It's been awhile since I wrote. Almost another lifetime.
Alright, that's a bit dramatic. But in my mind, I've written to you a million times, I just never sent the letters. It was just too much to try. My foundation crumbled brick my brick, stone by stone, until it almost all fell down and I felt crushed by it all.
But I'm back, bitches. Is anyone still out there?
The last time I wrote to you was four years ago. I had just moved into my own apartment. Sam and I were separated and he was seeing someone new; I had just started my first new job after Pictometry eliminated my position, so I was on my second job since moving to the United States. I was waiting for USCIS to issue my ten year Green Card; my grandfather was sick; I had started seeing someone new who I was very excited about a few months earlier; my fitness and weight loss efforts were suffering a temporary stall. I had just lost my beloved Whiskey and a few months earlier had found Atticus while looking for Felix who was still missing.
Let me catch you up: I'm still in that apartment. I feel like it's time for a change. An unhealthy relationship between my two cats has developed because Atticus flips out and attacks Sugar when he gets anxious, which he does on a daily basis. Sugar is getting older and is less tolerant than she used to be, not that anyone should be tolerant of someone attacking her every day. When I first got Atticus, he was not yet an adult and he recognized Whiskey as the dominant male cat of the household. After I lost Whiskey, Atticus was a little older and he decided he wanted to be the dominant cat. Sugar let him. They used to groom each other and sleep together. But that changed the first time Atticus saw a stray cat that kind of resembled Sugar right at my bedroom window. That was the first time he viciously attacked her. He wasn't playing.
I think at this point they both would be happier being only kitties, but I can not part with either of them. So I live a double cat life. Sugar stays in my bedroom with the door closed all day, Atticus gets locked up in my spare bedroom all night. They both are constantly on me and demanding of attention and needing cuddles the entire time they are out of their room. Although I love that they are both affectionate, I feel trapped by this situation. I can't go anywhere overnight. I can't move without Atticus underfoot every second and he's extremely territorial and possessive of me. I feel weird inviting people over because of this and both of my bedroom carpets are being destroyed. The dynamic between these cats is ever changing, so I have hope things could change again. But the apartment itself is also getting to me. The kitchen is tiny, I have no privacy, the maintenance guys are sloppy and unresponsive, my upstairs neighbor changes regularly and they all seem to eventually have a baby and they all work until midnight...so I've been sleep deprived for years. I also miss having access to outside space....a patio to grill on, to sit outside and observe nature. Moving on....
Sam and I are divorced and I rarely see him. He has been re-married to an amazing woman for almost longer than he and I were married. He seems incredibly happy, and I'm so happy for them both. I've always been a solitary creature at heart, but I miss having a companion and I'm incredibly lonely....lonelier than I ever thought I would be. The guy I told you about who I was seeing disappeared from my life a couple of years ago. I grew to deeply love him and made the mistake of telling him so and he just could not handle that, so he disappeared himself. Knowing he's out there somewhere makes my loneliness worse than if I had never met him, I think.
I'm now on my tenth job since moving to the United States. Ten jobs in 8 years (really not even 8 years since I was at Pictometry for 2 1/2)....many of them contract positions. Ten health insurance plans in 8 years (or not...sometimes I couldn't afford health insurance because I was on unemployment and couldn't even pay my rent). This instability has been very problematic for me. The financial insecurity I have experienced in the last six years has been devastating. There's no other way to describe it. When you already live paycheck-to-paycheck, any interruption in the routine takes a hit on your financial well being. Every time I switched jobs, there has been a gap between pay periods, a gap in health insurance, the beginning of a new high deductible, no paid days off when you're a contractor and certainly no vacation.
My mental state has declined steadily with every job loss, whether it was expected or not, whether it was my choice or not. The expectations I had always had for myself and my career have never been reached and I have no idea how to fix that. Some people have religion, many people have kids, everyone has a partner...I don't have any of those things. That's been mostly my choice and I know that, but the things that give our lives meaning...I don't have that. It's always been work for me. Work is what motivates me. Work is really the only thing I have. So not working or working and losing it or not doing well at it....I can't even describe the million little ways in which changing jobs so many times has impacted my life in a negative way. You just have to believe me when I say it has been devastating in almost every way.
In other news, I have a ten year Green Card and am eligible for US Citizenship. Right now, I'm not entirely sure I want to be a US Citizen even if I could afford the $800 fee, so I'm waiting for now and...."enjoying" (?) my Green Card status. My grandfather passed away a few years ago. My father had emergency spine surgery and has been re-learning to walk and drive and live his new reality. We recently found out that my mom had been misdiagnosed as having Early Onset Dementia 10 years ago. What she actually has is Epilepsy as the result of a traumatic brain injury from when she fell down the basement stairs 10 years ago. My nephew was born. Most of us in my family no longer speak to my uncle and we've been learning, as a family, how to be together as a family with a completely different dynamic than we did while my grandparents were alive and while I still lived in Canada and when everything was different.
Oh......and I have failed at recommitting myself to fitness and weight loss. I have made a few half hearted attempts to get back to it over the years but nothing stuck. My therapist and I made a pact in 2014 after my treatment plan before and after weight loss surgery was complete that if I ever started to abuse food again or went for more than a week without going to the gym, that I would contact her and we would start treatment again. I stopped going to the gym years ago but I didn't keep my promise to her. It was only a matter of time before I started to abuse food again. I just kept thinking that I could handle it myself, I could get back on track and find the place where I was before, that I was not out of control and I knew what I was doing.
But I didn't know what I was doing and I lost my way. I didn't see it coming, but I should have. Addiction is addiction...whether it's alcohol, drugs, food, sex. Some vices you can just cut out of your life, others you have to walk a tightrope and learn to tolerate a razor edge relationship where you enjoy it, but not abuse it. Accepting and respecting that balance is the most difficult thing I've ever done. As all the events of the past several years slowly unrolled, I descended deeper and deeper into depression until I could no longer see daylight and food was it for me...my salve. I lost my hope and I lost myself. I gained back almost all the weight I lost with my last surgery. I started to experience constant, chronic pain. I lost my confidence. I lost the will to live. It's not that I wanted to kill myself, it was more that I just didn't care what happened to me. I had no sense of self worth left. I may as well not have even existed, that's how insignificant I felt. I isolated myself whenever possible, interacted as little as I could get away with. I just sat on my couch and stared at the tv without even absorbing what was on it and feared that my dark thoughts would one day consume me. My past obsession with death transformed from something I was terrified of to almost a welcoming thought.
This didn't happen overnight. It was a slow snowball. The things that were keeping me going were my cats and the guy, not that he knew he was doing that. (At least I don't think he did. Maybe he did and that's why he left? Who knows.) Then he disappeared and my cats started fighting and had to be separated, so I lost my two easy pleasures, the joy in my day to day. Without those, turning back to food seems inevitable since I wasn't seeking help.
About a year and a half ago, I realized I just had to get help. Everything started to be hard all the time. Nothing was fun anymore. My thoughts were getting darker and darker. Even when I did manage to see my friends, I felt awkward. So I finally went back to see my therapist, Jessica. I've been seeing her since then. She insisted this time that our treatment plan circle around DBT - Dialectical Behavior Therapy. She reminded me that she wanted me to do DBT the first time we saw each other and I refused. So I agreed this time. DBT was originally created in the 80's as a treatment plan for folks considering or who had attempted suicide. It's divided into four areas: Emotion Regulation, Distress Tolerance, Mindfulness and Interpersonal Relationships. Within each area, there are a number of skills to teach people how to think and therefore act differently in any given situation so that they achieve a more effective outcome. These techniques are now commonly taught..anyone can benefit from these skills. My DBT group was organized into a year long skills group (as opposed to a process group where people sit around and talk about their lives....this was very much about learning the skills in a group setting, no processing) of 12 people lead by a therapist divided into 8 week sessions - an hour and a half each week. You go through each of the four modules twice and then "graduate". The treatment consists of the group plus regular one on one therapy with my personal therapist every two weeks.
I'm on my final five weeks of DBT. I graduate in July.
Recovery is kind of like a roller coaster....it isn't just smooth sailing. Some moments I feel pretty good, much improved, other moments I'm right back in the darkest depths. A few weeks ago, I was going through a bit of a moment where I was like, "This treatment is useless, why am I doing this? It's annoying to have to take so much time off work and it's a pain to do the DBT homework and Diary Cards and I still feel hopeless AF after a year and a half, so I'm just going to quit." Then I accidentally stumbled upon my old blog posts while I was cleaning some stuff out and my own words just hit home for me. Wow...I forgot, I've been here before. And I climbed my way out of it before. I may not have a lot of hope in my future right now and that's ok....I have hope that one day I will once again have hope. I just need to keep on keeping on. I'm proud of myself that I did finally seek help and I'm proud that I stuck with the treatment plan.
I mentioned my blog to Jessica in our last session and she had also forgotten that I used to write to you, and she strongly encouraged me to start again. It really does feel like another lifetime since the last time I wrote you. So much has changed. And yet, nothing has changed. If I could, I wouldn't take back the time I spent with Sam or the time I spent with the guy who left me heartbroken or change all the jobs I've had or having Whiskey and Felix in my life or bringing Atticus into my life...it's all added to the rich tapestry of my life experience and who I am. I think the thing I need to work on is letting those experiences truly add to me instead of allowing those experiences to chip away at my self worth. My marriage ended...it doesn't mean I'm worthless. The man I love does not love me back....it doesn't mean I'm worthless. I left my job...it doesn't mean I'm worthless. My cats don't get along....it doesn't mean I'm worthless. Sometimes I'm totally broke....it doesn't mean I'm worthless.
So I'm back, bitches. And I've got a lot to say.
Random Thoughts:
“I have been sold like a broodmare. I’ve been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any gods, not in myths and legends. In myself."
- Daenerys Targaryen
