Someone told me they were surprised I haven’t been posting lately. There’s a lot of reasons for that. Perhaps the most telling is being honest with myself. It’s a hard thing to do. I’ve been one year clean of bulimia. One year minus one day. I mean minus one day that I did it. Believe it or not it was on my anniversary. February 17th. I haven’t done it again but that one day I did. There was no one to celebrate my day. And I got depressed. And I ate peanut butter sandwiches, which I shared with the dogs, and got full really quickly because I haven’t done it in so long. I used to be able to eat so much. I can’t anymore. And it didn’t feel good. Maybe that’s telling too. Maybe that means something, that it wasn’t satisfying at all. I felt guilty, yet some elation at the fact that I really hated it.
My world has been turmoil over the past couple of weeks. I moved and during my move someone broke into my last place and stole my computer and father’s graduation ring. I found out who, have all the evidence, was suppose to meet with police, but have way to get there. I don’t drive. Another part of my life I’m not proud of. A DUI changes you forever. Guilt, shame… All for cream for my coffee after two glasses of wine. I was stopped and blew over. Two kilometres from my home. Honesty. Beyond that, there have been so many more issues that I can’t share right now. However, the good news is I did get my father’s ring back. Threats can be a great way of making sure you get back what you rightfully own! A computer I can replace, my dad’s grad ring I couldn’t. Knowing someone who I could implicate made him go buy it back from the pawn shop. What a world I live in… Anyway…
I love that saying in You’ve Got Mail when she’s says “I live a small life, valuable, but small”. I like it this way, but when the outside world moves itself into my quiet world, I have issues with that. I was once successful, now I’m just nobody. I prefer my nobody status. But I wish people would accept that. I don’t need glamour, I don’t attention, I’m not needing of much. My computer, my writing, my painting, my flute, and the odd time a friend in person.
I’m writing tonight for the first time in a while and it feels good. Much better than those peanut butter sandwiches that found their way out of my stomach. What was I thinking when I was doing it? Anger at the world, at the struggles of people, of the anger of others and their depression, of the expectations upon me, of the theft that was so unnecessary, of the adjustment to my new place, of the fear of time passing and watching as my parents age. Not my aging. I’m not afraid of death.. not of my own. I am of those I love. Fear of how I will get through it if someone else dies that I love. Watching my Jack Russell age. She’s 15 and I don’t know what I’m going to do when she goes. My fear is not of my death but of those I love around me. Time passing.
Looking in mirror, I can actually say I love myself, and I love where I’m at, but it doesn’t mean I still don’t have those times when I wonder. Not about me and where I’m at. I like that part of my life. It’s looking outside. It’s what scares me the most. That outside world. And it seems any time I let some of it in, some minor catastrophe happens. And then my nerves shatter.
I live a small life…. valuable, but small. I like it that way.