When I started this blog I was determined to not discuss my emotional issues (much), and most definitely, to not discuss my eating disorder. I felt it was important to keep a disconnect. For some odd reason I feel my eating disorder is in the past and this is who I have become. I have "issues" that I may have for the rest of my life, as though the disconnect between me and it is gone and we have merged into a single limited entity. A unit that has melded into one filled with some crazy, some calm, some anxiety, some depression, some obsession, some potentially better and some potentially worse. It isn't working for me.
When I was more active with restricting (oxymoron?) I functioned so much better. My anxiety was much less, I didn't feel as depressed, I had energy and I had drive. I've gained weight and I am miserable. I know that it acted as a drug but it was a harmless drug. Everything restricting held in check is now disproportionally out of control. I know on a rational level that I still weigh less than "ideal" with ideal being that arbitrary number "they" decide on. My efforts to separate myself from it has backfired on me. I'm a bundle of nerves. The littlest things that people take for granted have a crippling effect on me. I can not function without it. I think we have a symbiotic relationship. It can not live without me. And I obviously can not live without it. The important thing here is the degree upon which we rely on each other.
I feel disproportionate, not only in size, but in emotions. Things have happened in my family this past year that should have opened my eyes to the frailty of life. My mom developed the same cancer that took her older sister's life. My life, my struggles, my craziness, my emotionality... they had to be put on hold... or magically disappear. It was no longer about me, it was all about her. I have physically pushed beyond what I thought I could handle to cut the stress in my family. When my ex-husband developed cancer, we both felt very strongly that attitude and stress contributed to his illness. And in the same way it contributed to his cancer, it took it away. He beat all odds. I have the same beliefs regarding my mom's cancer that I did with his cancer. It's my job to keep her stress as low as possible.
I don't go out often. The littlest things can seem momentous. If my weight is up, people think I am doing well. Gaining weight (and gaining misery) has had nothing to do with me, it is all about others. I hate my life. It's simple. I hate my life. Everything I think up to make my life easier makes everyone else's more difficult. It's a catch 22. I can not continue like this. I feel like a worthless cause. I used to tell my therapist I was a waste of air. My thoughts are heading back in that direction.
I wonder what I must have done in a past life for me to be so miserable in this life. I'm doing what is "expected" of me, but in a minimalist way. The people around me see me functioning. I'm not really functioning, at least not on level with my potential. I also don't see how things can change. I want to get angry at God for giving me more than I can handle because I honestly and truly CAN NOT handle this. But I'm not important enough for God to be repeatedly testing like this. I'm not that important. This isn't a rosy and happy ending. I'm just not feeling it.
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