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.
