Chapter 4

So the next obvious step for me to take was to eat myself into oblivion. To gain back that shield of fat that protected me from the rest of the world and that only reiterated to those around not to pay attention. "Do not look at the girl behind the bumbling, fat curtain! She is nothing to pay attention to! Look away!!!" So I forgot all those important habits I knew, pretended like they didnt exist. And I ate. I ate until I was sick, until my hatred was replaced by bloat and nausea. Those were still higher on my list of unpleasant feelings than numbness and hatred.

There was always an excuse not to ride or not to exercise. It was so much easier to lay in bed and try to sleep until I was required to force myself out of bed and into clothes to be presentable enough to work. Work made it near impossible for me to think about myself; the kids' problems overshadowed everything and almost possible to forget what was waiting for me outside that small building.

Chapter 3

The paralyzing numbness grew slowly and steadily, like a small spark jumping off two pieces of flint rock that becomes a blazing, bright fire. It reached every inch of soft,pale skin and every last muscle fiber inside. I woke up, went to the barn, came home, went to work, went to bed. I would pretend to go out after work some nights or go to horse shows on the weekends as I had before, but I can't remember who was there or what took place.

Some days the brokenness and heartache would overcome the numbness, and I would cry until I couldn't feel again. People always said the appropriate things; he's a coward, he's an asshole, you're better off without him, you can do better. But what no one seemed to understand was that I it wasn't the boyfriend I was missing. I ached for my best friend, that person who I could say anything to and just be silly with. Who would listen when work was too much or hold me when I was sad. The person who knew just how cute it is when my kitties cuddle or how angry my mother could make me. Looking back, I guess his truth was that I wasn't really his best friend. He thought I was, but she actually was, no matter how badly he wanted me to be. Two and a half years later, I still haven't met someone that I feel that close to. It's what I still miss, what I long for most days. Those nights when work is awful and I want to cry, I wish with all of my being I had someone at home waiting for me to hug away the day. He was an incredible hugger and I miss those a lot.

He was obviously moving on with her. He got all his things that I could find, we discussed the details that every couple does when they break up after living together for so long. I kept the cats (obviously), he took the electronics. He turned off my car insurance before I had a new policy, and I had no phone. My parents thought he had been abusing me physically, but I will not for a second tolerate that. Emotionally and mentally, maybe. He never laid a finger on me. I would try to talk to him, but the iciness in his voice would only make me so full of hate that I would start to cry and yell. They were never productive or helpful conversations.

After about a month, my subconscious grew tired of not feeling anything but sadness and anger. So I did what any heartbroken person would do, I put a profile up on a dating website. After all, isn't that how he is mending his heartbreak? But before I could meet anyone on there, I finally gave into a man at work who had been chasing my tail since I had started. It was only sex, but I required it to make me feel something so I made it hurt. But the pain soothed the rest of me and made me remember how to feel. So I craved this mindless, rough sex and sought it out. I met a guy on the dating site only to let him treat me like the pile of dog shit I felt like. Sex was great as long as it hurt. Bite my neck, my lips, my breast...and again. Harder. Harder. Faster. I had no standards, only that they were big enough to make me hurt. I let all my morals fall out the window, and had no standards to measure. After all, if all I can feel is this burning, verge of tears pain, why have standards? Not to mention, the man I loved for so long just fell out of love with me and cheated on me, am I really worth standards? Of course not.

I had a crisis of character after a few months of this, so I somehow managed to drag some of my morals out of the quicksand I tossed them in. But I craved that attention, so any potential suitors I scared off by being too interested or too intense or too crazy. I was that crazy girl. There, I admitted it. I was her for a very long time. I thought sex would change their minds, but it didnt. It doesn't ever. It just allows them to think they can sleep with you without any expectations and they can use you and treat you however they feel like. The pain wasn't enough anymore, I needed to be reminded regularly of what I thought of myself--that I was the old, hard pile of dog shit in the corner of the yard that gets kicked around, picked up, and thrown away. I deserved nothing good, so treat me like I don't.

There are so many other things and stories to tell during this time, but I'm not going to delve those details here. My parents were my saviors and saved me from myself when I had hit my lowest low financially. They supported me and watched from either side of me while I self destructed, doing all they could to stop it but knowing it was impossible. My siblings stayed busy in their own lives and offered what they could. I have had periods in my life when I am very difficult to be around, but this one was probably the worst.