Cutting

Hi.  My name is Karin and I am a recovering cutter.  I am bringing this up because tonight I would like little more than to take a scissors and run it across the soft white skin on the inside of my left forearm.

The sweet warm relaxing feeling of the mental anguish draining from my body would be a welcome relief right about now.  It has been my drug of choice, my secret vice for quite sometime now.  I am so ashamed of it but at times I have needed it so badly.

I admitted to the Bulldogge tonight that cutting was something that I had done in the past.  When I explained to him what it was and why I chose to do it, he left the room and has yet to return.  I am not quite sure how to interpret this.  I am about 95% certain that he is disgusted with it and with me as well.      

My warning has always been that I am a scratch and dent person, not pristine by any means, but well
worth the effort to overlook my flaws.  And I AM in fact working on my issues including the cutting. I am not sure how I feel about this latest rejection.  If nothing else it has gotten my mind over obsessing over letting the pain out.

For the record, the last time I cut was just over a year ago.  Just about the time my divorce started.  In this moment it would feel excellent to drag the blade over my skin; just enough to break it open, but not enough to have a pool of blood form.  The emotional release of it is almost as euphoric as an orgasm...with its instantaneous release of pressure and waves of satisfying relief mixed with sheer pleasure that wash over you.

Tonight so far has been a victory.  I have not cut or harmed myself.  I want to desperately however.  But I am taking each moment, each emotion, each thought as it comes and doing my best to handle them as they move through me and past me.

Wish me luck, dear readers, for I will need it.  And thank you for standing by me and listening to my ramblings.

I Don't Know What to Call This

I'm pretty sure tonight's entry is going to piss some people off and has the potential to hurt a few others....SIGH...but my brain is so full I have to do something with it or I risk losing my sanity.

About a week ago I was with someone that loves me a great deal and they asked-or well rather TOLD-me to be 100% genuine with myself and with my head shrinker when I attended my next appointment.  Today was that day.  Now I feel like I am at the crossroad of Hell and Misery.

A lot came out of my session today.  First is a painful, terrible, awful admission...Bulldogge is mildly manipulative and pressures me.  I do not think that its intentionally hurtful.  It has been an ongoing issue between us and it scares me.  I feel like I am being slowly and sweetly lured into a corner.  Its maddening to hear how hurt Bulldogge's son will be if we break up.  Or how his parents are excited for him finally being in true love.  I will grant you that when written out it doesn't sound the same as it feels.  I am electing to not tell specific stories as examples because I do NOT want to hurt the Bulldogge.  He matters to me.

What he fails to realize, I think anyway, is that when my leash is a little longer I will be the best partner one could hope for.  I am scared so easily.  And I am most certainly not ready to be bulldogged into a life I'm not sure I want.  In this minute I so desire total acceptance of all of the parts of me.

With that said...I'm back to wanting to jump on the travel nurse bandwagon.  Just a short stint.  I want to give it a shot.  Not to run away from my own issues, but more so to embrace my problems and learn to just be ME...whoever I am anymore.  I may come back more confused than when I left.  But I need to get myself together.

Today I talked to that same person and now they asked me to be honest with myself about what I really want, minus the bullshit and pressure.  And without thinking about what looks good or what other people and society think I should be doing.  That's tough to think about.  I would love to throw out the BS "I don't know" answer.  That answer is not true.

I want to love myself.  I want to be comfortable in my own skin.  I SO want to live my life without a single regret from here on out.  I look forward to remembering how to take care of myself.  I think I deserve a little time to be selfish.  I want to find my swagger and stop feeling sorry for myself.  I want to see more, be more, and do more.  I want to realize that I am worth fighting for.  And that what I want matters.

Sometimes I doubt that I will ever be content with my life.  I worry that I will be out here on the wind forever.  Maybe I just need to realize that the universe made me this way for a reason....

I am Home

Okay.  Admittedly I have a pretty tumultuous  life.  But it has made me a strong, albeit weird, person.  Have you seen "The Lion King"?  I always subscribed to Pumba's "Home is where your rump rests" theory.  However, it leaves a person always slightly unsettled and never fully comfortable.  Not totally connected to the people you share your space with.

I have spent all these years adrift in an ocean of people feeling unconnected, alone, and utterly unlovable.  And then it happened...I found my missing piece.  He is strong enough to protect me from the whole giant dangerous world.  And he is more than willing to do the job.  He is after all the Irish Bulldogge. 

There have been times when I have not been the perfect girlfriend for him.  Others may have had certain qualities that made them stand out for a few moments, but I have to ask myself, "What have you longed for more than anything else in your whole life?". 

The answer is: to be safe, to be loved for all that I am and accepted for all that I am not.

This last weekend I moved out of my apartment and into the home the Bulldogge and I now share with our two beloved kitties, Snookie and Taaka.  As it turns out, home isn't a physical address.  Who would have thought? 

Home is where you can drop all of your troubles without fear.  Home is where you can bawl your eyes out over a headache or cuss like a sailor when you stub your toe.  Its where silliness and laughter are spoken.  Home means coziness, closeness, and snuggling. Most of all it is safe.  And cool with you being who the Universe has created you to be. 

So when the last box was put into the garage Sunday night after a LONG weekend of moving me out of my apartment, my soul sighed with relief at the thought, "I am home.  This man with his beautiful wide shoulders and masculine square toothed grin is it for you.  Enjoy the hell outta this."

My Son Hates Me

I know that I have said it before, but it is easy to hate something that you don't understand.  How much do you want to know?  Everything?  Nothing?  I am a hard person to get to know.  I hide a lot of myself.  I am very private-secretive almost.  I spend a great deal of time worrying that people will think that I am totally whacked for some of the choices that I have made.  A lot of them are a little questionable.  As I am healing I am learning to let a few glimmers of my true self show. 

Seriously, I think that I hold back a lot of valid truths from Son because I feel like it will all sound like excuses.  It would be very easy to spill everything out just to rid myself of it all.  However...it feels like excuse making.

How can I say that the grandmother that he remembers through the eyes of a young child mistreated me like it was her hobby?  Every time Son starts in on his, "I hate you and resent you for so much" rant I want to just spew venom at him.  I wonder though if telling him the facts of the life that I have lived will only further alienate him.

For the record: I signed Son over to my parents after a GREAT deal of urging from my mother.  I was battling advanced endometrial cancer and I was caught up in a mother's bind.  What do I do if I do not survive?  I was constantly reassured that I could have him back when (not IF, when) I recovered.  To the surprise of many, including my doctors, I survived.  I was left bald and infertile. 

To add insult to injury, I was told that I had taken too long to get better.  I was told that my son no longer would consider me his mother.  What could I expect?  I had been sick for almost a year.  Then that lead to the "You can't send him to school with a birth certificate that says 'unknown father' on it".  Mind you this crazy woman had told me not to list Son's biological father so that the man would have no rights.

I was set up.  My mother stole my child from me.  How is that fair?  Why had I believed one single word she said to me?  Every piece of me knew better.  Every single molecule in my body knew better.

And here I sit now...My son hates me with a vengeance.  All because I feel this need to protect the person that hurt me so deeply.  Even now, so many years after her death it is like she still gets to win.  I may never speak up.  For me it is so much easier to remain silent and let Son have his own version of such a twisted truth.  A truth in which I am the enemy.  A truth that to him means I never fought for him.  A truth in which his grandmother is the savior. 

God...I may even hate myself a fair measure...  

Creativity

Lately I have been revisiting some of what I remember to be my favorite books and movies from when I was a kid.  It strikes me that I have always been drawn to the creative--dance, art, music, theater--and yet I don't think of myself as creative at all...

How much has been taken from me?  I wonder.  I am working hard on making this place in my life my new starting point.  It is such a challenge though.  I have to fight with every word I have ever heard about myself.  Push back against every shove, smack, glancing blow I've ever taken.  I still feel like a prisoner in my own mind much of the time.

What am I going to do about it?  I'm not sure.  I have no plan.  I want to start trying things.  Anything really.  If it means I have to buy out the whole craft store to find something I like doing.  Or if I have to haunt every art museum and gallery in town to learn what I need to.  I don't care anymore. 

So off I go, in search of my creativity.  I'm sure its in there somewhere.  For all I know it is just a wish of mine that's not going to go anywhere.  But I have to give it a shot. 

A Bulldogge Blog

I don't know that I have ever been this calm while in love. I know what's going to happen today. And the day after. And all the days that come. Not in bad boring way, but in a "I know who I'm coming home to" way.

We all know that I am a scratch and dent person. I come preblemished and slightly bruised like fruit at Aldi. Which I know now that there is nothing wrong with, but most people won't take the chance.

Now I have my Irish Bulldogge. The more I get to know him, the more I like him. Yes, I said "LIKE". I think that like speaks more to respect than love. At least new love. New love is all chemical combustion. I want a slow, steady, even burn. Don't get me wrong...We have PLENTY of of chemical combustion! Irish Bulldogge is so handsome that I can't get over it. He makes me stupid sometimes. How did I get so lucky??!? (Thank you Facebook!!)

I know that Bulldogge feels unsure sometimes. But I am full blown, head-over-heels, flat out in love with this man. Without a moment's hesitation. He is on my mind all the time and I am so happy and proud to be slowly building a life with him. I don't want to be without him now.

Sweet, sweet, bad ass Bulldogge...Being with you is one of the best surprises of my life. You have no idea how much I love you. Who would have guessed? Even Son likes you...he doesn't even like me half the time. That is impressive.

Please do not for one second think that you are not enough, Lover. I am honored to have you as my man. I am excited for our life to get started (finally!). You are SO worth the wait.

Workin' Hard

So this picture was taken in my bathroom about 20 minutes ago. I am down about 50 pounds. I have about 28 to go. My hope has been just to become non-plus sized. Where I go from there I'm not sure. How have I made it this far? Let's talk about that tonight.

The truth is that I initially started out wanting to get gastric bypass. I figured it was my only hope; the only way for me to beat my addiction to the food coma. I had so little left of what I thought was myself that I was willing to do ANYTHING to at least get my hotness back. Because even though I never trusted anything else about me, I always knew I was pretty. Maybe not smart, maybe not witty, maybe not athletic or sexy or whatever else...but pretty I had on lockdown.

However...I am smart enough to know that if I only addressed the physical issue of being able to hold a ton of food in my gut that the surgery would only accomplish so much. Around the time I got served with my divorce papers I started therapy with probably the best therapist I could have found for myself. She has an innate sense of how to get me thinking in new directions and she is just so good at getting me to talk about what's going on behind the "Plastic Karin" I present to the world. Therapy sucks a lot of times. I leave there feeling so emotionally spent that I am worthless the rest of the day.

Also I worked closely with a dietician to relearn how to eat. Its been a challenge. I don't like fruit, but I LOVE veggies. I'm sure that sounds weird since I am such a junk food junkie. A food journal! (I hate that thing and keep trying to ditch it, but I have to admit that it helps) Water instead of soda-and I mean ANY soda. No fast food, or well limiting it. If anyone had told me a year ago that I could ENJOY living on 1,500 calories a day I would have asked them to share whatever meds they were on.

Exercise has been a challenge so far. God it sucks ass. I'm starting to get into it now though. Its the Bulldogge's fault. He made me join the gym in order to start dating him...that was all the motivation I needed!! Getting to hang out with him for that time was worth having to work out. There have been setbacks: I broke my foot, I can think up about 6,000 reasons not to go to the gym, and my Irish Bulldogge is now my boyfriend so there is one less carrot dangling out there to get me to go.

So that is how my story begins. Its been hard hard work. I need to consistently remind myself that I am worth working for. I do still have what I would call "relapses". I binge occasionally. I get overwhelmed to the point of snapping and the only option left seems like food.

I am getting well both physically and emotionally. I am worth it. And I can do this.