With all of that rambling, today I am putting a tiny little crease into a new page in the Buffy book. I see a psychologist for binge eating, restricting and anxiety. After many strings pulled by this amazing woman who somehow manages to punch me in the metaphorical gut each time we meet, I am heading to an eating disorder clinic. I will be meeting a new psychiatrist who will I’m sure re-diagnosed me with anxiety and ADHD and 97 other fun things. What I’m more nervous but also excited about is meeting with a dietitian therapist.
But I am also scared shitless. Just about a year ago I hit a new low weight with 40 pounds lost. That isn’t including muscle gains. I maintained for quite a while, and then things crumbled. I binge more days than not in a week. I’ve mastered the art of being out of control subtly, where my family may not even notice. I feed every emotion literally with food, but this goes well beyond just over eating. Self-control? Yeah, I do know what that is. And sometimes I have amazing self-control. In fact, myself control is so great that I can also go a day or two without consuming more calories than it is in the creamer I add to my coffee. I dabbled with intermittent fasting, but after a few weeks realized this is no better for me then completely starving myself. I know a lot of people have had great success with IF, but my brain is a special version of hot mess. I was still gaining weight and felt weaker in the process.
What am I so scared of? Facing my realities. Having to change my habits. Letting go of any control I think I may have now. Resisting urges that my body is aching for. I’m scared of finding healthy methods to relieve stress. I’m scared of dealing with skeletons in my closet.
Also for full disclosure, I am afraid that I will open up to these people and bear my soul, admit everything and have them tell me I’m crazy and that I simply eat too much.
... Or have them tell me I need to stop drinking my glass of wine every night. Because dammit, wine.