that I started thinking. As children, we bonded in hatred. We both loathed my father for his behaviors. As adults, we bonded in loneliness. We were both outcasts in our college years and needed support. None of these bonds were meant to last. You can’t feed a relationship with hatred and loneliness. 

So I reached out. I apologized for all I’ve  done to upset her. I told her I’d like to mend fences. And I do. 

I’m too fucking old to stay angry and bitter about anything. And I gathered that if she feels ready enough to make a lifetime commitment to another human being, she was to old for this shit either. 

It took her a week to respond, but she did. I question whether her mother wrote it for her; the message was so dry.  Regardless of how it sounded, it made me feel like there’s hope. I know we’ll never be able to have that close relationship back – we’ve both found other sources of support since then. But I am sick to death of the back and forth of our parents (still) and believe we can work toward a healthy relationship. 

I saw a picture of her in her wedding gown. My eyes welled up with tears; she was so beautiful – she finally looked happy.  And that made me feel happy.  She’s a good person – and one day I hope she feels the same about me. 

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Stop dragging my heart around

I criedwept today.

I wept so hard, my then-incipient migraine came crashing through my skull like a stone through glass. It still lingers in the background, threatening to return and press its full weight onto the back of my forehead and temples.

I asked my husband if he still loved me. You see, I had to know; I had to hear it from his mouth. He and I have become like passing ships in the night between my work, my depression, my anxiety, and my eating. All my stuff, some of which was never included in our vows. I’ve been eating my feelings since I was a child; did I know it? Yes. Did it impact me? Of course. Did I think it was bad enough to take over my life like it has, enough to need help? Never. I thought I’d moved passed it since the rape, but something was eating me well before then.

I had to hear it, you see. I had to know if at any time he’s thought of moving on to someone else. I come from a family of men who “loved” their wives, only to show it by sleeping with other women. I explained it’s not fair to shove their mistakes and my insecurities onto him. I explained that I don’t actually believe he would ever do that, but my disease, my self-esteem – all of it yells louder than my common sense. I need time to rebuild my self-esteem and re-affirm what I already know.

My husband comes from a family of men who don’t believe in divorce, don’t believe in adultery. They fulfill their vows until their dying day; I see it in my father-in-law, a widower who continues mourning the loss of his wife after almost 10 years.

I don’t want my husband to mourn me while I’m still here. Some days I feel like he does. Who I was when we met, how happy I was when we were married. Ever since we started dating, when I was in the throws of my mental illness, I knew he deserved better. I often treated him like shit, pushing him away so he would find better, but he never took the bait.

I don’t want to lose him or myself.
I don’t remember my purpose for writing in here anymore; my migraine is back. Off to bed I go.

Closer to G-d

I missed my OA meeting Tuesday; I had to go to an appointment with my psychiatrist. I felt like crap though. While in the waiting room, I read my copy of 12 steps and traditions and some of the Big Book (I have them on my Kindle). I’m getting closer each day to Step 1, but I know I need a sponsor. I did plan out my meal plan, but I’d like to discuss it with my sponsor (when I get one) before making any decisions.

My self-esteem hangs in the balance as I continue to soldier through this. I’m to be a bridesmaid for a good friend in a few months; the dress is beautiful yet I fear I will not be beautiful in it. I sat down with the bride yesterday and aired all my concerns and body/self image issues out on the table; I apologized in advance as I realized this was not something the bride needed to be thinking about – but I needed her to understand why I was so hesitant in sending my measurements and in communicating about the dress at all. She said she understood – apparently we weigh the same.

A sigh of relief.

Now to my husband. He’s the most patient, trustworthy, and thoughtful man I know. But I also know that a marriage requires a physical component to function properly. The way I see myself – physically – is consistently negative; it’s difficult to feel worthy or good enough to engage in sex. I feel like a living blob; I have this fear that I’d get on top of him and he’d say I’m crushing his legs or something. Looking at myself in the mirror comes short of causing physical pain; I will rush out of the shower while staring at the floor to avoid the mirror until I grab a towel to wrap around me. My husband constantly makes advances toward me and I shoot them down; mainly because I don’t want to take off my clothes – it kills the mood for me. The dark doesn’t help; when he touches me, I wonder why he’s not disgusted like I am.

So, missing my meeting upset me because – big picture talk – it means a lot to me and my marriage. I have to overcome this overeating problem and gain control of my body and myself so I don’t lose my marriage.