Monday, February 27, 2012

I ruin everything I touch.
No, I manage to ruin anything I even think about or manage to utter with my voice.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


Two weeks ago in therapy, I finally, for the first time in my life, really figured out why I'm so resistant to recovery (ED as well as other issues).

I was talking to her about how I felt pressured to go back into ED treatment by other people in my treatment team, and expressed my frustration. It wasn't just the pressure, I told her, I don't even know if I want to get better! Well, the next session, she straight up asked me what exactly we were doing together if I wasn't trying to get better. After freaking out inside my mind about the possibility of her cutting our relationship, I stated my default reasons ("I've been this way so long. I don't know who I am without this." "It's hard word and I'm scared I won't be able to do it." "I'm angry that I'm the one to clean up this mess." etc. ). Don't get me wrong, these reason are valid and make sense, but what I confessed a couple minutes later made me realize that these feelings only pointed to the actual reason.

I said, "My behaviors are my voice. If I don't have them, how will anyone hear me?" (Or, something to that effect.) As I was saying these words, I came to an understanding of my resistance on a core level. I could finally articulate my emotions. This really is my biggest fear, for if I cannot voice myself, then how will someone locate me? How will someone see that I exist, therefore something or someone to be loved? I guess it was so revealing, because it not only unveiled my emotions (I'm scared to..., I'm worried that...), but pinpointed the function of my reluctance to recovery.

I think a couple of things are lending itself to this realization at this point in my life. One, it's awesome that my therapist can be up front with me about what she is perceiving to be preventing my recovery. She put me in check, and I think I need that. Not just emotionally, but intellectually. Second, I think for once, I am in a relationship with someone who really loves me for me, and doesn't use me to somehow fulfill themselves emotionally. So it helps to have someone who will respond to me just as much when I am doing well and drama free as much as when I am kneeling at the gates of hell. I no longer have to resort to extreme behavior for someone I love to pay attention to me. In fact, in this relationship, it doesn't usually work. It's not like with ____, who deprived me of basic needs when they did not get what they wanted from me. It is not like with ____, who suddenly vivified when I was in crisis, and exploited my vulnerability.

Well, I told my therapist that this is actually what I conceive my biggest problem to me. Not the cutting, the b/p, the PTSD, the depression, whatever. It's that I fear that if I get better and no longer have these behaviors to express myself, I will have no voice.

This realization is twofold. This newfound knowledge and understanding feels like a blessing and a curse. One part of me feels forced to confront the fact that I DO have a voice besides these behaviors, whether I want to admit it or not. On the one hand, this new clarity makes me feel like I can really begin working on my issues now that I have exercised my voice to express my fears. On the other hand, it makes me want to run the other way screaming towards the cliff.