Back To The Basics

The other night, I sat in my sociology class and it almost felt as if I was in therapy. What was being said was processing through my mind and layed out my bad habits in a vicous cycle before my eyes. On my drive home, I just could not shake the thoughts. I turned up my radio and tried to drown out my thoughts by singing along, but I just continued to think about my life. The class focused on family, and how what happens to anyone in your family, directly effects you. It theorized that all disorders are usually a cover-up or way to express your feelings. At first, I commented on the side of we all can make are own decicions and our family background does not have to have an effect on us. As the class went on, I realized that I could be a poster child for the theory itself.
As a child, my parents divorced. My mother worked hard going to college, working several jobs and trying to keep us afloat. I was the second child and was not always heard over my louder big sister. I began to find a way to be heard, anger. I yelled, threw tantrums, threw objects and eventually chased people with bats and knives. Somewhere along the line, I realized that my anger had to be contolled and I had to find a way out. I began to write. I didn't start off right, but I eventually grew into my writing and poured my heart and soul onto paper. At one point, my mother suggested sharing my writtings with my father, who I was desperatly trying to connect with, because he also liked to write. I found the courage to do so and he tore apart my writings. He basically told me what I was feeling was wrong and my writings, my heart and soul, were silly. I was crushed. I never wrote again, not in that manner. My anger at life had to be redirected onto another path. That is when I turned to sex, drugs and alcohol. All through highschool and through most of my Army days, I was drinking, smoking tobacco and pot, and well, getting around. I eventually met someone who taught me to love the world and life. He helped me feel I didn't deserve what I was doing to myself. At this point I was leaving the Army and heading back to everything I was trying to ignore, my life. I was lonley and didn't know what to do. Slowly, I turned to food. I hid behind food.
My life was never that bad. I had family that loved me. I just never got a grasp on who I was, and when I did, others would shut me down or I'd feel ashamed of letting anyone see it. At this point, I still had minor anger issues, still smoked tobacco, and now I was eating and gaining weight fast. In the past 8 years, I have slowly found my voice. Recently, I was so intuned and proud of who I was that I began to lose weight, stop smoking and reconnecting with people that I had lost touch with. I began to live life for me and my husband. But it all came crassing down with just a little bit of stress, and feeling of worthlessness. I gained back weight, starting smoking more then I ever have, and began hiding again. I knew this was not what I wanted, but I didn't know how to get out of it. Then this class gave me an idea. A possible reasoning behind my behaviors. A chance to become a human-doing again instead of a human-being.
Looking at everything I used to express myself, I found one positive outlet, my writing. I have often thought of writing again, but have always been to afraid to put my heart and soul in black and white again. Even as I write this, I read and reread after every thought, worried that I may sound odd. I am determined to put it all aside, and write as often as I can. So here's to many more entries in my blog. Here's to grasping onto who I am and who I want to be.