a muck amok

i read an article today about an article about an 11-year-old girl in Texas being gang-raped by between 18 and 28 men.  (if you can call them men.  they sound more like animals to me.)

last night, i told my story to a group of loving, supportive women.  i talked about being kept separate from my Puerto Rican heritage for most of my life, and have been lit afire with the new task of uncovering my ancestry.

my best friend is working on her graduate research project, and asked me to fill out a questionnaire about many aspects of my transition from high school to college.  more than once i teared up, thinking about the horrible things i've experienced.

in short, the past is being dredged, and the muck is rising.  it's good.  i need this to happen...in our society, it it preferred that we function and live in the future as opposed to honoring our past and feeling our present.  all of those horrible things are a gift that i must unwrap.  now that i am medically and more emotionally stable (knock on wood!), it is time to go deep. i'm terrified, and exhilarated.  excuse me while i fight the urge to vomit, take swigs of rum right out of the bottle, or go on a 4-mile run with a hamstring injury.

numb is such a pleasant place to take a vacation...and then, when i get back, the muck i left behind has risen from elbow level to eyeball level.

so, here i go.  i know MY story.  every time i tell it, it gets a little clearer.  little details surface, things i had forgotten because my brain was so fuzzy from low glucose levels.  and they matter.  the images i can recall from when i was 6--my mother getting angry at me for asking what her tampons were used for--they matter.  why did i reject one of my first Christmas gifts--a baby doll?  why did i express a desire to have been born a boy in elementary school?  they're pieces from my puzzle...and not just my puzzle, but the puzzle with pieces belonging to my mother, my father, their parents and their parents' parents.

maybe if everyone went back as far, striving for a stark naked understanding, we, as a human family, might find it less desirable to rob, rape and kill each other.

my dad's brother is diagnosed schizophrenic.  in the throes of mania once, he threatened my grandmother--his mom--with a gun, saying he was going to kill her.  why?  where did those delusions come from, and how did the energy from that incident reverberate through the Tormos clan, influencing my dad and his sister, his other brother, their children?  why did i date--and later file a restraining order--against a schizophrenic/manic depressive named Scott Jaffe?

my mom has (had?) a cousin who never was institutionalized (to my knowledge), but never ventured out of the house after having some kind of "nervous breakdown."  what caused this?  how did her family--my relatives--react?  how did this influence my mother's reaction to my somber, quietness as a young girl...and later my depression, my suicide attempts, my institutionalization...which influenced my recovery...which influences how I perceive my own worth?

i think these next two year are going to unearth some terrible and wonderful things.  i'm ready to understand--truly--where i came from, who i am, and where i'm going.

still at war

i wonder if i will ever be able to feel like i deserve to eat.  every bite of food i take is judged, as if it was a reflection of my own personal code of ethics:  is this yogic enough? am i eating it because i enjoy it, or am i eating it to give a big "fuck you" to my inner critic?  is that the best reason to eat something?  will i feel guilty about it in a few hours?  is this going to add to the fleshy curves of my body that i already have mixed feelings about?  is this food rich enough that i'll have to go hiking for 2 hours even though my hamstring is injured and i need rest?

occasionally i still purge.  i can't believe that i used to throw up anywhere up to 6 times every day, sometimes in rapid fire succession.  it amazes me that i never had a heart attack.  i still probably won't know the actual damage i've done to my organs for another two decades.  the pain i sometimes feel to the right of my navel makes me nervous.  then there are, of course, my teeth, which will never be the same...

these days i can sense the point between eating and bingeing, and the point at which i decide i'm going to purge--like running my fingers down the smooth surface of driftwood and finding a nearly imperceptible notch.  at that notch i make my decision.  i usually choose to be gentle with myself and sit with the guilt and anxiety.  every now and then, i'll run straight to the toilet.

the after effects of a purge are similar to the feeling of being drunk or stoned.  an adrenaline rush at the time of vomiting gives way to a numbed out, cotton-wrapped feeling.  my thoughts slow down, my movements slow down.  i get thirsty and dizzy.  it's not a pleasant feeling for me anymore, but i suppose my mind still finds it preferable to the sting of sorrow or rage or loneliness, emotions that felt as though they would kill me when i was younger and--hard to believe--even more sensitive.

then i am pulled way down into a black pit, and the emptiness filling it is called Shame.  no matter how much i try and talk to myself, soothe myself, tell myself i will not beat myself up about my behavior, there is always shame.  the amount of time that it lasts is variable, but it follows close like sound from a jet.

i am in recovery, but not recovered.  i would like to say i am recovered some day.  i know i'll be close when i can stop purging, then stop bingeing/restricting.  in reality, those three behaviors are so closely tied that it's hard to say which i'll be able to stop first.  ideally, they'll all have to go.  the funny thing is that everything is an addiction.  i'm essentially trading one for another, an unhealthy one for a healthy one.  non-attachment is the goal, but that might not happen in this lifetime.  that's why i am so drawn to yoga: yoga teaches me to be separate from the storm though i am in the thick of it.  i am still so reactive: it doesn't help that i am super sensitive and over-analytical.

i told a friend the other day that i believed i wasn't going to be one of the ones that die from their eating disorder.  i do believe this...or do i just want to believe it?  i am strong, but not invincible.  we, as a country, forget about the wars we cannot see, but the battles rage on with our acknowledgement or without it.  in the same way i need to be reminded that i am much more functional than i was when i was 5 years ago, but the scales can be tipped at any time...

thanks

Abundance is eating an entire basket of fresh raspberries still warm from the California sun.

Abundance is swimming under the stars with someone you cannot stop kissing.

Abundance is a luxurious shower with hot water and grapefruit-scented shampoo.

Abundance is uploading and listening to a gorgeous song that carries you through your day.

Abundance is the laughter shared with your mother in the early morning.

Abundance is packing a healthy lunch that will fuel your body and brain come early afternoon.

Abundance is receiving a wonderful massage from someone who genuinely cares whether you are in pain or not.

Abundance is sharing tea and strawberries with someone who leans in to kiss your cheek every so often.

My life is so rich

so full

so exquisitely bursting at the seams with abundance

that I cannot help but express my deep gratitude.