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When I struggle with disordered eating behavior, specifically binge eating disorder (BED), I am usually fixated on thinking about the future. Fear and worry dominate whenever I try to control my food intake or comfort myself with food. The fear of the unknown triggers my binge eating disorder symptoms.
I recently went through a challenging period and didn't realize the seriousness of the events on my mental health until I physically reacted to my borderline personality disorder (BPD) symptoms. It's not uncommon that my body knows something is up before I do.
Not long ago, my therapist asked me to think about my anxiety triggers. I thought about the multiple triggers that lead me to feel anxious, and I realized that one of them is illness, whether it is my own or that of someone I care about. 
Like almost everybody else on earth, I seek out like-minded people to interact with. Sometimes, I find like-minded people by accident. Sometimes, I encounter people afflicted by adult attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and we share our ADHD experiences.
Many days I suffer from what feels like an endless urge to cry. I wake up, and the first thing I may have is an urge to cry. I make coffee -- same thing. I sit down to work, and the urge is still here. You'll note that, at this point, nothing has happened in my day to cause this; I simply have an undeniable urge to cry.
If you have a past riddled with verbal abuse like me, you may know how difficult it is to find happiness in your life. Prolonged abuse may have changed how you perceive the world and the actions of those around you. You may be hesitant when someone is nice to you or feel unworthy of love and affection. However, everyone deserves a life of happiness, and it is possible.
Feeling guilty about self-harm scars isn't uncommon—but it isn't necessary, either. Accepting your scars takes time, but it's an important part of healing.
I can't stop insulting myself. I'm depressed, and that's one of the things that I do when I'm depressed. The insults I say at myself are unbelievably harsh and things I would never say to anyone else. But even though I know that it's the depression, and even though I know that it's negative and harmful, I just can't stop insulting myself.
I've never considered myself a perfectionist. My handwriting is messy, and my closet is cluttered. I can't cook or draw. I sing off-key, and I can't visualize. As a flawed human being, I accept imperfection. Why, then, does my anxiety spike, and I feel as though I am to blame when things go wrong or when I perceive myself as having disappointed others?
Are you struggling to do things that were previously effortless? From eating breakfast to sending a text message, does everything seem impossible? Before you label yourself lazy or incapable, know this: it's not you; when everything seems impossible, it's depression.

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Tali
I look forward to being unconscious for 4-6 hours every night (if I'm lucky). I don't dream. It's the only relief I have. I used to enjoy video games, but my husband hated me playing them so I gave them up. I had my own business but my husband told me I had to stop, so I did. He walks out on me whenever I don't do what he wants. He's allowed to have hobbies and I better not complain, just take care of the kids. My whole life had to be given up because it suits him and I've become nothing more than a maid and a babysitter. I love my kids but I just don't think I can take him finding some new thing to take away every September when he starts ignoring all of us because of the fair he acts in every year that time. He straight out told me this year he loves fair more than me. I don't have anything left to try for, I'm not a young lady anymore. I don't want to die, but I don't want to live...live...survive anymore. I doubt what I've been doing can be qualified as living. Thing is the rest of the year he's good to us. But somehow it's always me, I'm the problem, he just turns it around. Always carry on, carried on before, like a machine. This time I don't have it in me. I swear if he says one more time to me if doesn't get to do one of his many hobbies he'll get depressed and kill himself I'm just going to lose it. He doesn't care what I've been carrying these past 12 years. Doubt he noticed. He didn't notice when he left for fair with me fresh out of abdominal surgery to take care of a newborn, 1 year old, and 3 kids under 10. Apparently it interfered with him so much he was annoyed with me for not being fully healed from it after only one week. Not sure who told him people heal from major surgery in a week, but whatever. I doubt he even notices unless it inconveniences him, but he'll only get mad if it does. I wish I had some helpful or inspiring words, but I don't. I'm just existing with no reason anymore. I had reasons before, but they don't make sense anymore. I want to cry, but even that is too much effort.
Roxie S. Mitchell
Exactly what I needed to read right now. After all, I've grown up being abused and then screamed at for crying afterwards, so this article is very insightful because it helps us realize that crying is actually a normal part of being a human. Thank you for this!
Sandy G.
To Kelly Torbitz-Your parents punished you properly by making you wear the diaper and rubberpants.As a mom,i have heard of older girls being punished with diapers and rubberpants and i think it helps shape them up.The diapers and rubberpants are not only worn for punishment,but also to make girls feel cute and little girlish.
Word Warrior Mama
On the other hand . . .

I read this book many years ago, just as I was entering the turmoil of remembering, questioning and doubting myself all the way (as I'd been covertly taught over a lifetime). I happened to mention to my two sisters one day, "This is so strange but I've been diagnosed with PTSD." Both my sisters surprised me by responding, "Me too."

THEN I happened upon an old book manuscript that my now deceased father had written (not published), wherein the protagonist was obviously based upon himself and he rapes his "fiancee," who had my unusual name. Yes, truly.

Then I made myself look at the peculiar memory I always had where he violently threatened me but somehow I had never been able to recall what came before or after the episode. I had to admit that was a bit strange.

The pressures and powers to forget sexual abuse are great, both in family and society. In fact, I've come to the sad conclusion that the vast majority of survivors never really deal with their childhood wounds (a neglect for which there are always repercussions).

To critique an encouragement of people trusting their intuition in such matters is really getting the prescription dangerously wrong.
Christina
I hear your voices. Can you please help me let me know what medication you’re on. You could save lives with this information. My email is christinacrawford555@hotmail.com
Thanks!