I Don't Want To Anymore

I don't want to eat healthy. I don't want to exercise. I don't care anymore.

I am tired of trying. I am tired of crying.

I don't like who I am, or who I think I am inside. I don't like myself, and I don't like that I don't like myself. I don't like the way I think other people see me.

I tell myself that I am fat, lazy, worthless, bad, stupid, useless, a waste and incompetent. I see myself as fat, lazy, worthless, bad, stupid, useless, a waste and incompetent.

Being healthier, skinnier, less fat, etc, DID NOT CHANGE MY MOOD. It did not change my problems. It didn't solve my problems, it didn't make the issues I have go away, it didn't magically make my life happier, better, etc.

I constantly get onto my husband to find a better paying job, thinking that that will make me happy. I want lots and lots of money. But now, I don't think money will solve my issues either. I think my personal issues are bigger than any problem I have in life.  My personal issues are bigger than having no money, bigger than my kids' health issue, bigger than the confines of a tiny podunk town with no opportunities for me and the kids, bigger than a church that doesn't support it's stay at home moms, even though they stress the vital importance of such work. And I feel that none of my issues will be solved by losing weight and being healthier, and addressing all of these problems listed above won't fix it either. I fear that I am incredibly messed up. That there is something inherently wrong with me. I feel like a broken, worthless piece of junk. Unworthy, and undeserving. And when I feel like that, the entire world caves in on me. And I have nothing. I feel abandoned by God. And I resent Him. I feel like every new problem is punishment from a vengeful and hateful Father. I feel like He is only punishing me as I deserve. And every trial is just further evidence of His disappointment and dissatisfaction with me.

And then there is a tiny, tiny voice inside that cries out that I do deserve to feel loved, that I do deserve to be taken care of, that my needs are important, that I matter and am important.  And yet, that small, insignificant voice only serves to make me feel worse about myself. If I do deserve happiness, then why don't I have it. What is wrong with me that I am not getting what I deserve, what am I doing wrong? If I deserve to be happy, then why aren't I?

And so it goes, on and on. An unrelenting barrage of demeaning and hateful thoughts coursing through my mind, raining down on my soul and dragging me down further and further. I want out. I don't like this. But if I can't indulge in the sugary, numbing respite, then what else is there? If I can't escape into a momentarily pain-free world of binging, then where can I go? I am startled because I can see how easy it is for people to become addicted to drugs, because I am addicted to food. Food is my drug.

Eating, binging, allows me to feel numb, if only for a moment. It destroys my body, but for that small moment, I don't have to deal with everything else. That world is powerful. I miss it. And I confess, I have been revisiting it. Which is why I have gained 15 pounds.





I find myself sneaking food, so that nobody sees it. I find myself thinking about when I can get more food. I contemplate what I will eat next, while I am eating now. And when I am not eating, I am plotting how, where and what to eat next.




Doing so makes me feel like a bad person, like I am just lying to everybody. Which is true. I am. And liars are bad people, so I am. But, I also don't think anybody truly cares. I shouldn't "be airing my dirty laundry." Or, 'since I go to church, I am fine.' Or maybe, I am just a big whiny-butt, and people have heard it over and over, and no longer care. I just complain too much. I am big wimp for not being able to handle normal life. Since my son doesn't have diabetes, I have nothing to complain about. Since none of my children have died, life is a joy ride for me. Since I have a home to live in, (even though I can no longer afford it, and need to sell it, but can't because we owe more than it is worth) I am sooo blessed. Oh, and I have a husband, I have the perfect life. If that is all true, then why am I so miserable?

I am tired of trying. I am tired of crying.

I am tired of fighting it. I am tired of hiding it.

I am messed up. How can a person whose life is so perfect, possibly feel miserable.





And so I struggle on. Trying to resurface in the drowning deep. Struggling for that next breath. Reaching for just one more handhold, then one more foothold, as I try to climb the cliffs alone. Resentful, angry, sad, alone, abandoned, and lost.