Nursing myself back to health

I am tired of complaining to others and to myself sometimes. Yet unless I vent, let it out it will only fester inside and eat me up inside. 

Instead I would rather write, talk to my therapist. I used to talk to the two main protagonists in my life my oldest brother and my mother. 

Now I don’t want to anymore. There are things I share with them and feel comfortable afterward. When it comes to my mental health and issues with food, I have decided not to share anymore. All it did was make me feel exposed, judged and it defined who I am in their eyes. I do not want to live a life branded as the daughter or the sibling with food problems. Enough. It does not define who I am. 

These days, going through this episode as a responsible adult is tough. I am responsible for my mental and physical health. I cannot hide or run away as I used to. I realise it was a mistake to avoid. Facing fears, worries, bills, travels blues and all is not easy. I was told (by my therapist) it is healthy. I trust his professional opinion so I am facing. Gosh it is exhausting. I feel as if I was my own nurse and patient. 

When my first thought of the day is about food and planning my day around which muffin, cookie, or burger to have. I stay in bed. Stop breath. Assess. What is the need for escape for. In the morning it is the things I need to get done. Today: packing, cleaning up the apartment, training. Instead of giving into the urges. I stayed in bed until I felt stable enough to eat without over or under eating and I continued living. Packing, e-mailing. 

In the middle of it all I felt a rush of emotions. I was going through my jewellery and what they reminded me of. I remembered my dad. 15th of december would be his birthday. I miss him. I still cannot believe he is gone. I never really let myself grieve his departure. I sort of brushed it away and jammed all the emotions inside. I have been missing him a lot lately. Sometimes I would think about him then cry. Raw tears, painful tears. I let myself cry. Living by myself allows me to be more in touch. Away from my brothers and mother. I don’t like crying in front of them. I have shed enough tears before their eyes. When I do, I feel they will think I am weak, vulnerable emotional. 

I guess it is a choice of what I want to be known as. But I refuse to deny myself the right to cry now.