Loving My Mistakes

Isn't this picture beautiful?  From here.

This week has been hard.  There has been a lot of work to accomplish for school and a lot of emotional unrest.  Last week I saw my therapist (yes, I see a therapist at FSU because I was having anxiety issues about my safety and I check in once every 6-10 weeks) and it was awful.  Usually these are casual visits, really a conversation about what I've doing in those weeks, how I've been, and other things. 

This week was different.

This week she wanted to talk to me about my ex-boyfriend, K.  K and I broke up in December, for the third time, when we both understood that we loved each, wanted to be together, but for whatever reason K did not think we had a future together.  A Capitan D.B. if ever I knew one.  It had been months and was I moving forward?  Was I accepting the situation? 

I admitted that I was angry and did not want to see K at all.  I dreaded going down Monroe Street in downtown because I knew he frequented that walk between his office and the capitol building.  I also told her how when I took my brother out to dinner a few weeks ago to a place that K and I used to frequent, I told my brother that if K was there then my brother and I would have to either get our food to go or go somewhere else.  The idea of sitting there and eating pizza with him across the room turned my stomach.

I admitted how frustrating a very sterile, cold text from him had made me feel.  How we weren't speaking at all and how much that hurt me.  

We also talked about how angry it made me.  How absolutely furious I was and that was one of the reasons I did not want to see him- because I actually worried I might hit him or create a scene.

Or worse: cry.

Being angry is easier then being sad and I am choosing to be angry right now about K and our relationship.  

Well this conversation stuck with me all week.  On Friday I stayed up until after 4 AM thinking about him and how angry and sad it made me.  Thinking about how angry her questions made me.  I mean, how dare she bring these things up out of nowhere?  How dare she force me to examine this when I clearly wanted to forget them?  Thinking about things that I had not even considered in months.  This ruined my sleep schedule and it made me physically ill; whenever I pull an all-nighter I get sick. 

And the discomfort of those feelings encouraged me to eat.  And eat.  And when I was done eating I thought about what I would get to eat next.  It was not pretty.  It wasn't the worst I'd ever been but it had been months since I done something like that.

When it was over I felt ashamed and guilty and incredibly frustrated.  It was a weekend, but still, the shame of what to eat or not eat still gets to me.

Then I found this on the internet.

Love the part of you that binges.  Love the part of you that fails, that torments you with regret, that haunts you.  This blog post really touched me.  It focused on how overeating and binging, as much as we are inclined to hate it, needed to be loved the most. 

"...Except for one thing– the part of you that binges needs especial love. Even more care & compassion, even more patience & gratitude & support."

I'm going to try and do that.  Offer myself some forgiveness, try to move on, do better.  This may always be a part of my life, I just have to try to make it less frequent and if I do so, love myself anyways.