“But feelings can’t be ignored, no matter how unjust or ungrateful they seem.”
― Anne Frank, The Diary of a Young Girl
And so the phase had to come to an end. I mean, I knew this would happen eventually. Today was the day, folks. I woke up, did my typical routine, but for whatever reason, I had an exceedingly hard time concentrating this morning while I was practicing. Whether it was due to trying a different breakfast, lack of sleep from the night before, or the fact that my puppy wouldn’t shut up because she wanted to play – I don’t know. Maybe a bit of everything.
Saturday through Monday (aside from Sunday evening) were pretty darn great. My hope is that I can hold on to that. Today wasn’t horrible, but I made a few mistakes. (what’s new?! ha)
I find that have been constantly in a state of anxiety. I don’t even know that I remember what it feels like to live without being anxious. I feel as though this is sinful of me. Part of me tries to convince myself that I simply can’t control every last bit of it – that it truly does involve a chemical imbalance, and the other part of me? The other part thinks that’s a load of crap and that if I truly fully trusted God as a say (and believe) that I do, then it wouldn’t be a problem. So, I suppose I’m either sinful, or REALLY sinful. Either way, there’s really no winning. Not to mention, that regardless of the level of sinfulness involved, I still feel like a pile of poop and that’s no fun either.
If it’s not school, it’s violin.
If it’s not upcoming appointments, then it’s work loads.
If it’s not the next meal, it’s the next hour of practicing.
If it’s not practicing, then it’s studying.
If it’s not something music related, then it’s college related.
If it’s not homework, it’s college prep.
If it’s not the weight of the scale, then it’s the state of mind (whether positive or negative).
If it’s not my teaching schedule, it’s contacting the list of 500 billion people I feel like I have to contact each day.
If it’s not how much money I donate to the church, it’s how much time I donate.
If it’s not drinking too much caffeine, then it’s how to avoid collapsing in the floor.
My life has come to the point where I don’t even take things 1 day at a time. I take things a cup of coffee at a time.
1 12 oz cup of coffee before breakfast.
1 12 oz cup of coffee after breakfast.
1 12 oz cup of coffee during class.
1 8-12 oz cup of coffee at some point throughout the afternoon.
Still exhausted. I can’t sit down, for fear of not being able to get back up. Granted, I haven’t done the best job this past week with my meal plan, but I think I can safely say that, although that might provide a slight contribution, it is not the sole reason for this level of extreme fatigue.
It’s because I’m tired of fighting.
I’m tired of fighting everything.
I’m tired of the constant battle with calories, supplements, meal plans, etc. I’m just tired of going through the motions day in and day out. I’m tired of my weight being the indicator of how well, healthy, stable, I am.
I’m tired of the continuous reminder of how brutal this disease is. I have a friend that I met in treatment who had a heart attack recently. She’s fine now, (aside from being at a weight where she could drop dead any minute) but it’s always there, lurking. The majority of people who I came across in Denver are NOT doing well. I don’t want to be like them, but I also don’t understand how they are struggling so much, so soon. I’ve been home for 5 months as of September 12, sure things haven’t been perfect, but I’ve done a fairly good job of holding my own, so to speak.
I’m tired of fighting for my rights. Fighting for the typical freedoms that people my age have. I’m tired of fighting for trust, and for confidence, and for patience.
I’m tired of fighting with my family. It’s EXHAUSTING to have to put up with and go through what I have no other choice than to endure here living at home. My sister is a total wretch. She done nothing but aided me in the total destruction of my soul. It’s hard to patch yourself up when as soon as you take 1 step forward, a hurricane comes rolling in that knocks you 3 steps back, fumbles you to the ground, beats your face into the dirt, and sprinkles ashes all over your goals and dreams. She literally destroys me and I have no way to escape from it.
I’m tired of having to constantly be “strong”. No friends, I am not brave. I am not strong. I’m tired of hiding the fact that I’m still very much so struggling. I am struggling with my body image, residing in this space, eating during the day, etc. I am tired of my mental health being seemingly in line with my weight. Dropping weight before was an indicator I was suffering. What’s the indicator now? I feel like such a fake, false, not sick enough person if I simply say, “I’m struggling”.
I’m tired of being told, “You’re just gonna have too…yada yada yada.” Don’t tell me what I have to do without equipping me with the tools to do it. I can’t just “get over” things or “mourn x, y, z” or “be brave” or “be the bigger person.” I can not make the right decisions ALL of the time, I can not do the “right” thing ALL of the time. I can not be perfect. Isn’t that what got me into this predicament in the first place? Or at least, a supporting cause of how I ended up here?!
I feel like I worked so hard, but for what? I am a totally different person than I was 9 months ago. I have become stronger, more opinionated, more outspoken, more confident (even if it’s only microscopically so) so why can people not accept and embrace that?! Why am I continuously being rejected, still being told I am not enough – not sick enough, not big enough, not small enough, NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
Not good enough for what? Because it feels like I’m simply not good enough to fight anymore.