I Know. A Rant.

Ok readers. No more pity parties.

I'm choosing to embrace determination and feisty-ness instead of self-loathing and depression.

No, I haven't had my meds adjusted yet, but I refuse to allow myself to continue on a path of self-destruction. Well, the self-destruction I don't approve of. I'm sick of binging on food, alcohol, and SI. I'm welcoming my ED back into my life.

So what if I'm constantly afraid to answer phone calls from my friends (because their plans might include food or alcohol), go to restaurants (because I can't count the calories or know the ingredients), or go out in public (because people might say something about my size)? I'm going to hate myself if I'm starving or binging, so I might as well choose the former and keep losing weight.

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Now, I caution you, readers, against writing me off as obviously not tackling my emotional problems or continuing down a bad path. If you still feel this way, however, you are completely correct.

To address this, so we can get it out of the way: I've been seeing therapists and psychiatrists for four years now (four years that I can't get back), institutionalized twice, had my second amendment right taken away, and tried almost every major anti-depressant. Doctors have labeled me with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, and EDNOS.

I don't have much faith in the system. For those of you out there who have found hope or relief with psychology or psychiatry, I am exceedingly happy. That's why it's there. Try it, if you can. But for me, it doesn't work. And I've realized that what works for me is doing whatever it takes to keep from self-destructing, and maybe taking a drug cocktail that while ineffective, doesn't make me suicidal.

Perhaps this is largely in part to my philosophy of life. Really, who am I living for? Myself? No. I could die at any time and I would probably be relieved. I'm living for other people and that's ok for now.

But who am I losing weight for? Myself, entirely. I know wholeheartedly that BF (ah he needs a new name now!) would prefer me to be a healthy 130 pounds. I know that it's stressful having to constantly avoid the worried faces. But I know that as meaningless as I find nearly everything in my life, for brief moments, tiny glimmering instants, I have something that makes me want to wake up tomorrow. Work towards something.

I don't know why we're a bit messed up (come on, if you're reading this, you are at least a little bit screwy... otherwise, you wouldn't be able to put up with my nonsense). But I'm glad to embrace this return of determination, because we all deserve something that makes us loathe ourselves a little less, even if just for a minute.

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Have a fabulous week, lovelies.

Cheers!
Savory