One Day at a Time

I happened upon this post about loving my body in my blog archives from 2012.

At what point did I go off the rails?

I don't know if there's a specific time I "got" an eating disorder.  I know that the descent began in 2013 when I dieted and restricted my way to losing weight in a short period.  I know that for a couple of years after that I struggled severely with disordered eating off and on.

I know that it was the fall of 2016 that I finally admitted to myself and to my sister that I had an eating disorder, and had been struggling with it for close to two years.

And I guess it doesn't really matter at what point I went from disordered eating to a full-blown disorder.  But the fact is that I can pinpoint the beginning of the spiral to one specific thing: dieting.  Restricting.  Losing weight rapidly.

That's not to say every person who diets will develop an eating disorder.  But odds are if you have an ED, it probably started with a diet.

I still struggle with the idea of never dieting again.

No more Weight Watchers.  No more Whole30.  No more counting calories.  No more restricting carbs or major food groups.

Letting go of the control.  Facing the fear that I might gain weight and not be able to turn to dieting to quickly lose it.  Each day that I don't step on the scale to monitor the fluctuations.... fearing what is happening to my body even right now in this moment.

And facing head-on all the crap behind WHY this is going on in the first place.

Needless to say, it's extremely overwhelming if I think of it all at once.  So I take it one.day.at.a.time.

One Day at a Time

There is no shame in admitting that you need help.

One of the hardest things I have ever done was finally admitting that I had a problem and that I needed help with it.  We attach shame and stigma to this... something that in all actuality takes great strength.

It's been just over a month since I finally reached out for help.

Thirty-three days in recovery.

Thirty-three long, emotionally-draining, overwhelming days.  Thirty-three days of an uphill climb... sometimes one step forward followed by two steps back.

I'm happy to say that today looks brighter than this day a month ago.  That I can now begin to feel my emotions again, feel a desire to be around people, and actually smile and laugh for real and not just because I'm faking it.  That I now have energy each day when I wake up.  Sure, some days looks better than others, and that's not to say there haven't been some low ones as well.  But at one time most of my days looked dark, and now there seem to be more light ones than dark ones.

So I will keep on keeping on.  One day at a time.

What I wish People Knew

I overheard a conversation recently between co-workers.

It centered around depression.  This particular person, co-worker number 1, was expressing that there was a possibility that he was, in fact, depressed.  So number 2 responded with a sudden, "Research has shown that really, there is no proof that antidepressants work and that the myth of a "happy pill" is just that-- a myth."  Co-worker number 1 begins to make light of people with depression.

Of course, here I was sitting there listening and feeling shame deep down.  Here I had just that very morning taken my very first dose of an antidepressant medication.  A huge, difficult step for me in this journey.

Happy pill?

I have spent the last year and a half solidly depressed.

I have felt insignificant, alone, and worthless.

I have looked in the mirror every day for months and not recognized the face looking back at me.

I have very few things that I actually enjoy doing anymore... in fact, I'm not even sure what I consider to be "fun" anymore.

I have abused my body with extremes of bingeing, starving, over-exercising, restricting, and starting all over again... and literally being unable to stop.

I have spent six months with no energy, no spark, feeling stuck in a hole so, so deep I could see no way out.  

I have lived with insomnia that could drive a person crazy.

And you think it's about a happy pill?

I could have screamed in that moment.  Because I'm not looking for a happy pill to fix my problems. I have been hanging onto whatever hope I have left to get through this-- hoping against all hope that along with therapy, perhaps an antidepressant might just help me have a little bit of light in my eyes again... a little bit of energy to spend with friends... a little bit of "me" back again.