Allies Unite!

Bono said it best: Sometimes you can't make it on your own. I don't think he's referring to fried rice, which I've tried and failed to make so many times that even my garbage disposal is like, "Lady, come on. Don't make us eat this. Please." I like to think of myself as an independent person. I prefer to do as much as I can for myself. In high school, I didn't want my sweetheart carrying my books in the hallway. In college, I worked my arse off to earn a scholarship so my tuition would be covered. Part-time jobs were fun because they gave a real sense of accomplishment, even if the accomplishment was convincing movie theater goers that the popcorn was fresh (Side note: it wasn't.).

Blah blah blah examples. Here's the truth: I'm struggling, and have been for many years now. Over time, I've learned to disguise these troubles, to cope with them, to convince myself that they weren't that serious and that I, Superwoman, could conquer anything. And that I didn't need the help of anyone. It's tough to admit, but it's the stigma that gets me. I fear being seen as weak, as petty, as ungrateful for all the beauty and love that fills my life. The thing is, I don't turn these feelings outwardly toward others. In fact, I admire people who ask for help, honest people who admit they're stuck or sinking. I fear the stigma that I don't even believe in. So why do I judge myself so harshly? Anyone else out there do that? (Please, for the love of Guac, can I get an AMEN.)

I can no longer live in fear. Fear of judgement, of failure, of change. Of the Unknown. Especially when help is out there, within my reach. I've dealt with depression and anxiety for a large part of my life. Most of us have, if we're being honest. Whether it's a relationship gone sour, a tough day at work, or an unlucky roll of the genetic dice, we can all relate to these feelings. (Side note: if our lives are based on "rolling of the dice", does that make God the Dungeon Master?)

I've sought various forms of treatment over the years, some of it quite beneficial. My current therapist in Chicago is an absolute rock star that deserves whatever the Tony award for therapists is. (Side note: why are there not awards for therapists? They deal with our bullshit daily, shouldn't they at least get a plaque acknowledging this, along with a picture on the cover of Psychology Today of them awkwardly posing with a banana? Why a banana? I don't know, that's not the point. None of this is. Are you still reading this? Then allow me to continue...)

The point is that I need help. None of my old tricks work anymore. Telling myself that I'm fine and can do this on my own no longer rings true. I cannot continue to crawl and convince myself I'm flying. I'm leaving Chicago and going back to Arkansas to be closer to friends and family, and to finally receive special treatment for this thorn in my side. Hell, it's hardly a thorn. I think of it more as an active grenade I've clung to for years, begging my trembling hands not to fail me. I'm asking my dear friends and allies to join me in the fight. Screw the stigma. If you need help, get help. Be honest with yourself, you deserve it. It's taken me a long time to be honest with myself. And to my friends. I've lied, I've hidden, I've given every excuse in the book to save face. Here I am.

I'm Leah, and I have an eating disorder. Baby's got blue skies up ahead.