Wow.
First time posting in months. I had saved this draft from my last attempted post: May 27, 2008
Amazing how fast a month flies by. Nolan is two months old today. Amazing. Much of May was spent in huntsville just basking in the awesomeness that is my nephew. The rest was mostly just staring into space and trying not to think too hard. About April. About the last year of my life. It'd be nice to just pick out some of the good moments and dwell on them, but it seems like it's all or nothing at the moment.
So I've been sitting here for a while, trying to find a good segue into this, but nothing's really coming to mind. Which is how I feel when I try to verbalize to other people what's going on with me. Lots of "ummm's" and awkward nothing's until it just finally stumbles out of my mouth: I've been diagnosed with an eating disorder. Have been. Am dealing. Of all the disorders I could see myself having, I really never pictured myself with this one (perhaps hypochondria should be added to the list) . What with my healthy obsessions about my weight and body image and my irrational anxieties about food and my perfectly normal binges and purges .... Never saw this one coming actually.
I honestly didn't think I had a problem because I wasn't skinny enough to have "that" problem...which was/is the problem (more logic, please!). Apparently you don't have to be emaciated or obese to have e.d., and surprisingly (to me anyway) many people who have it are somewhere in the middle, where I've found myself. I was diagnosed during finals week. Awesome timing. A medical leave from school was discussed (because I'd been having more frequent panic attacks), but we decided that I'd come too far to quit right before finals. It was tempting, though. To just give up. To be taken away and taken care of and not have to explain or face anybody. Very tempting. But I'm done running from it. I started treatment the week after. A whole lot harder than I expected. I didn't expect to spend several weeks discussing and dissecting my whole life to even pinpoint where and when and how and why this started. It's the first step. Second starts tomorrow when I meet with a nutritionist who works with my e.d. specialist. Third step is meeting with a regular psychiatrist to help with anxiety and depression. I'm really not sure how many steps are involved, but I'm assuming it's the as-many-steps-as-it-takes program.
As much as it sucks, knowing that there is something actually wrong (and that it's not just all in my head) is comforting. It explains alot to me. It helps me see why I've avoided people and why i've run away from any possible relationships lately, why I've wanted to live alone, eat alone
Amazing how fast a month flies by. Nolan is two months old today. Amazing. Much of May was spent in huntsville just basking in the awesomeness that is my nephew. The rest was mostly just staring into space and trying not to think too hard. About April. About the last year of my life. It'd be nice to just pick out some of the good moments and dwell on them, but it seems like it's all or nothing at the moment.
So I've been sitting here for a while, trying to find a good segue into this, but nothing's really coming to mind. Which is how I feel when I try to verbalize to other people what's going on with me. Lots of "ummm's" and awkward nothing's until it just finally stumbles out of my mouth: I've been diagnosed with an eating disorder. Have been. Am dealing. Of all the disorders I could see myself having, I really never pictured myself with this one (perhaps hypochondria should be added to the list) . What with my healthy obsessions about my weight and body image and my irrational anxieties about food and my perfectly normal binges and purges .... Never saw this one coming actually.
I honestly didn't think I had a problem because I wasn't skinny enough to have "that" problem...which was/is the problem (more logic, please!). Apparently you don't have to be emaciated or obese to have e.d., and surprisingly (to me anyway) many people who have it are somewhere in the middle, where I've found myself. I was diagnosed during finals week. Awesome timing. A medical leave from school was discussed (because I'd been having more frequent panic attacks), but we decided that I'd come too far to quit right before finals. It was tempting, though. To just give up. To be taken away and taken care of and not have to explain or face anybody. Very tempting. But I'm done running from it. I started treatment the week after. A whole lot harder than I expected. I didn't expect to spend several weeks discussing and dissecting my whole life to even pinpoint where and when and how and why this started. It's the first step. Second starts tomorrow when I meet with a nutritionist who works with my e.d. specialist. Third step is meeting with a regular psychiatrist to help with anxiety and depression. I'm really not sure how many steps are involved, but I'm assuming it's the as-many-steps-as-it-takes program.
As much as it sucks, knowing that there is something actually wrong (and that it's not just all in my head) is comforting. It explains alot to me. It helps me see why I've avoided people and why i've run away from any possible relationships lately, why I've wanted to live alone, eat alone