Scars are the marks of a warrior
Scars are a mark that leave behind white, like a trace in the sand of a beach
Scars show that once, you were ripped apart
But now the body has created a ridge of hard scar tissue to be stronger, to leave the mark, to prevent reinjury
My emotions are frozen to ice
I fell in love with my best friend
He has a girlfriend
But I still fell in love with him
Through all this hell I’ve been through I still feel for him
Even though he had to leave and cut me off and broke me so badly I felt I could never trust again
I’d never had a boyfriend before because of the sexual abuse.
I remember always hating men looking at me as pretty and getting into fights with boys and dressing like a a boy
I didn’t want to be the girl “he” said I was. I wanted to forget everything I was. Everything that hurt inside. I wanted to lie and hide. I was ashamed of being a woman. Of being “weak”
I broke my body apart playing competitive sports. I dressed like my guyfriends. I became “one of the guys”. I forgot how to be soft. How to care.
But it’s still in me. And he could always bring it out. He’s a big, strong guy. Very attractive. Winning personality. Popular football player. But also kind. One of the kindest people I know. I knew instinctively he would never beat me or abuse me, like the other men in my life had. He was kind to me when I could not be kind to myself.
I remember the day he left like a knife through my heart
They say that time heals but for me… it’s been the longest time. Hell doesn’t take coffee breaks. It just never ends. Wave after wave of pain. Relapsing over and over again.
My eating disorder… whether I had a genetic inclination to depression and a high risk factor due to emotional abuse and sexual abuse… I remember the day it started. I had flashbacks to the rape so violently that I wanted to throw up everything I had ever eaten.
It was that way for months. And I was in so much pain I went numb. Numb was the only way to handle it. Lying was the only way to get through. It doesn’t hurt as bad if you just walk it off.
Of course… until you nearly snap your tibia in half from running 12 miles a day for 3 months and dropping 20 lbs. Then you walk it off, but on crutches. But no pain. No physical pain. EVER. matched what happened in my heart when this started.
It doesn’t feel like a year. It feels like yesterday. And the whole time all these little messages like “skip this meal” “Thin is beautiful” “Thin and strong means you are disciplined.” “Noone will love you if you are fat” “Do you want to end up like your mom, so fat that she can barely walk?” “Do you want to be loved?”
And six months after he left I realized the reason I haven’t moved on to liking anyone else, besides not wanting to add the emotional complication of a significant other into this BS fest my life is right now, is because I don’t like anyone. Because I love someone. And it’s pathetic and I hate this side of myself that cares. That side of myself that makes me write to him and look through my journal entries and pictures of my best friend who stabbed me through the heart the same day my dog died and 2 months before I lost my best friend to a deadly illness.
His name still makes me cry. Sometimes. Other times I’m too numb to cry.
The only way I knew how to handle this was to stay busy. So busy I barely ever slept. I worked out 3-4 hours a DAY. I pushed my body beyond Olympian limits because that was where I felt I had control. My weight. I could control my weight. I could control how many hours I spent in the gym. I was too emotionally sick to eat. But running gave me a sense of freedom, a sense of accomplishment. When I ran 12 miles a day I didn’t feel that need to just go up to my guyfriend, and cry in his shoulder.
I’m stronger because I had to be.
I still remember the day I had to choose because every day I have to remember. One day I looked in the mirror and I remember thinking with mental illness you really don’t have options. Be strong, or die. Mental illnesses WILL kill you. They are designed to do that. the deadly, silent assassin, it will isolate you from your relationships, depress you, change your brain chemistry so you are incapable of a single happy thought, rip your heart apart, trap you in the past, suck all the hope out of your life, tear you down, tear your body apart. There is NOTHING that mental illness does not touch.
And the whole time no one can really see it until you end up in the hospital. Or dead. When they have to speak at your funeral, they realize how wrong they were to hear you say “I’m okay” day after day when inside the voice was screaming “HELP”.
I’ve never suffered more pain then the day I realized I had relapsed. That my counseling wasn’t working anymore. That I was miles away from my family and incapable of getting help on my own. That I needed someone. And my best friend had broken my heart so badly that I literally could not trust someone.
I try to hold onto God. But many times I am in so much pain I can’t feel Him there. I just hope desperately that there is something worth holding onto in all these scriptures and tasks I’m supposed to do to be a good person, that I’m praying to a God who loves me and is weeping to see me in such pain.
I remember one night when I could actually cry and tears were streaming down my face and I asked God “Do you enjoy watching this?” And I still ask Him that question because I can feel nothing except pain.
I feel so alone. I know everyone struggles with things but I’m overwhelmed, overburdened, overtired, and I wanted to kill myself this morning. I want someone to help share the burden. I want someone to be here, with me, and just help comfort me sometimes. I can handle the rest if I can please just have a best friend and be open to trust but I hate him, because he broke me.
I tried so hard to be tough but his kindness broke me. Killed me inside. So I love him but hate him for the confusion and pain he brought into my life that was already so difficult.
I used to dream someday things would be better. That I’d go to counseling and start to get better and stop having nightmares. And learn to eat again and have a better relationship with my body. But since I had a relapse all my dreams are broken. I don’t dare to dream what life will be like because I know the assassin will take it from me.
The only thing I can think to do is to go on a diet and lose the weight. I had been doing so well but now everytime I eat I want to puke. I have to drink gallons of water to try to purge it from my system. I have to go to the gym 2 hours once a day and twice if I can. My body is sore from constant overuse. I’m lying to people. I’m skipping meals. I hate eating.
The way I got help last time? By losing 20 lbs. If I hadn’t lost weight my family would never have paid for counseling. I just want a way to tell people something is wrong because I can’t bring myself to say it. I want to disappear from my body. I want to be thin. Thin is beautiful, right?