Depression and anorexia

I have been so depressed for the last week. Depressed because of the blow-out with my dear friend, depressed because of a touchy conversation with my husband that could've destroyed my life as I know it, and emotionally out-of-control because of stupid old PMS.

I cried all day every day, moped around, didn't shower (I know... gross), didn't cook or clean (again, gross), didn't sleep well, and didn't eat. I've finally stopped crying and moping, I have showered, and I'm slowly trying to get out from under the mess that piled up around my house. However, I still have big, dark bags under my eyes and I have lost two more pounds... pounds I really couldn't afford to lose.

The thing is, I really still don't want to eat. I just don't want to. I have to force myself to do it, and I get no pleasure from it. My husband is alarmed. He is on my case day and night to stuff my face, and yells at me when he finds out I haven't eaten all day. It's gotten to the point where I'll eat a tablespoon of peanut butter in front of him just to shut him up. And I'll have a few bites of dinner with the fam for appearances.

My appetite is coming back just a little in the past couple days. Unfortunately, now eating is making me sick. It gets harder and harder to choke down food, and I physically feel like crap every time I eat.

I don't dare tell most people that I am struggling with this, because most women say crappy things like, "Oh, I wish I had your problem." Oh, really?? You want to feel anxious every time you think about having to eat? You want to have a hard time swallowing every bite? You want to end up vomiting half of it back up? You want to spend an hour after you eat in physical pain as your intestines try to digest what you managed to keep down? Yeah, bitch... try that for a few days and then come back and let me know how it's working out for you.

What's really sick is that last year I probably would have said the same thing to a skinny chick who was complaining about losing too much weight.

My friend told me he thinks I should see a doctor. Yeah, I probably should. But I probably won't. The reason is ridiculous and pathetic: I won't go because I don't really care at this point. Yeah, it bothers me and frustrates me, but not enough to actually do anything about it. Eventually I will crash and burn, and then I will take action. I have this insanely perverted need to hit rock-bottom before I will get off my ass and do what I need to do to fix anything. That's the way I work, ask anyone. And I'm not likely to change my spots any time soon.

Next time you hit Krispy Kreme, suck down a couple fresh-baked glazed ones for me.