Disorders

I have been diagnosed with many things over the years. Or been told you have this, only to go someplace else and be told absolutely not. Like schizophrenia. I’m not schizophrenic. Or bulimic.

I do have bipolar.

I do have major depression.

I do have general anxiety.

I do have PTSD.

And I have anorexia nervosa.

I just found out that last one. And I honestly. I don’t know what to feel about it. It doesn’t seem like it could possibly be true, because looking at me. I don’t look like someone who staves themselves. I have a very round belly, rolls, and very thick thighs. But then, looking up other things. It makes sense at the same time. I track each thing that goes into my body religiously. I am on the scale every morning – though I only log it once a week. I don’t eat enough, or I don’t eat often enough. My friends often have to remind me to eat in general. And sometimes. I overeat. I eat until I can’t possibly put another bite into me. And then I am so disgusted with myself I force myself to expel as much as I can.

That last bit has been more problematic lately. I’ve been disgusted with myself over what a lot of people tell me is a normal amount of food.

I don’t know how to feel about this new diagnosis. I don’t know what to do. We haven’t worked out a treatment plan yet – I’ve so far been told to try and let myself enjoy foods I’ve been restricting myself from. Which is so much harder than it should.

I feel broken again. And like I’ve disappointed everyone in my life who I’ve told. I know they tell me I haven’t. That I’ve been brave just to tell them. But it doesn’t feel that way.

I just. I don’t know. At least now I officially know there’s a problem.