Royal Blue

Ah, here I am again. After another long stay away, I am back. At least this time, I come bearing good news and updates of my life.

I have officially lost 28 pounds in two months, and I am elated. I haven't done anything really all that different, except eat less and cut out soda for the most part. I have seen success in inches and pounds, and I'm excited to continue on this journey. It's been long, with a lot of fluctuating up and down like Oprah in the 90s, but this time around it seems like it's going to stick. The difference being is that it's not a diet anymore, it's just a lifestyle change that has turned into a habitual journey.

Which, in the last year, or rather two years, has been up and down and pretty much a roller-coaster of epic proportions. And yet, here I am; still riding it and learning new ways to cope with everything and love myself. Which is the most difficult thing I can imagine doing, honestly, is loving myself fully. Despite all my faults, and fuck-ups, self love is the biggest struggle. I guess I should catch y'all up to date on my life.

In my last post, I spoke of my depression, which is very much still a part of my life. I spoke of the things I forget when I am living under the Stephen King novel-like fog that depression casts over my life. Unfortunately, it is a war that I fight every day, and thankfully every day I choose to continue fighting.

But it wasn't always that way, unfortunately. I have struggled back and forth on whether or not I want to share this with the world, and the people on social media. My therapists have told me on countless occasions that they think it would be a good idea because they think that my story may help someone that I don't even know. You all know my struggles with weight, and my stories involving my drive to live a healthier lifestyle; but if I am going to be a hundred percent transparent, I need to fill you in on what a truly healthy lifestyle means to me. So here it goes.

For me, getting healthy physically is not as important as getting healthy mentally. And that more than likely has to do with the traumas I have endured over the last two years, and my recent attempt at ending my life in February, and the time spent in the psychiatric hospital afterwards. My diagnosis, thanks to the wonderful team of Yale Psychiatric doctors, is Depression; psychotic, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation Disorder, and Anxiety Disorder. With a good helping of paranoia and guilt heaped in to make it all the more fun.

For me, those diagnosis's mean that I have auditory and visual hallucinations, my mind will black out while I'm still able function physically, and I have very real and jarring flashbacks to my traumas. It has caused me to self harm myself in various ways. Whether it's by physically hurting myself, seeking comfort in different men that do not have my best interest and well being in mind, or in food. I've sought various comfort in things that are not healthy, and do not serve me well. It is a dark hell that I live every day; some days being worse than others. Despite these episodes of extreme depression, dissociation, and paranoia; I have been able to recapture some of who I was before my first trauma two years ago. And even more so, I have the biggest and best support system in the entire world who hold my hand, rub my back and reassure me that I'm safe and it'll get better.

And it has. As much as I struggle, or get frustrated that I can't be the person I was as little as two years ago, and sometimes still think life will never be okay again, it has already gotten better. I'm able to go out in public alone, without freaking out. I've stopped scanning crowds every 15 seconds to make sure that there is no threat in the crowd. My anxiety attacks are less and less every day. I haven't dissociated in about 2 months, and it's been so long since I've self harmed that I can't even remember the last time I did so. Life is on an upswing, and I am ready for it to keep moving that way. My god, am I ready for this upwards momentum to keep going, and to continue losing weight and learning new skills to keep my mind healthy.

Accepting myself means accepting all of it. It means being comfortable in my own skin, and mind. Do I need to lose weight? Absolutely. Do I hate myself for my weight? Not anymore. Is it difficult listening to different voices telling me to give up and end it? A thousand times, yes. Do I hate the voices? Sometimes. But those voices are a reminder that I'm still alive and I didn't succeed at killing myself when I really wanted to. And that's what self love means to me. Loving all the dirty, dark parts of me, as well as the things that make me really good. (For example, my flawless humor and rockin' dance moves)

So I guess if you've made it this far, I'd like to say: Thanks! You're awesome, and my god, are you important. Not just to me, but to a lot of people. Thank you for allowing me to share this long winded update, and for sticking around. I'll see you again soon, hopefully when I'm another 10 pounds down and further along in my journey to a body like Beyonce and the mind of Eleanor Roosevelt.

Depression.

I have been going back and forth between whether or not I wanted to continue with this blog, considering I'm not losing weight currently. I decided I would continue to write because I need an outlet, and I'm fighting an uphill battle and I need not write for others but for myself.

It's an embarrassing thing to admit, when you're fighting something much bigger than yourself and you've asked for help and received it; and yet you're not getting better. It's a hard, and lonely life when you're depressed, which I am.

I have existed in my life for the last two years under the cloud of depression, and the storm has not subsided. I use the word exist, because I do not live, I do not participate. I merely am. It is a sad, but true thing to say. I am not an active member of my life, due to my disease, and I'm not sure when I will become one again. Depression is different for all different people, and it affects them in different ways. Much like snowflakes, there is not one person with depression who is exactly like the other. For me, depression makes me forget.

It makes me forget if I brushed my teeth this morning, or where I put my sweater. It makes me forget that I left my purse in the kitchen, while I'm tearing apart the living room. I can't remember what day of the week it is, and whether or not I called back my dad. The things I'd like to forget take over my mind, and I cannot remember where my keys are. It doesn't just make me forget material things, it makes me forget all things. It makes me forget how good it feels to laugh, and the sound of her tinkling bell voice. I cannot remember how good his arms feel when he hugs me, and how soft my cat's fur is. Depression makes me lose track of when the last meal was that I had, and who told me a story. It makes me forget what love feels like, even when it's all around me.

I am living in a hell that seems to have no end in sight, but I fight every day because of the love and support of my friends and family. I keep going because I cannot leave them behind; I would miss them and they would miss me.

Where depression makes me forget who I am, they do not. And for that I am eternally grateful.