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.