My master plan was to take a break from blogging to write multiple blog posts in advance and also write some fiction. I haven’t been able to write fiction at all this year, I think because I’ve been so distracted by my Eating Disorder. You know how some ‘artistes’ find they’re inspired by melancholy and heartache? Well, I don’t seem to work the same way.
When I’m depressed, brushing my teeth is a big task that I cannot be bothered with. If I forced myself to write a novel in that time – and I wouldn’t be able to, because chocolate and staying in bed would always win over typing – but if I did, it would be a steaming pile of poop.
And so my blogging break was filled with anxiety, depression and chocolate coated tears. Yeah I just wrote that. It just came to me. I really must be an artiste.
Unfortunately it took me a while to realise I was more depressed than I’d been in months and I wasn’t going to snap out of it like I always hope I will. As much as I try to shake it off, it’s impossible.
I tell myself I need to go for a walk, it’ll make me feel better and I’ll get exercise. Exercise usually focuses me. But as Annie said in Bridesmaids “I can’t get off the couch.”
To go for a walk stops being just a walk and becomes a monumental effort. First of all, I’d have to stand up, and my limbs do not want that. They gravitate towards the sofa, the bed, I’ve even had a pit stop sat on the stairs because doing nothing is so much easier than doing something.
That pit stop becomes a 10 minute stare at the wall, thinking of nothing. I’m not particularly sad, I’m not crying of even looking at my thighs and silently wishing I could stick a needle in there and just suck all the fat out. When I snap out of this trance-like state, and realise 10 minutes has passed…
10 minutes?! Wow, you only sat here to … why did you sit here again? Oh yeah, you were on your way upstairs to get ready for a walk. Go on.
…you gasp and look at the time and wonder what you were doing, and you know you should be moving, but for some reason – that you don’t understand – you sit there for another 5 minutes.
When I finally do move, the thought of getting in the shower, brushing my teeth, drying and straightening my hair, putting on a face of make-up and then stepping outside is exhausting.
I get ready at a snail’s pace, finding any excuse to just sit, or when there is no excuse because I’m running late, I just sit anyway. The straighteners weigh my arm down, I mess up the streak of liquid eyeliner on my top eyelid, do I really have to brush my teeth? Any excuse not to face the world.
I didn’t want to write this blog post because ‘lazy’ is a trigger word for me. How lazy is it when I don’t even want to clean my teeth because that would mean 2 extra minutes of work? That’s lazy. And unhygienic. And it is not me.
That’s why I’m writing this post, because when I’m not depressed, I’m a little obsessive about cleaning my teeth at least twice a day, and after every binge, even if I just feel like it. I’ll scrub, floss, feel the burn of the mouthwash. I won’t step out the door without mints so I can keep the freshness as fresh as possible. That is me.
I am not depression, just like I am not my Eating Disorder. I am lazy when I’m depressed, yes, but I work hard to pull myself out of depression. And I binge (although I haven’t for months now) but I am going to therapy and working on not bingeing.
So if someone makes a snap judgement about me, that I’m lazy or I eat too much, then that’s ok. I am, and I do, sometimes, but that’s not all I am.
I am a superhero.
Oh, you didn’t know?