Well, tonight I did something that I hadn’t done in quite some time. I slipped into a binging episode thanks to stress and frustration. I was angry at something that happened earlier tonight and I responded in a way that I thought I had gotten control over, but apparently I was wrong.
Earlier this evening, I received a call from a family member. It’s the same family member whom I mentioned in my post, Will You Be My Friend Again? This is the third night since my birthday that this family member has called me, and finally tonight it got me to a point where I turned to the food. Turning to food is something that has happened often for me, as I’ve discussed in posts such as The Overweight Moon. But, turning to a binge on that food is something that I haven’t done in a while. I thought I finally had it under control, after almost a year of not resorting to that comforting behavior.
My birthday turned out to be a very nice one last week. I enjoyed my day. However, all day long, there was a strong urge for me to break down into tears. It was the same urge that had been present the week leading up to it, due to my therapist being away. But, I didn’t want my birthday to be ruined, so I kept trying my best to ignore what I was feeling. However, by the time the evening came along, I was barely holding it together. Then, I got the phone call.
This person had called me twice earlier in the day, and left a voicemail each time. After hearing both of his messages, I sent a text message back to this person. This family member knows that texting and email is easier for me, due to my anxiety. He does not email, but he does text. He just does not like texting. So, what did he do when he received my text? He called me back and left another message. That was completely fine and I assumed (yep, I know I shouldn’t have assumed) that this person was still completely sober. Well, it turned out that he wasn’t. He was drunk, and as he often does when he’s drunk, he called me and left me one of his dreaded messages.
I won’t go into the personal details of what was said in the message, but I’ll just say that it was filled with loud depressing music, slurred words, crying and foul language regarding what he’s dealing with at home right now. It had absolutely nothing to do with my “thank you and love you” text I had sent him.
Happy Birthday to me! That was the last phone call that I received that day. I sat there with the phone in my hand and was blown away by the fact that he left me this message. It’s not unusual. He does it all of the time. But, I thought for sure after the nice messages that I received earlier that day that the last one would have been just as nice. It was my birthday, and I had hoped that he would respect at least that one day for me, since the rest of the year he treats me to his tempestuous buffet.
I got up from the couch in the family room where I had been sitting, and walked into the living room. I was on the verge of tears, but was still trying to preserve my day and end it without any need for the Kleenex. It was then that I saw that I had two more gifts waiting for me. I hadn’t noticed these before, so decided that I should open them. I wasn’t happy anymore. I was sad, and wanted to fall asleep already and just forget the phone call. But, I opened the first gift, and then the second. My mom and dad had already given me my gift earlier in the day, but these were different. These were from my mom. I prefer to keep the gift private, but I’ll just say that it was one that showed me how much she loves me. And, that was all it took.
I had many thoughts going on in my head. But, it was the phone call that pushed me to the edge. And, it was my mom’s gift that pushed me over.
The tears that I had been holding back all week, and especially that day, finally came rushing out and there was no stopping them. Before I knew it, I was crying those gasping for air tears that lead to me plugging up my ears from swallowing with everything stuffed up. I went into the kitchen where my mom was, and I hugged her. Then, as hard as I was already crying, I burst into even louder and hysterical cries. She kept telling me to calm down as I was going to wake up my dad. But, I couldn’t stop. So, she walked me back into the family room, and held me as I lost control of every bit of emotion that I had tried so hard to hold back that week. And, as the waterworks gushed out, my mom also cried. I hurt so much inside, and I didn’t even know why. I knew what was going on in my head, but I couldn’t understand which thing was making me hurt. Maybe it was everything. At that point, it didn’t matter, though. I was in pain and all that I could do was let it out.
Eventually, I was able to regain my composure. I sat there with my mom, and we talked a while, as I finally calmed down. The sadness was still there, but I had let the tears out, and it helped to release some of the pressure that had been building all week.
When my mom went to sleep that night, she held me extra long, as she gave me my goodnight hug. I stood strong, trying not to burst into tears again. I waited until I was alone, and then the tears once again began to flow. I was tired and I was ready to fall asleep.
As the days passed, the intensity of what I was feeling that night lifted a bit, but it still remains to a degree. I’m not trying to ignore it completely, but I am trying to push it aside as much as I can so that I can continue to function. Unfortunately, these more recent phone calls I’ve received in the last couple of nights have not been helping me.
My family member called me again last night. He was drinking and left me a message as always. It was short and to the point, and it pissed me off. It was bad enough that I was just about to sit down to eat my late dinner and now had it ruined. But, now, he was also essentially telling me to do something for him. Not asking… just telling me. I don’t know about you, but I ask when I need something. But, I guess I’m not worth that in his eyes… when he’s drunk, that is.
The task he wanted done was not difficult, but it was not easy either. It involved him dropping off a form in the morning that I needed to fill out for him. Again, I’m being told that I’m to fill out this form for him. Someone who can fill out his own damn forms. But, no, I’m being told to do it. That probably does not sound like a huge deal to most people, but for me it was anxiety inducing, because I had no idea how to even do what he was telling me. It is a form (and a complicated one from what I hear) in which I have zero experience. I wasn’t even sure why he tasked me – of all people – with it. He knows others who can help him, and who know what they’re doing. But, no! He puts it on me.
To make matters worse, I was to give my parents the details of this form and why he needed it. So, not only was I to fill out the form, but now I was also to deal with the stress and multiple questions that come with giving my parents the undesirable information that was related to the form. He said he would talk with them more about it in the morning, but that he wanted me to tell them first.
Why??? Why is it that I’m the one that he always pushes into these corners? Ever since I was a little kid, he has done this… both figurative and literally. I’m sick of it! He takes advantage of who I am. He knows I don’t speak up for myself. He knows that I’ve always just did what he said, as he was a father figure for me. He takes advantage of my personality and the relationship we have.
But, oh, this was not the end of it. I received a second voicemail from him last night. This one was of him in tears, almost begging me to do what he was telling me. Somehow, he went from this strong, but drunk, voice telling me what to do, to this voice of someone in despair. But, as what happens all of the time with this family member, his message made me feel sorry for him. I felt horrible. He sounded so alone, as he always does in the voicemails that he leaves me. I know that feeling. I know that pain. I didn’t want to think about what he’d feel if I had responded back saying that I wouldn’t do it. I wanted him to know that he’s loved and that people care about him. But, most importantly, I wanted him to know that he’s not alone. So, I sent him a text telling him I’d do the favor for him. I tried my best to just move on with my night and not focus on the coming task, but it kept looming over me.
Well, today came and he never brought the form. After all of that, he never brought it. I figured that he must have been so drunk that he didn’t even remember that he asked me. I felt more relaxed again, as I wasn’t worrying about it anymore. I was relieved, actually. But, that relief was short lived. I received another phone call and voicemail tonight.
He was drunk again. He said that he wasn’t able to make it by to bring the forms, but that he’ll be by tomorrow instead. However, now he’s going to bring two forms for me to fill out. Um… what??? Two? How did we get from being guilt-tripped into one form, and go straight to two forms? Forget the, “Hey, can you do this?” Nope! It’s just expected that I’ll do it. And, even worse, it’s at his convenience. Not mine… his!!! He left me waiting for a form that never arrived, and didn’t even bother telling me that he wasn’t going to bring it. Instead, he waits for the nighttime to tell me he’s bringing it the next day… along with another one! Once again, my stress and anxiety returned. I was furious, and since I once again ate a late dinner, my food was not going down well. It’s no wonder I get so many stomachaches now. I never used to be someone who came down with stomachaches often, but in recent months, they are paining me more often. It’s probably just related to my meds, but it can’t help to have this thrown on top of them.
So, not only am I angry at this family member, but I’m now also angry at myself. As I sat here thinking about all of this, I was trying to calm myself down. I just couldn’t take it, though. I walked into the kitchen and pulled out cake, pumpkin seeds and a bag of candy. I gave in, sat down, and ate away. I had one voice in my head saying, “Stop!” But, it wasn’t a match for the other one that was screaming, “Give me more!” I would have eaten much more, but the feeling of my stomach wanting to explode was enough for me to make myself finally stop.
It was then that my anger and disgust for myself set in. It was times like these in the past when I’d binge, and then head to the cabinet to get laxatives or prune juice, and let nature take its course. I would try to get it all out of me. However, we don’t have laxatives at the moment, and I’m too stuffed to drink prune juice. At this point, I know I will just vomit it up. As much as I would like to vomit what I ate back up, the thought of semi-digested prune juice in my nose, ears and mouth is something that I just can’t handle. Besides, as much as I hate myself right now, I couldn’t really care less about any weight I might have put on with that food.
Although it was my family member’s calls that triggered my binging, I don’t blame him. It’s my fault. I’m the one that chose to open that fridge and pull out that junk food. I’m the one that chose to eat until I felt physically exhausted and a bit ill. He didn’t force that food down my throat. That was all me.
However, with that said, I’m tired. I’m tired of him calling me when he’s drunk so that he can wail into the phone, and blast inappropriate songs into the receiver so that I can hear what I mean to him. I’m tired of only being worth his calls when he’s drunk and ready to curse about his life. I’m exhausted by his calls where he tells me how I may never see him again, so he just wanted to tell me that he loves me. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m drained, dammit!!!!
I don’t know when it happened, but it was somewhere after I turned thirteen years old. It was then that it all started. He was a grown man, but when he was drunk, he changed. He became Mr. Hyde. He saw me as someone who he wanted to force into submission, while he unloaded his problems on me. It didn’t matter that it was against my will. It didn’t matter that I was a little girl. It didn’t matter at all, because he was drunk. He’s not like this when he’s sober, only when drunk. But, that’s when it started. I was thirteen when I got the job that I still have to this day. My hours of service have always been his drinking hours.
My occupation? I’m his toilet, into which he takes an emotional dump whenever he pleases.