It's exhausting; living in constant fear. Fear of everything from leaving your house to go to the grocery store, fear of going to a friends wedding, fear of visiting your sister in college, fear of any unknown, fear of the future, fear of getting coffee with a friend, fear of going home, fear of taking your dog on a walk, fear of being asked to hang out with friends. Imagine a rattlesnake on the ground right next to you, you freeze, your heart rate increases, your thoughts are racing trying to come up with ideas on how to survive this situation. Not just a normal amount of worry that goes along with daily things...but a debilitating anxiety that leaves you beat up and defeated at the end of every day. This alone is hard enough, but with seasons of depression mixed in, it makes life feel simply impossible.
I used to love going to church with my family. But 3 months ago I left church crying all the way home and feeling hopeless, defeated, and afraid, I'm not even sure why. Well, I know why; social anxiety. Being around so many people was too overwhelming after being isolated in my silent and lonely apartment all day. Not to mention going to church on Sundays when there was Communion. Trying to avoid being noticed, or talked to, and also the pressure to eat those extra carbs. I tried everything from going to the bathroom during Communion (but usually someone saved some bread and juice for me), to faking eating it, to hiding it...I usually found excuses to skip Communion Sundays.
Being anywhere except in my apartment meant I may have to be forced to eat something I "couldn't" eat. I would have to eat out or eat something prepared by someone else. If I knew I had to go out, I would worry about it for days and weeks ahead of time. I had to eat "perfectly" to make up for whatever I would (or probably wouldn't) eat while out. I only felt comfortable if I was eating my safe, clean, healthy food in my apartment by myself so no one could judge me or question me.
This is what my life has consisted of up until September 10th when I began my journey to recovery from my eating disorder. I am blessed by a loving, supportive family who cared enough to send me away to get better. I said "no. no. no. no!" at first. It wasn't until my mom said in a trembling voice, "I want my daughter back", that I finally broke down and agreed to go, despite every cell in my body screaming at me to stay in my own "comfortable and safe" environment.
I have learned so much these past few months. One thing I have been reminded of daily is how imperfect I am. I am trying to learn to love myself the way God does. If He loves me enough to die for me, then I should learn treat myself as if I am worth dying for. The least I can do is keep myself alive! It is a battle every single day. I know I can never be perfect, but I CAN progress to recovery and a better life!
I used to love going to church with my family. But 3 months ago I left church crying all the way home and feeling hopeless, defeated, and afraid, I'm not even sure why. Well, I know why; social anxiety. Being around so many people was too overwhelming after being isolated in my silent and lonely apartment all day. Not to mention going to church on Sundays when there was Communion. Trying to avoid being noticed, or talked to, and also the pressure to eat those extra carbs. I tried everything from going to the bathroom during Communion (but usually someone saved some bread and juice for me), to faking eating it, to hiding it...I usually found excuses to skip Communion Sundays.
Being anywhere except in my apartment meant I may have to be forced to eat something I "couldn't" eat. I would have to eat out or eat something prepared by someone else. If I knew I had to go out, I would worry about it for days and weeks ahead of time. I had to eat "perfectly" to make up for whatever I would (or probably wouldn't) eat while out. I only felt comfortable if I was eating my safe, clean, healthy food in my apartment by myself so no one could judge me or question me.
This is what my life has consisted of up until September 10th when I began my journey to recovery from my eating disorder. I am blessed by a loving, supportive family who cared enough to send me away to get better. I said "no. no. no. no!" at first. It wasn't until my mom said in a trembling voice, "I want my daughter back", that I finally broke down and agreed to go, despite every cell in my body screaming at me to stay in my own "comfortable and safe" environment.
I have learned so much these past few months. One thing I have been reminded of daily is how imperfect I am. I am trying to learn to love myself the way God does. If He loves me enough to die for me, then I should learn treat myself as if I am worth dying for. The least I can do is keep myself alive! It is a battle every single day. I know I can never be perfect, but I CAN progress to recovery and a better life!