If there's one thing about me, it's that I'm terrible at making decisions. I don't think that this is particularly uncommon - especially for people with eating disorders - but I'm a bit of a perfectionist, and I have a tendency to fixate on details, no matter how insignificant they might seem to others. In all aspects of my life, I struggle with wanting to constantly refine things.
And so, I've put off committing to tattoos, despite wanting them for as long as I can remember. Even when I know exactly what I want, I worry that it won't be perfect. And I have to be able to accept that part of it is out of my control. But I see how my body looks as a reflection of who I Am, and it feels like a big risk to allow an outside force to influence that.
But this, this was an easy decision. Several ideas for a memorial tattoo had come and gone over the past couple of years, but in the end, this was a simple but meaningful design for my first tattoo. I was nervous that they mightn't get it perfectly right. But I figured that the simplicity would give me the highest chance of satisfaction, and my want for a memorial on my skin overthrew the worry of imperfection. I had to throw caution to the wind.
One of the few samples of my mum's handwriting, harvested from a card from my 7th birthday, buried in a box amongst a pile of old paperwork that should've been shredded long ago, crinkled and water damaged, unearthed as I went through the lengthy process of organizing and packing up her house after she passed. As soon as I found it, I knew. I put the card straight in to a zip-lock bag, hoping to protect it from any further damage from the flooded environment, and carpets slowly fermenting mold beneath the surface. There was nothing to refine, or perfect. I didn't have to stress over the proportions of a cancer ribbon, the font of a date or text, or the minutiae of a specific design. Just where on my body to put it - not somewhere it'd be visible to the world 24/7, but also not hidden to the point that it'd be difficult to view.
I've had the tattoo for six months now, and I'm still in love with it. Mum is never far from my mind, and the rollercoaster of grief continues, even two and a half years later. Along with her necklace, originally a gift to her from my dad, older than I am. She never took it off, and neither have I.
On the day she passed, we already had what clothes she wanted for the funeral, folded neatly, sitting on the desk of the hospital room - even her favourite comfy shoes. It seems so morbid, but she knew what she wanted. We knew that the funeral home would take care of her jewlery, etc.. But this necklace was so important to her, it's hard to put in to words. Although I never thought to ask her specifically, I think it may have even been more important than her wedding ring. It was her comfort, her never-ending link to my dad, especially after he passed. Before we left, after sitting with her for hours, I carefully unclasped her necklace, and put it straight around my own neck. Things like her earrings, or her wedding ring, were not of such large importance. But her necklace was the one thing that we were unwilling to trust to the funeral home.
But now, with her handwriting inked into my arm, I will always have that physical link to her. My tattoo, and her necklace, are just some of the small ways that I keep her with me. No matter where life takes me, no matter where I am - she'll always be close to my heart.
For the past few months, I've been running on about 4 hours of sleep most nights. About once a week, I will sleep a more normal amount, usually after I've had a few drinks. My GP put me on prazosin, which is supposed to help with the C-PTSD nightmares, but so far it hasn't helped. It just tanks my blood pressure (the last time I checked it overnight, it went from 109/69 sitting, to 56/43 standing), and as such, she is hesitant to raise the dose any further.
When I do sleep full nights, I wake up every 1-2 hours with horrible nightmares. They've been so much worse this year - vivid and constant. I push myself to stay awake for up to an hour each time, until I calm back down and feel 'safe' to go back to sleep. It feels like, if I go straight back to sleep, the nightmares will just pick up where they left off. But if I stay awake for as long as I can, completely exhausting myself, and only fall asleep when I physically cannot stay awake any longer, and only sleep for the bare minimum, it's like I'm too tired to have any dreams, let alone nightmares. So, while it is not ideal, at the moment it's the best I can do. But I admit, it is wearing me down.
My psych asked a few weeks ago if I think we should start on trauma work, but honestly, I don't know if I'll ever be ready to. I've been carrying trauma around for most of my life, and not once have I ever felt able to actually talk about it. If I can just get the nightmares under control, I can just keep getting through.
I had a close call last week, with someone trying to break in at 3am, which is one of my worst fears. It's shaken up my sleep even more, and I seem to have moved to only sleeping during daylight hours. Last night, I did actually sleep a solid night, after moving the cats' food/water/litter in to my bedroom, and locking us in, so I didn't have to worry about jumping up to grab them if it happens again. The police know who it is, and don't think he'll come back, but it's still left me on edge.
And I know, you're probably all sick to death of me talking about my mum. But it was another one of those moments that hit me with an unexpected pang of grief. For so long, my mum would be the one I would call in an emergency, and even two and a half years after she passed, my first thought is still "I want to call my mum". And it's fucking painful, not having that One Person to turn to.
Next month, I have a consult with an oral surgeon to get my wisdom teeth removed. I finally went to the dentist a few months ago, after breaking a molar in half (while eating sugar-free mint crisp dark chocolate, of all things!). It's been about 10 years since I last went to the dentist, and my childhood dentist has since retired. I went to see the dentist who my mum had been seeing before she passed. I didn't say anything - just booked a same-day appointment. During that initial appointment, at one point he casually mentioned "I haven't seen your mum in a while". At this point, it's been quite some time since I've had to 'notify' anyone. It caught me off guard. He seemed genuinely shocked when I told him that she passed, but he was very kind about it. I could've sworn that I called them when she passed, but maybe he didn't get the memo.
Anyway, I'm now up-to-date on dental stuff, had a few fillings done, a deep clean, etc... And now, the plan is to stay on top of regular check ups so things don't get so bad again. But I have four impacted wisdom teeth to be surgically removed, including one with a cyst beneath. My support worker, S, is taking me in for a consult in a few weeks time, and I guess I'll figure out things from there. But it just sucks not just having that One Person to be able to rely on after a procedure.
And I know, I know it's been a long time since my last post. I find myself very overwhelmed at the thought of putting myself 'out there' these days. I don't really know why. I just over-think, and worry that I have nothing in my life worth sharing. I struggle with not wanting to be perceived. As if I don't want to be an active participant in the world. Sometimes I just want to fade away, and have no one notice.
But as I write this, I think that maybe I have more to say than I think I do. And maybe it just takes actually sitting down and starting to get my thoughts out, and suddenly I do actually have something to say.
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Some recent body checks from last week, since I'm now sitting fairly consistently below 60kg again (132lb, BMI 17.3). I've gone down a couple of bra sizes recently, and mots of my tops are loose, but my hips are forever stubborn. After spending the past 7 years bouncing around the 60s, it feels so euphoric to see the 50s on the scale again. I haven't done my measurements for a while, but over the years, I've been from an Australian size 4-14 (US 0-10), and at the moment I'm sitting around size 8AU.
xxBella
