It doesn't feel like Christmas. The anticipation, excitement, and good cheer usually surrounding the holidays seems to of been replaced by anxiety, fear, and depression. I'm only aware of two things: the food I'm supposed to eat and the fact my brother is dead.
I don't remember missing him this much last year. I don't remember tears threatening to choke me and the pure pain absence of a loved one brings. The summer after Tyler died, I was all too familiar with these feelings, but last Christmas hadn't seemed so bad. I thought I was "over" grieving by that time.
My therapist, dietician, and doctor all believe I relapsed because I haven't grieved properly for Ty. I disagreed, but maybe they're right.
Furthermore, I'm simply feeling alone. Have you ever had the sneaking suspicion you've become unloveable? Your friends no longer want to be friends because you've become too disgustingly problematic.
Maybe it's the higher dosage of prozac causing all these thoughts to run endlessly through my mind. I've been bingeing on food that doesn't even taste good, simply to feel that numbing, relaxing sensation that inevitably follows after a hard purge. I'm unhappy with my body, even though I've dropped to my lowest weight. I dressed up for Christmas Eve in a cream turtle neck, high waisted black skirt, black tights, and five inch heels. I thought it would make me feel thin but I only felt not thin enough. It's important to differentiate these two feelings because they're quite opposite. I could feel the bulges of fat, maybe only visible to myself but nontheless present, no matter how I tried to rationalize them away.
I don't want to feel like this.