The Caged Bird

Helped.

The last two mornings I've been in CRAZY pain and had no idea why. Chest and lower back hurting, terrified, laying in bed crying.

Anyone who follows me on twitter or Facebook has obviously seen that I've been at the hospital/doctor quite a bit lately having tests run and generally getting jabbed with needles over and over until I literally wanted to throw things.

 

And then yesterday morning, I woke up in so much pain I legitimately thought I was dying. I got up to take pain meds and try to make myself feel better, brushed my teeth, etc... and I started hemmorhaging. Within the span of twenty minutes I'd lost so much blood (and nothing I was doing was stopping it, believe me, I tried), that I could no longer stand up. 

I had to call Zach's mom and tell her that I needed to go to the ER. Zach woke up to drive me and the look on his face told me that I looked as close to death as I felt. I've never seen  him so scared.

Intake at the Emergency Room was quick, and next thing I knew I was hooked up to an IV getting fluid and blood transfusions as well as Zofran and pain medications so that I could finally speak (I was at a 9 out of 10 on the pain scale by the time they took me in, and could no longer speak). They ran tests and determined that all of the hell I've put myself through is finally catching up to me. All my blood counts were absurdly low, and the highest my blood pressure ever got was 80 over 55. I fell asleep and woke up to food that I knew I'd have to eat, and I did without an ounce of complaining, even though the eating disorder part of my brain was SCREAMING for me to stop. Bleeding had stopped, and after eating my bp rose by about ten points, so they ran a few more tests and determined there was nothing else I could do, informed me that at this point it was in my hands, and wished me the best of luck at eating disorder rehab, because without it this could happen again, and I'd be dead.

 

I do not want to die, dammit.

I am not done fighting.
I've tried hard lately to eat, have refrained from exercising like I used to, have attempted to let my body rest... but after eleven years this vessel I've been given has started to sink. Thank God I finally chose to get help, because after yesterday, I realize that there's a very real chance that my time would almost be up without some intervention. 

explanation.

I'm not just here to play shows. 

 

If you knew me before you met me in LA, you know that. I'm on the verge of diving head first into eating disorder treatment for the shit that has literally been destroying my life for the past eleven years (half of my life, if you're working out the math), and once I'm in I have no fucking clue how long it'll be till I'm out. I'm staying here afterwards, doing the music thing like now, only healthier without all the late nights and abusive relationships and staying places where I can't even breathe without pissing someone off.

 

I have a lease (pending) in Malibu with Pepperdine, but that has to wait until I'm well. Until I can eat every single fucking day without falling to pieces. Until I can eat something and keep it down. Until I can go four months without literally dropping 20 pounds and having nothing I can wear except clothes from 7th grade. Until I'm a normal functional human that won't fuck up even the simplest of things, eating, which EVERYONE DOES, but apparently is too difficult for me.

 

I will also be fixing the relationship shit that's been haunting me since the rape in 12th grade. Baggage I've had since I was 17. Letting the ex-fiance go, the last two serious relationships (and the abuse), and the incredibly fucked up mess that I allowed to occur a couple of months ago. Then there's my family, the damaged broken pieces of my childhood that I haven't been able to process, and then we tackle the mother of all mental shit: my complete and utter lack of give-a-damn about my own health and well-being. I'm starting to wonder if that's why I do so well out here; I don't fucking care. Mug me? Go right the fuck on ahead, knock yourself out, if it's my time to go then do it. You're an asshole and I'm broke, so good luck with my wallet. Parking downtown in Hollywood, walking around places like Sunset and Melrose at night alone, being in Venice for over 24 hours by myself... all of that stems from the complete lack of give-a-fuck I have towards myself. It doesn't scare me, because nothing does. 

 

I have hit the point where being scared would be welcome, because then it would be something. Right now I'm more what you'd consider a shell. I can do no strings attached, I can handle myself anywhere and everywhere, I can drink with the boys and ignore the stupid emotional crap that comes along with my gender, because who cares? I spent so much time caring and wanting to get married and blah blah blah biological clock ACU values Jesus babies etc. that I literally ran out of steam and couldn't do it anymore. Either I'd have to blow my brains out, or I'd have to kill of the part of me that felt all of it, and since I know better than to destroy the lives of everyone I've ever met by being selfish and offing myself (and because dammit, when I sing, there's still a spark of something), I chose to just give up on emotion. Shut it down, made it numb, walked away, said fuck you to some of the people I thought I'd always be close to, ended relationships, became the ideal girl for this type of life. 

Tomorrow morning you won't mean shit to me and I won't mean shit to you, so let's just do this and pretend it matters for however long it lasts, and I'll drive back to my place when the sun comes up and we can just get on with our own individual shit until we get bored enough to do it again.

Some tiny piece of me is SCREAMING that I care, that I want more out of all of this, that I could do and be so much more if I'd let myself believe in all that again, but that tiny piece is literally being crushed under the weight of I CANNOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE, so emotions are out the door. They come out onstage, which is why i can perform the hell out of any song you give me, but God help you if you expect me to do ANYTHING for you right now, you selfish asshole, you're lucky I'm in the same room you are after all you've put me through. 

 

I don't wanna live like this, but until I check into treatment, this is how I'm getting by. And it's empty, and it's lonely, but its so much better than drowning in my own tears like a pathetic child who can't handle a scraped knee every single time I remember a instance when things seemed better.

 

My skin is thick, my heart is calloused, and I don't give a damn about you anymore. 
It took so much to get to this point, but you pushed me so far that it was either fall off the cliff or fade out completely, and I'll be damned if someone like you is going to kill me by knocking me over the edge. 

I never wanna die.

Through the eleven years that this nightmare of an eating disorder has dictated my life, my mother has had to watch as her baby girl literally destroyed her body on a daily basis. She had to stand by as I took in every crticism, hated myself, ignored her every word and plea and compliment, and she's had to pray her heart out for my safety on numerous occasions where I took things too far.

She has seen me fall apart, she has begged and pleaded with me to eat, or to keep food down, or to remember that it HAS to get better. She has promised me that she won't leave, that she loves me despite the hell I've put her through, that I have so much value in this world, and that she is PROUD that I am her little girl.

 

Today, on Mother's Day, instead of sending her flowers or visitng her, I'm in California, just days away from entering eating disorder treatment at Monte Nido Vista. I am taking all of her words and promises to heart. I'm finding the value in my life, using my talents, accepting and loving the person I am inside, the person who so often reminds others of her in my looks and goofy mannerisms (I'm a total grammar Nazi, just like she is) and giving myself the gift of health so that I can sing with the voice I inhereted from her. So, this Mother's Day, I'm celebrating with a song that I strongly feel has dictated the decisions I've made in the last year, that has become my anthem for 2012, that has pushed me to get help and finally move forward.

 

Happy Mother's Day, Momma. And thank you for helping me learn to walk a second time.

 

Polarized.

There is something so incredibly unsettling and hard to handle about getting up to go to the bathroom, rounding the corner and seeing the door open, and your half-naked ex boyfriend, the one who just six months ago you would have crawled into that bed with and cuddled and watched Sports Center, and knowing that there is nothing in the world right now you would like to do more than get in your car, drive as far up the Pacific Coast as possible, and pretend the two of you never met.

So, when you walk back out of the bathroom, you keep your head turned and pretend that it never happened. You walk back into the guest room you're graciously being allowed to stay in temporarily, and you attempt to block out the last year of your life so completely that not even the memories inside your head can get to you, and you're not so stupid that you fell for that "I love you" bullshit in the first place.

 

Then you turn on a documentary about the holocaust and gain some goddamn perspective.

You wanna talk.

I'm reeeeeeeally good at dealing with being ignored, as much as I hate it. I think it's childish and it drives me up a wall when that's someone's go-to response to any kind of disagreement, but I'm not gonna let your "punishment" mess up one second of my day, so you can go ahead and just keep your lips zipped.

 

My problem comes in later when you wanna talk because you need me for something. 

 

It's cool, you had your little moment, hopefully you got it out of your system and you're not holding onto it to stab me with later, but you've "removed me from my timeout" in your life because you want something from me, and honestly, you've kind of proven that you're not exactly someone I'm gonna wanna be close with, so no, I'm not doing you a favor, no hard feelings, it just doesn't work that way.

 

"But, but, but..."

yeah, butt. kiss mine.

 

I miss so many people like crazy, but not enough to go back to Texas. And the number of people I DO NOT miss is pretty huge too, considering that "this whole music thing" was ridiculous to quite a few people and it was just sort of assumed that I was another wannabe do-nothing who pined after LA like a kid who wants a pony. I've met some people out here that are awesome, people I like being around, people who have the same kind of ideals and views and goals that I do. I've also met some huge assholes, and dear god is this town full of them. The cool thing here is, though, if I don't like you, or you don't like me, or you want something from me that I don't want to give, I don't owe you shit. There are no hometown roots tugging at heartstrings, there's no "bless her heart" and all that awful southern batshit backstabbing disguised as hospitality.

That isn't to say that there are people out here who'd gladly use me up and toss me out on my ass, I just don't have to feel bad when I flip them the bird and walk away.