What do I do when mean text messages aren't enough?

The past four years in and out of therapy have taught me how to be very in touch with my emotions. Whether its sadness, guilt, or perhaps happiness, I’ve learned the importance of being aware of how I’m feeling at any given moment, because that is what leads me to use a certain behavior, whether it be healthy or not. And if I do go ahead and engage in those negative behaviors, whether they involve food, exercise, or something completely different, I can usually look back and pinpoint the emotion that I wanted to run from, that I simply needed to escape.

This ability can be a great thing. It has been helpful in order to understand what myself and others are going through in individual and group therapy. Of course, it also sometimes makes me the “Queen of the Over-share”. A few months ago, I somehow ended up telling a Starbucks barista that I was having a terrible day, and full disclosure, there may have been some tears involved. To some it may seem pathetic, but I did get a free coffee out of it, so I’m counting it as a win.

But, there is one emotion that continues to puzzle me. I rarely experience it, but when I do it stops me in my tracks and rapidly consumes me. I have friends and family who don’t quite know how to handle it, either. We can’t run from this force, even though it can turn our days from good to bad, it can cause us to isolate from loved ones, and it can leave us feeling exhausted and confused. This feeling, this agent that has so much power over us, is anger.

Earlier this year, someone I had become very close to hurt me.  It was the first time I had trusted another person with all my vulnerabilities, weaknesses, and fears, and then very quickly had all of that taken away from me. In a way, I am lucky that it took 24 years to experience this sort of pain, a testament to the amazing friends and family I have in my life. Sure, I have been hurt before; we’ve all been hurt, but for some reason this one hit me a little differently.   I think we all have times in our lives when we don’t feel whole, and when someone hurts us at these points it can really tear us apart if we’re not ready.

I certainly was not ready. The feelings accompanying this event were unfamiliar to me. My body was tense and shaky, and I felt almost an uncomfortable exhilaration. This certainly was not an exhilaration born out of happiness; it seemed to arise from chaos. I couldn’t stop thinking about the person who had hurt me, from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep, a sleep that was filled with tosses and turns. I was overflowing with rage and I felt like I had nowhere to place my feelings.

Unsurprisingly, my immediate reaction was to lash out at this person through a series of angry text messages. However, when it comes down to it, I’m not very good at being cutting. I just now looked at my phone screen filled with my most recent text messages, and five out of six include either a heart or a smiley face, and I’m not even in that spectacular of a mood today. So, you can see what direction I lean in when it comes to texting etiquette. And even if I had been masterfully cruel, nothing could take away what had happened, nothing was going to make that person apologize, and therefore my anger and pain remained.

For a couple of weeks, I thought I could handle the feeling. I went on with my life, trying as hard as I could to distract myself as I pushed the thoughts of that person out of my head. I stopped talking very much about the situation with friends and even in therapy, because I felt as if it had run its course. But when it came down to it, I was really pushing away an anger that kept building. Something had to be done with it, so I turned to old habits that had provided me comfort in the past.

I don’t think its necessary to describe in detail what I did to run and distract from the anger—that’s not the important thing when it comes down to it, because I believe we all have vices we turn to when we want to escape. What I will say is that when I was unable to successfully express myself to the person who had hurt me, I turned my anger towards my life’s easiest victim: me. I began to beat myself up, and suddenly it was as if I had done something wrong, as if I had done something to deserve the pain.

I remember expressing my frustration to my doctor, telling him that I felt there was no resolution to the situation, so what else was I supposed to do but hurt myself? He responded by saying that the only way to truly achieve resolution was to grow stronger myself, apart from this person, taking away the power that had been gained over me. It took some time, but with some support and encouragement I was able to do this. I started taking care of myself again, ensuring that both my mind and my body were in balance so that I could have the strength to face the situations thrown at me. I also started talking about my feelings again, being open about what had happened and how I was choosing to deal with it. I surrounded myself with the people that I trust and I care about. Sure, I’m still angry, and I’ll admit I have a pretty killer “mean Molly” speech planned out in my head for if I ever run into this person, but it’s also okay if I don’t use it. My life is okay without the revenge.

When it comes to anger, there are many different ways of dealing with it. Maybe it’s throwing rocks, punching a wall, or maybe it’s hiding in bed trying to wish the feelings away. Perhaps it’s confronting the person who hurt you, and while sometimes this is necessary and healthy, the way I chose to do it gave me nothing in return. I know that the next time anger enters my life it will probably rock me, and it will definitely feel uncomfortable, but I also know that I deserve to take care of myself while I ride out the feeling. I think that will get me through.

Peace and Love,

Molly

Patience...maybe it really is a virtue

Growing up, I was perhaps a bit of a geek. I remember the most exciting time of the year being those couple of weeks before school began. I mean, going to Staples to get new school supplies? It didn’t get much better than that. But I specifically recall spending a good part of those few weeks pacing in my jelly sandals around my mailbox, eagerly awaiting the letter that told me who would be my teacher for the upcoming year. And when it didn’t come, I would call the school and try to coax the crucial information out of those poor secretaries. I simply couldn’t wait.

Sure, this speaks to my unabashed enthusiasm for learning as a young one, but it also points to my greater unwillingness to wait. In fact, nothing bothered me more as a kid than hearing the phrase, “patience is a virtue,” something I was told a lot. Whether it was school starting or waiting to watch the latest episode of Kenan and Kel, I wanted things to happen immediately.

Now that I am older and living in one of the busiest cities in the world, patience has become a crucial part of my life.  I muster up my patience when waiting in line for coffee in the morning, and have to dig for even more when I arrive on the subway platform only to see the doors of my uptown E train closing before me. I certainly do not deal with all of these situations with grace—moving to New York City has allowed me to develop a certain frustrated scowl—but I do in fact deal with them.

The place where I struggle to be patient these days is in my recovery. I have been dealing with a eating disorder, depression, and anxiety for about four years, and every time I struggle I ask myself, “When is this going to end?” Usually there are certain choice four-letter words included in that phrase, but I am sparing the reader the details.  I’ve been through more than a couple of rounds of treatment, and after each stint I wonder if it will truly be the last or if I am being foolishly optimistic. I also sometimes wonder if I will have to deal with these issues for the rest of my life, and facing that idea truly scares me.

However, then I remember that phrase: “patience is a virtue.” Maybe it isn’t foolish optimism to think that there is a light at the end of the tunnel; maybe it is simply patience. I did not ask for these issues to enter my life. But no one asks for struggle and seemingly everyone receives it—in the form of loss of loved ones, abuse, illness…the list goes on.

These issues take a great deal away from us. For me, the past few years often seem like a blur. And the reality is that factors that cause us this much struggle cannot be solved in a day. Overcoming any battle takes hard work and perseverance.   I would love to wake up tomorrow and find that I no longer have distorted thoughts about my body, and that emotions such as loneliness and sadness no longer give me an overwhelming urge to numb myself with negative behaviors, but this is simply not the reality.

However, something in my gut tells me to hang on to my optimism. Even in the most difficult times, a small part of me knows that things will get better. I think I have the ability to hang on to that idea because recovery, though it still brings about a daily struggle, in many ways has already made my life better. If I look back at where I was when I was 20 as compared to where I am now verging on 25, I cannot deny the fact that things are different. In those days, my thoughts were so consumed with my body and I was so exhausted from mistreating myself that I couldn’t sustain healthy relationships. I was too exhausted to connect to and give back to others. Today, though I still struggle with isolation and loneliness, I can connect with those around me, speaking openly and honestly. I can go to work at a nonprofit, where I have regained that passion for giving back.  I can go out to dinner with friends without anxiety. I even have many moments where I accept and appreciate my body. Finally, I can laugh and really mean it—I am not masking some inherent sadness.

Recovery takes time, and in the time there is difficulty but also in that time there is more than a little bit of beauty. I find much of that beauty in the relationships that I have formed in treatment centers and beyond, relationships built out of honesty and understanding, that truly fill me with love and appreciation. I also find beauty in the strengthening of my relationships that formed before my struggles. There is a freedom in not having to lie and avoid. Since I started writing this blog, I have been overwhelmed with the amount of support I have received from people from all parts of my life, some people who I haven’t connected with in years. What a beautiful experience.

This past weekend, I found myself struggling, and in picking myself back up from that struggle I learned many lessons in patience. I had to be patient and gentle with myself, combating the initial frustration at the fact that I am not fully recovered. I also had to be patient with myself in accepting the fact that I am not yet ready to get through this alone. I was fortunate enough to have my amazing sister there for me when I could not fully be there for myself. She distracted me, made me laugh, and proved to me that as long as I keep fighting, the people in my life will be patient with me. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have even been at the point of being able to reach out to her, but look at where patience and perseverance have gotten me today.

Sure, it would be nice if everything were perfect right now. I would love to have fully repaired relationships, to never look at myself critically in the mirror, and I would definitely love if those subway doors stayed open a few seconds longer so that I could hop on the train. But that is not life, and I am trying to accept that, though I can’t promise I won’t always wipe away that New York scowl on my face.