Food

Spent the whole day listening to lectures I had accumulated. I didn’t go to class today or yesterday, so I had all of that piling up. I feel like a zombie now. The zombiefication of Borderline Med.

I’ve been feeling strangely stable these last few days. Not happy, not normal, but stable. I’m stressed out with my coming test and, as usual, having trouble with hypersomnia, but otherwise my mood is pretty stable. However, I thought I’d post a little about an issue I’ve been facing lately…

(If you’re easily triggered, please don’t read the rest of this post.)

Weight. Dare I say the word? I’ve been having trouble with my weight, but not in the normal way people without mental illness have trouble with weight.

I’ve always been under a certain number of pounds, let’s say X pounds, and I do everything possible to keep it that way. What is stressing me out right now is the fact that I reached X pounds for the first time in my life. My irrational brain cannot, under any circumstances, cope with this. The reason it stresses me is because since my childhood, the following thought was cemented in my head: “If you get to X pounds, you’ll lose what makes you unique.”

Why do I have this irrational way of thinking? When I was little I remember feeling left out in my family, like a reject. I always felt ugly and useless. This got progressively worse as my sister, MM, started losing weight. The reason was that as she got thinner, people would comment on this and say how pretty she was turning out to be. However, I never got any of these compliments, so I always felt jealous of MM. Slowly, weight became an obsession. Thankfully, I never developed an eating disorder. Still, my obsession with weight became a thought that I hid deep inside me.

Because I was naturally thin, as opposed to MM, I felt that made me unique. It became the only thing I could hold onto that made me feel good about myself when all I was receiving from people were comments along the line of “you’re ugly as hell”. Nowadays, whenever I see someone thinner than me I feel threatened. It becomes a chaos in my mind and I start to panic, thinking: “Now I’m no longer unique.”

I recognize just how twisted and disordered those thoughts are, which is why I mentioned this to M on our last therapy session this week. She proceeded to calculate my BMI, which, although still in the range of underweight, triggered me to bits. My rational, medical mind is telling me: “You’re perfectly fine. Putting on a little weight is OK.” My irrational, BPD-lack-of-self-image-mind is telling me: “What the hell is wrong with you, you fattie? Now you’re really gonna be a nobody.”

M told me to think exactly why I hold onto my low weight as though my life depended on it. I think it all boils down to my irrational brain thinking weight is one of the only positive things that characterizes me. I know it sounds superficial, but it’s irrational thinking.

Deep down, my wish is that someday I’ll be able to recognize the positives in me, independent of what my weight is. In the meantime, I’m in therapy, sorting my life out.

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