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About this blog

Hi, I'm Poppy! Welcome to my unedited life. 

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Poppy_

I'm Not Sharing My Pizza

This post has some strong references to ED behaviors. Please don't read ahead if you are not in the mind to do to.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock.

I stared at this blank page for HOURS last night trying to decide how to start this blog and honestly debating on if I even wanted to post it. Time was fleeting, and I was struggling. It seemed as though all of my efforts to try to collect my thoughts were in vain because simply put – this is hard to write about.

I tried to find another topic to write about today – I really did. But there was nothing going on that was worthy and being written down and this has been pressing on the forefront of my mind the past several days. I guess that’s my mind’s way of saying it’s time to deal with this and get it out in the open. It’s a funny little thing called emotional abuse.

I know I spoke about emotional abuse in my last blog, but I didn’t really delve into everything that goes on in my household that constitutes as emotional abuse. I talked about how I have dealt with emotional abuse from my mother, but not so much what came from my father. My mother had more of an emotional neglect sort of abuse. My father… well, I’ll tell you about his.

I’d like to say I’m very resilient and that words don’t affect me, but I’d be lying. Words hurt me more than physical abuse ever has. It has taken me a very long time to call this emotional abuse. My T has tried to explain emotional abuse to me several times, but I always deny that that is, indeed, what this is. I guess part of me bringing this up this week is because I’m finally admitting to myself what this is.

I’ve always had a fear of talking about this – especially here. It’s hard to look at my situation and believe it has the same damaging effects as some of the trauma that people here have gone through. I was told growing up that I wasn’t allowed to be sad or upset because my biological parents are married. Because for some reason, that meant my life was perfect. So how could I possibly call this abuse when my life was so perfect all the time???

I developed an eating disorder when I was 15 years old. I was formally diagnosed with bulimia when I was 19. Part of me wants to blame this on my father, but part of me knows that he may not be the sole cause for my eating disorder. I know that I have other issues that factor into this, but I can’t help but think he planted a seed somewhere along the way.

My mother and father both exercise regularly and eat healthy. I don’t. Not as consistently as they do. So, for that, there’s always a bit of shame around me for being heavier than them and for eating more fast food than they do. And any time I eat out, I get an ear full about it. About how I need to stop doing it because I’m wasting money mostly, but there’s also the underlying reason of ‘because you’re fat’. My dad wasn’t always the fit man he is now though. My dad was a lot heavier at one point in his life. One day he buckled down to lose weight, and he did. And ever since then, it’s been a lecture to me about being fit. But not only does he “encourage” (I use that term loosely) me to live a healthier lifestyle, he also makes unnecessary comments that drive me to a state of starvation and purging.

One of my favorites is when I’ve not eaten all day and it’s 4 o’clock on the afternoon. I wander into the kitchen looking for some sort of sack or meal and I get welcomed with a, “Hey, little piggy. Coming to belly up to the trough?” To which I respond with a polite ‘no,’ and walk away hungry. He uses that one a lot. There was a time not too long ago that I had dropped a lot of weight. It was the smallest I had been in YEARS. But I was hardly eating. I was on an exercise program, but I was never hungry and furthermore, I wanted to be small. It was easier to not eat. So I would come in from a workout and grab something small so my parents would see me eating. But then it became, “Are you just eating that now so you can go eat in your closet later?” followed by an eruption of laughter from both him, and my mother. That comment lead into several jokes about eating in secret and purging. They thought it was hilarious. They had no idea that I was already hardly ever keeping any food down.

There are more, but I’m sure you get the idea. Anything about food results in me being called fat in some way, shape, or form, or it leads to a string of jokes about bulimia. I can’t eat a proper meal without being judged. But my father gets mad if I talk about being nervous to eat in front of people. How does he not know that HE instilled this fear in me?

The other half of his “jokes” aren’t any better. They’re more about how I also wasn’t the smart kid. His favorite line used to be “you’re a fat, stupid, loser,” but he hasn’t said that one in a while. Sometimes he just calls me ‘stupid.’ There was one day I was laying in bed, had just woken up but had my bedroom door open. He walked into my bedroom called me a ‘piece of garbage’ and walked away. All I did was exist. I hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet.

While I realize these are all minor instances, when it goes on for years, it’s hard to “brush it off” and move on. To know that my dad feels so ashamed of me for being overweight and to know he thinks so little of my self-worth that he could actually tell me I would never amount to anything, hurts. I was never physically abused by my father. He’s never laid a hand on me. But his words have hurt me.

So, in closing, I guess I should say that I don’t forgive him. Not yet. I’m still trying to fix the pieces of what HE messed up. The parts of me that he shattered with his words and his shame. I am trying to learn that I’m still valuable in some way or that I have some worth and hopefully one of these days, I will see that. Until then, I’m going to eat my pizza, and I’m not sharing.

Hope you’re all doing well and thank you for taking the time to read. Hopefully next week I’ll have something a bit more exciting to write about!

Sending happy thoughts,
Poppy

Poppy_

"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday dear MOTHER, Happy Birthday to you." 

Ah, it's mother's birth-month again. August, for me, has this kind of... 'haze' around it. It's a full month of my dad saying, "your mom's birthday is coming up," or "your mom just had a birthday," or on the day of, "it's your mom's birthday, she shouldn't have to do this." 

I GET IT. 

She's the queen of the universe and the world falls down at her feet. She can do no wrong and deserves everything even when she gives nothing. She's perfect and all that. I get it. But can we talk about how much sense that doesn't make? Because I'm sure I can't be the only one to see how unconventional this is. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'you reap what you sow' or even 'what goes around comes around' or how about just plain old KARMA? 

A lot of people here know that I have issues with my mother. I love her to death, don't get me wrong, I mean, she IS my mom. But her being a mother and me loving her doesn't mean that she does everything right. I sometimes think that my love for her is more of a requirement - if that makes sense. Like, I have to love her because she's my mom? That sounds shallow but it's the truth. 

You know, emotional abuse is a funny thing. You can't see it, it leaves no physical marks, but it's so damaging. I'll be honest and say that this is the first time I've admitted to calling it 'emotional abuse.' The word 'abuse,' to me, has always meant something violent and severe. I was taught my whole life that I was too sensitive and over dramatic about everything under the sun. So I always thought that the way I was treated was normal and I was overreacting by saying it upset me or just being unhappy about my life. In my adult life, I've come to realize just how dysfunctional my family really was. With the help of my T, I've realized that my home houses a lot more emotional abuse than it does a family. 

Of course, there was a period of time where my parents had split up, and that is what triggered the alcohol abuse for my mom. As an adult, I can see how much pain she was in, but as a scared 11 year old girl, I had no idea. I didn't understand why she had to bring home those stupid brown paper sacks that meant I wouldn't be getting any sleep because I had to protect my sisters and keep them from being scared. I didn't understand why mom would get so angry and turn the music up so loud. I couldn't possibly understand what she was gaining by hitting us because she had too much to drink. Even as an adult, I don't understand it. My adult mind can't grasp the concept of hurting a child. 

I do not have my own kids yet, but I do have a niece and I know that no matter how old she gets, I could NEVER lay a hand on her. I could never do that. I love her too much. So how a mother can do that to her own kids? I'll never understand. I know the alcohol played some part in that, but I've been drunk and I still don't see how alcohol makes it okay to hurt a child. I may have been close to being a teen, and my older sister WAS a teen, but that's no excuse for my mother to connect her fist to my sister's face. 

So, I guess that's more the physical abuse aspect of my childhood. But, it goes hand in hand with the emotional abuse. 

My mother was too busy drinking to do any of the normal 'mom' stuff. I didn't get hugs or 'I love yous' before bed. I didn't get a 'be safe' when I left for school. My mom was usually sleeping off the previous night's binge when I left for school. But you see, my mother was careful to make sure she looked like an A+ mom. She came to all of my volleyball games, all of my band concerts, and all of my sister's choir concerts. She showed up. So I will give her credit for that. But to me, all I wanted was to feel like she loved me. I just wanted her to hug me or to tell me she loved me. I wanted her to care enough to memorize the clothes on my back when I left for school just in case something happened. For once, I wanted her to act like my feelings mattered and not teach me to push them down until they dissipate. 

I was 11 years old the fist time I intentionally hurt myself. My mom was angry. I was 13 when she found out I was doing it again. She was mad again. I was 16 the next time she saw the cuts on my thighs. This time was different though. She didn't understand it so I pleaded with her a cried and told her how sad I was. This time, she said I was doing it for attention. I asked if I could try therapy and she told me no. She told me no to getting help with a problem that she didn't understand and told me she couldn't help me with. That, to me, also didn't make any sense. If she couldn't help me, why couldn't I seek professional help? I was trying to get better. 

To this day, I am laughed at and mocked for having emotions. I am taught not to cry when I feel like everything is falling apart. I have to be the same statue that she is, otherwise I am a disappointment and an embarrassment.  

So being that her birthday was yesterday, I've had some tough decisions to make. First let me say that I don't care who you are or how old you are, EVERYONE likes to feel important on their birthday. Everyone wants their social media to blow up with birthday wishes and everyone wants to blow out every candle on the cake. 

My birthday was less than 6 months ago. My mom had told me that when my dad got back in town, they would take me to celebrate. On the day of my birthday, I received a text from my father, my mother said the words "happy birthday" to me, and I got to FaceTime with my niece. That was it. Dad came back to town, but there were no celebrations. No dinner, no gifts, no cake. And that hurt me because they KNOW how much I love my birthday and they told me we would be doing something and we just never did. I'm fine with it now. 

What I am not fine with is the fact that this woman who has NEVER been what I needed her to be, who never did anything for my birthday, now wants me to hand her the world on a silver fucking platter. She expects gifts and cards and dinners. But what about me? Am I being too petty? She is leaving in two months to go to Hawaii for her birthday/anniversary gift from my dad. So I don't think she needs much more than that. 

I've had a couple of people tell me that it's my decision what I do and that I should only do what I feel comfortable doing for her. I've had other people roll their eyes at me when I say I'm not doing anything because I'm being too childish. 

Well, here's the deal. I'm going to do SOMETHING because if I don't, the guilt will eat me alive. Regardless of if I want to or not, I have to do something. It won't be big, nor should it be because again, you reap what you sow. I'm sure my father will do something for her when he gets back in town. I think from me, a nice Facebook post and some flowers will suffice. I always plan some elaborate thing with my sisters for Mother's Day and for her birthday, but I'm not doing it this year, and that will just have to be okay. 

So I hope she has the best birthday ever and blows out every candle on her damn birthday cake. I'll be waiting for my turn with the candles next year. Until then, I'm going to feel how I want to feel about her and her birthday. And at her party, I'll cry if I want to. 

Until next time, 
Poppy

Poppy_

I've done this blogging thing before. Actually, I suppose I should say, I've "attempted" this blogging thing before. That was a very short lived experience. I expected to be one of those bloggers with the really cool life and fun stories to follow, but I really set the tone of that blog with my first (and only) post, and it was a big, fat, FAIL. I was taking myself WAY too seriously.

To be fair, my life really isn't all that exciting and I'm not too adventurous.. so maybe I'm setting my expectations a little high here. But surely, SOMETHING I say will be worth reading? I feel like maybe the things I find mundane in my life will be of some sort of amusement to someone else. Or maybe not and this is just going to be pages of my blabbering on about irrelevant and insignificant details that not only make me roll my eyes, but they'll make you roll yours too! And maybe that's the point. I'm really not a writer and I'm not entirely sure what I'm even going to say here. I know what you're thinking because I'm thinking the same thing - why would I start a blog if I'm not a writer and have no idea what to talk about? The truth is, I don't know. I have no valid answer to that question. But maybe this will be...fun? 

While I'm not pouring out my entire life story right here, right now, I don't intend to hold back. I don't intend to hide the good parts or the bad parts. Because both the good parts and the bad parts are of equal significance in my life. Again, I'm not going into detail at this moment, so you'll have to stick around if you're waiting for the frosting on the cake! 

So.. um.. what else am I supposed to say in an introduction? I guess this is where I insert those aforementioned irrelevant and insignificant details. Well.. maybe not so much irrelevant if you want to know me, but maybe not the most exciting thing you'll ever hear from me. 

I could say something along the lines of 'I enjoy romance novels and long walks on the beach', but I think that's a little bit too cliché for my taste. I'm more of an 'ice cream and Netflix' type of girl. Yes, I said ice cream and I know you want some now and you're upset that I'm going to continue my ice cream discussion so I can talk about my favorite flavors. If your cravings are too intense right now, you may want to skip to the next section. As far as my favorite brand is concerned, I'm a fan of Ben & Jerry's. I mean, any ice cream lover knows that the more mix-ins there are, the better. And let's face it, Ben & Jerry's takes mix-ins to the next level! I will say that I have not been brave enough to venture off to ALL of the flavors (I mean, come on, PHISH FOOD? That can't be good), but I did try a new one two nights ago and it was DELISH. Yes, delish is a word in my dictionary and I use it often. It's fun - you should try it. Anyway, back to my story. The new one I tried was Chocolate Fudge Brownie and oh my chocolate, it was good! It MAY have surpassed The Tonight Dough on my list of favorites! If you're not one for chocolate though, I would recommend trying the Strawberry Cheesecake. It has graham cracker swirled in it for some extra texture and it's very pleasing to the taste buds. It's also at the top of the list. 

Okay, I'll get off the ice cream rave now. I just really like it, okay? Now, I know the next thing you're wondering is WHAT I watch on Netflix while I eat the ice cream. To be honest, it depends on my mood. Do I watch Derek and Meredith quarrel over who loves who more, or do I watch Mike and Eleven discover love while fighting the Demogorgons?  It's really a toss up. For the nights where I need background noise or a little laughter, I re-watch the good shows. Good shows being Friends or The Office. Yes, you can applaud me for having good taste. Oh, and don't think I forgot about Olivia Benson and her hot crime fighting skills. Yes, I have a HUGE girl crush on Olivia. She's the real deal. I also have Hulu so I can stay caught up on said shows and I have HBO. Funny story about HBO! I originally started paying for it so I could watch Game of Thrones. Have I sparked any interest yet? I made it through about 6 episodes but I never got into it because I do not understand the story line. What the heck is even happening? And what brother has THAT kind of relationship with his sister? It's weird. I don't even know the characters' names! It was way too confusing for me. I'll take the cliff notes version, please. But seriously, I applaud those of you that watch it because I can't even follow that.

Anyway, these are just a few ramblings from the inside of my brain that have no significance to life, but are fun to talk about. Next week's topic may be about who has the best fries (yes, it's a competition and no, all fries are NOT the same.) and what social media apps I use the most. Or quite possibly something different seeing as that doesn't sound very entertaining in the slightest. I realize I could've gone on and told you about my family, and pets, and hidden dreams that I want to achieve, but I like to leave a little mystery. Besides, if I told you everything now, I would have nothing to talk about in future posts and I'm sure instead of reading words, you would be reading 'blah, blah, bl...og' HENCE, the name here. These are just unedited ramblings of my life. Little bits of nonsense sprinkled with gossip and heartache because this is life. 

I hope you've somewhat enjoyed the vocal proceedings of yours truly. Thank you to everyone that has read this far! I'm really excited about this second chance I'm getting here. I look forward to writing again soon! 

Sending happy thoughts,

Poppy

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