I wrote this about two weeks ago now and I have been struggling to post it. It’s been a hard season and getting just about anything but the necessities done has been rough. But here I am, vulnerable, willing to finally start working to get myself out of this funk. So here’s my heart on paper right now. I’m going to work to get back into writing and getting creative in the kitchen again. Lord knows my heart needs it. Thanks for being patient with me, y’all. I appreciate each and every one of you.
Please, Put on My Bandages
These past two months has been arguably the hardest months that I can ever remember. I could make a list. I have made a list. So much crap has happened in the last month that I literally (yes, I am using that word because I literally did this.) made a list to see if it was even real. I would start to think that I was on the other side of it, that things couldn’t get any harder and one more thing would punch me in the face.
I am beat up. And I am tired of putting on my own bandages.
Everyday I wake up and I feel like I stare at my wounds, I stare at the broken, raw, ripped open pieces of my life and my heart and I just don’t have the strength to dress them anymore. I don’t have the desire or the will to take care of myself so I can heal. I don’t even want to bother. I am losing faith that taking care of myself is an option, a healthy, effective option.
So here I am; broken, raw, and ripped open. Forcing myself to just write instead of eat. Forcing myself to put what I am going through into more words than, “I’m so f-ing pissed”. Forcing myself to keep going, keep moving, keep living.
It’s suffocating. I feel like I am suffocating in my own doubt, my own flux of extreme emotions, anger being the worst of them.
The doubting spirals in my brain all day long: I’ll never get through this eating disorder. I’m not good enough for God, I don’t pursue him the right way or nearly enough. I am not cut out for my job, people don’t trust me. I am not capable of leading, loving, serving well. I am not worthy. The list goes on.
I go from ecstatic, goofy, and elated to numb, defeated, and apathetic in a matter of minutes. I could be dancing in the car like an idiot or cracking jokes in the office and the next I’ll be crying in the bathroom stall or sitting alone eating ice cream. (Well, that was last week. This week we’re back to multiple protein bars in one sitting. WHAT?!?!)
Then we cue the anger. Doubting myself? I chose to get angry about that. Can’t control my emotions? Yup. I’ll get angry at that too. Make poor eating choices? I’ll get angry and cope with more eating. (I’ll say it again, WHAT!?!?!)
I am angry that I have lost sweet friends. I am angry that I can’t see the good in doors closing knowing others will open. I am angry that I don’t have self confidence. I am angry that things are put in my path only to be taken away. I am angry that I don’t have the answers to everything and I can’t fix things for people. I am angry that no matter how hard I try, sometimes my communication is still not understood. I am angry that I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. I’m angry that I want to sit in my self pity. I want to sit in a hoodie three sizes too big, eat ice cream and sweet potato fries, and binge watch TV curled up all day.
I am angry that I am angry.
If I don’t take care of myself, I’m only going to get worse. I am going to get infected, swollen, amputated, even! I need help, I need help and conviction from others. I cannot do this on my own, I can no longer inadequately take care of myself when I know I have loved ones surrounding me telling me to rest as they re-dress my bandages for me. I can’t look at my wounds anymore. I just can’t do it. I can’t tell you how to love me well and help me deal right now. I can’t breathe long enough to be able to mutter the words of what I need, let alone even process what I actually need. It’s simple, I need help healing. And I need friends to take the initiative to figure out how to do just that.
To those of you who have done that well so far, thank you. Thank you for being mindful of my eating struggles, helping me, encouraging me, educating others how to love me well in that. Thank you for opening your homes, giving me a bed and an escape. Thank you for letting me word vomit all over you – curse words and all. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for telling me what I need. Deciding for me. Thank you for praying for me despite my hard heart.
I am going to work on writing more, coping in different ways, plugging myself back into things that I love like cooking, experimenting and writing. So here I am, telling you readers for accountability. I’m also telling you, writing about what this feels like because I know that I am not the only one struggling. I promise more of your friends are going through similar seasons, so I encourage you to love them well, clean their wounds, change their bandages for them. Help them when they don’t know how to ask for help. Seasons change, and we need to come along side each other to be there every step of the way. Learn to fuel yourself and fuel others faithfully, my sweet friends.