"Two things you will never have to chase: True friends and true love." -Mandy Hale

While I know the above quote is true, for some reason it is still so hard for me to come to grips with.  The friendship part makes complete sense to me.  But the true love.... it seems I fail again and again there.

If there's one thing that I believe is truly heartbreaking, it is being strung along by someone only to be dropped the moment someone better comes along.  Because as you think back on the time you spent together, you realize that you were nothing but a place-holder.  Little comments and remarks that at the time that seemed like no big deal, you realize what he actually meant.  And wonder why you were so blind to it at the time.  I have spent the past couple weeks feeling hurt, but also feeling foolish for feeling so hurt from something that didn't even last very long.

And if I have to go chasing after it, then there really is nothing real about it.  Because it's all an illusion my heart wants to believe is real, even while my mind is telling me the opposite.  So here's to moving on, seeing my worth, and not losing the faith that perhaps, maybe somewhere out there is my soulmate.

I once had a belief that depression was something that was entirely in the control of the person suffering.  I thought people could just choose to feel better.  It was a "spiritual" problem.  But due to circumstances out of my control, depression has actually been the one constant in my life for the better part of my teens and twenties, and now my thirties.  It just turns out I was really, really good at ignoring it.

I spent all of high school thinking I was caught in some spiritual battle.  I haven't really shared this with many people.  I just needed to "trust God more."  Spend more time reading my Bible.  I used to cry to my mom, wondering why I didn't have joy,  happiness, or surety, or any proof of God's love for me.  I wondered why I couldn't relate well to people.  I lived in this terrifying fear of... what I don't know.  Ever since I could remember as a small child, I had a fear of God, that much I know.  It followed me throughout my life.

And I still haven't worked through a lot of this stuff, but one thing I've learned is that I suffered from mental health issues from a young age.  But because of the environment I was raised in, I couldn't get any help for them because I couldn't name them.  Depression and anxiety were not real, they were simply spiritual battles.  I turned inward because of all this, and it took me until I was 29 years old to get help.

I remember when I finally was diagnosed with my eating disorder.  I knew I suffered with one for years.  I knew that it took root when I was only 15 years old, growing and growing and often going in and out of remission until it took over my life for the better part of my late twenties.  And when I got that diagnosis, it gave me strength to finally work on it because now I had a name for it.

It is the same with depression.  I felt weak for starting therapy and medication.  And when I started actually feeling better because of the medication, I felt confused.  All this time I could have had this help.  I could have felt more alive, more like everyone else. (Or at least what I perceived everyone else felt like.  Because many people struggle in this same way and are good at hiding it as well.)

I guess I don't know where I'm going with this post.  As I sat down to write it, this isn't even where I was planning on it going.  But I feel so confused and angry with church, with religion, and I'm only just now actually processing that.  I feel let down by the one place that should have been my refuge and yet was the source of so much of my suffering, and I didn't even know it until now.  Most people felt hurt by church for different reasons than mine, but somehow I feel that church twisted my mind, a mind that was already very fragile and susceptible to this sadness, this darkness that has hovered over my mind like a dark cloud for so much of my life.

I believe in God, I have hope in who He is and what He has done and can do for me.  My faith has changed as I've grown older, but it remains.  But I struggle with the Evangelicalism I was raised in because I have such anger over it.  My whole childhood was defined by it and I can't shake it.

Anyway, perhaps more on that another time.  I probably sound like I'm walking around with this anger all the time, but for some reason as I've been dealing with my depression, this is what I keep going back to.

Yesterday, I cooked.

I realize that this probably seems so strange that this is such a big deal to post about, but it is.  I have not cooked once since last July.  Yes, seriously.

Why?  For some reason, I couldn't.  Call it a combination of my depression and dealing with my eating disorder issues, I just had no motivation, energy, or will to cook for months.  No matter how hard I tried.  Yes, ingredients were often bought and then thrown out after not being used.

So yesterday while I was standing in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and herbs, I felt a little bit of myself returning.  Cooking felt good and right again.  I was listening to music and singing along just like I always used to, and it felt joyful.

And I can't believe how excited I am that this small part of me has finally come back.  I enjoyed it and wasn't just doing it because I had to.

Yay for the small (HUGE!) victories!

Connection.  It's what we are made for, and that is why the end of a relationship hurts so damn much. To love someone, share so much of yourself with them, and then losing that is the just about the most pain anyone can go through.  It's called heartbreak for a reason.  My heart feels as though it is literally broken right now and will never feel whole again.

And yet the way I'm talking you wouldn't know that it was a choice that I made.  I hate myself for it.

Depression is a bitch.

I have been waiting for the light at the end of this long, long tunnel.  Some days I just wonder if this is my lot in life.  Apathy, boredom, and just a lack of interest in anything at all.  I feel numb.  I know how good I have it.  I know I am fortunate and "have so much going for me."

But none of that means anything when you continue to be stuck in a fog.  It's a constant feeling of nothing matters.

I didn't realize how much I have been isolating myself more and more over the last few months.  I literally had a weird epiphany only yesterday about it, finally admitting to myself that yes.  I am still depressed.  I talked things over with my therapist and I'm supposed to be pursuing changing up medications and getting into a new doctor for that, but all of that feels like it doesn't matter because it takes too much energy.

How I even got the motivation to sit here and type this I'm still not sure, because I've been putting off posting for quite some time now.

There's nothing I am sad about.  I just feel nothing.

Except super irritated at myself for still being in this fog.  And super fatigued all the time too, can't forget that one.

There's really only two people I even want to be around these days, and that's my dog Wilbur and my boyfriend Sam.  Who has stuck with me despite my struggles.  Wilbur seems to know what I need when I'm at my lowest (which is more often than not lately).  Even if I spend most of my time at home, at least he is always here with me, and he still gives me purpose and hope.  Something I can hold onto.

I just want to know WHY I can't snap out of this!  It seems like it should be so easy.  Like maybe if I start doing more fun things, or being around people more, or going more places, but those things just pull me into a deeper fatigue that I can't shake.  In many ways I feel like life is happening all around me and I can't be a part of it, and then in the next moment I think to myself, "What does it matter anyway."  And I go back to binge-watching Friends.

Wilbur

Slowly, slowly things are getting better.

I feel I am becoming less and less my disorder.  And more and more becoming myself.  Every waking minute is no longer spent obsessed about my body and food.  I don't hate myself anymore.  I think for the first time in a very long time, I am feeling neutral about my body.  Not loving it, but not quite hating it either.  And the feeling of peace that gives me in all other parts of my life is amazing.

And... I got my puppy, Wilbur last week!!  What a sweet heart.  He is now 9 1/2 weeks old and is such a good boy.  

I feel so blessed and thankful for this sweet boy.  I am exhausted and hardly got any sleep for over a week.  But he is slowly getting used to sleeping in his crate at night.  Last night he slept from 9:30 until 5:30 this morning!  I am so proud of how well he is doing.  He knows the commands "Sit," "Lay," "Come," and is learning more.  He is mostly house trained, although that is still  work in progress as he doesn't have the freedom to go in and out as I am living in an apartment right now.  But the bell on the door has been a lifesaver because he is able to tell me when he has to go!  He still forgets, but he is a baby so there will be time for him to learn.

Caring for and loving this sweet boy has given me so much joy.  I can't wait to see him grow and am so excited to have him in my life!  Yes, there are times he is naughty and makes me want to pull my hair out, but there are many more good moments with him than bad because he is so smart and learns quickly.

Welcome, Wilbur!

Journal Entry

I wrote this in my journal and decided to share it here.

I thought I was doing fine on my meal plan, almost "cured" because I was "following the rules."  Turns out that my ED behaviors are more ingrained than I ever thought.  It's not about what I'm doing on the outside so much as what's going on on the inside.  Old habits die hard.  I am taking this one day at a time.  Meal by meal, snack by snack.  Most days I wonder, will I ever truly heal from this?  I have to believe I can.

Can I stop body checking?  I find myself doing that all the time.  I have since I was in high school but it really got bad in 2013--when I lost a lot of weight.

Funny.  May 2013.  I draw a very distinct line between me before May 2013 and after May 2013.  What I once considered me "getting healthy," I now consider me "getting an eating disorder."

But May 2017, well there is another line I draw.  For four years I was on the quest to get a "perfect" body but instead spiraling into my eating disorder.  Four distinct years-- not all bad and miserable, but in relation to my body and food, very bad, sad, miserable, self-loathing years.

May 2017-- when it all came to a head and I knew I had to get help.  I couldn't stop obsessing about food, bingeing, exercising away the calories, hating myself, being mean to my body, engaging in destructive behaviors, going up and down in my weight, weighing sometimes multiple times a day.  All of that was on my mind 95% of the time, maybe 100%.  My life had become completely miserable.

By July, I thought for sure I was almost better.  But by early August I was spiraling again toward destructive behavior.  It's been hard coming back from that.  But the lessons I have learned from the awful relapse are invaluable.  It taught me that I need to rely on others for support-- to let people in on what I'm really struggling with.  It taught me that I'm sicker than I thought, but that I am getting exactly the help I need.  It taught me to freely admit that I need help and support.  Until now, I still did not actually believe I was "sick enough" to need help.  It taught me to own my actions, but also that this eating disorder DOES NOT DEFINE ME.  I can start fresh, start writing the rest of my story differently.  There is no erasing or re-writing of the past.  It's a part of me.  But I can choose where I go from here.  I can take a different path.

YES, I'm still struggling, but now I'm fighting harder than ever.

Thoughts for the Week

Taking it one day at a time over here.  I'm on day 3 of following my meal plan again the way I am supposed to.  I realized I wasn't trusting my treatment plan, my therapist or dietitian, or even myself.  I wish this could be easier.  I wish there was a magic wand I could just wave and be cured of all this.

Some things I've realized this week:

Although I have known I have a problem for a few years now, enough that I knew I needed to seek help... I still think I have been in denial about just how deep seeded this really was.  It's amazing what talking about it can do.  I realized I've really been struggling inwardly with not feeling like I'm actually "sick enough" (i.e. dangerously underweight, hair falling out, fainting, all the typical things you think of when you hear the term eating disorder) to need this much help.  I was actually starting to think maybe I blew this all out of proportion and I could just figure it out on my own.  Which is messed up, I know, because while you might not look at me and think I am struggling, there is a lot more going on that people can't see on the outside.

I've learned the last couple of weeks that for some reason, this part of me is broken.  My view of my body, food, hunger, etc, is completely distorted.  And I honestly didn't realize just how much until I truly opened up to close friends about it over the last couple of weeks.  Until now, there have been many aspects of it that I just didn't want to talk about with anyone because it was too embarrassing.  But sharing so that someone else can help me bear this burden has given me a new freedom and more strength to keep working toward recovering.

I need healing.  I need to take care of myself.  I want to feel like a whole person again.  I have a renewed hope that someday, I will get there.

I honestly thought I was doing so well a few weeks ago.  Like I was so close to being past all of this.  I felt good, I was eating every 3-4 hours throughout the day, felt satiated and the urges to engage in ED behaviors was very low.  The last two weeks have been the worst.  And all it took was one day of unintentionally engaging in behaviors to spiral me out of control.  Each day thinking, I can keep this up for just one more day and THEN I'll get back on track.

I feel so ashamed, embarrassed, and afraid to really share with anyone how hard this is.  I feel so ashamed that I cannot master the basic human function of how to eat.  I'm so tired of dealing with this and feel as though I will never get better.  I have to hope I can, and I am getting exactly the help I need to overcome this.  I am just so frustrated with myself, the process, and this horrible relapse I've been dealing with.

I'm thirty, and I'm still dealing with this shit?  Can't I just flip a switch and be cured already?  :(

I know this will get better, but I have to make conscious choices to get there.  I have to take responsibility for my actions.  

Relapse

Bad week over here, bad week.  But I'm ready to pick myself back up and keep going.  Or at least try.  I won't let one bad week define me.  One bad week can easily turn into two, three, four, etc, if I let it define me.

I realized this week that my sense of identity is going to have to shift a bit.  I get asked so, so often "What are you training for right now?"  Or receive comments of "You eat so healthy."  All extremely well-meaning, so I don't hold any of that against the people asking it.  But every time I get those kinds of comments, I miss that "old me."  And I feel guilty because I don't run anymore, and I have no plans to train for anything.  And I no longer believe in the same concept of "healthy eating" as I did before.  Because I'm learning that all foods can fit in a healthy diet.  Granted, I still don't know what foods fit in mine, but I'll get there.

This week I am struggling with my body image... desperately wanting to weigh myself, measure myself, see if I lost or gained.  I have reverted back to old ways, old habits.  Instead of listening to my body, I've ignored everything it has tried to tell me this week.  As a result I have barely slept, been completely unproductive, and feel as though I am back to square one (even though I'm not).  

Here's hoping things turn around.  But I have to put in the work.  I can't expect these things to heal on their own if I keep making the choice to go back.

Things I am leaving behind: diets, restriction, bingeing, feeling hungry all the time, counting calories, over-exercising, over analyzing my body, putting myself down.  But I actually have to CONSCIOUSLY make the choice to not do those things and it's so.damn.hard.

One of the biggest pitfalls I have is comparing myself to a prior version of me.  Mostly in the physical sense, yes.  I have this bad habit of looking at pictures of myself from 2-4 years ago, and then berating myself for not looking like that anymore.  For not having the discipline I had in those days to maintain that.

Discipline for skipping meals?  Going to bed starving, my stomach feeling like it was eating itself?  Eating the smallest portions I possibly could?  Fasting as long as I could after bingeing or overeating?  Exercising even through injuries, bad weather, or skipping out on events with friends so I could get that exercise in?  Always looking for the next diet that would finally cure me of all my food issue?  

And I look at those things as positive?

Those things stole so much life from me.  It's easy to look at an old picture of a smaller version of me and see someone who was prettier, healthier, happier, etc.  I have to remind myself of how much I was shrinking--not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well.  I was hiding away from taking up space in the world.

And so today, yes-- I am bigger.  I struggle every day with giving my body what it needs.  It probably sounds odd coming from someone who struggles with bingeing and overeating that in all actuality, I eat in a restrictive way most of the time.  Not just restrictive in portions, but restrictive thinking includes your attitude and mindset while you are eating the "unhealthy" things as well.  While I might be "allowing" those things in your diet, I still have a restrictive mindset around them.

There's so much more I could say, but there's a lot of things I still have a hard time talking about.

I just want to remember today that I am more than a body.  My body is no more than a vessel that carries me around.  The fact that that body looks different today than it did a year or two ago changes nothing about who I am.

Life has thrown me for a loop in the last couple of weeks.

Thanks to medication and therapy, I honestly stabilized and felt... human.  While I am today nowhere near the dark place I was two and a half months ago, I have been noticing over the last two to three weeks a decline.  Slow, yes, and thankfully I shared it with my therapist and was strongly encouraged to go in for a re-evaluation for medication.  Otherwise I probably would have waited another month.

We changed medication, actually.  I requested it after talking it over with my therapist.  So I just feel a little off this week.  Or a lot off, really.  I relapsed big time with my ED, (hence yesterday's post) and am mentally working on recovering from that one.

It's odd to me that this level of functioning (worse, actually) was my normal, everyday life.  I never thought I needed to get help with it, or at least I never felt brave enough to.  It seemed like "Well, this is my lot in life, and I better learn how to deal with it."  Despite all that is going on, I still have a deep sense of hope.  I don't feel dead inside, just a little... lethargic, how's that for a mental health description?

Frustration with myself seems to be my number one issue, and I hope that I can learn to be kind to myself.  Because I'm just not very good at that.

A Letter to my Eating Disorder

ED, I hate you.  But I love you at the same time, and struggle to give you up.

You tell me I am not good enough, that I am fat and ugly, that no one will ever love me.  You lie to me, isolate me from my friends and family, and tell me that only you can help me.  You distract me from facing problems, and tell me that you are my solution.  You have cheated me of a life lived unrestrained, unrestricted, and told me that if I can just achieve x,y,z... THEN I will be truly happy.

Yet you have been there in times when it seemed no one else was.  You comforted me when I felt so alone and lost.  You helped me cope through difficult circumstances.  And because of that I struggle to let you go.  You served a purpose, even if the results have been destructive.  Without you, there's no telling where I would be now.  Yes, even in your destructive, soul-crushing wake, I know somehow that I survived in part thanks to you.

The thing is, you no longer have a place.  You no longer serve any purpose in my life except to control, taunt, and destroy me.  And as I start to let you go, you cling to me even tighter.  You tell me how much I need you in order to still have control.  But I am choosing to let you go... one day at a time, one meal at a time, sometimes even one hour at a time.  So, ED, today I am choosing recovery over you.

Update

Well, it has been a bit since I wrote.  Life has been pretty busy.  I've gone to Florida, Illinois, and Yellowstone.  Days off in between have been packed with appointments or friends.  Work has been mostly good.

That isn't to say that life is always great.

There are things I'm struggling with.  Progress seems to be one step forward, two (or three or four or five, etc) steps back.  I am hopeful that one day I'll be able to look back and see how much progress I've made.  In all honesty, my eating recovery seems to be moving ever so slowly.  Each week is an attempt at small changes.  Trying to give up restrictive thinking.

In general, I have more energy and life these days.  I seem to have leveled out as far as that goes, and honestly not quite where I'd like to be but am working on a lot of self care and prioritizing my alone time, reading, meditation, getting eight hours of sleep, etc.

As far as my body image goes, that is up and down.  Mostly down, honestly.  I am constantly consumed with worry about what is going to happen to my body, about what is already happening to it, what people will think about me, etc.  I've decided to take a break from exercising as intentionally.  Instead, if a run fits my schedule, I'll do it.  But I am not going to lose sleep to do it, or miss out on experiences to do it, or isolate myself from friends to do it.  I've been hiking more, which is a far more enjoyable and peaceful way to get movement in.  Not to mention it's incredibly therapeutic!

But I need to learn how to eat apart from exercising away the calories.  That's hard and scary.

So while the last few weeks have been a bit of a "bump in the road," and I have felt like I lost all progress, I'm not letting that stop me from moving on as I would in the past.  Each day is always a step closer to full recovery.  And that is exciting!

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.

As I have mentioned frequently, I have been struggling with an eating disorder.  Would you look at me and guess that?  No.  Because I'm not super thin, nor am I really even overweight, I slide by as someone who just really, really loves food but also really, really loves health and fitness.

The truth is, both of those things have become something I am enslaved to.

I haven't been officially diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I will be working with an eating disorder center starting in a few weeks for help with this to determine what exactly is going on.  I think there are varying aspects to my eating disorder but I'm not really sure what they are, but I've most closely narrowed it down to binge eating as far as I can tell.  Binge eating disorder is characterized by (source: nationaleatingdisorders.org):

• Recurrent episodes of binge eating. An episode of binge eating is characterized by both of the following: 
• Eating, in a discrete period of time (e.g., within any 2-hour period), an amount of food that is definitely larger than what most people would eat in a similar period of time under similar circumstances.
• A sense of lack of control over eating during the episode (e.g., a feeling that one cannot stop eating or control what or how much one is eating).
• The binge eating episodes are associated with three (or more) of the following: 
• Eating much more rapidly than normal.
• Eating until feeling uncomfortably full.
• Eating large amounts of food when not feeling physically hungry.
• Eating alone because of feeling embarrassed by how much one is eating.
• Feeling disgusted with oneself, depressed, or very guilty afterward.
• Marked distress regarding binge eating is present.
• The binge eating occurs, on average, at least once a week for 3 months.
• The binge eating is not associated with the recurrent use of inappropriate compensatory behaviors (e.g., purging) as in bulimia nervosa and does not occur exclusively during the course of bulimia nervosa or anorexia nervosa

I am not sure exactly when I can pinpoint that this actually began.  Looking back over my life, I seem to have had periodic episodes from anorexia, to extreme restriction, to bingeing and overexercising, and body dysmorphia.  Eating has never really been... normal.  At least not since I was fifteen years old.  I have begun reading through old journals and found some pretty heartbreaking entries in relation to my dieting, exercising, and body image mentality.  I didn't realize just how deep a lot of this goes.

It's difficult, because I know that at times when I've opened up to people about this, they don't take it seriously.  I look healthy enough.  I don't ever gain more than 10 or 15 pounds.  Never mind that my weight has fluctuated up and down nonstop for the past several years.  It's kind of the attitude of, "Oh. You struggle with overeating. Join the club."  Cue the eye roll.

God I wish it was that simple.  I wish that was all it was.

Right now, I don't see a way out of my struggle in that particular area.  It has been a vicious cycle for too long now.  I'll think I'm in the clear, think I've overcome it... only to crash and burn in the worst way and be starting from scratch all over again.  That's why I'm reaching out for help specifically in that area.  It's hard being almost thirty years old and this STILL being an issue.  It's embarrassing.  But I don't want to be forty, of fifty, or sixty and STILL be dealing with this so severely.  I've seen what that looks like.  Seen the life that eating disorders steal from people.  And I want my life back.

Depression.

Yes, depression.  Writing that and acknowledging it feels so strange to me.

I realized today that possibly one reason I haven't acknowledged this fact is that I'm not exactly... sad.  Mostly I feel nothing.  Nothing but tired, fatigued, and zero energy 95% of the time.  My mind feels muddled and struggles to concentrate.... which has made everyday tasks seem insurmountable at times.  My insomnia hangs on, which only exacerbates things.

From the outside looking in, my life looks awesome.  It really does.  I have received comments about all the exciting and amazing things I do.  And it's hard because what people don't see is that most of the time when I'm NOT doing those things (which are actually extremely far and few between... and honestly, are only ever half-enjoyed), I spend most of my time home.  Alone.  Unable to reach out to anyone.  Sometimes I go for a run or to the gym.  Most of the time I am simply laying around not doing much of anything but watching Netflix.  Sadly, the Office and Parks and Rec are my friends these days.

How do you explain to people what you're really going through?  I kept it hidden from even my closest friends and family for so long.  Even the ones that knew bits and pieces weren't getting it all, because who wants to keep listening to the same crap over and over?

That's why I finally reached out and am getting into therapy.  It's been a long time coming.  And I can finally admit that I NEED HELP.

And even though I still feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water, I finally have a small flicker of hope.  Hope to overcome.  Hope to live fully.  Hope for healing relationships and re-building bridges.  I know tomorrow may not feel quite this bright, but for today I am thankful for the small light that just might be at the end of this tunnel.

It's Time.

Life, man...

Do you ever just wish you could get a do-over?

I have been struggling.  STRUGGLING.  And for the first time in my life, I finally have had the courage to reach out for help.

I haven't been there for people in my life because of what I've been going through... I know how to self-sabotage, push people away, be hurtful, and keep myself away from the world because of this.  My mind has been in a very dark, sad place for too long.  It is time for me to recognize my problems as what they are-- I am struggling with mental health problems and I can't do it alone anymore.

I need prayer, because right now I simply can't pray.  My prayers come in the form of tears and pleas these days, and silence is my answer.

I know this sounds like I'm in an acute crisis and I'm not... I am not suicidal so please don't interpret this as a call for help in that way.  I simply want to shed light on where I'm at and where I've been.  Maybe it's tacky and strange to post this on a blog, but honestly I don't really care.  I want to be heard, and even if putting this out on a blog post that won't be read by many can alleviate some of that, then it's worth it to me.

Thirty.  Thirty is a milestone.  I want thirty to kick depression and binge eating disorder in the balls.  I want to overcome this and I want to live fully again.  I am tired.