So I made myself a schedule to follow. A list of do's and don'ts. Typical for me, always attempting to control my little universe, line things up just so, tame the demons. Never works. Not for long anyway. Last time I made it about 2-3 weeks on whatever plan I'd devised. Usually I make it a few hours. If I even make it out of bed when I say I will. Then I'm eating foods I swore to myself I wouldn't or laying on the sofa for hours on end when I promised mysef I'd do chores.
Today the alarm went off at 5:00 and my inner self screamed and fought to remain in bed and blissfully shut off from my world. But today I forced it, forced it out of bed and into sweats and onto the street. Something I hadn't done for 3 months. For the first mile I raged at myself. What are you doing, you should be in bed, asleep, this sucks, it's dark, you could get killed, it's not gonna change anything anyway. Just like a petulant child. You don't have to powerwalk I argued back. Stroll for shit's sake, I don't care. Just move one foot in front of another and shut the hell up. By the second mile I knew my inner voice was wrong, it would change things. I may not lose even one pound but I would feel better, more alive, more engaged with the world. Being out of bed before 9:00, taking a walk, taking a shower, eating breakfast, cleaning up the house a little. It all matters, it's all good. I begin to wonder why I fought it so hard.
But I know why. It's because I don't want to see or hear or feel anything. I just want to numb it all with food and sleep and TV. Escape. I signed up with a counselor who specializes in eating disorders today. A part of me was so incredibly relieved when she said she'd take me and my insurance would cover it. Like I'd just finally found a lifeline to grab onto. Then another part of me jumped in, telling me I'm overreacting. That I don't really have a problem. I'm blowing it out of proportion. What I have is a lack of willpower. Laziness. The depression is simply a lack of appreciation for the blessings bestowed upon me. The anxiety… well that just means I lack self confidence, I'm an idiot, I'm weak. Pull it together. You don't need a therapist, you just need to stop being stupid!
She was concerned that she couldn't get me in for 2 weeks. I wasn't. I've been dealing with this for years I said. 2 weeks is nothing. When did the anxiety start she asked? I don't remember it never existing I responded. It's been there since my first memory. What's your first memory, she was smart not to ask. The night my father shot himself, I would've had to respond.
I also didn't tell her I'm scared to go to therapy. Scared they're going to look at me and listen to me and say "What the hell are you doing here, you're ok! You're fine, you're not sick. You don't have real problems. You want to see real problems, hang around for my 2:00 appt. Now SHE'S got real problems! You're just wasting my time. Get the hell out of here and start appreciating what you have!"
Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Don't go there, don't make it more than it needs to be girl.