Mondays are usually when I try to start things afresh. “No more binges,” I say. “No more.”
I made that decision last week. And I did not keep to it. Which is fine. I haven’t yet worked out how to get out of this destructive cycle, but that doesn’t mean I won’t get there.
I already know why I binge eat. My disorder has roots in deep and established self-hatred. I do love myself, but I hate myself in equal measure. Is that normal? It is normal for me.
I already know I’m depressed, and I have been for a long time. I feel like such a cliche, saying that. Lots of people have low self-esteem. Lots of people have depression. But that doesn’t make mine any less bad. That doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to try to work my way out of it.
Massages, because I deserve it. Therapy, because I need it. Exercise. Reading. Relaxation techniques. Friends and family. A commitment to each day. And the hope that things will get better. These things will carry me until I believe.