Why Lying is So Easy Sometimes….Even When You Hate It

I truly detest lying. Not only am I really lousy at it (I have the opposite of a poker face), I am just a person who believes so strongly in integrity and honesty.

However, I lie a LOT lately.  When you suffer from a mental illness of any kind lying becomes habit. “I’m fine” comes out of your mouth constantly. Someone asks how you are and you smile and just say, “I’m fine, thanks”! You smile constantly when inside your mind you are screaming.

Why do we lie? Many reasons really. 

We don’t want to worry you. We don’t want people to think we are “crazy”. We don’t want to sound like we are just complaining or seeking attention. We don’t want you to stand there not knowing what to say. 

The worse part of sharing your mental illness with someone who is NOT mentally ill are when they reply with things like, “I know how you feel”, or worse, say things like, “Just think positive”, “You dwell too much on negative stuff”. 

Trying to explain “why” I feel the way I do when I am depressed, anxious or lately tortured by my ED is impossible.

I don’t even truly know why my eating disorder has recurred. That’s what the professionals are for…I want to know as much as anyone else why I am doing this to myself when for once in my life all feels right in my world.

This is the reason so many people with eating disorders hide it. It makes no sense to us or to anyone else and hearing the platitudes (even when said with good intentions), just makes us want to hide our disease even more. No one understands. So, I lie. 

I was talking to my SO about it last night because I have been trying so hard to figure out why now. I did come up with some fairly reasonable thoughts. Maybe with things going so well in my life I am just scared of being happy. Eh, maybe.

What really made sense to me was pointed out by one of my friends who also suffers from an ED.

Right now, even though my life is going well, it is all out of my control really.

My housing is based on my being in therapy, and following all the rules of housing. I never know when they might decide I have been here “too long” and need to leave, or if I slip up and then what? They are in charge of me having a place to live.

I am still waiting for approval for my SSI, so I have no income. The decision of whether I will have an income at some point is in THEIR hands. They need to decide if I am “sick enough”.  That’s another topic all together…Trying to prove how bad an invisible illness is.

Then there is my sweet, caring man who helps me with everything that Food stamps don’t pay for; Car insurance, cable, internet, toilet paper, shampoo, etc. etc. I was having to panhandle for all these things before. What if he decides that all of my “issues” are too much for him and just breaks it off with me? Where will I be then??

Broke and brokenhearted.

Anyway, when I was pointing all of this out to him last night on the phone he made the comment that “everyone” worries about those things. “Losing an income” etc. I told him “Yes, but most of them don’t suffer from a mental illness” My anxiety disorder, depression, OCD, ED, makes all of these worries a million times “bigger” than they are for the person who is not ill. His comment made me feel like he was minimizing my illness…comparing it to himself and others. So not cool. 

So, now I don’t want to talk to him or anyone about these things going on in my head.

So, I’ll just lie and say….”I’m fine”.



Homeless Day 27…I’m Still Alive…

So sorry for the lack of updates, but being in survival mode leaves little time for writing.

I should update or delete my last post as I have managed to keep the motel room so far. (I apologize for making ya’ll worry) I was packing my car and preparing ready to head out last Thursday, when I suddenly remembered that I might be able to pay for a couple of days at a time rather than an entire week, and could get the reduced weekly rate,  so that is what I have done so far. Not to get too technical on the cash issue, but I can pay for today and tomorrow, and once again, I will be at that “having to leave here” point.

I really wish I could tell you that I have a plan, but I don’t. Nothing on the job front yet, and the “available” services in this area are basically non-existent. I was going to try again to hold cash and leave tomorrow, until I saw the weather report. The temp is going to be around 99 with heat indices into the triple digits, so not a good time to get into my car without a plan. I will make phone calls all day tomorrow to various shelters etc. up in the Savannah area…I just pray there is someplace for me to go. Again, I have noticed that there are much more resources and jobs in that area, so…as much as I would love to stay here, I guess I may end up there. Who knows? Are there still real hippie communes anywhere? Oh…and if I never have to eat another saltine cracker I would not be displeased.

I wonder if I can make any money sitting on the beach playing my recorder? LOL…probably not. With all the thoughts that are running through my head…I wish I could get more of them down here, but they refuse to come. Maybe later. Love, hugs and peace to all of you. I love you!


“Remember Something that Made You Feel Good”…

My therapy appointment last week was tough to say the least. I sat in the chair shaking and trying to spill my guts about all the fear I was feeling…Was I going to be homeless, lose my dogs, starve? I had no idea.

My therapist finally said to me, “I want you to remember a time when you felt good and tell me about it.” I didn’t have to think for long..I said, “Living at my grandparents house, between the ages of 10 and 12, was the best time of my life. The only truly carefree days I have ever known.”

I began the story with the night we finally broke free from my father.

My brother’s used to wait by their bedroom window and yell down the stairs to Mom, letting her know that Dad was home and telling her to get on the couch, pretend she was asleep. Maybe he wouldn’t beat her. It didn’t work that night. My sister and I crawled into the bottom bunk together, holding pillows over our heads so we wouldn’t hear. We heard. I don’t know what came over me, but at some point I found myself peeking through the small opening between the stairs and top floor, just in time to see my father raise his fist. I watched as my mother went airborne and landed on the other side of the room. I don’t remember going downstairs. I must have been crazy. The next thing I recall is standing between my parents, Mom on the floor behind me, Dad standing in front of me looking so imposing and threatening in his uniform. As Mom would tell it to me years later, I stood all of 3 feet tall, hands on my hips, my little knees shaking, yelled at my father to just go to bed! I don’t remember much more of that night. My brother woke my sister and I later on and said, “Come on…we’re going to Grammy and Papa’s house.”

Sweetest words I ever heard. I loved it at their house. I remembered waking up in the bedroom with the slanted ceiling, the scent of summer coming in the windows,the breeze lifting the white curtains with the little puff balls on them. The smell of those sheets was like a warm hug, not a scent you get from dryer sheets, but from bleach, bluing and fresh air. Reaching my hand up behind me and running my fingers around the curly cues of the white wrought iron. I was safe. I was HOME.

The sound of glass milk bottles rattling as the milk man made his delivery.

Going downstairs in the morning, Grammy at the kitchen table, the sunlight falling across the linoleum floor, warming my feet. I’d get my bowl of cereal and stand by the door, the smell of warming wood and metal screens. It was an old screen door with glass panes for winter, screens for summer, and a spring at the top that made it slam shut when we let it go, a sound that still soothes me to this day.

I couldn’t recall my mother being around much then. She was either in and out of psychiatric facilities or…I don’t know, but it didn’t matter. I only know I was happy. I had a chance, for a while, to just be a kid.

Playing, playing, playing. That was my world. The old pump organ in the garage, climbing over boxes to get to it so I could sit and pump the petals, making nothing even close to music, but it was fun. Making leaf “houses” with my sister, which were basically just an outline in leaves..We would make rooms and doors and spend hours with our dolls and dishes playing house. We used our imaginations back then…remember? Skating on the “pond” which was really just a swamp. My brothers and a neighbor placing a barrel in the water during the summer so that they could jump it on skates in the winter, and watching as the neighbor kid jumped it and went through the ice on the other side. That kid just disappeared, and we laughed so hard.

Sledding down the hill at the cemetery out onto the frozen pond. My little brother was buried at the top of that hill. The time my best friend A. and I took the small dinghy out on the “pond” during a dry summer and getting stuck in the muck, having to be rescued by her older brother.

Behind A’s house was a large tree that had a rope swing and a tree house that the boys had built. I loved that swing, though the wooden slats that were nailed on as “steps” were a bit scary. One time, A. our other friend L. and I were out there swinging. It was my turn. I climbed the steps carefully, slid myself across the branch, A. swung the rope until I caught it. I place my foot in the loop at the bottom of the rope, scooted to the edge of the branch, and launched. I left the branch and stopped short about a foot or two, in midair….my underpants had gotten caught on a nail that was sticking out of the branch! I hung there screaming, wondering how long I could hold onto the rope as A. and L. stood 14 feet below me, laughing their butts off. Finally, L. scurried up the tree, slid across and somehow managed to pull me back to the branch. I pulled myself together and launched again…Oh, what a feeling it was! That first few seconds of falling until the rope snapped taut and I sailed through the air…laughing.

What a world it was. I really need to put together a readable story here. It was such a blessed time in my life, so many things to recall. Maybe I will…

A quick update on our situation. Hubby is finally going to do a roofing job on Tuesday. We still don’t have rent, but I’m hoping the landlord will give us time. The other bills have all come in, but will just have to wait. I am trying each day to just breathe, just BE. It will all be okay…somehow. Please keep us in prayer. Hugs

Grammy Wood


Don’t Give Up Hope…8 Days to Homeless?

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here”…

Everyone says that I can’t give up hope, I even tell myself this countless times a day. Unable to eat, my insides shaking constantly like the last dead leaf, grasping a tree limb in the wind. Nightmares replacing dreams, abused animals, abused babies, drug addicts, rapists…they all have the same common denominator…I have no control, I can’t help or save any of them. I wake..not relieved…still shaking.

I am the them. Going on week three of no work, no income. Wondering if I should start packing our stuff, use the last bit of money, given to us by a friend, to rent a storage unit…or, should I just leave it all, put the most important things in the car, leaving room for two people and two dogs. This is my mind..running, running, heart pounding…no answers, so solution. Doctor won’t call in my anxiety med because I didn’t pay them, not that it would change anything, but maybe I could breathe.

Think of all the people, all over the world, who are worse off than I am, the starving, the tortured, …it doesn’t help much…I try gratitude, but fear is present in every breath.

Homeless is scary, un-anchored, lost, nowhere…no one sees you. Where to sleep, don’t drive too much…no gas…find a “safe” place to park at night…can we eat? Can we feed the dogs? The worse nightmare is the one I am in when I wake. I no longer feel hunger, I just want to sleep..escape this somehow…how?

Enough said. Thanks for listening.

Nothing to Write Wednesday

Once again I am in a complete writing fog. I have had a lot on my mind, but most of it so muddled that writing has been impossible.

I hope to be doing better by next week. I have a minor surgical thing on Friday, and that should help to clear my head some.

So far this month has been pretty blah in regards to my writing and photography. I hope to pick up the pace soon, and that you will all bear with me. I truly appreciate all of you who take the time to stop by, read, comment, or just check in with me. Onward and upward…or should that be up”word”. I sure hope so. How do people who have to write every single day manage it?

Here’s a picture of my rescue, Casey Anne…It has taken almost three years with me for her to overcome all the abuse she suffered. She still has some issues, but it seems she is finally coming out of her shell. I love her so much! Hugs all!

I can't believe how healthy she looks now. She never stays still long enough for a clear photo.

Wrong Thinking, Our Downfall

I love this blogger’s philosophy, thoughts and words. Need an uplifting post today? Check it out!

Source of Inspiration

dark thoughts1

Wrong thinking
creates misery
for our thoughts
have unimagined
power. We think
something negative
or unkind and that
thought goes out
attracting like
energies, affecting
all it touches. Send
loving thoughts
to those who harm
to help them change
for your dark thoughts
only feed their darkness.
Never forget that what
you send out in thoughts
and deeds always returns.

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