The birthday story (WARNING - depressing content).

29 years ago today, I was born.

My siblings loved me a lot- my parents even more.  I loved Jesus, and I thought he loved me.  My purpose in life was simple and my goals and meaning were eternal.  Not much into college, I decided that it didn't make sense (this was a complicated process of giving up my beliefs, my whole purpose for living, and basically, my whole community of friends and support).  I wanted to believe the Bible, but it felt like I was trying to convince myself that the grass was blue and the sky was green.  I just couldn't do it anymore.  It was hard to get over my break-up with the creator of the universe and my break-up with the belief that death is just a big perfect party with everyone you love.  But, no matter how I fought with myself, I just couldn't accept the preconditions.  It was the hardest thing I had been through until...

6 years ago today, I learned just how confusing and cruel the world can be.

When, on my 23rd birthday, after a normal day of happy birthdays and cake and presents just like today, I joined my friends for some celebratory drinks- and sometime between the celebration and the next morning was raped by at least two people.  I was drugged by a bartender who shared me with the bouncer of a bar.  I don't remember what happened (I could only piece together parts of what happened through DNA evidence and the grapevine of people who witnessed various parts of it in my small hometown).  Instead of spending the next year grieving my body and the parts of my soul that had been damaged, I spent the next year fighting for justice and believing that it could help to right a world that had just been turned upside down on me.  My 23rd year of life, I learned that the those who I always thought were there to "serve and protect" (investigator after investigator after investigator) are not only lazy and uninterested in serving the community in any way beyond that which is profitable- they also would only deepen my belief that I was unsafe in a world was full of abusers .  Those who were supposed to be defending me made me defend my existence and right to safety.  "I just hope after all of our work you have learned your lesson, Laura", one officer said as he congratulated himself for talking to one witness (after 2 months of me calling him everyday).  "What lesson was I supposed to have learned?"  I asked him through hot, angry tears.  " We aren't going to pursue charges because it takes two to give a blow job, Laura" another said has he learned a witness at the bar that night saw me in the bathroom with the bouncer holding my head.  "It is possible that he could just hold my head with no activity from me", I said as I pleaded with him to continue the investigation.  I wish these were all of the examples, but there are many, many more.  But the point is, I never grieved my loss.  I didn't know how to.  How do you grieve that which you don't remember?  How to you grieve when you are fighting and only developing more trauma that needs to be grieved?  The police stole my sadness-  I was too busy being strong and powerful trying to defend myself to them and to the world to hear the quiet weeping of my own body.  I couldn't imagine how it was grieving abuses that my mind completely missed.

4 years ago today, I decided to forget it all.

My birthday and (more importantly) my life can't be ruined by this, I thought.  The cops won't help me no matter how much I beg at their doorstep and no matter how many times I hound them until they pass me on to another investigator (even moving from local to state police).  Oprah won't answer my emails.  The lawyers can't do anything.  I can't remember it anyway.  Maybe this is a "get out of jail free card" for me to just move on with my life.  Since I can't remember it, I don't have to deal with PTSD like other rape victims.  I put it in the past- only to be mentioned (with my close friends) like a news-clipping recounting the life of someone else.  Occasionally I would remember it, but only in my hatred for the police.  I thought that made me strong.

6 weeks ago today, when I started trying to be more present in the moment and more aware of everything, I noticed a strange and constant disconnected feeling between my mind and my body.  It's really impossible to describe it, but when I tried, my counselor had a name for it.  Depersonalization.  Sounded like psychobabble to me.

3 weeks ago today, I started to feel sick.  Nauseous.  As my birthday drew closer, I felt like I was going to throw up at the thought of it. 

2 weeks ago today, my counselor told me that my body remembers things that I can't.

1 week and 6 days ago today, I decided to try to reconnect with my body.  To take care of it.  To quit ignoring what it had been through.  To try to delve into the mystery that is creating this strange disconnect between by mind and my body- both of which are essential parts of me despite all of the my ignorance (the state of ignoring).  To start to chip away at the protective wall I built between the part of me that remembered and the part of me that couldn't and didn't want to. To realize that horrifying story I had been telling my friends.  Was actually my life.  And was actually suffered by my body.

1 week and 6 days ago today,  I decided that strength involves a lot more pain and crying than I originally thought.

Today, I'm crying every day. 

Which is a relief, honestly.  Six years later, I'm taking my first step in actually facing what happened to me.  Not what the cops did or didn't do.  Not the justice that didn't happen.  Not the ignorance in the world.  Just grieving with my body.  Feeling sadness because damage has happened which cannot be undone.

One year from today, I'll still be building a slow reconnection to my body.  I can't undo the abuse I have done to it (with a wide array of eating issues and body hatred) and I can't undo the confusing abuse that has been inflicted upon it.  But I can't keep ignoring it, either.  That's why I am here, inching my way slowly into the pain and staying with it long enough to realize it isn't going to kill me.  This is my body and this is my story.  There is no escaping, so I will sink into my own skin and learn to be comfortable here.  Hopefully (eventually) I'll find gratitude, peace, and compassion here, too.

Note: happy birthdays and presents are still nice. I'm accepting all the feelings around my birthday and it's still nice that people care.

Reaction killed the cat.

If the last entry was the first in my series, "Sh** your mother said... and definitely shouldn't have." then this is my first entry in the series, "Sh** your mother should have said instead."


It wasn't curiosity that killed the cat.  It was Reaction.  Unchecked impulses.  Freely practiced whims.

Let's think about the things that actually kill cats.  He wanted to know what was on the other side of that (3rd story) window. She wanted to know what was in that (predator filled) tree.  To be curious about those things does not necessarily lead to jumping out the window or climbing the tree- these are knowledge-less/thoughtless reactions to desires.  To be curious about something is not to jump headlong into it.  Being curious simply involves asking questions, observing, watching how others interact with that something and noticing what happens.  Reacting recklessly to your curiosity is what gets you in trouble.

I am boiling pot of reactions. Nothing makes this clearer than the practice of yoga.  When sitting in the quiet, I am forced to hear my thoughts.  It's like having the TV on, the radio blasting, watching a live band, engaging in conversation, and trying to fall asleep at the same time.  Instead of just watching this carousel of thoughts go through my head and "letting each one go" as the instructor says, I panic.  I want to run.  Then I add more thoughts to the mix, "Oh my god, I can't stay here.  I have to leave.  I can't make it."  Finally, the movements of the poses brings some relief.  When I'm moving and thinking about that, I can't hear myself so loudly.  It's a welcome relief.  Then I get into a warrior pose or some deep stretch, and I experience pain.  I notice more reactions.  "Ouch!!!  (screamed in my head) " is my reaction... to a very small amount of discomfort.  Truthfully, I could breathe, remain calm, and simply observe the discomfort.  But that is so hard for me to do.  I want to run away.  My reactions to small amounts of discomfort are both emotional (panic) and behavioral (quit, back off, make yourself comfortable again).  Even though I'm skilled at managing the behavioral reaction (I've been involved in many vigorous exercise regimens - some have genuinely benefited by body and others I continued despite my body), I need a lot of practice observing (meaning I'm horrible at it) the internal sensations without such intense emotional reactions.  It is possible to just sit and watch my carousel of thoughts and dismiss them each time (no matter how many times they jump back on the carousel for the next rotation), and I can just sit and breath calmly and peacefully when I'm in physical discomfort.  My reactions to these stimuli are making me far more miserable than the stimuli themselves.  A little bit of leg shaking during warrior two can easily turn into a physical and mental war zone (Mental- Oh my god, this hurts, I can't do it, when it will be over, this sucks, I'll never make it, I'm in horrible shape, how is that girl over there doing this; Physical- tighten my shoulders, grit my teeth, clench my neck muscles).  Suddenly, a slight physical sensation (which I have interpreted as pain) has become a person wide (inside and out) problem.  I don't think it has to be this way.  But it may have to get worse before it gets better.

Maybe addictions are the reactions to the reactions.  Let's use the tEXtravaganza (all day long texting session with my ex- feel free to make that term go viral- we all have more tEXtravangazas than we'd care to admit) example from a few posts ago.  I told the ex to stop texting me (the texting was something I really enjoyed but knew wasn't good for either one of us).  After he quit, I was left with a space (which felt like a void) that he had just occupied in my life.  There were feelings of loneliness and sadness accompanying that loss.  My thoughts reacted to my feelings in many different (defensive) ways- "You can't handle this, you can't feel this."  My reaction to this reaction was initially to want to grab a drink or order and consume an entire pizza (addictions).  First, I had to deal with that level of the problem.  Ok, I'm not going to get a drink or a pizza.  I 'm not hungry and drinking isn't going to help.  Then I was free to see the thoughts that were having me- I want to drink because I feel like I can't handle these feelings.  Then I proceeded to prove to those feelings that they were wrong, "Laura, you might not feel like you can handle this, but you're not drinking nor consuming an entire pizza so you're just going to have to sit here and watch (and feel) whatever range of whatever that comes up- but you're not running."  Only after all that- could I cry.  It really was just as simple as feeling what there was to feel.   I guess I'd like to think that eventually I'll see that there is no feeling, no thought, no sensation that I cannot bear, so I can quit reacting in such extremes.  Then I can, with more peace and a clearer more present mind, actually live my life.

I'm very much at the beginning of all of this.  My addictions are calling me every day.  Beckoning me to run away from the chaos inside.  But I'm trying to show myself that, as unpleasant and crazy as all of this may feel, it's not going to kill me.  Because as long as I run to alcohol or a binge or a purge or a TV episode or Facebook or _____ to numb out my feelings, I'm not actually living.  I'm not actually able to love anyone because I need them to help me keep up my avoidance of me.  I'm not going to be able to enjoy or taste food because staying present enough to taste it means staying present enough to hear me.  Spending a whole life running from myself is no way to live.  So, I can keep running from myself and keep living a life of disordered eating and disordered relationships and disordered thinking... or I can stick around and find something hopefully much better for myself.

So I'm observing my addictions, my thoughts, my feelings as much as possible with curiosity.  I'm not lunging headlong into every whim I have (like a cat jumping out of the window of the third story just because he wants to know what's on the other side).  This is what has gotten me into trouble and created all these maladaptive habits- the thoughtless reaction.  I'm just dabbling, watching, and doing little experiments.  This is curiosity.

As Caroline Knapp says in the book Appetites, "Direct the focus inward (or, if you choose, heavenward); still the self; learn to grasp the true source of hunger rather than merely reacting to it.  And, in the process, learn to fill some of the emptiness with more nourishing things: connection, beauty, God, whatever fills you, however you define that".

Or, similarly, from the Tao Teh Ching

Attain to utmost Emptiness.
Cling single- heartedly to interior peace.
While all things are stirring together,
I only contemplate the Return.
For flourishing as they do,
Each of them will return to its root.
To return to the root is to find peace.
To find peace is to fulfill one's destiny.
To fulfill one's destiny is to be constant.
To know the Constant is called Insight.

If one does not know the Constant,
One runs blindly into disasters.
If one knows the Constant,
One can understand and embrace all.
If one understands and embraces all,
One is capable of doing justice.


Lao Tzu

Reaction to curiosity killed the cat.  Maybe we can find the space between curiosity (and our other thoughts and feelings) and the reactions to them.  That is the space, I think, where we can grow and change.

Curiosity killed the cat...but only after giving it a life worth living.

What kind of culture of fearful drones would proliferate a phrase such as "Curiosity killed the cat"?  It's so ridiculous that I don't even know where to start (you know that this is the opening of a blog that might be a bit extreme.)

Without curiosity, we might as well be dead (told you).

Curiosity is what fuels learning and change.  Imagine schools without curiosity (which you couldn't do without it and is sadly, not much of a stretch....shocking that our kids learned to fear and avoid something that we are telling them will kill them).  Students could only regurgitate information spat at them from teachers who only did the same as a part of their education.

Without curiosity, we could never wonder if things could be different or better.  We could never try anything new because there would be no spark within to develop fantasies or imagination.

You can't even form a question without curiosity.  Think about where that would leave us.  No connections with other people.  No way to learn from them.  No books- why write when no one is wondering about anything enough to read about it?  No Facebook (gasp) because no one would be curious about what is going on in your life (OK, so there would be ONE benefit).  Socratic method would be totally f*c*ed.

Curiosity is the little curiously inexplicable je ne sais quoi that makes our humanity matter.  It's our way of being unpredictable, of having any hope of growing, of learning from one another.  It gives a little hint of objectivity to our subjectivity to see our hurtful habits and wonder if there is another way.

There is nothing more innocent than curiosity.  The curious are not seeking a means to an end nor gains nor harm.  They are simply wondering.  Questioning.  Being Human.

How has this harmful phrase could become so ubiquitous?  How could we think it is OK to so openly discourage our children from something so naturally human and incredible?  Something so powerful and important.

Life is short and confusing and chaotic.  I truly believe that our only hope is curiosity- the daily observation of ourselves and our world without fear or judgement- just with a soft wonder (apparently my definition of curiosity).  Why?  What?  How?  It's the only way to open ourselves to the world.  Without it, we are shut inside ourselves with no connection to the outside.  We are static.  Flat.  Dead.

Curiosity killed the cat.  But only because it also gave him a life to lose.  Without it, he was a dead cat walking.

Or Maybe Curiosity killed the cat, so he could be born again.  And again.  And Again. (up to 9 times)

The Land of I really is an Island.

 SOTD- Ben Folds ft Regina Spektor- You don't know me
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UskSU5BoyZs

We're
Damned by the existential moment where
We saw the couple in the coma and
It was we were the cliché,
But we carried on anyway.
Loneliness.  A place I have been and will stay, in some degree, forever.  I realize that it's really impossible to be known by anyone else.  And to really know anyone.  My closest friends can hurt and shock me with their behavior, and I shock myself with my own thoughts and behavior even more frequently.  As I delve further into myself- my fears, my trauma, and my thoughts, I realize that it's a place that only I can go.  And that scares me.  I guess I originally thought this would be easier than it is.  Just stay present.  It sounds so simple.  But then I arrive at all these barriers (these mental issues- maladaptive ways of thinking and believing) to presence.  And being present means that I have to stay with those as well.  And it's confusing.  I'm in a territory that no one has explored before- a place where there really is no road map.  Why do I have these painful, hurtful habits?  Where should I focus my energy?  Should I even worry about why?  Does knowing why I have them mean that I will be able to more effectively learn how to heal them?  What can I do to move through them in a way that leads to more peace and more life and more wisdom?  Is there any way to make it better?  I know that really no one can answer these questions- but neither can I.  Maybe that's what it is to be lonely.

But I am making peace with my loneliness everyday.  It will always be here with me.  I feel like there is a raging river of fear and hope and desire and pain and doubt flowing just under the surface in me.  That is the me that is hard to get to know, and that desperately wants some companionship.   Isn't that what we all want- to be known and loved?  There are so many barriers to this- being afraid of what we'll find inside of ourselves, not knowing ourselves, not wanting to look, trying to find words to voice the abstract thoughts and feelings within, and believing that someone will listen to us try to explain them without rejecting us.  As it gets harder, I'm questioning if it is even worth it.  Maybe I'll just turn on some Friends and hope that after a long nap, things are simple again. 

I know in a lot of ways my tale is as old as time.  None of us knows why the ble** we are here (there is actually a movie with this title- I think it's worth watching).  Religion sprouts up on every continent to try to answer this question (or maybe they sprout up because they are true).  In any case, it's a question that is knocking at our door whether or not we choose to really wake up and open to the question and chaos that arises from actually considering it in the depths of ourselves.  I think most of us gave up on this question pretty early in life.  We just decided that it wasn't knowable and, consequentially, wasn't worth asking.  We chose instead to believe that life should be about working each day in jobs that are safe and try to build safety around ourselves in other ways (save enough money, put locks on our houses, get vaccines/go to the doctor a lot, choose not to think about anything that is uncomfortable).  I'm also not alone in trying to cope with the chaos by eating when I'm not hungry, drinking too much, or losing myself in the next relationship.  But I feel pretty lonely sometimes in wanting to rage through the mess inside to find more on the other side.  In looking at the delicacy of life and acknowledging that there truly is no safety (I really truly could lose everything at any second- and people do everyday), I realize that seeking safety is a way of dulling myself down and not really being alive.  I'm never safe, so I need to stop lying to myself.  This pacified version of me is based on a lie- and it's a version of me that is dead.  So I guess that's why I'm trying to wade my way through this stuff.  I want to really start thinking about my dreams- what would I do with myself if _______ (money, time, fear) wasn't an issue.  Because in a lot of ways those things are NOT barriers- they ARE realities.  I only have a limited number of hours (there isn't enough time) and I'm going to die (I'm never safe).  So, f*** it.  Let's try to live.  Because, we are at least twenty to ninety-five percent done with this time we have on earth.  Really.  That's it.  I guess my only choice is to delve into the chaos and see if I can find some real, fulfilling life. Can I get a man?  Oh wait, I meant an Amen! (Freudian Slip)

We live our lives like hands are tied.

SOTD- Patrick Park- Here We Are
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpI5tJoncS0

We can't see past our own sad stories and wonder what we're missing.
We can't see past our own sad stories and forget how to listen. 

Change is a bitch.  Not original, I know.  But precisely because it is so hard is why we have to keep reminding ourselves of that.  We have to be patient with ourselves and practice the change.  Hopefully, practice makes better.  As I move towards what I hope will be real, mind-changing, life-giving change, I'm just observing myself.  My thoughts.  My actions.  Me.

It's hard to make the decision to stay with myself.  And I have to do it a hundred times a day (at least).  I'm bored at work.  Be bored (don't go grab a pop or handful of candy).  I have work I don't want to do.  Allow yourself to not want to do it- then do it.  Or observe everything- and don't do it (and accept the consequences).  But escaping doesn't help.  I'm lonely on Friday night.  Feel lonely.  Sometimes life is lonely.  And as I'm realizing I can feel a whole range of emotions and face them, it's liberating.  I guess I'm not as fragile as I thought I was.

The other day I had to re- break up with the last guy I was dating. He texted me under the guise of having only a single question, and it turned into a day long textravaganza.  I had to admit that nothing had changed for him and nothing had changed for me, and we were still in no position to be dating.  After I instructed him in no uncertain terms to quit contacting me, I felt really good- really strong, really sure, really confident. For about 30 seconds.  Then the panic started.  Why isn't he contacting me?  Where is he?  What will I do now?  I really liked having him again.  It gave me a sense of meaning and purpose and excitement.  All things I'm really lacking right now.  Plus I really like him.  It hurt.  It felt like we broke up all over again.  It's funny how, in the pain of missing him, my mind quickly bolted between all of it's normal escape routes- go grab a drink or walk over to the refrigerator and eat, open an OK cupid account and move on.  Do something to numb this pain because you can't handle it.  What did I definitely NOT want to do (which eating, drinking, or dating would have avoided for only a brief second)?  Sit, feel the pain of the loss of something important in my life, and cry.  But that's what I did.  I curled up in my nice soft bed and cried.  It's funny how when you start crying about one thing you realize that you have lots of other things you needed to cry about too.  So I cried for a little while.  And when I was out of tears for the time being, I felt a very little bit better.  But that's how emotions work, right?  They are meant to be felt- sometimes with our whole bodies.  Usually for a while.  And as I practice staying with the present moment, even when that includes unpleasant stuff, that means I have to stay with the tears and feel them.

I guess it's easier to make the decision to stay with myself when I think of it as practice.  Each time I resist the urge to run away from my feelings is a time I practice staying with them.  And each time I practice staying with my feelings, the practice of staying with my feelings is just a little more natural for me.  And each time I actually listen to my feelings and my body and my mind instead of scarfing them down and pushing them away, I'm a little closer to actually hearing (through all of the noise of my thoughts) the life that is underneath.

Allaholic..revisited.

So it's been almost two years since I've blogged.  I had better take a few steps back to address some of my assumptions in the unlikely event that anyone actually reads this blog (and if you are reading this- please discuss/disagree/encourage?).

So...

Maybe it's a jump to just assume an addiction is a bolt from the present moment.  And maybe it's a leap, for some, to call my food problems and men problems addictions (less of a problem to call my drinking problem an addiction, right?).  But that is really how I experience these things.  I don't know what else to do with myself.  I'm bored.  I'm tired.  I'm not excited about anything coming down the pipes of my life.  So I grasp at things that distract me.  For me that's usually one of three things:  a meal, a drink, or a man.. sometimes it's just picking up my phone to browse facebook or picking at my nails. I'm not sure why those are my drugs of choice exactly.  I guess they all provide some hope of something grand and exciting (a fairytale relationship or a dramatic and ugly break-up: both sound pretty engaging, right?) or at the very least a temporary escape (a sensation in my taste buds and later my stomach, a buzz or stupor or somewhere in between, or some gossip about the most recent break-up made public via social networking).  I guess maybe it's my own attempt to get out of my head and experience something human here on earth.  But I wouldn't have to grasp at these things if I could just be present here on earth in the moment at all times (but to be at peace here on earth for just a moment would be a lot of progress for me at this point).  I guess my main problem is that, in grasping, I consume.  I don't experience.  When I'm feeling bored and reach for food to fix it, I'm not hungry and I don't really taste and enjoy the food.  And when I feel bored and sad and reach for a man, I don't really allow him to be him or the relationship any chance of survival.  I'm too busy smothering it with my neediness.

It truly shocks me how hard it is to spend time with just myself in silence every time I try to do it.  I went to a 2 hour yoga class the other day.  I can't even describe what was so challenging about the twenty minute meditation (except that maybe I'm crazy).  But my mind was racing and the silence was killing me.  I just wanted to start some activity- a downward dog, a breathing exercise, cobra- ANYTHING.  But just to sit and listen to my own thoughts and try to be, felt like torture.  My mind was bolting all over, reeling, turning and the more I tried to take deep breaths and pay attention to my breathing, the more my mind shouted at me.  Why could that possibly be?  And how do I possibly work toward something else?  Right now, in the midst of my "giving up my addictions phase" I feel like my anxiety is significantly worse and I can't even think straight.  I am still thinking straight enough to believe that it is possible to face my insecurities, questions about purpose, and loneliness enough that I am continuing to choose to stay with myself and to meditate on that which is unpleasant.  But will this ever end?  Will I ever be able to be with myself without feeling like I'm losing my mind and making myself physically sick with anxiety at the same time?  I think somewhere in some religion (or maybe everywhere in all religions) there is some teaching about having to lose your life to find it.  Or first there is suffering and then enlightenment.  And my wise friend told me first there is agony and then there is peace.  Is that where I am?  Or am I just crazy?

I can't decide if my problems are more problems of feeling purposeless or feeling like I'm never engaged in my own life (or if those are synonymous).  Where do I go first for wisdom?  Buddha?  Yoga?  Jesus? AA?  Counseling?  I think a Buddhist monk would tell me that I need to find it for myself.  Jesus might say something similar- maybe tell me a parable that would help me figure it out for myself.  But, like I said, I feel lost right now.  It feels like so few people around me are talking about this stuff.  Meaning, purpose, death, why anything matters, how anything matters, what really matters.  Where are the elders in my village?  I guess answering the question - what is the purpose of my life?- is a pretty big place to start.  But that's my question.  If the purpose is just the present moment then I'd like to learn how to hear, see, feel, smell and experience it.

Choose Agony

Song of the Day (SOTD) Aimee Mann- Momentum
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LMELxGEFHM

Momentum. What a perfect song for the stuff I'm about ready to talk about. Because this is all an effort to avoid "condemning my future to match the past". Obviously, it's been almost two years since I've blogged. And (as you will see in about 2 minutes), I am definitely still working on the same stuff. But I have made progress. I'm not going to let the momentum of my life plow over my future (I do think this is a great song though to make you feel sort of silly for being so afraid of change.. the circus chaotic instruments sort of help you realize that you're in the scary fun house of your head).

Let me set the current stage of my thought life.

Conversation with my friend:

Me: I am afraid to let go of my addictions. I am afraid not to run to them. I am afraid that there is nothing else. Is there any other way to live? I feel like I’m going to be limping through forever like this and there is nothing else.

Juli: There is. But first there’s agony. Then there’s slow throbbing pain. Then there is fierce self pride because you. Mother. Fucking. Made. It. Then there’s the gentle hum of peace and acceptance.

Me: The thing about agony is that it makes especially agonizing because it takes away your hope that anything else possible. That there is anything after it. That it will ever leave. So that’s why you keep running back to your addictions. When the choice is agony without hope of life without hope of relief or limping through your life with your addiction of choice.. the choice is simple. Addiction.

Juli: Choose Agony.

So that’s what I’m doing. I’m choosing to believe my wise friend who loves me. I’m choosing to acknowledge that the way I’ve been doing things is not healthy and it’s not taking me where I want to be. It’s turning me into a needy nonpresent, texting, bingeing, clinging shell of a person. And though it’s comfortable to keep limping back to my ex? (see earlier blog for explanation of ex?) even though neither of us is in a healthy place to love sometimes it seems better to live with that than to live where I am now. So I want to text him, to email him, to hear from him… to hear some hope that my life doesn’t have to feel this way. That I can be excited about something and engaged again. But that’s not my ex? or anyone’s job. It’s my job to figure out how to make my life worth living. Even if nothing ever changes and there is no exciting. And that’s what is scary.

And it has been scary. Those addictions were a powerful way of coping with things that I felt were unmanageable. And now I'm left with debilitating anxiety with which I have no idea what to do. I have decided that I'm not going to turn to the distraction of a relationship to fix it. I have decided that I'm going to continue to chip away at learning how to eat mindfully, no matter how slow my progress seems in this area. This is agony. Right in the middle of it, I stand. Wanting to run to any available escape. But someone wise told me to choose Agony. And I feel just about as lost as humanly possible. Something in me knows I need to listen to that advice.