8 June 2006

8 June 2006

You left me...

Breaking the promises made
Before God and man

On 8 June 1996,
You said that you would
Love me forever

You PROMISED

Promises broken
are worse than
LIES

As I started to
Circle the Drain
Drowning in

Self-hatred
and
Anorexia

You turned
Away from
ME

Promises broken
are worse than
LIES

Three times
I felt
The Pain
of you
Leaving

You were always
a moving
Target

I never knew
thought
dreamed
imagined

That you would
Leave Me

And in leaving
Me
I was exposed to
Hurt
Pain
Predators
Assault

And worse of all...
Loneliness.

You left me
Crashing into
Walls

You left me
Twice
with a note

You said
You needed
Laughter

Why then
Didn't you try
To help me?

Offer me
Care and concern
Instead of

Indifference?

I was
Capable
of Learning
To
Laugh again...

But I needed
You
To help me

And
You left me
Long before
You

Walked out that
Door

The third time
I had to watch
You
Walk out
That Door

The third time
You left
After
An argument
About a motorcycle

Apparently
my concern
About YOUR
Safety
Was a
Capital Offense

A reason
To walk out
That Door
Once again.

AND
You left me

with your own

Legacy

A Legacy

That I am

Still

Trying to 

Escape

My fears

Continue to

Circle me

Swirling

Throughout

My Mind

Leaving me

with 

fear

self-doubt

depression

Anxiety
Strong enough
to kill
Me

And very

Afraid

That I will 

Never

Overcome 

Your

Legacy

That I will

Never

Have a

Normal relationship

With any man.

Was that your intent?

After all,

why would 

anyone else

Want to be with

Me

Since you

Left me

You said

Anorexia

Pushed you out

That Door

Is that true?

Or did you leave me 

Long before

Walking out

That Door?

However,

I am a

Survivor

And I WILL

Overcome your

Legacy

I will 

Have a normal life

With someone who 

Cares about me

And keeps

Promises

Cranky Old Man...A very eloquent, beautiful poem from Australia ❤

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM (originally by Phyllis McCormack; adapted by Dave Griffith)

The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

I still believe....

I still believe...

Hope
Friendship
And laughter

The beauty of this world
The sweetness of a tiny little baby, just beginning his life
You have such sweet cheeks, Ryan Keith
You are this family's hope...

I still believe...
That my friends love me
That those who care will always be there.

I believe the promises that are made to me.........

I trust
I trust in the goodness of people
I trust that those who care for me, really won't hurt me...

I love the time spent
With friends
Laughing
Sharing our lives.

When you touch my face, I feel so cared for....

I believe...
And I will never stop
Not ever
Until I leave this earth
Of pain, and joy, and caring, and beauty....

I believe...
And that gives me strength
Hope

I will not live my life
in Fear
I live surrounded by hope and caring and laughter...

In spite of everything,
I feel so alive...
Alive...

I believe.

This World I Live In...

"Come closer now
So you can lie
Right by my side..." ~ This Velvet Glove

It's 1:45 a.m. and I'm still awake. I'm thinking about many things. Some things I must be a bit cryptic about for privacy reasons, others maybe not.

First, my pending divorce. I recently wrote a very emotional and honest post, "I need an answer..." I want to be clear about something, though - David was never the right man for me. That may sound harsh, it may sound crass. But the truth must be told.

However, that doesn't mean that David is a bad person. He isn't. He was never abusive or cruel, and he stayed married to me for almost four years after we separated. Why did he do this? So I would have health insurance and be able to continue treatment for anorexia. Even though David couldn't deal with my anorexia, he clearly didn't want me to die from it.

Yes, divorce is heartbreaking. It can tear a person apart. When David first left me, I thought I would die. I wanted to die. I had never felt pain like I did when I realized he wasn't coming home, and I never want feel such pain again.

But I didn't die. Sometimes I wonder why, since I have a strong self-destructive streak at times. There was something within me that didn't want to die. And recently it occurred to me - I don't want to die. Ever. Whatever pain and hurt this world bring, it also brings beauty and joy and friendship and closeness. There is the silver moon at night, and the bright red sun in the early morning, and the sound of the birds in the quiet of the day. There is the sparkle of the snow and the glint of the rain and the light in someone's eyes as that person looks at you...

And yet, there is fear. I fear many things for this world, and as the standoff continues between the Russians and Ukrainians, I fear for war. For I have seen firsthand the destruction of war when I attended many military funerals; young men cut down, young men who had been full of hope and life. Young men who had families and dreams and wives and girlfriends. 

The world must try to avoid war. That may be a futile hope of mine, but it is one of my core values.

And so I pray for this world I live in. I pray for peace and hope. I pray for the people of Ukraine. I pray that this world will be around long enough for me to truly live.

As for the rest? I can only say I am ready to live again, and I want it all. And I will be fine.

I need an answer...

You say I'm beautiful.
You told me you loved me.
You promised to be with me forever.
Our vows said, "Love is patient, love is blind..."

And yet, your love was NOT patient.
I was dying
Crashing into walls...
Praying that I would die.

So afraid
Of everything, really
Falling down the stairs,
And yet
You did not care
You did not care enough

Where did those promises go?


Yes, I know
You couldn't stand watching me
Spiral downward
Into an oblivion of anorexia and self-hatred.

But where the hell did forever go?

Was forever only when I was perfect,
On that pedestal of untouchable beauty?

And then, when I spiraled downward,
I was left to grasp the rope of recovery
With my fragile hands.

I need an answer.
Was it really me?
Was I really the total and complete cause for the breakdown of our marriage?

For years, I tried to drown my pain
With alcohol, pills, and starvation.
But nothing stopped it.

And I was dying,
Yearning for you to reach out
And say,
It will be okay.

I need an answer.

But I know no answer is forthcoming.
I can't even get that from you.
And I'm left with the feelings
Floating around in my brain....

It's me.
Me
Me
Me

And that thought will echo
Forever.

Thoughts on my Marriage and its end...

That moment just before you are fully awake, when the world is still dark and it could be any time, any time at all...

For the first time in ages, I woke up thinking about David and my failed marriage. I mean, really thinking about it. The weekend mornings of coffee in bed, the turn of his head just before he would lean over and kiss me, the sound of his voice when he would say, I love you...

And I try to fathom what went wrong. It would be too simple to blame anorexia, only anorexia; to say that my eating disorder ripped us apart and now that I'm at a "normal" weight, it is again safe to contemplate a new life and a new love.

I'm not saying anorexia did not play a huge role in the destruction of my marriage. I do not know what it feels like to watch someone you love slowly die; to watch the weight fall off of her and see her rejoice at the destruction of her body and soul. I don't know what it's like to drive for hours one-way to see, yet again, your wife in the hospital, perhaps with a feeding tube stuck down her nose, feeding her the nutrients needed to keep her alive, but knowing she doesn't really want to be kept alive. Instead, death is her choice, but a slow death you must witness.

No, I really don't know that side of anorexia, of eating disorders. I only know of its destructive powers within, how it takes control of your mind and soul, how it makes you do things that are completely illogical.

So I really thought about David and my marriage this morning, asking myself - Would we still be together if anorexia had not entered our lives.

No.

As much as I insist it was anorexia that killed our marriage, anorexia was only a symptom of deeper problems. I developed anorexia because there were problems inherent, both in our marriage and within me.

What do I mean by that?

I think back to the pivotal year; the year 2007.  I was the military reporter for a small-town paper. It was a year of deaths, and I must have covered six or seven funerals that year. Each one a young man who had joined the military for a myriad of reasons - an innate sense of patriotism, a need to get away from small-town America (and the area was small-town America, complete with no opportunities), the urge to see the world, a need to earn money before moving onto something else...

Each funeral was closed-casket.

I can never forget that, for I could only imagine what was hidden inside those closed caskets; what it meant to lock the bodies away. I could only imagine...

I felt surrounded by death. I felt as if the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan would never end. I felt as if I had no words, either for the grieving families or for myself. Simply, I had no answers.

At the same time, I was sick. Very sick, and part of that sickness included dropping weight. At first, I hated it. I liked my figure (and how long has it been since I've been able to say that?) I couldn't figure out why I was dropping weight, why my migraines were so bad, why the depression had gotten worse?

At the same time, I sensed a distance within my marriage.

It was subtle, at first. A pulling-away, perhaps? A protective shell? The way a person reacts when there is a storm nearby...you search out safety, you look for a shelter for the crash you know is coming, you become wary...

Is that how it felt, David?

In the meantime, I was working ten, twelve hours a day; covering funerals and an attempted murder/suicide and a World War II veteran who hung himself the week after we talked...

2007 was a year of death, a year of ER visits and searches for answers and pain. So much pain.

This was all before anorexia took over my mind. I still remember September 2007. I looked in the mirror at my wasted body. My doctor had finally found the answer, hyperparathyroidism. I looked and turned to David and said, "I hope no one expects me to diet to maintain this ridiculous weight."

But of course, the seed was already planted...

So why do I now feel that anorexia was not the sole destroyer of my marriage? There must be something within me, something that struggles to deal with the realities of the world that causes me to turn to such self-destructive measures.

I am finally being completely honest, and I believe the honesty is what I need to embrace or I will never be ready for another relationship. I am not blaming myself; we all have flaws and internal struggles. But I can't ignore my role in the destruction of my marriage, I can't give anorexia that much power. I must face the truth.

In which she breaks her silence...

I am healthy no longer anorexic.

I have family who loves me.

I have a job that I adore, and that makes me feel worthwhile.

I am finally rebuilding my life after things started to implode in 2010...

And I hate my body

I HATE my body

There's no getting around that fact.

And I'm angry about it.

It seems as if many ED recovery blogs show recovery as all lightness and fluff. You push past the fear, you post smiley "Operation Beautiful" affirmations on your bathroom mirror, you do a lot of yoga, and ... and you are recovered. Slim, beautiful, worthy of admiration because you came through the fire and look amazing for it.

What about the rest of us?

What about those of us who careened past recovery weight and are now tipping precariously into the overweight, or even God-forbid, obesity range?

We hear it all the time - love your body. YOUR body. And typically the person spouting that is still acceptably slim, slim enough for society to accept her, while not so slim to be considered anorexic anymore.

What about the rest of us?

Those of us who are fighting the Buddha belly and the thunder thighs; those of us who are not slim by society's standards, those of us who really are overweight and yet we are constantly bombarded with the message that we are to LOVE YOUR BODY.

I don't want to love this body. This body is overweight and tired and has high blood pressure. 

This body is too-round and too-curvy and too, dare I say it? Too large.

Does loving my body mean not taking care of it? Have I loved my body so much that I've put it in danger? Did I listen to those affirmations too much, forgetting that loving my body might mean keeping it a healthy weight? Not around 155-160 pounds for a small-framed woman of 5'3"?

My ED doctor says I'm not overweight. My GP tells me not to stress about my weight.

But how long should I love this body, before love kills me as anorexia tried to?

And why is it that it seems as if the strongest advocates for "loving your body" are those who are slim, those whose bodies don't offend society?