I've gained nearly all my weight back. But I have not given up. When I began this blog I vowed to tell the truth and to use my writing to expose all the filthy, damaging beliefs I had in order to try to help myself get better. It's been more than a year since I began....and I honestly don't know if I've gotten any better at all.
I'm sick. I'm mentally ill. I guess that's what they categorize depression under.....mental illness. I hate that term, but maybe it's true. It has me bound once again. Depression affects every area of my life. Sometimes it's manageable. But sometimes it's terrifying.
Tonight I feel horrible. I'm sitting here, looking around my filthy house, in clothes which are squeezing me, tears flooding my face and neck. I'm aching.
My teenage daughter and I got into a big fight this afternoon. It all started over something small....her just being hateful when I came through the door after work and I just didn't handle it well. I went in my room....well, it's not really my room anymore, since it is so thrashed that I can't even sleep in there anymore....and ate cold cereal, stared at the walls, and just felt miserable. Later, when she wanted something from me, my childish response only escalated the situation. The result was a huge blow-up where she proceeded to tell me everything I already hate about myself. She shouted how I was a f*cking bitch and how I was a shut in who had no life. She reminded me of how filthy I am. How I don't care for myself. How I don't do anything. How I don't clean anything. She said we were trash! That I should be ashamed of myself.
And I am. I'm deeply ashamed of myself. I have hated myself for so many years. That self hatred is fed with food. It's hidden away under piles of rubbish in my home. My relationships are not wholesome or healthy. I master my job because it's the only thing I can control. And when I'm not at work, I'm scared and alone and hyper-aware of what I've become. I spend my one day off a week sleeping, rather than living, because I don't want to face the day or the big, empty hole I call my "life". And I'm disgusted with myself.
That perception of myself does nothing to aid in my recovery and my ability to lose weight. I lost nearly 35 lbs and just put it right back on because I couldn't endure. I couldn't endure because my mind is still so messed up. I have felt so bad for so long. The evidence of my illness is all around me. The evidence is in me.
My family doesn't understand what goes on inside of me. They judge me a pig. They see no value in me. To know how I disappoint and disgust them only intensifies my feelings of shame. The more shameful I feel, the more defeated and powerless I feel. And the more I eat. And the more I retreat. I can't seem to climb above it.
When I started writing last year I hoped to change my thinking and become someone beautiful and loved, if only in my own eyes. Tonight, I only see myself as I've been described by the words that have been spoken to me over the years by people who I wished would have loved me. Those weapons have become phrases I continue to repeat to myself, creating unrest, disdain and self-loathing. I've become my own worst enemy. In reality, I'm not the vile person I tell myself I am. Yet, the battle within my mind rages as my words of self-hatred war against the good in me.
I will never be able to get this weight off if I can't stop feeling this way. I'm afraid that I won't get control of this and that these emotions will continue to destroy me. I live in constant fear of become larger and larger until my health fails and any tidbit of self respect I have left vanishes. I dread the day that I am completely isolated (that day is coming if I continue to live this way). I hate myself. And I need to love myself, I know, to get better. I don't intend to stop trying. I haven't given up but I'm desperate for the strength to keep fighting. I don't want to die unloved. I don't want to die at all.
Cheri, I happened across your blog somehow (I almost feel like it was meant to be!). I just wanted to say how much I understand and feel your pain. 8 months ago (and for years before that) I could have written this post. Seriously, it freaks me out how much it sounds like me. I'm 46, have major depression, and had eaten myself up to 366 pounds of self-hate. I managed to start pulling myself out of the pit somehow and I'm trying to make it permanent this time. But I think a really important part of that is accepting that we will go up and down (I mean emotionally). For me, it started with doing little tiny things that were healthier because I couldn't face the big stuff. It eventually started adding up. I'm rambling but I've written more at my blog (Fatosity.com) and I would love to be in touch with you more. If not, please know that there is someone in the world wishing you the best and rooting for you.
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