Somewhere along the way, something inside me broke. It broke silently and gradually, and without any knowledge to repair it, life started to unravel. At first it started with me avoiding friends. It was impossible for me to wrap my head around getting together socially, I was terrified I wouldn't handle myself well, or I wouldn't have anything GOOD to say. Calls would go unanswered, visits cancelled, sometimes without even a call or text, and each time I disappointed someone I cared about in even the smallest way, I knew it. I could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voice, and each occurrence was validation that I'm a failure. I was unable to keep up with self-care, which is bad because having diabetes makes you very high maintenance to yourself. I was lucky to have my husband who kept me from feeling too lonely, and a few friends that thankfully forced themselves on me for a while. Once life got to busy, or it was too hard to continue to try with me, most of that ended, which was and is very understandable, but of course did not help my isolation. I didn't and still don't really go anywhere without Brannon, he's my security blanket, so his best friends have become my best friends.
Avoidance turned into a very real, deep depression. My obsessive anxiety cycled through every life problem that presented itself to us, pulling each problem down on to my very soul. Everything felt like a burden. It was a burden to shower, to shave, to wake up and feel the purpose of the day. A burden to have friends that cared and wanted to talk to me. A burden to have a husband that loves me and needs me. A burden to even attempt to articulate my feelings. Burdens I was not strong enough or healthy enough to bear the whole weight of. It's terrifying to lose control of your thoughts and feelings, yet look "normal" on the outside. What started as a trickle of negative unhealthy thoughts, turned into a torrential down pour of toxic thinking. I hid, I avoided, I cried, I'd try, I'd fail, rinse and repeat. Wanting and needing to be social, but terrified of it is a very hard place to exist. I had no time for creativity, no hunger for food, no urge to create meals for myself or my husband, about the only thing I was capable of was keeping my living room tidy and making sure I paid the bills. Work was and still is my only outlet for anything social, and I avoid things there too.
At this time I was at the worst of my depression, but all I kept hearing was how great I looked and how thin I was getting. I had (and still do) a very hard time accepting compliments people gave me, mostly because I wasn't getting thin in a healthy way; I was in the midst of a depression that stole my hunger, and thankfully Brannon was always putting healthy food into my purse, so when I did eat, it was healthy. It was my persistent depression and lack of care for myself that has finally gotten me to a healthier weight, what a two edged sword.