Mental Health – It's All In My Head

Good Afternoon Readers.

I don’t like to be touched. Let me elaborate. One of the side effects of hating what I look like physically is that I don’t like to be touched in certain places. I’ve been experiencing this for a few years and maybe with all the happy events happening in my life I hadn’t thought about it for awhile. I was distracted. Now that time has passed it is almost like I am hyper aware. My anxiety about being touched is increasing exponentially. So much that I think about it when I am communicating with anyone within reaching distance.

My arms are my Achilles heel. I DO NOT like to be touched on my arms. I don’t wear tight tops, I don’t wear short sleeves and you can be sure that I wear billowy, flowing tops and dresses in the summer because I won’t ever be seen wear spaghetti straps.

I have moments where I have a spout of confidence. I tell myself that since I believe every body is beautiful that I should apply this thinking to myself. I can get as far as putting the clothes on in my apartment but all it takes is one look.

One look in the mirror and I shut down. Literally. It doesn’t matter if my fiance genuinely thinks I look beautiful or that he doesn’t think my “arms look too big”. If it’s even for one second that I think I look fat then I shut down. I start scream crying. Yelling those ugly words I tell myself.

“I look like a pig. I’m an ugly fat cow.”

No one can get a word in edgewise and even if they could, nothing can bring me back once I’ve gone over the threshold. It’s exhausting and I hate that I react this way. But something just clicks in my mind and I can’t explain what it is. I start to spiral and just feed the horrible thought that starts the tantrum in the first place.

Apologies that this post is short and scatter brained. I haven’t been doing well this past week and I started writing this a few days ago but just didn’t have the motivation to finish. I am currently in that place where doing activities I normally love just have no interest to me or any value. I am worried that sometimes this darkness will keep coming back and it is just exhausting. But I am going to stick with this blog because I think it will really do me some good. Even if it takes months.

Since I started writing this post I have an update on how this side affect has been progressing. I don’t like to be touched at all right now unless absolutely necessary by Sam or anyone else. If it’s at work I try and avoid contact with people but when you have a close knit team like I do then we pat each other on the back or to get someone’s attention we touch their arm. The anxiety I feel is overwhelming.

Mirrors have also become enemy number two. I have started avoiding all mirrors. Even going so far as to look at the floor or wall in restrooms so I don’t have to see my face and arms staring back at me. My brain taking note of all the flaws and features I hate is just too much sometimes. It can really ruin my day.

I will say that mother nature does tend to make things more difficult for me emotionally. She is not a regular visitor for me so she catches me by surprise sometimes. I am hoping this dark period is related at least a little bit to that. Though this dark spell is lasting longer than normal and the side effects are getting more intense every time.

Maybe I will see a pattern across the months as I am writing.

I am sure it will become obvious when I am in a good place v a dark, dark place.

I can hope.

Before I go I will leave you with this. When I started this blog I was in a relatively happy place so my writing had some type of focus and clarity. Be warned that my writing reflects my mood. I feel sick in my mind and like I am struggling to swim to the surface out of the dark. My writing will reflect the journey. My writing won’t always make sense but that’s the whole point. My mental illness won’t make sense to anyone if I can’t even figure it out. As long as I get whatever it is I am looking for out of this blog experiment then that will be everything and more. This is for me. No one else.

If anyone is reading this – until next time.

Good morning reader.

I hate that word. Weight. Such a simple word. Too much importance in our society is put behind this word. Weight.

Weight.

I obsess about my weight. It’s one of the serious problems I have and it’s exhausting. Honestly sometimes I tell myself I should just eat what I want, get fat, and give up. Yet I know my eating disorder would never let me do something like that. It would destroy me. If eating something small like an orange that isn’t on my daily tracker sends me into a hysterical meltdown I highly doubt I will be changing lifestyles that drastically anytime soon.

I used to weigh myself on a daily basis. It was all consuming. If my weight fluctuated even just a little bit I would cry and scream and call myself a fat cow. That’s one of the more common names I have given myself.

For the past few months I haven’t been weighing myself. It’s a sickening feeling when I think about not knowing what I weigh. But i know myself. If I were to weigh myself and have gained a decimal of weight since the last time – I would lose it. It would set me back months on the progress I have made toward not caring about the number. Because I do. It’s sickening.

Weight. When I see or think of that word I think of a scale. Another simple word.

I bought a scale while still living with my parents. I weighed more then. I think. I don’t know – remember I haven’t weighed myself in months. Anyway, I obsessed about the number. My fiance got sick of my behavior. Started hiding the scale where even if I found it, I wouldn’t be able to reach. I’m only 5 ft tall so it’s not hard. Eventually he got rid of it as I would find ways to get the scale. Weigh in. And cry until I made myself sick.

I’m glad that hasn’t happened for awhile. It was exhausting.

I don’t think I would be able to weight myself today even if I wanted to. The nerves alone just thinking about it makes me sick. What if I’ve gained a lot of weight? How do I know if that’s muscle or fat?

I realize that someone could tell me I look great. I have definitely lost weight. Beautiful even. And if the scale has gone up those comments don’t matter. I don’t know how many times I have told Sam that nothing he could say will matter. Because he will love me no matter what. What happens now?

As I am sitting here I am feeling ill and am thinking about all the things I did today that have probably set back my weightloss goal. Sometimes I feel crazy. Like there is another person inside me that comes out when I go to this dark place. Like I am being smothered by another me. Weird. Scary. Makes me think that that other person will never go away. Not unless I lose the weight. Not unless I SEE the me I want to be staring back at me in the mirror. I have a feeling though that I will never get there. Not that I won’t get to the weight or physical ideal I have set for myself. But that my brain will always want to do better. That I will always have that sense of failure. No matter what.

Wow that was heavy. And yet I don’t feel better. I feel worse. Maybe I should try and write about the topics that are my achilles heal when I am in an upswing. Just a thought.

Keeping this short as my mood has shifted drastically. Hearing those cruel phrases in my mind as I type this. I will leave you with this: It’s ok to be sad but something I have actively been working on is not taking out all the scary, angry emotions about myself on my best friend/my partner in life. I know that every day is hard and I struggle even on a small level every day with those thoughts running through my head. But I can see the toll it is taking on Sam. He can only take so much on top of his own day to day issues and feelings. It’s an uphill battle that I am working on every day. Some days are better than others. But that’s what healing is all about. Making mistakes and learning. And I plan on making many mistakes if that means I get closer to my goal.

Not my weight goal.

The happiness goal.

Until tomorrow.

Tag: Mental Health

Progressing Side Effect

Weight