The things that kill you

My whole life I have struggled with keeping on weight.  I would always feel hunger intensely and when I would scramble for food, I would find moments later I would lose interest and leave where I lay this 70% full portion.   I must eat a quarter of what normal Americans do, at that rate.  It’s tough.  It’s tough not because I do not want it but because anxiety claims my body.  It makes the heart flutter uncontrollably and the brow furrow in strained musculature.  It takes me so far from the reality I fight to reclaim.  


Tonight, I have not had an easy time circling the bed.  I could barely sit still without wanting to cry or puke.  Last night was a similar story.  I have been off my anxiety and depression meds a few months strong now.  And combined with a full plate of labor before me, I have felt myself more likely circling the drain.  I have slowly been losing ground and the simplest tasks have now become frustratingly impossible.  This anxiety I have ridden to bad places.  It has convinced me I’m dying, because it really does take a toll.  I have never been more than 110 pounds in weight.  I would wager I’m slimmer than 99 at this point.  If my father’s concern for my lost presence is to be warranted.  I am not too far gone, though.  I see what is happening with great clarity even with such tired eyes. 


I needed the medication.  I never wanted to need it, and I convinced myself I did not.  But for the time being, my life is too hectic to not have the extra support.  I can’t afford to lose any more ground to the menace of the mind.   So I fight back.  I fight with drugs that counteract the poor wiring up top.  I fight because I have to. 


A lot of things can kill you in this world.   To suspect the body attacking itself is a worse nightmare.  But it claims a silent victim no longer.  At least for me.   And tonight I sleep. 


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