I wrote this blog post in my head at the gym today, whenever I start writing in my head it makes me happy. It means I'm inspired and feelings some feels. Writing to me isn't a choice, it's involuntary. I haven't felt, or been inspired to write in a very long time. Thank you in advance for reading.
This post comes starts with a tantrum about my body image via my Instagram story spat out by my three favorite authors: eating disorder, shame and sadness.
This morning I woke up puffy, swollen like usual. Seems to be one of the many fun responses my body has to me turning 30 (whether I've been drinking the night before or not (last night not)). As I walked around the house I was painfully aware of a little extra something above my waistline, my armpits seemed puffy and my legs flabby. Now you can't fake this, this isn't a scale or a number, it's how I feel. I try to push it aside as I go about my day attempting to get my life together (and today went better than most) but I am constantly being nagged by these "fat feelings."
As the day progresses with bigger stresses and more emotions my eating disorder jumps to the rescue. Distracting me with thoughts: despising every blonde, tan, 21 year old girl spending her parents' money on 23rd. Getting me to pine over photos of my old figure I had taken for granted, the figure I had before I was fired, picked up a drinking problem, and a whole other batch of destructive behaviors. It helped me push away friends compliments with "the truth" of what I look like, shaming myself before they can (like they ever would).
My wise mind fought to combat my eating disorder but it was no match. Feeble attempts at "you're doing the best you can." "Every healthy choice gets you closer to your goal." "Being mean to yourself doesn't make you any skinnier." Angry as ever I go into the locker room at my gym, I stare at myself in the mirror. I see my fat face, my flabby arms, my thick thighs and I want to scratch and tear at myself until there's nothing left or cry. Both is accurate. I tell myself I am disgusting. I go through my routine avoiding everyone's eyes non-verbally telling them I know what I look like, how far I've let myself go, how ashamed I am. I compare myself to every fit girl in there, ignoring of course the other girls that are also out of shape.
I hate these girls and yet I so badly want to be them. I workout with such anger and energy subconsciously attempting to lose all the weight and gain all the tone in this hour and a half. As I start to lose my intensity my wise mind comes back, those thoughts I said before surface. I see that my eating disorder is back not just because I feel out of shape (and honestly guys I'm not fat, I know that but I'm in the worst shape of my life), it's back because it's trying to distract me from something, help me cope with something.
Early today I wrote down all my bills and debt and lack of income. I have not faced what I've done to my finances over the past year until today and fuck is it bad. As I cooled down I realized that that's what it's trying to help me deal with (classic): the feeling of being out of control.
I have been pretty quiet about what my life has been like since being let go twice in a year and my depression the worst it's ever been and it's not helping. The moment I reached out yesterday and said yo I'm kind of scared and need help you guys sent me texts and messages of encouragement, understanding and love. Until I get on my feet again I'm going to be more vocal about my drinking, my eating disorder, my debt but also my successes and hope. Because as I was so brutally reminded of today: positive reinforcement changes behavior for the better, criticism stabilizes negative behavior and blocks change.
Thursday, August 16, 2018
Thursday, May 24, 2018
Looking Up
The other day I wrote in tears, demoralized and in the worst depression I've been in (which is saying something because I didn't think it could get any worse) since losing my job in November. I think the other day I got it all out of me. Now that's not to say I'm fixed, because this mental health issue is a slippery slope and I could be back there tomorrow if I delve into my ineffective behaviors (booze, food and dudes). I usually end up doing this when I am feeling happy and like I'm on my feet again, it's like oh okay I got this, I can have a drink, I can stay out until 5 am, oh a piece (or entire) of pizza is "safe". But I've been through this cycle enough over the past 6 months to finally be aware and determined enough to not go back into it.
Since my last post where I purged all day, hid from the world and drank by myself I have done little things to "not make it worse." I hold so much shame that I'm in such a dark, broke, unhealthy, lonely place in my life that I freeze. You'd think I'd want to make it better, it'd motivate me to get out of it, but if any of you know anything about depression, you know it's not like that. I literally have a fear of going outside, maybe because I have to face the world. Seemingly it's easier to stay in my room and hide until I can get better, be good enough to go out there again.
I was able to challenge that thought after the really bad day. When I purge or drink I can finally feel again, and I hadn't noticed this until recently that my depression is in a way of protecting me from feeling all of the overwhelming feels that I'm petrified of. So the other day, while really hard on my body, was the only way I knew how to cope and start feeling again. If that makes sense. THIS is why it's so important for me to get back into the DBT program I was in and seeing my therapist. However OHP is a real bitch and I'm in middle of appealing their denial for treatment.
WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT IS THAT? It takes me so much effort to reach out and be like yo I can't handle my life on my own right now and I'm drowning, can you help? And I'm told I'm not messed up enough to get help.
Oh man my mind is all over. So basically I purged literally and figuratively all of the sadness and shame out the other day and woke up being like damn, I don't want to live like this anymore. So I started Whole30 (which has helped way more than I thought it would), began exercising again, and most importantly stopped hiding from the world. I'm fighting those thoughts that I'm not good enough to be in it, or be seen by people, or my friends, or future employers because I'm not yet fixed.
That thought of course goes back to childhood and society (always right?) of having to have this perfect, pretty, buttoned up life to be acceptable. Well kids I'm most certainly none of those things and the only way I'm going to get closer to happiness and stability is not by hiding, punishing myself for not being who I think I should be, feeling I need to be at a certain happiness for people to accept me, is by doing the exact opposite of what I want to do and start living again with my out of shape, sad as fuck, demoralized, imperfect, hard to handle sometimes self.
That is the longest most confusing sentence I've ever written and I'm just going to leave it.
Thanks for reading and writing me. It means more than you know.
Since my last post where I purged all day, hid from the world and drank by myself I have done little things to "not make it worse." I hold so much shame that I'm in such a dark, broke, unhealthy, lonely place in my life that I freeze. You'd think I'd want to make it better, it'd motivate me to get out of it, but if any of you know anything about depression, you know it's not like that. I literally have a fear of going outside, maybe because I have to face the world. Seemingly it's easier to stay in my room and hide until I can get better, be good enough to go out there again.
I was able to challenge that thought after the really bad day. When I purge or drink I can finally feel again, and I hadn't noticed this until recently that my depression is in a way of protecting me from feeling all of the overwhelming feels that I'm petrified of. So the other day, while really hard on my body, was the only way I knew how to cope and start feeling again. If that makes sense. THIS is why it's so important for me to get back into the DBT program I was in and seeing my therapist. However OHP is a real bitch and I'm in middle of appealing their denial for treatment.
WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT IS THAT? It takes me so much effort to reach out and be like yo I can't handle my life on my own right now and I'm drowning, can you help? And I'm told I'm not messed up enough to get help.
Oh man my mind is all over. So basically I purged literally and figuratively all of the sadness and shame out the other day and woke up being like damn, I don't want to live like this anymore. So I started Whole30 (which has helped way more than I thought it would), began exercising again, and most importantly stopped hiding from the world. I'm fighting those thoughts that I'm not good enough to be in it, or be seen by people, or my friends, or future employers because I'm not yet fixed.
That thought of course goes back to childhood and society (always right?) of having to have this perfect, pretty, buttoned up life to be acceptable. Well kids I'm most certainly none of those things and the only way I'm going to get closer to happiness and stability is not by hiding, punishing myself for not being who I think I should be, feeling I need to be at a certain happiness for people to accept me, is by doing the exact opposite of what I want to do and start living again with my out of shape, sad as fuck, demoralized, imperfect, hard to handle sometimes self.
That is the longest most confusing sentence I've ever written and I'm just going to leave it.
Thanks for reading and writing me. It means more than you know.
Tuesday, May 22, 2018
I Didn't Know I Was Lost
I feel like I start most of my posts like this, "I've been having a hard time."
I always delete it. I can't again confess to family and friends that I'm still not fixed. That I'm still struggling. By now I should have figured it out right? But when I look back on my life this past year, or fuck since I got here, it's been nothing but abusive relationships, paralyzing depression, all consuming anxiety and fucked up situations. From a boyfriend that was verbally abusive to a job that fired me because of my depression and "friends" who just think I'm some slut in the club---no wonder I've had a hard fucking time.
I know who I am, but she's lost. I miss her so much. I miss the girl that wanted to wake up in the morning, that had a reason to live (not suicidal, just really fucking down), that felt loved, that felt she mattered to someone, that she had a purpose here on this earth. I miss feeling stressed because my life is full, because I've got too much to do versus nothing.
I am at the point now where I don't leave my room for days, ashamed of what I've become. Ashamed I am this way. I see your lives on social media (which I know is slightly fucked but sometimes it takes all of me to brush my teeth and leave my bed fore 4 PM).
When I was let go of what I thought was my dream job I also lost my structure, my therapist, my DBT classes and a lot of my friends. I feel so disconnected from life, from the person I used to be. The girl at the time I thought was so gone, so depressed, so alone, so fat, so stupid ... and now I pine to be her again.
I have lost my confidence, my fitness, my money and I don't know what to do. An outside perspective could say, apply for jobs, ask for help, just call me, but when you're in this like I am, those things are fucking paralyzing.
Last night I watched Avicii's Wake Me Up. I already knew that while I first judged that song (country with EDM come on .... right?) that his lyrics spoke to something I could only feel but never express. It reminds me of when I first realized there was a better life, versus what my eating disorder could give me.
I comb through news reports of his suicide and I can't breathe. I don't know what he went through exactly but there's a connection there. A common pain that can't be shared, rather beared, together. He gave me life, but he took his, this is why I'm gettiI Ding his symbol tattooed on my wrist. To remind me of when I first felt alive, how hard that can be to find, and all of the lives you can influence while doing what makes you you.
I always delete it. I can't again confess to family and friends that I'm still not fixed. That I'm still struggling. By now I should have figured it out right? But when I look back on my life this past year, or fuck since I got here, it's been nothing but abusive relationships, paralyzing depression, all consuming anxiety and fucked up situations. From a boyfriend that was verbally abusive to a job that fired me because of my depression and "friends" who just think I'm some slut in the club---no wonder I've had a hard fucking time.
I know who I am, but she's lost. I miss her so much. I miss the girl that wanted to wake up in the morning, that had a reason to live (not suicidal, just really fucking down), that felt loved, that felt she mattered to someone, that she had a purpose here on this earth. I miss feeling stressed because my life is full, because I've got too much to do versus nothing.
I am at the point now where I don't leave my room for days, ashamed of what I've become. Ashamed I am this way. I see your lives on social media (which I know is slightly fucked but sometimes it takes all of me to brush my teeth and leave my bed fore 4 PM).
When I was let go of what I thought was my dream job I also lost my structure, my therapist, my DBT classes and a lot of my friends. I feel so disconnected from life, from the person I used to be. The girl at the time I thought was so gone, so depressed, so alone, so fat, so stupid ... and now I pine to be her again.
I have lost my confidence, my fitness, my money and I don't know what to do. An outside perspective could say, apply for jobs, ask for help, just call me, but when you're in this like I am, those things are fucking paralyzing.
Last night I watched Avicii's Wake Me Up. I already knew that while I first judged that song (country with EDM come on .... right?) that his lyrics spoke to something I could only feel but never express. It reminds me of when I first realized there was a better life, versus what my eating disorder could give me.
I comb through news reports of his suicide and I can't breathe. I don't know what he went through exactly but there's a connection there. A common pain that can't be shared, rather beared, together. He gave me life, but he took his, this is why I'm gettiI Ding his symbol tattooed on my wrist. To remind me of when I first felt alive, how hard that can be to find, and all of the lives you can influence while doing what makes you you.
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