I know what you mean, about the love/hate relationship. It becomes this... force in your life you know? That you want gone. Because you know it's destructive, and you're terrified of what it is doing to you and everyone who cares about you. But when you realize it is slipping out of your grasp as you progress in recovery, you become scared of losing it. Depression is kind of like this, but I find that the eating disorder has been worse for this. Because the eating disorder was and often is a coping mechanism for dealing with the depression, and the anxiety, and the loneliness. It both cured and caused loneliness for me. As I said, it's this... force in my life that is just... both wanted and feared. Some people personify it. Refer to it as though it is a person. I can never stomach doing that. It isn't. If it is anything, it is a devil. It appeared so beautiful at first - and surely does sometimes even still - and then it gets so ugly, so suddenly.

Trying to find one single, solitary moment or event that caused or started my eating disorder seems impossible. It's more like a chain of events that led up to it. I don't care about body image. Gender, however, has always weighed on my mind. I never really thought about my weight or body much in the deepest throes of it all. Even so, I cannot deny that it has played some role in the development of the disorder. I would think that... if I hid those curves, or those bumps, that maybe I could more easily 'pass'. Actually, of all my family, I was - and still am - the one who talks about weight the least. I think that's why it came as such a shock to me.

There were always thoughts looming above me. I'd always wondered if I did 'x' behavior, if anyone would notice. Or if I did 'x' behavior, if I could look like 'x'. But I never gave into the thoughts. And then, there was Florida. When I vacationed in Florida, I didn't eat. I had a bad stomach bug, and was afraid to eat. Afraid that digestive problems would ruin my vacation. When I returned to NC, I maintained it. For what reasons? I'm not sure. There was something about the effects that seemed to trigger something in me. I didn't care about the weight. I didn't think about it until I was already months in. It created a strange... kind of... almost manic state that would lead to my psychiatrist insisting I was bipolar. I always describe this moment as a 'switch going off'. Something that was lying dormant just rose to the surface, so to speak. But blaming it solely on that bad stomach bug obviously doesn't suffice. That was merely the trigger. Something had previously loaded the gun.

Depression, anxiety, social anxiety. These all seemed to play key roles in the further development of the disorder. In the beginning, at least, I felt less depressed (almost euphoric), less anxious, and was able to either a) socialize more or b) not care what others thought if I didn't socialize. This, of course, didn't last. The crash was around the corner. But I do think depression and anxiety led to the build up. I have read through journals I've kept over the past several years - every single one led to that moment. Many spoke of loss of control. Many spoke of a desire to... look a different way. And there have been so many events since 2009, that were just boiling over, it all began to feel inevitable. I have read that loss is a common trigger. And I do believe loss played a huge role for me. I lost so much just from 2009-2011. I lost my house. I lost my dog. I lost my brother in law. My sisters moved out. I was attacked by dogs, and I lost my walking (as I grew afraid to walk, from post traumatic stress). And the straw that broke the camel's back was losing my Shetland sheepdog. After that, my descent deeper into depression began.

I binge ate and overate from 2011-2012. My body changed. My life change. I associated my hate for myself with food (not with weight, but directed specifically at food for whatever reason - I felt out of control during the binges, and I loathed it). By 2013, the restrictive stage was around the corner. I thought... if I could control something, then it would put meaning into my life. And it did. Until it didn't. Soon, I was spiraling completely out of control, and I didn't - and still don't - know how to stop. Or how to escape. And now? It's a coping mechanism, and yet it creates many of the problems I have. I think about food, and that causes me anxiety. But not thinking about food causes me anxiety.

There's an emptiness in me, too. I do think that is common across the entire eating disorder spectrum. I think that's why the lines between them may blur at times. For example, I used to try to fill that emptiness with food. Now I try to feed it with hunger. One way, I was trying to fill the emptiness. This way, I try to make it bigger. If that makes sense? Everyone with eating disorders are different. We are vastly different. It is frustrating, being a psych student at times, because the books... they take the time... such careful time... to point out that people with other disorders are different. But when I read about eating disorders, it's this tight, narrow box. That truthfully, probably none of us would fit into. (They even explicitly use female pronouns, while using neutral for most other disorders) I think one thing that has come out of this struggle for me...

is a better awareness. Not only of myself, but of the world. Of how society affects how so many believe. How that can be a bad thing at times. About body image, about feminist issues, about male body image and trans body image, and about eating disorders. That's the only good thing that's come of it. The rest of it has been... a living nightmare.

ETA: I noticed, reading this thread, that many of us find it hard finding a therapist/psychologist/etc. I have, too. The two I tried seemed to not take it seriously because I didn't really care to talk about my weight or body image.