Stress = Bouffe

Aujourd’hui, j’ai travaillé comme un hamster court dans sa roue. Ça ne finissait plus ! J’étais bombardée de problèmes à régler, de ressources à activer, de liens à vérifier…

À la fin de la journée, j’avais le trou de cul en-dessous du bras comme dirait ma mère.

Tout ce que je voulais c’est manger. Chocolat, chips, n’importe quoi.

Et voici ce que j’ai mangé ce soir : une crème de légumes avec du fromage cottage, 4 triscuits, des After Eight (un million probablement), des peanuts salées (très petite poignée) et je sais que tout à l’heure, je vais me faire éclater un mini-sac de popcorn.

J’ai aussi bu ma tisane spéciale ! Lavande et thé blanc. Délicieux et relaxant.

Bon, ça serait plus relaxant si je pouvais rédiger un texte qui a du bon sens pour mon travail. Une autre chose qui ne finit plus. J’ai la tête comme un melon.

De A à C, passez par-dessus B

28 novembre 2007

so I went to my meeting this morning. I had a meeting with a nice woman from an organization that helps victims of crimes and I thought I was taking way too much of her time, it lasted two hours. I took the day off to go there and have the day to myself so I could go through my emotions alone if I needed to. But we didn’t really go into details…yeah even in two hours. I got phone numbers, documents, references for places to go to and meet people about this. It’s good, I wanted that.

I guess that’s why I need help. I just circle the subject, don’t really say the words, hint at things, I have trouble really talking about what I lived through. There is just sooo much ! I just can’t get it out and I’m alone with it so I do what I always do when I’m really stressed. I forget. It’s unconscious but my body just finds a way for me to forget or skip over stuff, block out emotions. I can’t talk about it with anyone around me so I have to find ways to cope by myself. Therapy is useful but I’m there once a week and sometimes I should be there every day !

You see, I talked about one of the firsts sexual attacks I had and since then I ate at restaurants more than three times a week, started eating chocolate again, slept more than ten hours once and feel like sleeping more every morning. That’s the way my body and mind works when all my post-trauma wakes up. I eat and sleep. Yoga is good for relaxing but it doesn’t help me spend my energy so I’ll have to go to toning again so I can just grunt the pain away.

I also bought a bra today. Impulse buying. Very big when stressed out. But I really needed a new bra. I keep pushing this aside because shopping for underwear is like going to the dentist. I hate it. So I finally bought a new bra and the lady says I’m a C cup. I can’t beee !!!! Last time I was a C was when I weighed 160. So I have to check what I eat and drink and exercise cause there is no way I’m going back up to 160. NO f*** WAY. (Au moment où je vous copie ça de mon ancien blog, j’ai dépassé le 160 parce que je vais au gym plusieurs fois par semaine alors je suis moins ronde qu’avant). No wonder that guy said I had a nice rack last time…I still thought I was an A. I also wear 38 instead of 34 and 36. Am I blowing up or something ? is it all that unspent sexual energy that goes to my boobs to attract males and populate the planet ? Am I going to look like a pidgeon soon ? I should test if I can put a glass between my breasts or a plate on them as if it was a shelf.

You’re wondering why I’m freaking out at having bigger boobs. AH. Have you tried girl’s clothes lately ? It’s like trying on kiddy clothes. Everything is made for twigs. You can’t have a butt, breasts, round arms or thighs. You can’t be a woman. You have to be anorexic or twelve to fit in what is in stores. OH GOOOD will I have to go shopping in Plus sizes now that my boobs are ten times the size I thought they were ?!

Pfft. It’s good to have some drama in non-existential places of my life. It gets things in perspective. Let’s forget about death threats, police arrests, rapes, harassment, my supposed future and my budget and let’s focus on my weight and boobs size !

I don’t have to complain. Last time I measured, in the last two weeks, I still was pretty okay. But phew…C cup.

Loin de la maison

Écrit en 1994

À 20 ans, je suis enfin hors de la maison au grand malheur de P. qui ne peut pas revenir me rejoindre avant la session d’hiver.

Je suis arrivée à Montréal hier et j’ai tout rangé hier et ce matin. C’est tranquille ici et la ruelle derrière la maison est super belle. Il fait soleil mais il ne fait pas très chaud.

Ce matin, je me suis réveillée à 6h48. Je m’étais couchée à 22h45. J’ai eu un peu de mal à m’endormir mais mon lit était confortable. J’adore ma chambre.

Je m’ennuie un peu. Depuis quatre mois qu’on est ensemble, P.R. et moi, il n’y a que trois ou quatre jours qu’on ne s’est pas vus. Maintenant, je me sens un peu seule. J’ai toujours envie de lui parler. Il n’y a que lui qui me manque. On rit tellement ensemble même si on s’engueule trop souvent à mon goût. Je me doute que ça ne marchera pas mais je tiens trop à lui pour le laisser aller. Je lui ai écrit, j’espère que lui aussi.

Ce matin : Rangement de ma chambre, Lavage de la vaisselle avec Denyse, Étendage du linge avec Denyse et Patricia

Après-midi : Visite du quartier, Inscription à la bibliothèque Rosemont, lettre à P.R.

Livres empruntés à la bibliothèque Rosemont : Cuisine du monde entier avec Weight Watchers, Weght watchers « La cuisinesanté » et Rose Reisman brings home Light Cooking

21h10
Je ne sais pas quoi faire. je m’ennuie. J’ai hâte de commencer l’école.

Au souper, Stéphanie et moi on a décidé d’aller se promener après avoir été chercher nos horaires. On va y aller ensemble, elle aussi étudie au Collège de Maisonneuve en documentation.

Quel dommage que je ne puisse pas appeler P. Maintenant, je réalise comment il remplit mes heures et mes jours. Personne ne me fait rire comme ça et j’aime son contact physique. Je me sens bien dans ses bras.

Franchement passionnant comme première journée dans ma nouvelle ville…Pas encore indépendante ni autonome, grand besoin d’être rassurée. Je vivais en chambre dans un grand appartement du quartier Rosemont, sur la rue Bourbonnière avec un dame qui avait un service de traiteur. Elle avait déjà une chambreuse, Patricia, qu’on voyait rarement, et qui était à l’université. Je louais une chambre au sous-sol et Stéphanie a dû se contenter d’un recoin du sous-sol à côté de la chambre froide parce qu’elle n’a pas envoyé son premier chèque à temps. Nous partagions une belle chambre de bain rénovée. Ma chambre était adorable : lit des années 50 qui grince, vieille commode des années 40 dont les tiroirs sont coincés, grand placard, télé, deux bibliothèques.
Je ne sais pas combien de fois j’ai pigé dans les desserts congelés de Denyse parce que je m’ennuyais et que je mangeais mes émotions…

Chiiiiips

18 septembre 2008

Chips, a big bag of it, would have been so good yesterday. Since last week’s therapy I’m so on edge. I have this nagging sensation of having a memory on my tongue. Instead of a word. It’s in my pre-conscience (I’ll have to look up the notion of pre-conscience because I don’t exactly know what it means).

It scares me that those memories are hidden. I don’t know what it is and I don’t like it. I have been feeling a bit down, irritated and tired since last week. It means I’m onto something…even if I don’t know what it is.

As always, when I’m « onto something », I feel like eating chips or chocolate. It wasn’t so bad until yesterday. It took me very very long minutes to get out of my therapy funk before I could be somewhat normal with my boyfriend. So my emotions are worse without the junk. The junk dulls the sensations. Groan.

Se raccrocher au train

So I’m in a bit of a wave trough since last week. Every time it happens I eat too much of good/bad things and I manage to end up with a new guy in my life. Let’s thank therapy that I know this is what happens. So this time I ate too much but I didn’t end up with an Ex in my bed and I didn’t just ask for hugs from guys that are interested and I want nothing to do with. Ye me.

There are no more Doritos in my kitchen…or bedroom…or family room. No soft drinks, no chocolate bars. I did bake this week so I had something sweet to eat at work that didn’t involve huge amounts of trans fats, sugar, etc. I ate healthy salads of spinach, meat and fruit and drank lots of water.

But this returning on the wagon is harder because my therapy is really shaking me. The waves menace to swallow me and drown me. I am getting desperate. I am discouraged. I am angry. I am sad. My relationships with members of my family are going nowhere. My friendships are getting nowhere. I don’t feel I connect to people. It hurts. So it’s harder to eat well.

It’s harder not to drown in TV series, Doritos, men, hungh. If I was a druggie or an alcoholic, I would definitely be off the wagon and the wagon would already be rolling away from me.

My relationship to my sister has affected me greatly in my life. I dream about us fighting and trying to kill each other almost every night. I dream of us comparing offsprings, pregnancies, big bellies, everything.

My friends remind me of my mom. They are mostly shallow, unable to stand straight, to assume their emotions. They eat their emotions (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree), they shop till the credit card is maxed. They don’t listen to anything I say. I can’t shake the habit of talking too much too fast before they interrupt and start talking about them, them, them.

And I just don’t care. I am revolted. I am revolted that bad people like my sister can just have babies, cheat on her boyfriend and have him trust her again, have loads of friends, have my parents on her side because suddenly she is saintly. I used to support her, trying to convince my family to trust her, to give her a bit of credit. I don’t anymore. I see her for what she is, I see my parents for what they are…

And I wish I was blind again. Blind to what they do and say. Blind to what they make me feel. Blind to my memories. But I’m not and I’m pissed.

Vrai…ou pas

16 mai 2008

Have you ever thought something to be true to discover it was not ? And then discover you may have been right all along ? If there is a time to eat chips, it’s now and lots of it. Instead I eat butter pecans. Not the same at all…

I have felt like there was something wrong about me for the major part of my life. Not as bipolar wrong. Sexually wrong. There were signs that pointed to sexual abuse from before I was 16 and I always thought « something » had happened but I never had any proof.

Then I learned that my mom had lived something incestuous but she wouldn’t tell what and my therapist said that maybe she had transmitted this to me psychogenealogically. I felt relieved. I have no souvenir of anything happening to me that would explain my feelings and fears. So a psychogenealogical explanation kind of popped the balloon of questions I had over my head.

But tonight, in therapy, I talked about what I lived through and what I felt about my different rapes and abuses and the therapist said that it felt like I was transposing another event onto the events that were happening to me at the time. I was talking about what I wrote about in a previous story, last week I think. This paralyzing fear of angering the man, of being hurt and of dying when I wasn’t yelled at, tied down or I didn’t have a gun or knife pointed at me. She asked when did I fear for my life. I had nothing to say. But I asked if babies could fear for their lives and she said yes. Then maybe being shaken and yelled at by my dad when I was a few months old could explain it.

Then I continued talking about my stuff. And I told her about my outer body experiences while having sex. I say it’s outer body because I feel disconnected, not there. I talked about the pain I feel when I have sex, the doctors that say it’s psychological, the sexologist I saw. The pain went away but is now present each time I try having sex. Not the same pain.