A constant but subtle theme of emotion for me is sadness. It’s kind of just always there.

“What are you so sad about? Is your life the way you thought it would be?”

I’m not sad, I’m fine! My life is, by many standards, amazing.

“More or less.”

“I mean, no.”

What am I even saying? It’s practically nothing like I thought it would be. I don’t live where I thought I would. I don’t have the confidence I thought I’d have. I STILL HAVE AN EATING DISORDER, which I never in a million years thought would exist into my thirties. I don’t have any career, at all. I don’t have any expertise, at all. I’m not finding joy in everyday life.

There are only 2 things that are as I thought they would be: 1. I fell in love and married my soulmate. 2. We had children.

After that, there is nothing. I mean, luckily, those two things are very big anchors and key components to how I thought my life would look.

That “performing, perfectionist” chick used to have so much drive and ambition and now all of that has been used up to quite literally run myself into the ground, and fear has swallowed up pretty much every ounce of confidence I once had.

So yes, I guess I’m fucking sad that I resemble a shell of my former self. What’s even more confusing is that I used to be able to operate ambition & drive at the same time as having an eating disorder. Sometimes, it would even help me stay laser- focused.

But it never got this bad. It never intruded my brain space quite this much. Probably because there was more on the line like- lose a job, or don’t graduate- and it’s as if my eating disorder decided, “hey, we’ve got to keep these vital life things going or else I’ll be found out and that is never ok.” And for whatever reason, being responsible for my own two children did not count in the “must save energy for” life calculations.

Which does not make logical sense. Two tiny human beings should trump eating disorder behaviors and putting my health at risk. I don’t even know where I’m going with this.

I’m deeply, desperately sad and terrified, that I have become so detached from what I once knew as myself to the point that I feel hollow. If there is a rebuild to be had, I’m afraid it won’t contain what I see as vital parts of my previous self (drive, ambition, work ethic, goal-achieving, etc) because all of that is heavily intertwined in my eating disorder and I’m weary of these characteristics. It’s just like running. I have successfully turned everything against myself. 

It’s my whole life. It’s intertwined in everything. Separating it still doesn’t seem possible.

And that is miserably sad.

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