WHO THE FUCK AM I?????

Interesting question, isn't it? I wish I could say that I know, but I don't. I am the sum of so many different, and often contradictory parts, that it is tough to say who is the 'real' me. Maybe that question is pure fallacy. Maybe there is no 'real' me, just a compartmentalized multitudinous conglomerate. Whatever that means.
I guess the point is that I feel conflicted much of the time. I am an intense person, and that intensity is often directed towards that afore-mentioned feeling that I call the wanting. That feeling goes against what I value. I am filled with wanting much of the time, and I generally act out on it in some way. And then I feel guilt and shame. Conversely, when I don't act out on the wanting, I feel deprived, as though I lost out on something. Obviously, the more unbearable feeling is this latter one, as evidenced by my years of hedonism and active addiction. So there is the bold truth. My issues have painted me into a corner of loss. I lose what I want, or I lose belief in myself and my abilities to do the right thing. What is the answer? I really don't know. I suppose that I am beginning to believe in the idea that I am capable of great change. By that I mean that now I don't puke, I feel like anything is possible.
More later!
Fabu

WANTING, part two

FUCK ME!!
Seriuos need to binge today. I got by with eating almonds and raisins, an orange, an apple, a cheese stick, many carrot sticks, and later a frozen yogurt. I was and am gassy and unsatisfied and want badly to eat a big hamburger or something MEATY.
The bottom line is that my disease was talking to me today, loudly. I want, I want, I want. Always I want. Well, you know what I want, crazy ED? I want PEACE. I want peaceful food, a peaceful exercise habit, a peaceful weight. So FUCK YOU.
There, I told ED, didn't I? So back the fuck off. No matter what you do, ain't gonna binge and puke, no matter what. So think of something else to fill that hole. Something that won't hurt me, neither now or later.
So, there we are. A very tough abstinant day, but an abstinant day, nonetheless.

I AM AN ADULT CHILD OF INSANITY

My childhood was strange, to say the least. My mother was a lesbian hippie, and my father was absent. My grandfather was an alcoholic-pedophile, and my grandmother was a co-dependent and very angry woman. My sister is older, and was the favorite. I, with my chubby cheeks and my wanting ways, was cast as a problem from early on. I stole when I was 7, smoked when I was 12, did drugs when I was 12, and so on. My reactions to my family were bad. I didn't want to be around them. I was terrified that my grandfather would come on to me, and so every trip to see him was fraught with anxiety. I clearly remember sitting next to him in his truck going to the store. He had money, and would occasionally be very generous with it, so I always wanted to be around him in case he felt the urge to give me some. But I was so worried that he would try and molest me. I sat with teeth clenched, thinking that I would sock him in the eye if he ever did. In my memory, I was never molested, but I wonder. In any case, I grew up thinking this of men: they were absent or scary. I have made every partner that I have ever had pay for his sins, and the sins of my father.
My father was gone, but had an enormous impact on my childhood nonetheless. He was an unforgiving narcissist who once actually called himself a sage. He was gone most of my life, and the times I saw him he made hurtful judgements about me. About the wanting. I guess he saw it and condemned it, probably because it looked like him. I vividly recall going to visit him in Washington when I was 14. I smoked cigarettes by then, and brought a carton with me. He condemned my smoking, himself trying to quit. He told me that nothing looked worse than a woman walking down the road smoking. Then he bummed a pack of smokes from me. After I left that trip, he called my mom and told her that I had been greedy and bad. She told me, I am not sure why. He got very sick during my childhood and had a liver transplant. We found out through a 'group mail' that arrived one day. Not even addressed specifically to us. I had no contact with him from 17 to 34, right before I got married. He was very sick again, this time with cancer. We talked, and I told him that I forgave him. We talked all about him, of course. He got sicker, and so I wouldn't regret it the rest of my life, I went to see him in 2001, with my then boyfriend, Rob. His first words to me were, "I think seventeen years is a little bit excessive!" As though it had been my choice alone. Then he said, "wow! You got pretty!"
I could write novels about the things he has said to hurt me, and my hurt. I lied for him, and I am glad that I did. I told him I loved him, that I forgave him, and wished him peace on his journey out of this world. He died when I was 5 months pregnant, just 3 months after my grandfather did. No matter my true feelings for him, I realize that they are my responsibility.
I have since realized that he probably was confused, did the best he could, and that, as in many areas, I took on things that were not meant to hurt me, but to help. I have a positive genious in finding insults.
My emotional life is changing with my recovery from bulimia and binge-eating. I now have two weeks 'clean' and am overjoyed and terribly grateful.
Keep 'em coming, God!
I'm out.
Fabu

Here we are, at day 10 of my new, binge-vomit-free lifestyle. Nice. And I thought it would never happen.
I have, for years, felt so powerless over my own emotions and compulsions, that I thought I had no choice but to act out on them. Today I realize that I can have a different life experience than one of self-destruction and shame. I am worth having a serene and fun and interesting and RICH life, one not ruled by an eating disorder that demands I do things I no longer wish to do. And I truly do not wish to binge and vomit today. I am replete in my lovely meals, I am enjoy eating in a way that lets me move on. I am not obsessing on calories, nor am I obsessing on thinking through the list of everything I have eaten each day. All that ever did was either freak me out, if I thought I had eaten too much, or give me permission to eat more, if I thought I had not eaten that much.
I am having a great experience right now. Not that it isn't painful. I have stuff come up that is confusing and upsetting. I have feelings of displacement and anxiety that seem without trigger event.
Yesterday in a 12-step meeting, I was looking around the room and evaluating everyone. Not negatively, but still, feeling the compulsion, as I often do, to label all people in my immediate vicinity. I wondered, out of the blue, why I do this. Who hired me to evaluate everyone? What was the point of that?
With a jolt, I remembered growing up with grampa the pedophile. He never victimized me, but my mom and many others. We all loved him for many reasons, but we watched out for him because who knew when he might make very unwelcome advances. I can clearly remember many trips with him when I would end up being alone with him. I felt so scared and grossed out. Yuck. So I suppose that I evaluate everyone for safety. I constantly evaluated him, to keep myself safe.
Whewwww. Life is confusing. I really did love that old pervert. He was more like my father, really. But a sick man, too.
More later,
Fabu

I AM RIGHT, AND THE WORLD IS WRONG

When I decide the world is wrong, and I am right, then I know that anxiety will soon follow. In particular with my partner. He is focused on something besides me, and that can at times fill me with anxiety. I am not sure why. I love my space. I love doing my own thing. Yet at times I look over and think, "is this when it starts? The undoing of the love? The beginning of the break-up?" Often, a few minutes later I will find out that he is editing a picture of me, working on minute details of my face, hair, skin and color. Making me look beautiful. Then I am assuaged. Still later, he will pull away first from an embrace, and I will again get anxious. I have decided the world is wrong, and I am right. His declarations of love fall on deaf ears, because I see a lack behind his eyes. He is wrong, and I, unfortunately, am right. Fortunately, these moments are much less frequent than they used to be. I often feel very loved and am content with the many ways that he shows me that love. It is only when I decide that I am right, and the world is wrong, that all seems as lies to me, false and cruel. It is my mantra today that I am loved perfectly. By God always, by my partner in a perfectly human way. By myself, totally.
In fact, I am WRONG, and the world is right. I really am beautiful. I really am loved. I really am deserving and valuable.
Good thing I am wrong!
Fabu