@timeand_distance If it’s dangerous for you to even think about these things, then please don’t answer this question. I was wondering what it was like to be in your head when you have all these thoughts about losing weight and you keep on coming up with diet plans. Also, what it’s like when people talk to you and try to get you to stop. In fact, how did therapy help?
It sounds like your mind gets into a trap, with endless circling thoughts, and the only way to make it stop is to give it satisfaction, and make it feel like you are attending to its demands.
I suppose learning about it must help learn some control over it. But it seems like there is a moment of choice, where you decide between continuing to see yourself as inadequate, and feeling you must gain control over that by, essentially, killing yourself slowly, and deciding to live. Is that choice a gradual thing, or does it happen suddenly?
I was just thinking that when you feel inadequate, it’s also pretty low self-esteem. Is it? And if so, is that environmentally caused low self-esteem (parents always telling you how you need to clean up your act and start doing this or that), or does it apparently come from nowhere?
I’m bipolar, so when I start thinking self-destructive thoughts, they can give me a drug or two, and stop these thoughts. Eventually I get pretty much better, and the thoughts of low self-esteem retreat into the background. But there are some thoughts I can’t allow myself to think, because I can start myself down, to where it’s out of control. This morning, on the radio, I heard about a mother whose son was going to die, and the medical establishment wanted to keep on trying to keep him alive, even though it meant more and more pain for him, and the end would be the same. She fought to get palliative care, but it was a new concept, and it took some doing. She said she didn’t want her son to suffer, and to have his suffering prolonged by the interventions. She just wanted to make the rest of his life as comfortable as possible.
Ok. What a long story to get to my point. When she spoke about the suffering, it was like being slammed with giant smothering bean bag. I remembered when I was suffering and I just couldn’t believe it would ever end, and death seemed preferable to that endless pain. At the same time, I was also distant from this feeling, and unable to imagine being in that state. I think maybe my brain has forgotten this in order to protect me, because when I think of it, as I am now, my chest gets heavy, and my brain feels slower, and I start feeling weepy. Not good.
Depression never goes away, like it sounds like eating disorders never go away. I always fear a return. I fear the helplessness of it. I fear being unable to see any way out of it. I fear the feeling of it being endless. It strikes me that bulimia might be similar. Although, if you don’t have drugs, how do you get out of it?