On control (in reverse)
Posted on September 19, 2008
Filed Under bedroom stuffs, confessions of a confessaholic, living in the past |
It started when he left, when I realized that I needed to get everything in order so that we could live unencumbered, fed, clean and clothed.
I think it’s more appropriate to mention when my dad died and the only time I would let myself cry after his funeral was in the dark, in bed, with JDawg sleeping beside me. And I could only cry because he was never going to make right what he wronged so very badly.
Maybe it was when I slept with all of those people after we broke up the first time, knowing I was only doing it because I knew how much it would hurt him. Especially that one guy. And then I never told him.
No, it started when he and I were on the brink of bankruptcy, when we were spending more than we made and couldn’t afford to drink or smoke pot, but I handed over the money that we didn’t have so that he wouldn’t be anxious and we would have less of a reason to fight. Then I still fought.
Check that, it was when I dated that boy that I couldn’t sleep with because he was waiting for marriage. Then I saw JDawg walking along, smoking and looking angry. And I asked him out for drinks with my friends.
Okay, no. I started when I was trapped in that hotel room with my uncle, knowing what he was saying and trying to do wasn’t right and I ran all the way home. Then I told my father a few days later and he asked me what I did to lead him on.
Really, it started when I asked T back to my house, changed my mind and he held me down and made it so that I couldn’t walk to stand comfortably for three days. Then asked for a do over.
How about when rock star ex walked out and I sunk to the floor, crying and angry, choking on my snot. Then I blinked, stood up, washed my face and left the house - to return a half hour later with an eighth, a 26er and a pack of smokes.
trying one medication, then another, then another, until I’d tried most of what was available in a strength well enough to work and if it wasn’t, in a cocktail? Totally counts. So does repeatedly looking for a diagnosis that would explain why I am who I am and how I am.
When I quit smoking except for that one night of rebellion when I drank enough for alcohol poisoning and everyone ended up naked? Because he said that I had to quit everything that made me able to be me, or else he wouldn’t be with me anymore.
How about the time that I got into a screaming match with my mother and moved out the day after xmas? I was just 16.
When I walked out the door after my cheek bone was fractured? Yup, that too. After I came to, I mean.
When that man offered me an eight-ball for what essentially amounted to pedophiliac permission and I walked off the job. And never went back.
Then there was the second time that I felt a needle slip into my vein, knowing I had the ultimate handle on exactly how far and how fast I wanted to disappear.
All of those times that my fingernails scraped the back of my throat? They count, too. So do all of the 200 calorie days, the 2 hour runs, the multiple packs of cigarettes, cups of coffee, hours not slept, lists made, plans unhatched, 1000 sit-up days, measurements taken and scales stepped on.
It might have started when I ripped an NG tube out, bleeding and leaking liquid food everywhere - the morning after my first and not last heart attack. That’s a story for another day and it involves being strapped down in a not sexy way.
Overdoses and pills popped and skin razored, oh my. Yes, that’s certainly in the same genre, isn’t it?
When I’d been hit with the stick so hard that I couldn’t sit down two days later while being interviewed by children’s protection and I lied for him - for our life together - and then ran away the next day? Counts but led to an attempted suicide, forced vomiting and a fractured rib.
When I asked my teacher to let me work two years ahead in math, instead of participating in woodworking class because no one liked me or wanted to speak to me. That took some reign steering.
But wait, it must have started the first time that I flushed my lunch down the toilet and stopped getting up early enough to eat breakfast before school - leaving me with only one meal a day.
No! I know when it really was.
That last time that I ran into my apartment, sobbing about how the kids on the courtyard had pretended that I was causing an earthquake, that I was laughed at and called ‘Mrs. Piggy’ and my father said I was being stupid and he was tired of hearing about this bullshit. That if I had such a problem with my weight, to do something about it.
And I did.
This month marks the 20th anniversary of when a little girl decided that she was going to slowly starve herself to death. But that’s not really what this whole post has been about. It’s been all of these life’s snapshots, showing me each and every way that I have taken control of my actions. It’s how I controlled others. It’s how I manipulated and castrated, at some points.
It’s trying to figure out how to go about letting go.
Probably just as moody:
- On walking away. Or not. A friend asked me to write something the other day. (Sidebar: How sad is it that I considered it exciting,...
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27 Responses to “On control (in reverse)”
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Get Closer
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Flight
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Drinks
So many moments. I’m sure that there are many more right? Do you read this and see it for what it is? You are amazing. Strong. Stronger than most people ever would dream of being. Look at what you have survived. Sure, life is shit sometimes. But god damn girl. Look what you’ve gone through already. And you have extreme awareness now. I’m just going to sit back and watch how much more amazing you are.
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Just, well done.
When I was 28, I told myself that at 30 I would own everything that is inside of me. Still not there, your posts make me realize how far I have to go to take control of my past and not let it get in the way of me, now.
Zoe, you are the phoenix. She rises from the ashes of her own story to become something infinite. That is how I see you.
I am so sorry for so much of this wicked world, but you remain a spot of beauty and truth.Thank you for that.
Visit conversemomma to read…Checking Out
Wow. You are one strong person. If you figure out the letting go part, would you share with me?
Visit Shania to read…
This post reminds me of my best friend. She is in the middle of this shit right now. It kills me not being able to fix it. To sit by and watch her die a little bit each day. Any words of wisdom? What is the best friend supposed to do when she can’t even imagine the pain?
There really are no words. Just hold on. You are beautiful.
Wanting to let go is good. Beating yourself up is not. Are you ok? I can hear the strength but I am a little worried about the dwelling on the past. You got through it and you will get through all of this too. Don’t be afraid to ask for help from whomever you think can help you. And don’t stop writing.
Ahhh, do you feel a little better now? It’s amazing how just writing those words help cleanse the pain a little more. You’re an amazing person. You deserve the world. Take it.
I hope writing this out made you feel at least 1/8 of a smidgen better. Also, I miss talking to you on plurk.
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Simply. You are my hero. And, I love you.
I am ashamed. I am ashamed of the word ‘man’, right now. I am ashamed that the ‘men’ in your life have been such total and utter assholes. I am ashamed that they share an organ with me. Because they sure don’t share anything else. They don’t share love, it seems. They don’t share kindness, either. And they don’t share understanding. And they probably never, ever said what they should have said, and should have been saying since your were eight - they never said “I’m sorry”. I wish I could say it for them. I wish I could heal you. I know you’re doing this alone. I know you’re doing it. It’s just that it could be just the smallest bit easier - if you had just the slightest bit of help - not to weaken you - not to make you vulnerable, again - just to help - just to be a rock where a rock is truly needed - just to have a man say he’s sorry - and really mean it.
Visit lceel to read…Friday Night Lights
Bitter sweet. Without the pain and heartache you could not be the epitome of strength and courage that you are today. Keep your head up and stay strong.
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I am so thankful for men like Lou. Thankful for you, too, dear.
Please continue to be strong, hold on but yet let go, and flourish. It’s in you and you know you can. <3
You are so beautiful.
Visit OHmommy to read…A bilingual toddler
I wish I had the magic words to make the letting go have already happened, but I’m sure that learning how is all part of the process, part of your journey within yourself to get where you are trying to go, and I wish you ever strengthening peace all along the way. This is powerful. You are incredible.
Visit Maggie’s Mind to read…Haiku Friday 9/19/08
What really matters in all this is that you’ve gotten to the other side of it, and you’re trying to take control in a healthy way this time. Right?
Visit Latte Mommy to read…Are You Gonna Eat That?
I’ve given up attempting to leave a good comment, and am just going to say that you’re on the right path. ((hugs))
The hardest part is over. You’re looking back on it now and trying to find the strength that it offers you. Going forward, keep that in your heart. Your writing is so pure.
Visit for myself to read…Missing Moanie
I can’t imagine what you’ve lived through. You are a tender spirit and I am thoroughly in awe of how strong you had to be to survive and now thrive.
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wow… even after all that you can actually remember those moments!!?!
some seriously hectic reading- i can’t imagine how you got it all down!
i have an award for you…
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Ok - I think I can honestly say I’ve felt this particular pain before.
There are many many dark spaces I’ve yet to crawl into in my little journey of self-exploration. But to sum it up, I was firmly convinced that I would not live past my 30th birthday, and not only that, but that I didn’t deserve to. (for reasons I’m not ready to dive into on someone else’s blog.)
Congratulations and kudos for identifying your demons. You can’t beat them if you don’t know where they are.
Your words, ZJ. That’s how you get it out. That’s how you figure out what it was, what it is, and how it will never be again . . .
You might be letting go . . . but you are also grabbing on to the life you want. The life you truly deserve, that deserves you.
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Loving Danger: I think that the best thing a person can do is be there, utterly supportive and to listen. Sometimes we want solutions, but most of the time, we just want someone to hear us, right?
Shelley: I’m as cool as a cucumber. Don’t worry, I’m not dwelling, I’m facing and saying goodbye to it.
Lou: Thanks, you wonderful man, you.
Oh Zoeyjane - I want to take care of you after reading this. You’ve been through more than anyone should…
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I think “mommy is moody” is the world’s grandest understatement. You - Jesus, you-
Come on in for coffee, hot chocolate, hell, even a chocolate bar. Screw the rest of ‘em.
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