Feeling So Alone

When I think of all the people that I know, those that I count as close friends, I don't think that any of them has gone through being molested at a very young age like I have. I feel so alone.

The past couple of days have been so intense. I'm feeling overwhelmed by my past, I feel like there's so much more underneath the surface that I need to get out.

I almost feel panicked about it. I don't like the feeling of wanting to run away and hide. I felt this way my whole life up until about age 25 when I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety Disorder. I don't feel that anxiety defines me, I just feel that the label defines how I feel sometimes, and how my body responds.

OK, let me rewind a bit. I have realized with the anxiety attack I had a couple of weeks ago that felt like a heart attack, when growing up I didn't have anxiety attacks, I had panic attacks. Anytime I faced a situation that scared me or whatever, I would have a panic attack: racing heart, sweating palms, desire to run away, spinning mind, physical illness, sometimes culminating in throwing up.

That IS what I'm feeling right now. Going through all of these old feelings, emotions, memories, hurts, are getting to me. I want to escape them. I don't know how to deal with them. I feel very anxious to the point of panic.

When I experienced the anxiety attack, I had just been through a very emotionally charged situation, but had calmed down and was starting to deal with what was going on. The feeling of my heart exploding took me by such surprise that I literally thought I was having a heart attack. I knew it wasn't a panic attack, because I had lived through almost a quarter century of those; this was different.

I don't know what to do next.

I need to talk to somebody. I had a counselor, but now my insurance requires a deductible to be paid in order to see anyone--and there's no way I can afford it, it's more than my utilities. I have been looking online for support groups and what have you, but I don't want to get into that cycle of people relating their stories and me getting even more depressed. So, I figured I'd at least write and get some of it out.

One of the things that's bothering me is two exercises that I went through last night. One of them is to mentally visualize things and then alter them. I have THE hardest time imagining things in my head. I have some sort of block that prevents me from getting a mental image of things. I can hear stuff just fine, I can recreate entire songs in my mind with all the instrumental parts and voices, but I can hardly get a simple picture to form in my mind.

Maybe this is normal, but it's really frustrating me. I enjoy the visual, I love rich and deep colors, enjoy the beauty, intricacy or simplicity of things. Why can't I do that in my mind's eye?

The weird thing is that some things from my past I can get a vivid snapshot of. I can 'see' them, but the weird thing is I can't do it in my mind, with my eyes closed. It's almost like I am projecting it out into space with my eyes open, watching it, rather describing it, but not seeing it.

You know, maybe I'm just overreacting here. But it just seems so odd to me, it frustrates me that I can't get pictures to be in my head where I want them to be. I guess that explains why I have such a hard time coming up with things that are original, but given other things can rework them into something else, I don't know?

Anyway, the other exercise was regressing to childhood situations.

Oh wait, this was really weird. When I was trying to do the visual thing I started thinking about the church I grew up in and how one of the Sunday school rooms looked. In my head I started singing some of the songs that we did during Jr. Church when I was about 10.

All the sudden, I got the mental picture of what happened to me when I was about 3, in front of the church. I tried to remember what happened beyond the image that has always stuck with me. I remembered some of the scene, but I can't remember what led up to it, and I can't remember what happened after. I'm still at the point I am thinking about it with a complete lack of emotion, just as scenes in a movie or something.

After I got that mental image, I tried to remember what happened to me at our family campsite with the teenagers. I can only remember a tiny bit of it, and mainly all I can remember is staring out the window and seeing our camper next door, with a couple of snips of the teens. What on earth did they do to me, or make me do to them? I have no idea.

I wonder if hypnosis would help? I wonder if I could even afford it?

You know what really is bothering me is the idea that there are people in this world who know what happened to me, but yet I have no idea. It makes me angry. I can't believe that they did these things to me, robbed me of my innocence, and that I'm still dealing with things after 30-some odd years.

I want to get past all this.

I'm tired of trying to keep this all pushed down. I'm tired of being embarrassed by it all. I'm tired of having holes in my life. I'm tired of feeling like I have no control. I'm tired of having the past affect my future.

I seriously want to escape right now. I think that's a good sign. I think that I'm getting close to breaking through this. The part of me that's tried to protect me from anything bad is trying to protect me again.

I feel so, well, pissed. I'm not sure that's right, maybe more sad than pissed, but yeah maybe. No, I think more like broken and weak. I feel like everybody else is stronger than I am, able to deal with crap like this, and I can't. Like anybody else on the planet would have already dealt with it and moved on. Like I'm making a bigger deal out of it than I should be.

Well, I've been going through cycles of that thinking in my head and I'm trying to just shut them down and ignore them, because if that would even be true, that I am weaker than anyone else or anything, well, it really doesn't matter does it? Is there anything I can do about it? All I can really do is try to fix what's broken inside me, not worry about anybody else, and then the rest will fall into place.

So, where does that leave me then?

I think I'm on the right track indeed. I think I have a lot of work still ahead of me, but I'm close. I think I need to find help somehow, somewhere. I know I'm blessed and that my childhood could have been so much worse. I can't change the past, I can only change the future. I think I need to cry.

Thanks for listening.

Be blessed!

- Jan

Woo Hoo! I Lost 4.3 lbs.!!!

Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!

I must say I'm very proud of me. Yes, I messed up here and there, no, I didn't stick to the rules exactly, but I did the best I could and got results!!!

Yes, I ate at Applebee's for lunch and I just celebrated with pizza and a sugar cookie, but I Pointed them out, so there. Thankfully the menu has Weight Watchers Points on some foods and the pizza is in my little WW book.

And hey, I'm so proud of Eve, too! She lost 3 lbs. this week and she lost 4+ last week. Wow. She's lost 41 pounds total. I'm so glad to have her as my WW buddy! I know I must be accountable and I need encouragement.

I'm, of course, leery of celebrating too hard. I know me, I know my past with food and addiction. I know what evil lurks inside me when it comes to my food obsession. It truly is an obsession, too. I hate it, but there you have it, I have a food obsession and addiction.

If there is food that is left over from a meal, I obsess about it. If there is one piece of pizza left, I will obsess about it until someone has eaten it, or I eat it myself. It cannot exist, someone has to eat it. And don't even think about leaving the melted cheese stuck to the box! If there's something special, like party foods, dips, cookies, whatever, if it's something I don't usually eat, I obsess about it. I need to eat all I can. What, like I won't ever get it again? Just in case it's my last chip with dip on earth I need to chow down on all of it? What if they stop making it??? I wish I could tell you that I have some rational thoughts while I'm doing it, but I don't. I simply am driven to do it.

All addictions are the same. Does an alcoholic think about the actual consequences to their drinking while they're searching for their next drink? No, they have one thing on their mind, getting that alcohol. It's the same with sex addictions. They are not thinking about anything but having sex or getting their porn. They are driven to fulfill their need for sex. I am driven to eat. We're all the same, all addicts are the same. We're trying to fill a hole inside of us with something that makes us feel good.

I think my addiction is pretty lame. Of all things on this earth that I could be addicted to, food? That's so weak. Only a weak, pathetic person would be addicted to food. I think all addicts must think this way. But I do hate my addiction and think it shows how weak I am.

I know why I have it, though, so for that I am thankful. It's a long story, which I will probably elaborate on eventually, but, for as long as I can remember I have had panic attacks. My mom said she can remember me at about 9 months old gagging when she would take me somewhere new. Now, I was not diagnosed as having Social Anxiety Disorder until I was about 24, so I lived with "getting nervous" over two decades with no explanation as to what was really going on with me. New situations made me nervous and unfortunately I had enlarged tonsils, and whenever I got nervous I would gag, and often times vomit.

This made for a very unhappy life for me, as well as for my family. It seemed that everywhere we went I threw up. We went out to dinner, I ate, I threw up, my father got very angry with me and made me feel horrible about it. My mom and brother were annoyed because I made going out so difficult. I was miserable because I had no way of controlling it. As my brother once complained, "She ruins everything." That's exactly how I felt, too.

I threw up every morning before I got on the bus to go to school for the first several years. I threw up almost every day at lunch--kids would sometimes tease me that my spaghetti was worms or would open their mouth so I could see their partially chewed food, you know how rotten kids can be--but I threw up so much that they eventually made me eat alone in the classroom by myself. I remember doing that until about 3rd grade. I threw up throughout the day or week, depending on the situation. I felt so ashamed but I couldn't control it.

From all of this I learned two things: food is my enemy, food is my comfort.

I would get up in the middle of the night when I was little and I would eat. I can vividly remember what the refrigerator looked like at my height--I couldn't see past the 2nd shelf up. I would eat anything I could reach: raw hot dogs, cheese slices, baloney, and Parmesan cheese out of the palm of my hand. Once I was satisfied, I would go back to bed.

Nobody ever knew I did it. I told my mother about it recently and she was shocked. She had no idea I did anything of the sort. It was my secret time. It was my time to control the food instead of it controlling me. It was a time when nobody was around so I could be completely relaxed and enjoy myself. So, in trying to control the food, it ended up controlling me.

I was a pretty skinny kid until I went to kindergarten. But once I got into that daily routine of vomiting and the shame and ostracism it caused, I turned to my nightly binges to somehow satisfy my craving for acceptance and love, and just to be normal.

I know it's been a roller coaster with food. When you take all of that into consideration, how I couldn't keep from throwing up, how I was belittled or cajoled because I got sick all the time, how I just wanted to be accepted, and then throw in the molestations and the simple fact that I just wanted my father's unconditional love, there's no doubt in my mind why I have always been driven to lose weight, then, when a man enters the picture.

It's such a tangled web, but bottom line, I see it. I see how I obsess about it. I can see the long and tumultuous relationship I've had with food. I can see how my relationships have affected me and how I view weight loss. It's truly incredible to me to think that something as basic as food can rule my life if I let it.

4.3 pounds, yee haa, that's a little bit of my life I just got back and I'm going to fight this week for even more!

:) Jan