demons

Here's a bit of my truth.

I cried myself to sleep the other night. Dull pain was felt all the way to my fingertips, and the hot tears burned my sunburned face.

I often wonder when or if I might love myself. I love so many people. I love them completely and without judgment, but when it comes to myself, I rarely even like myself.

What I have--whatever this disease of the mind is--is one I could rid myself of. This plague has consumed my thoughts for nearly 20 years. There are, of course, moments where the obsession and worry lessen and I find small slivers of allure and beauty, but those moments are rapidly dwindling as the years go on.

I would not wish what I have on anyone, especially my daughters. I want them to love themselves as I love them. I want them to see beauty in their curves, their dimples, their spaced teeth, their wispy hair, their blue dots (Elle), their bruised shins, etc. They are absolutely beautiful to me. I have tried hard to hide my insecurities and self-loathing from them, which means I bottle it up all day/week/month and let it spill out all over my face late at night while I talk to Tim. We're more than 12 years into our relationship and still he does not know how to help me see what he sees. He tries; he really does, but his attempts nearly always fail. Sorry bun, but we both know it's the truth.

I think I repeat to myself at least a few times a day, "Remember you're a spirt being having a mortal experience and not just a mortal being have a spiritual experience;" therefore, this body is just a vessel--a beautiful, imperfect one, and it's just trying to do its job to house my spirit. I'm hopeful one day I'll believe it, but for now, it's just a daily mantra.

The thing is I'm aware of the basic facts: I'm a 35-year-old mom of 5 kids. Five births change a body. I exercise for an hour a day at least 5 days a week. I can do 100 push ups (2 years ago I couldn't do 10). I moisturize every morning and night. I try to look nice if I know I'm going out (not just school drop off). I eat a cookie and a 1/2-ish cup of ice cream 4 times a week. Other than that I eat healthy. I just finished the weaning process of ridding my body of Zoloft. I have upped my dosage of vitamin D and am taking St. John's Wort on days I need it.

Those are the basic facts. I know them inside and out, and yet I feel so much guilt about that 1 cookie and that 1 bowl of ice cream. Or I get mad at myself for not working out an extra 15 minutes, even though I know I don't have an extra 15 minutes. And while I am so happy Zoloft helped me as much as it did for as long as it did, I have always felt a little ashamed that I needed it in the first place.

So there you have it. I can talk my way inside and out of things. This part of my life is very dark. I try to keep it hidden because it can feel overwhelming and all-consuming. The demon staring me in the face is the one found in my own reflection. I don't really know what to say, but I wish I didn't feel this way. And I just needed to write it out because holding it in and crying it out isn't really working so I thought perhaps if I write about it, maybe my heart can find peace for a minute.