So, I've decided to make a new Xanga.

Ah yes, my third Xanga. Three in six years isn't too bad though, right?! Plus, it feels like a clean slate. I'm ready to be someone new.

So, feel free to venture over to my new site. It looks super different from this one, so prepare yourselves. 

...paahahah. 

Beautiful Things

Playing Hide-and-Seek with my dog. So funny.

The world's perfect nap. Turns out, this is the recipe for a perfect nap: First, watch a baby fall asleep in your arms. Lay her down in a crib in your bedroom. Then, lay yourself down in your bed with your two purring cats. Listen to the cats purr, the baby's soft breathing, and the rain falling outside. ...It also helps if the baby is teething and sleeps three hours. Amazing. Also, let me just say for the record that there's something healing about watching a baby fall asleep in your arms.

Thanks to Facebook, my best friend from fifth grade and I have reconnected. The other day, I got to go to her appointment and hear the little peanut's heartbeat. Also, I am the only person who knows what the baby is going to be named. : ) Aaaand, she invited me to go to the birth! I didn't even get to see Ava's birth! I just feel so honored to be invited to be part of that special day.

Good television. Television that made me think and feel.

The other night, I was in a really bad place. It was really late at night and I reached for my phone to text Rachel. I typed in "I want to hurt myself." Then I erased it because, while I felt that way, I knew I wouldn't really do anything, and also, I suspected she was probably asleep. The second I shut my phone and put it back, I heard it beep. Sure enough, it was a text message from Rachel, and it said: "I wanted to tell you that you're beautiful."

Meeting a skinny, barely seven-year-old child who can eat even more than I can. The other day I babysat Sara and her two older siblings. Over the course of four hours, Kayla ate three hot dogs, frosted mini wheats, apple sauce, hot chocolate, popcorn, and three egg rolls! I couldn't believe it!

Glee’s version of Gaga's Bad Romance. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly suggest you do. I've seen it about... uhm... countless times. If you want to watch it, go here. It's about fifteen minutes into the episode.

Speaking of Glee, I am in love with Brittany. She is by far my favorite character. On that same site, if you scroll to the bottom and click the "Meet Heather Morris" video, I promise you won't be disappointed.

Forgiveness. The fact that Brittany forgave me after I went ape-shit on her, that's beautiful.

Dad said he loved me and hugged me tight. That's beautiful, too.

Daddy

Dad brought home licorice the other day. He went to the store, saw it, thought of me, and brought it home. Just to be nice. Then he told me The Proposal was on TV because he knows I like it.

Then he went to his room to drink. He goes in there, locks the door, and doesn't come out for hours.

He's got such a good heart, that dad of mine. Such a soft, sweet heart. Life has been too cruel to him. Mom was too cruel to him. I know where he's coming from. I know what it's like to use something bad for me to numb my pain. I wish there was a way I could fix him and make him happy and fulfilled. I hate worrying that he's unhappy.

I've actually been overcompensating a bit, trying to make him happy. I've been trying to have the soothing effect on him that alcohol does so that he no longer wants to drink. I tell him how much I love him and appreciate him and ask about his day and make sure he's got a warm dinner to eat when he gets home.

But it's not enough.

And I don't want to worry needlessly. I don't want to be silly and immature about this. ...But how much drinking is too much drinking?

I don’t know what else to do. I want him to be okay! I want him to be happy.

I am so scared he'll get to the end of his life and only remember having been in a really abusive marriage and working so many long hours. I hope he does things that make him feel alive, too. God, please help my daddy be okay. I want him to be happy.

I've been crying to him a lot lately. I am so unhappy that the tears just leak out of my eyes uncontrollably. And when I try to speak, then they really flow. He sat at the table with me today and just let me talk, even when I said things that I knew he wouldn't want to hear. But he didn't silence me. He just let me talk. Then he stood up and hugged me tightly. "I love you," he said. "I really, truly do." And he made me take a deep breath. He said to just keep breathing. Simple advice, but that combined with a Daddy Hug really does make me feel more able to cope.

*

Food

I wish I was a celeb and could just escape to rehab. Sometimes I feel so capable of overcoming this, and sometimes I feel sheer panic. Like I'm swimming against a current and no amount of positive thinking or willpower is going to get me any closer to shore.

And that is a terrifying thought. Especially when I know I could be living better. The life I am living doesn't honor the person I really am.

I want freedom so badly. I really do.

I was watching an old episode of Grey's Anatomy with my sister the other night. In it, an already slender seventeen-year-old girl got gastric bypass surgery in Mexico in a desperate attempt to keep from gaining any weight. While I would never go to Mexico to be cut open, I could relate to her... absolute panic at the thought of gaining any weight--or of not losing any.

And Meredith looked at her and said something that made me want to weep: "You don’t know this yet, but life is not supposed to be like this. It is not supposed to be this hard."

"...Really? Really? You promise?" I wanted to ask the TV. My eyes grew large and teary and I leaned forward slightly, like she was talking to me.

I would much rather believe that I am making life harder than it needs to be. If I have to overcome myself, I find that a much less depressing thought than believing that life is hard and awful and basically not worth it at all.

Every day, I try not to eat. And if I do eat, I feel such self-loathing and disgust. I cannot even explain what it's like. It really does feel like a film coating my entire body.

But to me, food really is love. And I knwo that's a problem. Right before I engage in... I hate using the words binge and purge because it seems so disgusting and even more shameful, but right before a binge, I find myself thinking of childhood dinners. It felt like love to sit at the table and eat a meal my mom or dad made. It felt like they were saying: "You are my baby and I will take care of you and provide for you. I love you." And as a girl who is so desperate for someone to say that to me, it only makes sense that I'd turn to food. I mean, honestly. And when I do, I hate myself.

I remember feeling fat as young as third grade, (and I was a stick!). My mom said, "You've always had a slightly poochy stomach," and helped me find a dress for my choir recital that wouldn't accentuate my "flaws". I remember crying when I reached 100 pounds in eighth grade. Even when I was very slender, I never felt comfortable in my own skin. But that's not going to be the case anymore.

I'm angry enough and stubborn enough and educated enough to overcome this. I am.

Every day I think maybe I’m getting closer to my breakthrough. Maybe each day I eat isn't a failed day but just one more day I had to get out of the way before I could really reach healing from seeing food as love. ...At least, that’s how I have to think of it so that I don’t lose my mind.

I do feel like I’m getting stronger, though. I spend a lot of time "counseling" myself. I read articles that can tell me what a therapist might. I read about addiction, I notice triggers and how I feel after I eat and I remember that it's never worth it in the end. And I write things down to refer to. Things I should remember and rely on next time I feel myself wanting to be sedated by food. And I also write down other things I could do to take my mind off of it. I like to do other things, too. I like to sing and draw and in some twisted way, I like to work out.

So I'm doing my best to overcome this and I'm believing that I will. That maybe today is the day I'll keep my head forward, focusing on becoming the person I was meant to be, and I won't look back.

In fact, I'm so determined to overcome this that reading about addiction today made both of my eyelids start twitching. (Which I find kind of funny.) I know what I really want. I know I want freedom. I just have to keep reminding myself of that in moments when I'm feeling weak.

I need some alone time. Time to find myself and get strong and start loving myself again. Time alone so that I won't have anyone around to compare myself to and feel inferior to.

A trigger for me is feeling ugly and obese. I know that, so being secluded isn't necessarily all bad. I need time to become stronger and to gain more control.

You know what else I've noticed? When I've got my eating under control, I'm not thinking about food or about throwing up, which makes me able to be more present. But when I'm having a bad day, everything is a blur. People's voices sound like the adults in the Peanuts cartoons. I cannot even properly love on Ava when I see her. It's all just a blur when I think back on it. "What did I say? What did I do? What exactly happened during that last hour?" I ask myself, and I cannot remember. Certainly I kissed my niece, but I cannot quite remember. Did my face look wild and weird, like I was feeling inside? Did my words make sense? I don't know.

It's a straight up addiction.

But, by God, I am strong enough to overcome this. I am. I am a freaking... I don't know. Something/someone really strong. A brick wall. I dunno.

I want to be more present. I don't want to miss out on my life. I don't want to hate myself. Really, I have no choice but to overcome this. Today. Right now. I am not giving myself room to fail.

But I will be kind to myself. As kind as possible, anyway. Tough love. But I do have an eating disorder. It's a disease. I need to give myself some credit. I cannot just demand to be skinny and free today. I need to focus on changing how I think about food more than how well my jeans fit. I need to make sure I have my priorities straight or else I'll just exchange one eating disorder for another one.

I was reading this blog the other day. That last paragraph stirred something in my soul.

If that lady could overcome her addiction to alcohol, I can overcome this.

Thank God it can be done.

And I will do it.

Someday my friends will be able to say to me, "I'm so proud of you. I always knew you could do it, even when you didn't."

When I'm feeling weak, I can remember that there are people who believe in me and know that I am stronger than I feel in the moment.

*

School

Quick question: How honest am I supposed to be on the health questionnaire my school sent over? Do they really need to know about the fact that I used to cut myself or that I struggle with my eating? Would it be a lie to leave those places blank? And it sure as hell feels a little too nosy when they ask about my birth control method and my last pap smear.

The other day I saw a car with a Maine license plate and I screamed. "Maine!" I said, interrupting the conversation that was going on in the car. I was so excited that a scream involuntarily escaped my mouth. It was kind of embarrassing, actually.

After a brief pause I said, "That was really exciting for me for some reason, but I'm over it now. You can keep talking."

People keep saying to me, "Maine!? It gets so cold there!"

I'm really tired of hearing about it. I feel like I should wear a shirt that says: "I know Maine gets cold. No worries, I own sweaters."

Something else I want to own? http://www.bkstr.com/ProductDisplay/10001-10029-10366-25541249-1?demoKey=d

My friend, Dominique, said that Maine is gorgeous. She spent part of her childhood in New Hampshire and so she's been to Maine a few times.

Also, I learned that the Travoltas kick it in Maine to hide from the paparazzi, and we all know that anything the Travoltas do is straight up legit.

I registered for classes the other day.

Sometimes when I think about it too in depth--I mean, the fact that I'm moving and will be there all alone--I feel a sense of panic come over me. I hate the thought of missing people and of being missed. I dread the thought of lying in my dorm room, wanting to be four again and held by my dad. I fear the thought of missing my own bed and house and shower and living room. But this is going to be good for me. This is something I'm doing for me, and me alone, regardless of anyone else. And that's... scary and... sometimes it feels so wrong, but I know it's right. It'll be good for me. So good. I'm going to become someone so strong and bold and brave and with such great stories to tell of how I lived and refused to choose the least scary option.

Also, want to hear something cool that I learned?  "The city seal depicts a phoenix rising out of ashes, which aligns with its motto, Resurgam, Latin for 'I will rise again'."

Seems apropriate, right? I mean, for this time of my life. For my fresh start. New chapter. Healing, growing season. When I found that out, I smiled. It felt like a promise. Another sign that this--moving across the country--is the right thing for me.

Something else I learned? "The city of Portland, Oregon, was named for Portland, Maine." Of course it was. Who doesn't want to be Portland, Maine!?

I love to imagine what it might be like for me there. I picture snow. Water. Long walks by myself. Warm clothes. Lazy evenings in my dorm with friends, in pajamas, talking, laughing. Lazy evenings alone in my dorm alone with a good book or sketch pad or writing my future novel. Or, let's face it, studying. ; )

I keep reassuring people that I won't move there, though. I am still sticking by that. Everyone I love (even if they don't love me--sorry, I had to say it) is here. I want my future children to call my best friends Auntie. I want my dad to be Grandpa. This is home. I'll come back.

The other day Laura's mom said, "...You've never been there!?" She looked at me incredulously.

It made me think for a moment that I am out of my freaking mind. But later in the evening I talked with Natalie's mom. "I'm so excited for you!" she said.

"I've never been there or anything..." I ventured.

Her response? "I am so jealous. This is going to be so great for you."

So, I've decided it's a matter of personality. Just because one person thinks I'm crazy doesn't mean that I am. I want to live. Truly live. There's no room for fear and there's not always time to test the water before jumping in.

Fragments

I cannot even write. I just want to sleep. I'm too tired. Too exhausted. I don't have the energy to put my thoughts and feelings into any sort of coherent blog.

But I've been writing fragmented thoughts over the past few days. They don't fit together and might not make sense, so proceed with caution- and maybe a walking stick and headlamp or something. It gets rather mucky from here.

*

My heart doesn't matter.

There's no point in feeling anything because no one cares. It just doesn't matter.

My dad isn't going to adopt Mackenzie. He told the social worker that Brittany and I cannot forgive her for not caring about our mom. That means the social worker has to find a new home for Mackenzie.

I didn't know that's what the social worker was coming over to discuss. No one told me anything. So when I went into the living room the other evening and said, "Is she gone?" I was referring to the social worker, not Mackenzie, as Steve apparently thought. Dad said that she was, which is when I said, "...Why is everyone crying?" And Steve went off on me.

"Are you kidding!?" he asked, getting in my face.

Dad had to stop him. "She doesn't know anything, Steve," he said. As if I would've been that heartless. As if I would've paraded into that room, audibly rejoiced over the fact that Mackenzie is leaving, and then acted appalled by their tears.

When I think about how it was our job to love Mackenzie and how we failed, then I feel bad. When I look at her sleeping and think that maybe she did love us and trust us and need us to love her, then I feel bad. But I know that morning will just bring the same girl. She lies and steals and manipulates and doesn’t miss my mom. And she deserves to be in a house where she can be loved… and maybe get some help. I just pray that it’s not Steve and Jayme’s house. I cannot help how I feel. I hate her and I want her out of my life.

But Steve and Jayme don't hate her. They love her. (Just threw up a little bit in my mouth.) And they truly might adopt her. They don't care how that makes Brittany or I feel. And what right do we have to feel upset? In their eyes, Mackenzie is just as much family as I am. Although that thought makes me want to hurt myself.

If they adopt her, that would be it. The end of my ability to handle being a member of this family. My brother already doesn’t love me. My niece and nephew would call her their sister. I would be expected to love her as one of their children. Sorry, no can do.

The thought of Mackenzie calling my brother Dad (when he doesn't even like me) and having a relationship with Chase and Ava that I could never have (because she'll be their sister) and soaking up all of Jayme's attention, and thinking even more highly of herself than she already does, and looking at me all the time like she's better than me... I can't handle that thought.

My brother doesn't like me and my mom didn't either. Steve thinks all the same, awful things about me that my mom used to. He thinks so badly of me. I feel so unloved. Even by my own family. Jayme won't forgive me for not being able to love Mackenzie. I tried to apologize to her. I told her how hard I tried to love Mackenzie. The fact that I hate a ten-year-old and I cannot control it, that just shows how much help I need. I am a mess.

Self-loathing. Unloved. Hate my life.

I said something the other day that hurt Steve: "I'm going to start my own life anyway." I was referring to going to school. I was telling them to do whatever they wanted with Mackenzie. They don't care how I feel, and that hurts, but I am going to Maine anyway. Whatever. I'll start my own life. My own family.

"You're just going to abandon us?" Steve asked.

I could've just as easily said to him, "You're going to choose Mackenzie over Brittany and I? We were your family first. We are your sisters." But it wouldn't matter. He wants Mackenzie to be his daughter, I guess.

But I still felt awful for saying that and for being so filled with hate, so later that evening I sent Steve an e-mail. I said, "I am sorry for making this harder for everyone. Because I love you, I will try to be okay with whatever you and Jayme decide." That was a hard e-mail to write because everything in me doesn't want Mackenzie in my life anymore, but I wrote it because I love Steve more. I also apologized for insinuating that I was going to start my own life. I said, "You are my life."

That's when he wrote back... He said such awful, hurtful things in response. The same things my mom used to say, which just made it hurt worse. But the most painful thing he said wasn't even about me. He said how unhappy he is and how everything in his life is crumbling and how I'm moving across the country and how everything is falling apart. Then he said he needs to see a counselor because he is "getting screwed up in [his] head."

And because I love him, that hurt me more than anything he said about me. It made me feel worried about him. It made me want to apologize for going to school. But I didn't because I know I'm not wrong to go to school. I cannot stay here just because he wants some sembalance of stability. Plus, I doubt he wants me here anymore anyway.

He said that I don't care about him. That's ridiculous. Why would I have apologized and told him I'd try to support whatever he decided if not for him? I certainly had nothing to gain from that. And, as another example, I went to Easter dinner at Jayme's parents house because he said it would mean a lot to him. I didn't want to go, but I did it for him. But... apparently I am unloving and hateful and hard to love. He said he and I are being torn apart. And I agree. Family isn't necessarily a strong bond.

And maybe I am the problem because Mom felt the same way about me. My own family finds it hard to love me.

I'm just so tired of trying and so tired of loving to the best of my ability.

I'm sure my inability to love Mackenzie has to do with insecurity, at least partially. I don't know why Steve doesn't care that Mackenzie never loved Mom, though. But I found myself crying to Dad today saying, "I don't want you to adopt Mackenzie because then she'll be your daughter and I won't be. I'll be an adult and she'll be the kid and I'll be on my own."

Insecurity.

Inside of me, a voice just keeps repeating, "What about me? Who’s going to love me?"

I've been the parent for so long. It has completely screwed me up.

I’m not angry. I just give up.

Life is too hard for me. Nothing is ever going to feel okay again.

I am tired of feeling so damn alone.

When you cannot do anything to change your circumstances, you might as well curl up into a ball and let life keep kicking you.

It hurts to care. I give up. I have very low expectations for life.

I never dreamed that this would be my life. That I wouldn’t want to be a part of my family. That they wouldn't want me, either. That I would feel so genuinely unloved. That I would… that we would become a broken family. A shattered family. Not just invisibly, on the inside, but also in our relationships with each other.

Steve said such awful stuff about me. And I know he means it because he tells my dad and Jayme the same stuff. And my mom meant it when she said it, too.

I actually feel like... just typing this is hard. Moving my legs to walk from point A to point B feels hard. All my energy has been zapped. I am an empty zombie.

I want to run away. When I go to Maine, I'll be doing everyone a favor. That realization really hurts me. I've tried so hard to love everyone and take care of them... and they see me as the problem. The enemy. I just want to leave. I’d rather be unloved in a place where I am unknown and not expecting anyone to love me.

I've been crying a lot lately. Even in front of my dad and sister. I am so depressed that I don't even try to hide my tears for fear of making them unhappy. I just bawl. Sob. And when I'm not crying, I sit here like I'm brain dead and emotionless.

I wake up each morning to a worse life. It's unbelievable. I am actually in a state of shock, I think. I cannot believe this is my life. I cannot believe it.

Sorry I am such a disappointment to everyone. I really have done my best.

Must turn my heart off. I’m done trying to hold anything together—including myself. Eff it all.

No one can understand where I'm coming from or how I could truly hate a kid. I know that. I know that in no universe will anyone take my side or be able to empathize with me. I cannot even empathize with myself. All I know is how I feel.

I'm exhausted.

Life has been too hard. Watching my mom die, living without a mom, worrying about my dad's mental health (he drinks all the time), trying to overcome an eating disorder, worrying about my dad's financial situation, trying to keep the family from crumbling emotionally, trying to keep the house clean and making sure everyone gets a warm dinner every night, my hurting wrist, planning to move across the country, all my unnecessary stress, worrying about Brittany finding a new job, ... I could go on and on. It's all just too much. And then to have my brother say such mean things about me... to act like I don't care about anyone but myself... This is just the last straw. This is the thing that is going to break me.

It's too much. To feel horribly unloved by your own family and to hate yourself as well. It's unbearable. I feel offically broken. Legitimately screwed up. Unable to function.

I've never felt quite like this before. I'm so depressed that I couldn't even sit up in my chair today. I just started falling out of it, like I was trying to liquify or something. "I feel like someone shot poison into my body," I told my dad. "Everything in me hurts. I feel so weak. I feel like I could fall out of this chair right now, crack my head open, and not even care."

I feel so weak that typing or talking to someone is really, really hard. So, so weak with sadness and defeat and disbelief. And hot with anger. I tried to get a CD out of a CD case today and broke it in half on accident. I'm so angry. And I wanted to hurt myself so badly today, too. Like, cut myself. I ate instead. Food can sedate me. I didn't eat at all yesterday. I just go back and forth between various forms of self-harm.

And yet, in a way that people could understand, I cannot explain why I feel the way I do. How I could hate a kid. I cannot explain it.

I feel underappreciated. Everything I do is in an effort to keep my family mentally and financially stable. And is everyone forgetting who was Mom's caregiver? How could they think so badly of me??

So exhausted.

I think I'm scaring my dad. I know I look dead behind the eyes because that is how I feel.

It’s absolutely cruel. My life has been SO hard.

Steve is just echoing everything about me that my mom used to say. It hurts. It hurts so badly. I wonder if he'd reconsider being so verbally abusive to me if he knew how much I hate myself already.

What is happening to all my relationships with people?

I really hate Jeremy. I wanted to tell him to fuck off when he commented on my FB status. I hate him.

Steve is just like mom. There's no point trying to reason with him or make him care about my feelings.

The person who cannot love a kid is always the one to blame.

I hit Brittany again the other day. I just couldn't control it. It's awful. I am awful. I am broken. Inside, I am broken. I am a zombie with serious issues. No wonder my family doesn't love me. I pride myself on being so full of love but then I go ape shit on my sister and hate a ten-year-old. I cried and apologized after I hit Brittany. It was all because she was acting like she doesn't love me. Like I don't matter to her. Like how I feel is less important to her than how Gracey feels. She said, "You need help! People don't do that! They don't just lose control and hit someone!" I know. I know. I am a goddamn mess. A waste of life. I know. Trust me.

My heart is just... fucking busted. I am so weak. So lethargic. So... I just give up. Fuck life. I give up.

I hate that I have done something that has changed how I am seen forever. And how I see myself.

Bury my heart. Feel nothing. Bury my heart.

I hurt so, so badly. Inside of me is so much pain.

I am tired. I am so tired of having to be strong and of holding everyone together and of feeling everyone’s pain and of feeling my own and of trying not to feel my own. I am tired of being the parent. I am so fucking tired. And I’m so screwed up. I just want to run away and hide.

I won't miss Mackenzie if she leaves. I won't miss her at all. But there still is a part of me that feels bad that we failed her. That we couldn't love her. But she was never supposed to live her forever. It was supposed to be temporary. I didn't sign on to get another sister--and I sure as hell didn't sign on for her. 

Still... I, who am always preaching 'choose love', has proven to be an incredibly unloving person. An awful, unlovable person. And my ability to love has always been such a large part of my identity, too. Now that I see that I actually suck at loving, what do I have left? A person with an eating disorder. An insecure person. One with scarred arms. Pathological amounts of stress. Unloved by my own family. But, when I think of it that way and see myself the way they must, it's a lot easier to understand why they find it so hard to love me.

When you don't know what you're feeling, you're supposed to ask your body what it wants to do.

Two nights ago, I wanted to put my hands over my ears, close my eyes, and scream.

Last night, I went to bed at 8 p.m. I just wanted to sleep.

Right now, I wish I could vaporize.

"A broken heart still beats."

I find that cruel. Whenever something else is broken in your body, you aren’t expected to use it. But with a broken heart, you still have to wake up in the morning and use it all day long.

My heart has to stop mattering to me. It's too broken. Too much pain.

Life is hard. I just keep telling myself that. Expect things to be hard.

Funny how feeling unloved can work to make you stronger and more insecure at the same time. Part of me wants to cling on tighter and part of me wants to demand better.

I keep telling myself, "Hang in there, Tam. Things won't always be this way," and then they just get worse.

I just feel so… despondent.