Hypochondria

Again.

So... I'm not feeling as shitty as before. I am, however, depressed. I very nearly left work when I spoke to my aunt this morning because... Well I wanted to be with her and support her. And mostly to be there if her doctor calls back so I can get the information right then and there about what's going on. As much as my aunt is a worst-case-scenario type of person, so am I.

I once trapped a nerve in my forearm that caused my thumb to twitch of its own volition for three days. At the time I was convinced it was Parkinson's Disease and soon I would be incapable of reading a book for the constant involuntary swaying of my head.

Every migraine screams BRAIN TUMOUR... it doesn't help that my father's mom died of breast/brain cancer, either (there is some dispute as to whether it was brain or breast cancer. My aunt says my dad told her it was the former, my grandmother has it in her head that it was the latter and therefore nearly every time I see her she makes some comment about how I should be getting mammograms and why isn't my doctor doing it? blah fucking blah. I'm sorry, but if I did have cancer I'd rather just let it kill me than spend years of suffering trying in vain to fight it off. Maybe that's a bit cynical and nihilistic of me, but it's the truth. So many people live full happy lives, get sick, and die a week later from terminal, inoperable cancer. But so many more find out they have cancer and spend YEARS going through painful treatments that don't do anything other than prolong their life for another week, month, year, which is all the while filled with more of the same. But I'm getting entirely off topic, what the hell was I talking about?)

Oh yeah, hypochondria.

So, of course, the first thing that springs to mind when my aunt called this morning was "oh god her liver is shutting down and she's going to need a transplant oh god I hope we have the same blood and tissue types, she can have half of mine, oh fuck." Which I suppose I could say makes me a selfless person all, here, have half of my kidney, k? I'm deluding myself, it's entirely selfish. Because my life would suck if she wasn't here. But again, I'm digressing.

The thing is, there was really no point in going home because I know my aunt as well as I know myself, and right this minute I know what she is doing. The TV is tuned to NicToons or some other cartoon network - probably showing back-to-back episodes of Spongebob or Fairly Odd Parents, while my aunt dozes snoringly on the sofa until dinner is ready. This is how her life goes, especially when she's in the deeper throes of her depression, where she is currently regressing further and further into each day. So being at home to support her would result mostly in me sitting in my room boredly all afternoon while she slept.

So, I've stayed at work. I can't let myself overreact or I'll have a panic attack. My work is easy but it keeps me busy and I'll find out when she does what the problem is and what the final results are. Chances are high that it will be something fairly minor, and I shouldn't be stressing out. But stress is what I do best.

Did I mention I was convinced that I had a tumour or some kind of serious scar-tissue-damage in my ear when I finally made myself go to my doctor about my tinnitus? I had myself fully convinced it would need lots of surgery and I would go deaf anyway.

So yeah.

Instead, I'm depressed and stressing on my own, and when I'm depressed one of two things happens.

The first is what happened when my asshole cheating ex left me to marry an ugly fat whore, and that was to be so depressed that nothing in my life mattered at all, which meant constantly considering suicide and being one step away from doing it and wishing, praying without cease (EVER) that I would go to sleep and not wake up, or that I would grow a pair and have the balls to do something about it. Nothing mattered except spending my energy trying to will myself to death. Including food. I stopped eating almost entirely, and I lost 30lbs in a couple of months.

The second way I deal with depression is similar yet opposite. I completely lack energy for anything at all. I spend most of my time sleeping, even though I never feel rested. And I eat. I eat and then I sleep and then eat and then sleep some more, and do not care what it is that I am putting in my mouth.

Today, after I spoke to my aunt, I glared at the bag of grapes on my desk and stomped to the canteen to order food. I ate a large serving of cottage pie, which may or may not have been made using fake potatoes, and which I'm pretty sure had baked bean sauce in instead of gravy. It was disgusting but I ate it.

And now I feel sick and bloated and regretful. Today, well, it's just a bad day. We all have them, so I'm trying not to be too hard on myself. Tomorrow is a new day and I will not allow myself to fuck up.

I need to make a conscious decision to choose Option A over Option B. That starvation is always, always preferable to bingeing. Because I felt AMAZING. I still weighed around 170lbs at the time, but damn it, I felt... beautiful and attractive for the first time in months. And even though I was depressed and wanted with all my will and every fibre of my being nothing more than to die, at least I looked good.

So, minus the symptoms of depression and huge urge to try to kill myself, that is what I need to turn back to. Food only has the value that we put upon it ourselves. If the food is something we need to fulfill a craving to feel full and bloated, then fill up on water and black coffee and green tea and sugarfree jello. If it's a flavour we need, then have a bite and SAVOUR IT. If it's an emotional reponse, then turn those emotions into something more constructive. Like will power. Like self-hatred, if it helps motivate yourself. To a more creative output, like art or poetry.

Comfort eating is not what it is chalked up to be. Comfort eating does not comfort me in the slightest, and I just wind up pissed off and more upset and depressed and angry than I was to begin with. And a whole lot LESS comfortable.

This is the lesson I'm choosing to take away from today. To turn my negative impulses into something else. Or at least, try to.

I apologise, because this reads really disjointed to me and doesn't seem to make much sense, but I had to get it out there anyway.

But maybe this is the emotional kick in the ass I've been needing to have to make the conscious choice between Road A and Road B. At the end of the day, if I give into the food and turn my back on my starving soul, I'll only succeed in winding up just like my aunt. I'm not ashamed to admit that my sense of self-worth is strongly tied to my weight and physical appearance. And I've chosen to do something about that: I just need to stick to it now.

God, I'm rambling again. I'm sorry, I can't help myself.

Today was my first true "binge". It consisted of one serving of one meal, but it's the first time I've ever really... gone there. For me a binge is usually giving into a craving. Or sometimes being forced to have a meal out and being unable to cut back on the calories and consumption. But today was mindless and emotion-driven and I could not stop myself even though I knew what I was doing, and somewhere deep inside it felt like something was doing this to me on purpose. That a self-destructive part of me, that hates me and does not want to see me succeed and be happy, made a conscious decision to ruin me.

I've made my mistake. I've learned from it. I'm moving past it. And I will be a stronger person because of it.