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My kids all chose their own bears. They have lots of stuffed toys but each has chosen their own special one. My eldest daughter who is 10 has a very worn small blue bear that she chose out of all the other much nicer looking bears she had when she was about 7 months old. "Blue Bear" are one of the first two words she spoke at that age and that is the bear's name. She went on a 3 day school excursion this week but would not take Blue Bear in case he got lost as he is just too precious. I hope she will keep that bear to cuddle onto into her adulthood as it is a part of her. Your kids will find their own special bears, you need yours.

I wish I had the bears from my childhood. My aunt (who died when I was very young) knitted and sewed some beautiful stuffed toys that were very precious to us as kids. In the picture my sister is holding one of them. Those toys were left in an attic in the house (my nightmare childhood house) when my parents moved from it after I went to Uni.

My story is similar to yours, very abusive mother and I had bulimia and a sister who died of an overdose. And I feel like a cracked pane of glass that is about to shatter into a thousand pieces very often at the moment. But I am keeping those pieces glued together and hoping those cracks will heal one at a time.

You will solidify into something beautiful if you keep working at it. (You already are you just don't know it) . That water will cool and those cracks will mend. Just visualise the gas dying down and switching off.
 
I hope so Lizio. i went from Anorexia to Bulimia - though I used some pretty stupendous (I use this word sarcastically) laxatives to purge. My Dad and stepmom found out about the Anorexia and started monitoring my eating and bathroom times. When they felt I could be trusted is when I bought my first box of Dulcolax. They found that through random room searches I didnt know about. Sometimes when things get tough, I think about all the "control" I thought I had then and get warm fuzzy feelings, but I know I cant go back there. Its even less safe than my nutty whack-job mothers house was growing up.
 
I was starving myself first, mainly because of all the bullying I had got at school when I was chubby. Yes I look back and I was chubby, not fat, chubby, but those kids what a nightmare they made of my life. Ten tonne tessie, fatty boom boom just a couple of the wonderful names that led me to a lifetime of body image problems (well and a whole load of things that my mother said an did). Think that was partly about control. I do remember making that decision that I was just not going to eat, but I hid it very well I lost a lot of weight but not to skin and bones.

When I could not starve myself anymore I just needed to feel food in my stomach for a while, that comfort of eating then I went onto bulimia. But I think that was about trying to stop that feeling of fear. That feeling of fear every time I opened the front door and returned to that nightmare house after being at school.

I would try and study with the radio turned up as high as I could to drown out the noise of the fighting. And when I could no longer stand that I would turn to the draw in the kitchen where my dad kept all his junk food, full of cakes and biscuits and chocolates. And I would eat and eat and eat and eat and try and drown that feeling of fear in my chest try to get rid of it, but it never went. And then I would purge. And as time went on, purging got more and more difficult to do, I would have to find more inventive ways to make myself sick as fingers down my throat just did not cause a gag reflex anymore.

Your parents cared for you enough to try and stop you doing it. Mine didn't even do that. My father would watch me eating and eating and he never said or did a thing about it. And my mother heard me in the bathroom throwing up and she just said to me "You need to stop doing that. Stop being so silly". That was it. That is all they did, ignored it. I did not stop of course but I did stop when I left for Uni, because I was out of the house of horrors and I knew it would kill me if I did not stop, I had enough love for myself then that I could stop and I just said I was going to stop and I did. I do wonder how I ever managed to do so well in my exams and get into university when I was doing all that and with all that was going on in that nightmare house but I was so determined to get out of there I did it.

We were trying to control the uncontrollable, it wasn't control it was desperation. When I think of bulimia I think of the abject fear I felt then and I don't want to go back there ever. I still have nightmares of the nightmare house, being dragged back there. But I am not letting myself be dragged there again. I know I have that strength inside me to stop it. And so do you.

Sorry I have written so much, talk of eating disorders, a real trigger. But best to let it out and not fester on it. Those times were horrible but they are not what our futures are about.
 
Dont be sorry. Its nice to know that my fears are real - that someone else has that need for control when everything else seems to out of control. That Im not alone. Keep writing - you make me feel a lot better. The only one who ever made comments about my weight was my stepmom - but she only made snarky comments in private, never around anyone else, and when my Dad confronted her about it after I told him she denied everything. When I feel my PTSD start to spiral out of control, its a battle to make myself eat and to not pump those oh so tasty pills that made me loose so much weight. Looking back at the rare pictures of me then, I see how unhealthy and skeletal I looked. Remembering the way I felt, I felt beautiful. On top of the world. I'd give anything to feel that way again but to not look like Skeleton Jack in the Nightmare Before Christmas. Because that's what I was when I was so sick, my fathers nightmare.
 
Remembering the way I felt, I felt beautiful. On top of the world. I'd give anything to feel that way again .

You'll feel that way again, but without the sickness.

When I was 23 I felt ugly and fat. Now I look back at those pictures, I was a bit of a babe. Not perfect, I had bad points and I had good points. But I always focused on the bad ones and never looked at the good ones. And the good ones outweighed the bad ones, I just did not realise it at the time. It still did not make any difference I did not feel on top of the world even though I was pretty. I felt ugly inside and ugly on the outside as well.

Try and look at the good things, ignore the bad ones. We focus on the bad ones, but most of the time other people don't even notice them and if they do they are not the sort of person who deserves to be around us.

My 'beauty" is a very mixed issue for me still. I dress to hide the things I really hate and try and empathise the good. (And just wait till you hit your 40s and things start to gravitate and skin starts to bag, that is scary). Young skin is a beauty in itself.

Trinny and Sussanah, And Gok Wan watch their programs. You see so many women on there who think they look so awful (and they are not) and when they are dressed up they look so beautiful. Beauty is all an illusion. Look at Hollywood. They are all air brushed and surgery. That is not real.

But all external beauty is just a state of mind I guess. It really is a reflection what is on our insides. If you feel good about yourself and are smiling that can just make you look so much better.

So I guess focus on the good points both internally and externally, and push the bad ones out of your mind. I need to try and do that myself, I really do at the moment. I really need to follow my own advice :(
 
I know exactly how you are feeling. This week has thrown me too. Find something to pamper yourself with. I think I am going to have to seriously do that this weekend
 
Thank you Lizio. I always saved that bear, thinking I would someday give it to my children when I have them. But now Im feeling a bit selfish and am thinking maybe they need their very own bears... I'm trying to be strong. My therapist says I've been through a lot - growing up with a mom like mine who was always abusive (physically, emotionally, psychologically), having two eating disorders and my assault. I try to be strong, but sometimes I feel like a cracked egg boiling in water... just leaking out from the side, slowly solidifying into something gross.

Mouse, our pasts sound very much alike. It's nice to have people who understand!

Also, I had a rough week this week, lots of ups and downs and the downs were near disabling which hasn't happened to me for years.
 
Me too Lori-ann. I thought I was doing much better, but then tonight had a wicked panic attack that hit me with a vengeance from left field. My husband and I made it home in time to take two Xanax as one wasn't going to cut it, and pop on a pain patch. My back and chest tightened up so fast that my Ehlers kicked in and I started to tear a tendon in my chest again. I think the thing that bothers me most, is that I'm not completely sure of where it came from...
 
Welcome to the forum, Mousewedger!

Welcome to the forum! I am glad that you found your way here. I hope the forum provides you with the support and information you need. It's scary but helpful to know how many people similar to us are around here.

I look forward to getting to know you better!

Take care!
 
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