Living In My Head

 But, knowing that I'm ridiculous doesn't seem to stem the flow of thoughts.  

I've lived for years in a strange mid-point where I continue to have unrelenting thoughts of inadequacy and failure, but no longer believe them whole heartedly.

I've been plagued for the past thirty-one years with thoughts and obsessions about my weight.  I've taken it to extreme degrees- starved and binged, wasted away and plumped out.  I know that freedom from these obsessions lies within the realm of possibility; as I've enjoyed long periods of peaceful remission.   I know too, that bondage in every sense is also possible, since I've also suffered long bouts of this reality.  I am no longer whole-heartedly committed to hating myself, and this now prevents me from becoming as thin as my dysfunctional daydreams dictate.  

So, I live in this world between being blissfully well and not-at-all well.

All of it rests on my state of mental health.  When relationships fail, people cause me pain, and I'm at a loss for how to respond appropriately, my mind hits the "big red button" and my obsessions kick into moderate to high degrees.  I dream of diets, weight loss, clothes hanging in folds.  I imagine the peaceful facade that a thin body would provide me.  It would give me the protection from the cruelty of life.  

These are my imaginings; though I admit they are ridiculous.

My other automatic defense against the pains of life is to blame myself, and even here I no longer believe my thoughts.  It used to be easy to imagine that I brought pain upon myself by being inadequate.  That surely I deserved to be mistreated and disrespected.  It's at least as painful, if not more so, to admit that sometimes people just fail and mistreat me.  Due to nothing that I deserve.  This puts me in a position of powerlessness.  I am powerless to change another person, or influence how they choose to treat me.

Hence the urge to starve.  Something that I can manage on my own.

But all my years of therapy and endless reading and strenuous mental work have rendered me incapable of the basic necessities of the eating disordered.  I'm grateful, but left wanting.  All I'm left with is the mental struggle of sorting out my thoughts, disciphering what is truth, deciding what to own and what else to discard.

I get tired of the weight of my brain.  My anxieties, worries, fears, and introspection.

Meanwhile, my smiles are real.  Sincere.

And I do love to laugh.

I will move on.  It will take me longer than I wish it would, and I'll likely put in more mental energy than your average bear.  It will be moment by moment, and will only occasionally feel like a renewal.  It mostly feels laborious and painful.

I will be honest, and I will do my best to be kind and patient.  With me, and with everyone I can.  For everyone carries some sort of burden.  (thanks, pinterest for some variation of that quote, I've thought a lot about it).

 

(not to worry, oh speculators, my marriage is intact.  I have these bouts- always have.  This too, shall pass.)