the war of heart and mind

Sometimes I wonder if the feeling I am experiencing has a word to describe it. It has to...yet there is nothing I know of to explain accurately the way I feel. Its the feeling when you are searching for a word and you know that you know the word...you just can't place it. So often I feel like my heart knows the word but has no capacity to expound on it. Its familiar. Its like a blanket that covers me when its 98 degrees outside. It makes it hard to breath, hard to concentrate, hard to experience life. I am awake and I am feeling and I want it to stop.

Acceptance. It sounds simple enough. I mean if something is true there really is no point in pretending its not. Something is or it is not. End of story. Or so I thought. I have actually found that I am the queen of denial...however I am often times even in denial about being in denial. My heart and my mind are so separated. I can know something as truth in my logistical structured thoughts...and yet deeply believe at the core of who I am that it is completely false in my heart. It doesn't seem possible...it really doesn't. I wish I could explain it to you but that in and of itself would make me uncomfortable because I would have to logically make a decision...which will pull at my emotions which convince my brain that whatever it has decided is a really bad suggestion to rely upon because my heart can't fathom life that way. So my heart tells my mind that what happened didn't happen and for a moment there is peace. For a moment I am content to know that all is well and nothing bad happened...it only happened in a world that seems disconnected and out of reach...a mere figment of my imagination. Its quite confusing. The worlds start to collide and you don't know truth from imagination...you can't tell your heart how to feel because you don't know what to believe. You can drive yourself crazy.

I have been challenged by those walking beside me to listen to the truth my body is communicating, even in moments when its unaware of what we are trying to "figure out." Especially when its unaware of the logistical battle going on in my head. Something happens and my body responds. Loud noise. Over bearing man. People screaming... it all sparks something within me that I am suddenly unable to silence. My eyes see past the present moment and stare into a picture of the past...unaware that the past is actually not the present. It feels quite similar to the war of my mind and heart. Two contradicting situations, reality and past, stand before me and I am challenged to pick which on is truth...and they both are equally real to me. I feel crazy. I feel like I am losing my mind and am dabbling in pain that should always be left where it currently stands...in the past. When you are 3 years old how do you know what is real and what is a dream...how do you know if you are 27? When you see two pictures before you how do you decide which on is right? Everything sounds and seems obvious until the tide has pulled you under and you don't know which way is up. They say when you are pulled under by the waves you shouldn't panic and frantically choose a direction. You should allow it to take you to the bottom so that you can get out of it and then swim back to the top. Ride it out and let the ground be your base of reality. It sounds easy enough, but when you are sucked under out of your control the natural response is to panic and fight...the problem is that fighting will rob you of the strength you need to swim back to the top.

So I know I have to stop fighting the never ending war between my heart and my mind. The best vantage point is never in the middle of the fight. There comes a point when evidence determines a verdict. The heart no longer has a say in what it wants to be truth...because truth remains, unwavering. To fight it is to place yourself in the midst of the undertow where you must wait it out, then hit the bottom, which is the truth you knew in the first place.

I guess I never expected the truth to arise such a brokenness within me. How could I have spoken the "truth" as a possibility for so long and feel so little...and then I see it as reality and it wrecks havoc on my heart. Nothing has changed...except my heart. I feel like I am standing in rags in front of a huge broken mirror...looking into a reflection with so many pieces missing. I see an eye here and an arm there and I see enough to know its me. Maybe not the me I am used to seeing...but when I look into that little girls eyes I see the memories only I could remember. I touch my hand to my face and she does the same. Believe me she pleads. Please don't make me stay here alone any longer.

Piles of Sand

It's been a rough couple of weeks. Adjusting back to Nashville after a week in California with my family has proven to be a difficult task...and has been a constant reminder that life doesn't always turn out the way we think it will. As children we are told stories of adventure and love. The prince comes swiftly on his white horse to rescue us from the evil that impedes our magical lives. We are drawn towards the happy endings and joyful celebrations that the bad has gone, and the good has come. And as a believer I know that one day that eluding novelty will become a reality. Jesus will return and Satan will be silenced and heaven will reign on earth. However, until then, we remain in a fight that doesn't always give us the ending we were raised to expect.

I was watching the biggest loser this weekend, which may not be the most helpful show right now, I know. But the episode I was watching was one in which they had a challenge to dig through these piles of sand to find a big brass ring that had been buried. Once someone found the first ring the other people had to go start over on a brand new pile. It's just sand, right? How difficult could it be? Oh my gosh, it looked awful. The absolute worst part of it though was when someone found the buried ring and everyone else had to go and start all over on a brand new pile. I realized that most of the time that is exactly how I feel. I feel like I am sitting on top of this huge mound of sand and buried beneath me is years and years of baggage. Failures, losses, heart ache and every other deep emotion has been bubbling beneath the surface for years now, only being suppressed by this eating disorder.

I bury that which I want to hide, protect, or pretend doesn't exist...and sometimes something fits into all those categories at one time. So, when asked to begin digging for these buried "treasures" in the heat of day without the shovel you have used for all these years..is daunting to say the least. So I started digging. At first not having the heavy shovel was freeing...its weight wasn't holding me down. However, my hands got hot and the sand was burning and the smell of death was all consuming. That shovel would surly come in handy at this moment, right? I mean I don't even have to use it to bury things once again, I just want to use it to deal with the pain of the moment...after all, I wanted to hide it for a reason. It didn't take long to find these items under pounds of sand. I shamefully dusted them off and tried to avoid all eye contact...dreading all the more the things I knew were still buried underneath. I didn't expect the pain to be so intense. I didn't foresee that something so old and so worn could possibly evoke so much within me. Its over. Its not happening any more. End of story. Right? For all intensive purposes the size of my pile of sand could easily be put into different mounds to look through. But after I pulled that first thing out I wiped my sweat and kept digging. Sometimes things came faster. I would find pieces that fit into a puzzle all buried together, a foot or two apart. I was stunned. Though I knew of many of the pieces the ones that I didn't know struck me hard. How can you bury something you don't remember? I didn't want to keep digging. I was tired and hot and worn out...and emotionally overwhelmed. But things will no longer stay below the surface. The bubbling will erupt and spill over and will ooze of things rotting below. So what do you do? Get back out the shovel and start piling the sand on top, hoping the bubbling will suppress what its containing below? Or in your exhaustion do you keep digging with your burned hands and feet, chancing that you the next thing you find could have the potential to destroy you? Uncovering things you never knew were buried to begin with is terrifing. There is enough that I do know about...I don't want to know anymore. Those are the why moments for me. Why now? If I have forgotten it why do I really ever need to remember. How do I know I'm not making it up? How do I believe I'm not totally crazy? How do I keep searching?

I am exhausted. I am tired of finding things below the surface that I didn't know about. I am tired of the constant heat and pain and work...and I feel guilty for some days desiring to go back. I guess the motivation I use to keep going is the understanding that the things buried beneath me aren't going to go away. At some point the bubbling ooze will reach the surface level and the only way to keep it down will be to get further and further into my disorder...until I die. Because it will kill me. It will kill you. Its not a beauty pageant offering a prize to the thinnest contestant. It lures you in, steals your voice, and takes away your life...while simultaneously convincing you that you will die without it. And eating disorder is hell. The pain of a buried past won't remain silent. It can't be contained by suppression...because it has shaped you and will continue fighting to be acknowledged so it can be healed. I have been digging for far too long to go back. I have uncovered more then I ever expected, and I know I have a long way to go. But if I give up now it would all have been for nothing.

If I told you I was super motivated I would be lying. More than anything I want to just tell everyone that I have reached the bottom of my pile of sand and have made what was buried shiny and new. I want people to be able to see a difference in me...in my life. I want to be somewhere I'm not as I pretend to be someone I am not...but not at the cost of going back to a life that really gives me no life at all. People ask me why I keep going...ask me what is "making" me do it. The only answer I have is that there must be more than this...and there is only one way to find out. So, in pure exhaustion, with no pride left, I keep digging...

Traffic

There are days when my predictability even surprises me. I was driving to work a week or two ago and I hit 5 o’clock traffic in my normal Bethany fashion, I start trying to find a shortcut. The thing is that I have been in that same exact spot on Hillsboro Road so many times and every single time I do the same thing. I exit 440 onto Hillsboro and I get into the left lane, because the right lane is always backed with merging traffic. I then proceed to the first light where the traffic begins. I hate traffic. I hate sitting still when I know I could be moving. I hate thinking about being late and thinking about not being able to get to where I need to be in the right amount of time. I start to feel trapped, stuck. SO, every time, I think it’s a good idea to turn left. EVERY TIME. But here is the problem. I don’t know my way around those back roads on the left. If I were to turn right at the light, I would have no problem. I know my way around those roads easily. So why do I do it? Because in all reality, in the end it will take me more time to try to navigate my way through the back roads then it would to stay in the traffic. But I hate holding still. I know by exploring I am bound to make a wrong turn and end up lost. I know it. I also know I will in the end find my way back to Hillsboro not all that much further than I was when I start the whole adventure.

So as I was once again doing this on my way to work today I started to think about how this parallels so much in my life. You see every single time I take that left turn I really think that this will be the time that it IS shorter and I WILL figure out a new short cut. I really do. And yet, as evidenced by today, I end up back on Hillsboro 10 minutes later having progressed maybe a half a mile. It’s crazy.

The first thing I feel like this shows me is my inability to withstand feeling trapped and out of control. I am always amazed by the people who just sit still, NOT trying to find an alternate route. If I could communicate with them I would probably encourage them to follow me! ANYTHING has to be better than just chancing your luck and ridding out the path in front of you. But is that really true? Perhaps there are times in the world of driving and directions that we find a short cut. But in real life situations the outcome is actually quite similar to my experience today. I am distracted by my MOVEMENT and therefore I am mistaking movement for progression. I get uncomfortable by the discomfort in life. Let’s be serious, life hands out a lot of cards that are awful. Kid’s get cancer. Family members die. Jobs are lost. Natural disasters destroy years of memories in a moment. Bodies are abused. Life hurts and so often I think my answer is finding my own way out…instead of going through the painful event and getting to the other side. I am a “flight risk” as my friend Nikki would say. I get stressed out and take off. I don’t ask for directions or think through my decisions…I want out and I want out now. I can’t tell you how many additional years I have spent in this eating disorder all because I couldn’t withstand facing the pain of my past and my current situation. When faced with traffic most people turn on the radio, listen to their ipod, talk on their phone etc. Distress tolerance skills at their best…man I have been in way too much therapy. : ). I run. It doesn’t even occur to me that I don’t know my way through the side streets of my life. I actually don’t think through much at all in that moment. I see traffic, I know I want out, and I make my first possible turn. Now I am off the direct known path and I am all by myself…recipe for disaster.

The second thing that I found interesting today as I was lost on side streets was that it never occurs to me to get into the right lane and turn right. Isn’t that weird? I think so. I am sure Tiffany would love to psychoanalyze that…but I just find that so interesting. I don’t know what it is that stops me from waiting long enough to switch lanes and turn right. I know those roads only because I have driven them with other people so many times, and they have shown me the way. What is it about independence and self sufficiency that is so captivating, so alluring? I don’t know if it’s the stress of trying to change lanes when people are already trying to merge into that lane or if it’s the impulsivity of the moment…but it’s over and decided upon so quickly that I don’t even have time to think it through. How often do I turn away from the pathway that is being shown to me in order to do what feels like a quick fix?

It’s the “what if” questions that over take all rational thought and overwhelm me. “What if I get stuck in the pain and it lasts forever?” (What if I get stuck in the traffic and never make it to my destination?) “What if I look through things and find more pain and more loss?” (What if the traffic only gets worse ahead?) “What if everyone else see’s the real me and they run away and leave me totally alone.” (What if I am late to work and lose my job and have no way to provide for myself and no one wants me.) “What if…..” It’s crazy. I can rationally see and know that…and yet in the moment, I panic. SO, what do I do with all this wonderful insight? I don’t really know what to do…except to try something different. I face the “traffic” in front of me and consciously make myself do something different. It is the definition of insanity at its finest. I do the same thing over and over again expecting different results…and get frustrated when I am lost and then found only to find I am no further than when I started. It’s amazing how we play out big situations in our lives in smaller scales that reflect the core of what we struggle with. It’s not about the food. It’s not about the size of my jeans. It’s about feeling out of control and being blocked from what I feel is vital to “live.” Interesting…