It's become clear to me that I've sunk into a deep hole of depression.... After 9 months of being an emotional punching bag, I think it's finally caught up to me. I've talked about this before, I love my mom more than just about anything.... but I realize now, she's in denial. Deep denial. She either truly doesn't recall the hurtful things she's said to me or the ways in which she guilted me, or she wants to pretend they never happened. I'm pretty fucked up after this whole experience-- because it was a lot to handle as a person who a) already lost one parent and b) has a severe fear of death and anxiety. I can finally say that my mom is feeling better. For months I wished for my old mom back and I think we're almost there. But what about the collateral damage? How do we handle that? I guess I made excuses--- good ones too-- for what she would do or say. She wasn't feeling well-- actually, it was beyond not feeling well. She was the sickest she had ever been in her life. So I tried to be strong and get through. Yet, I tend to dwell on what happened, which is my fault.
I dwell on some of the most hurtful things she has ever said to me. For those who know my mom would never believe she is capable of saying anything hurtful, especially to me.I am her world and in my heart I know that.... but some of what she said will impact me forever. Although my husband and her husband would say, that she didn't mean it I still wondered why she said it.... where did it come from? But on occasion, I've tried to bring it up and she says its all in the past. OK. That's fine. I can work those issues out in the multitude of therapy sessions I'm now in, including: two types of one on one counseling, marriage counseling and possible outpatient treatment at a mental hospital. Because, well, I've hit rock bottom. I know I have because I've relapsed. I've lied when I said I don't have a coping skill, because I do. Everyone has something they use to cope--- everyone resorts to something that makes them feel they are in control. Control of the bad feelings, the depression, the anxiety, the despair....
As with any addict, there is always a possibility of relapsing. It's called hitting bottom. And I'm here. I've had a dirty little secret for years--- to which I still deny. Anorexia Nervosa is defined as "People who have anorexia have an intense fear of gaining weight. They severely limit the amount of food they eat and can become dangerously thin." Is that me? Nope. Not at all. But AN has also been defined as this: "A person with anorexia may also feel the only control they have in their lives is in the area of food and weight. If they can't control what is happening around them, they can control their weight. Each morning the number on the scale will determine whether or not they have succeeded or failed in their goal for thinness. They feel powerful and in control when they can make themselves lose weight. Sometimes focusing on calories and losing weight is their way of blocking out feelings and emotions. For them, it's easier to diet then it is to deal with their problems directly. " Is that me? Yup.
So, depending on what you choose to believe, I'm an anorexic. I don't fit the first profile at all. I also don't think I'm sick. Yet, I'm not eating. As of today, I have lost 19 pounds. It started off slowly but I think the relapse really occurred in February. Countless people have noticed the weight loss-- that is except for my mom. But in all fairness, I hide it pretty well when I'm around here. I've become an expert at hiding my feelings around my mom since July. She has enough to worry about and I don't see the need to bring her into the loop now. Obviously, the last time I dealt with an "eating disorder" was in college. I started as bulimic when my dad got sick (with a little push from a family relative on my college weight gain) and then once he died, I guess anorexia (I still disagree) set in... I went through treatment. Friends thought it was diet pills or just me looking for attention.... Maks me wonder if they ever knew me at all. But, I suffered for my addiction. My stomach is fucked up. Mostly from taking 20 laxatives at a time but I really did a number on myself. Eventually, I stopped.
I remember clearly I was out shopping with my best friend, Lilijohnson (who I've mentioned in earlier blogs), and I kept trying on clothes that were zeros and twos and telling her that I looked fat. For the first time in all our years of friendship, she got MAD. I mean, MAD and looked at me and went off. That was a turning point. I don't think that's what stopped it, but it made an impact. That was 11 years ago.
Now, I can't eat. Even when I try, I get sick. I feel tired all the time but I also feel in control. Control of my life. For months, everyone said to me "Stop worrying about things that are out of your control." So I did. Then I found something in my control. And here I am 19 pounds later. At 5'1", it's a noticeable difference. But I don't look sick and I don't feel sick so I don't think I am sick. My friends know what's going on. I don't hide my not eating. At first I said, I'm stressed out and there isn't enough room in my stomach for food with all the knots-- which was true. But it's moved beyond that now. My husband is worried all the time and I hate myself for it. I'm worried too-- mostly because I don't want nor do I think I need help. I cry alot..... my husband has been carrying this around by himself for months now and it makes me sad. He's an amazing man. He's willing to go to the moon and back for me on a moment's notice and I'm hurting him. He tells me he's watching me kill myself. That hurts. I wish it were enough to make me stop though....
The biggest obstacle now? I've seen results and I feel good about the way I look. I haven't been this thin since before I got married. So how do I stop? I don't know. Do I tell my mom to get support? I don't think that's a good idea. She's trying to get better. I feel terrible guilt for the little I've told her about the depression I have going on because I don't want her to not worry about me. She shouldn't have to worry about me--- because I'm almost 36 years old. But apparently emotionally I'm 16.
As my husband says, baby steps. And I guess that's all I can do right now.... My problem is I don't want to stop. So, I keep this secret to myself. I know I am the only one that can fix it, but deep down, I think I want someone to fix me without asking for help.
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