Manic Monday

I am what can only be described as, out of sorts. Between the full moon and daylight savings time, my body and brain are completely out of sync.

I want to say I had a good weekend. I want to tell you all about Expo West, and my new fun samples, and how I love lounging and running errands with the boy.


I relapsed Friday night and have been beating myself up since. I mentioned I already wasn’t in a great mood and it only got worse when I went home. Thinking some “alone time” would make me feel better, I ventured to the coffee shop and bought myself a new book, a memoir. The memoir is called Loose Girl and it hit a little too close to home. The next thing I knew I was staring in the mirror in a public bathroom trying to regain composure. I’ll recreate the stream of consciousness to the best of my ability.

My heart and head are pounding. My vision is blurred and I try to blink away tears.There’s a burning in my chest. That nagging voice in my back of my head is relentless. “You’re not good enough. Why do you bother? Why do you care? What’s the point? Give up. Give in. You know you’re not worth it. You’ll never be good enough. You’ll never be good enough. You’ll never be good enough…” My ears pulsate with every word. The voice is right. It doesn’t matter what I do or how hard I try or how badly I want it; I will always fail because I don’t deserve to succeed. Now numbed to the core my body reverts to autopilot and I am not longer in control of my actions. I am not hysterical. I am not crying. I am not screaming. I am completely and utterly calm. I am everything and nothing at the same time.

I remain in this catatonic state until my subconscious fulfills its need: sweet, sweet release. It comes in many forms. Bingeing; purging; cutting; orgasm, even. It’s different every time. Another voice in my head tries to fight back, to stand up to the negative thoughts, to have confidence but it ultimately gets drowned out without enough reinforcement. My old therapist used to tell me it was self-fulfilling prophecy. I’ve already decided I don’t deserve to be happy, so I set myself up for failure before anyone else can disappoint me. This way it’s my fault and I make myself less vulnerable to the actions of others. And so before I know it, I’ve downed a large slice of pie and am hugging the toilet in the bathroom. I’m not proud it, and I’m not okay with it, but it’s not as easy as you say it is to simply pause and make a different choice. This is bigger than that. And when I triumph over it I am ecstatic. But when I fail, I only punish myself more. So when others make comments and say “why didn’t you just stop yourself” I want to lash out, not just at them, but at me. Why didn’t I? Why am I not strong enough? And it just comes back around to: “because you’re not good enough.”

This is obviously something that weight loss alone will not fix. Even if I am a smaller size, it’s not like my confidence will just magically repair itself.

I think I’m more broken than I realized. I don’t trust that people will stay when they fully know the real me. I don’t trust that people will stay, period. I still crave validation and not even through sex or affection, but just with words and respect. I need to hear I’m pretty. I need to hear my opinion matters. I need to hear I’m valued. I need to hear I’m loved.

I wish I knew where I was going with this post. I guess it was mostly to get this all off my chest and so that if anyone else deals with these issues, they’ll know they’re not alone.

Sorry to be such a Debbie Downer, but I never made claims that this blog would always be super motivational. In fact, as someone still conquering an ED and dealing with bipolar issues, posts like this will probably pop up from time to time.

However, I promise happier posts to come this week, complete with Expo West photos and product reviews!


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