Where it all began...I think(?)

So, in looking back at these 53 years that I have roamed the Earth, I have come up with some conclusions (I think), on all how all of this came about.  On and off therapy, and what not, has brought some insights, and it kinda makes sense.  I still feel there are other underlying issues, maybe trauma, but, I'll never really know for sure.

Me, age 9

But this is what I know, for sure...

My Eating Disorder and Depression began at the age of three, or thereabouts.  I believe this was the time when I started to become aware of my environment and my family structure.  I knew there was only one parent, not two, like other children had.  I knew I had siblings, but they weren't always around. They were older than me, had their own lives, and didn't have time to hang out with me.  I always remember feeling lonely.  Extremely lonely.  An underlying, constant feeling of sadness.  I never put two and two together, though.  Too young for that.

So, I turned to food.  My life-long drug of choice.

Food was my constant companion and confidant.  Food was my enjoyment, my playtime, my comfort when I was sad or sick.  My reward when I had done something I was proud of.  My punishment when I did something wrong.  It had become everything except the one thing that it was meant to be.  Fuel for the body.  Period.

Then, of course, the inevitable happened.  I became obese at an early age.  Right around the time I was starting my school career.  The taunts, bullying, and insults began.  Full force, relentless.  To make matters worse, I was also the tallest child in school.  Taller than the teachers, even.  GREAT!  I'll never forget my first realization that I was truly different than the other kids.  Second grade.  It was a health-type class, and each kid had to walk up to a scale, weigh themselves, and put their weight on the chalkboard.  My first panic attack!  YAY!  "Hello, Anxiety, nice to meet you!   I walked up to the scale and stepped on it.  In my embarrassment, I noticed it topped out at 100 pounds.  I quickly realized, "This wouldn't do", and I wrote 80 on the chalkboard.  My first lie!  YAY!  Of course, the kids still berated me.  The teacher didn't do anything.  She just sat there, reading a book.   There you have it.

So, the years went on, the pounds kept on adding up.  I hit 175 pounds at sixth-grade.  It was during this time when I began to notice new, strange dynamics in my peer group.  Girls becoming really cliquey and judgmental.  If you didn't look like them, didn't act like them, didn't participate in the same activities as them, forget it.  No friendship for you!  Another phenomenon I noticed was that girls and boys were beginning to like each other in a whole other way besides playing in the sandbox.  If you looked any different than the tiny, cute, skinny blonde, blue-eyed girl, again, forget it.  Not only would the cool girls not want to be your friend, the boys wouldn't like you either.  Another "This wouldn't do" moment.  Thus, my first foray into dieting, called, "Let's Eat Nothing And See What Happens!" began.

It worked!

I got down to 140 pounds, just in time for middle school, that lovely time of every person's life.  The friends appeared, the boys liked me.  Hey...good times!

I quickly realized, however, that I can't NOT eat forever.  I mean, I do get hungry, you know?  I truly felt I had no one to confide in, or ask questions about nutrition.  Retrospectively, I'm sure there were some supports I could have looked into, like health teachers, my doctor, a family member.  But, in that moment in time, I did the very best I could with the knowledge that I had.   So, the binge behavior began.  It was out-of-control bingeing, too.  Like I hadn't seen food in years.  I couldn't just eat a slice of pizza and say, "Sigh...that felt good!", and go on with my day.  No.  More like 10 slices. Then cake. Then ice-cream.  And on and on.

Unfortunately, and rapidly, I saw the results of this new behavior I adopted.  I saw the weight creep up on the scale.  "Uh oh, I gained five pounds."  Panic attack!  Another "That wouldn't do!' moment.
The starving cycle began again.   And over and over and over...

As I got older, through my high-school years, I began to notice another new dynamic playing in my brain.  Grown-up, emotionally-charged issues start to pop-up in life that were difficult to handle.  Am I going to make the Honor Society?  Where I am going to go to college?  Am I going to be able to live in a dorm, or do I have to commute?  Do I work full-time instead and get the hell out of this house?  Friendships and all the drama that entails.  Budding sexual feelings.  I still got lonely.  Extremely lonely.  I still got sad.  Constantly sad.  I still got angry.  Very angry.  I still got scared.  Like, terrified, actually.  But, instead of dealing with these more mature issues in productive ways, like maybe talking to school counselors, community members, or other trusted individuals, I turned to food.  Just like when I was three!

The cycle had come full circle.

There you have it.  My Compulsive Emotional Overeating Disorder, its technical term, was now fully in-place, with an iron-gripped hold on me. Its best friends, Major Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder set in comfortably for the ride. too.  Ready to direct my every move in my adult life.   Which it did, and finally brought me to my knees, at 339 pounds.

That's where I'll end today.  I wanted to devote just one post on my background and no more than that.  Not dwell on it too much.  The remaining posts will follow my diabetes diagnosis, and my positive journey thereafter.

Phew!  This was a long post!  Hope you followed through to the end and didn't get too bored!

Thank you for reading, and I'll write my third installment next week.  Or, maybe earlier than that.  It is going to be beautiful here the next couple of days, so I am going to take full advantage of getting outside into the fresh air.  Get some much-needed Vitamin D!  Stave off this virus.

Stay well!

Be a butterfly...🦋