Binger.

As usual, I have been MIA for the past three weeks due to my depression and anxiety being at an all time high. I can't even blame it on postpartum, even though I desperately want too. 

I know this has nothing to do with postpartum. Now, don't get me wrong. Charleigh has her moments that make me feel like an insane, new mom but, for the most part, she is pretty consistent with routine and ritual. 

I know, deep down, my anxiety and depression isn't postpartum related and that I am not going to wake up one day and Charleigh will be eleven months old and my anxiety and depression will be something of the past. Who are we kidding? I have been dealing with anxiety and depression for years and it's not going to magically get better. 

Things I know- 

Diet is a direct link to my depression. 

My body has a, "Eat like shit, feel like it." motto. 

It's honestly a hard pill to swallow because I am a food addict. Love food. Love ALL things carbs. Love sugar. Love cheese. Love. It. All. Food is most certainly my drug, and, according to my waste size, has been my choice of drug for years. 

Some of my readers might not know, but in 2018 I suffered my first miscarriage at 468 pounds. There I was, completely naked and vulnerable, laying on a table with a stranger who smelled like stagnant cigarette smoke and dollar store perfume attempting to give me a vaginal exam while I literally bled out. In that moment, I got my first glimpse of my second child for the first time. Little did I know the next time I would see that baby, it would be in my bathroom, seven hours later after I birthed it out into the toilet. Graphic, I know. I see no reason of covering up the true, graphic details of a miscarriage. Especially in a state that is 80% pro-life. All these people who preach pro-life yet you see NO ONE standing up for miscarriage victims who are forced by our healthcare system to deliver these BABIES (you know, because anything with a beat heart is NOT a sack of cells but actual human beings) in the privacy of our bathroom- scared and in immense pain- and then forced to throw away these fetuses because hospitals send actively miscarrying moms home to this fate ALL THE TIME. (...this post wasn't intended for this soap box, but here it is.) 

Anyways, the point is, following my miscarriage I chose diet and exercise and lost 130 pounds in a little under 10 months. It was hard. It took A LOT of will power and determination. I had gotten down to the smallest I had been in almost eight years, and I was in the best head space I had been in since college. 

And, then I got pregnant and everything "healthy" was overcome by pregnancy cravings and, "I am eating for two" excuses. 

Fast forward to January 2020- post baby- post 60 pound weight gain. I was depressed and anxious. Constantly picking fights with my husband and choosing to yell at my kids more than they deserved. I was spending more time laying in my bed with Charleigh and Taytum eating foods that came from the freezer section or with a shelf life of 38394 years. Exercise? Ha. I was lucky if I left my house once a week. I knew I had to make a change, otherwise, I was going to be right back where I was. 

21 days. It takes 21 days to break a habit. Sure enough, on the 20th day of dieting, I gave up. I allowed myself one "cheat day" and then the guilt consumed me. 

I felt like a failure. 
I had given in to the "bad food list" that I had been strictly following. 

Looking back I can't even remember what exactly it was that I had given in to. But one day turned into one week which ultimately turned into one month and here I am.. blogging about depression and anxiety because, you guessed it, the depression and anxiety came back as quickly as that extra weight in my ass. 

It. Is. Not. Worth. It. 

Donuts are good. Chocolate is heavenly. Cheese is my ride or die. 
But, it is NOT worth it. 

I can tell myself that over and over. I can blog about it and admit to it publicly but I would have these moments where I would absolutely cave and binge eat ALL those toxic foods on the "no-no" list. 

I started doing research on eating disorders. At 370 pounds, if you asked me if I had an eating disorder, I would have laughed in your face. All these years I thought an eating disorder meant you could NOT eat. Bulimia and anorexia are two conditions I watched several of my friends- my skinny friends- struggle with. I never knew that binge eating was an actual eating disorder- none the less that I actually suffered from it. 

Binge eating has been something I can remember doing my entire life. 

Emotions = eating. 
Eating = joy. 

Sad? Eat.
Mad? Eat. 
Stressed? Double eat. 
Happy? Eat. 
Bored? Oh, yeah. EAT. 

Eating became my response to everything. Here I am, almost 28 years old and I am having to rewire my brain and how I process emotion. Having to teach myself how to not only process emotions in the present but also process emotions in the past that I have covered up with food for years. 

I want this blog to be a "how to", but, honestly, I don't know "how to" yet. Hopefully seven or eight months down the road I can rewrite this blog and share all my secrets as well as my success but right now I am just focusing on admitting to what I know is the problem and taking the appropriate steps to achieve my goal. 

Do I want to loose weight? 
Sure, who doesn't. But my pants size is not what is the most important thing for me. No, I want to achieve mental clarity. I want depression and anxiety to stop ruling my life. I want the fears of the things inside my head to stop preventing me from living my best life for myself and my children. I want to stop suffering in silence because I am embarrassed by my own problems and, instead, embrace them and talk about them because I know I am not the only one.