I never knew that I was depressed.
This is why when my therapist (that i primarily see for my eating disorder) repeatedly says “I think you’re depressed”, it never strikes a cord with me.
When it’s “I think you’re eating disorder is taking a toll on you.”
I would be like “duh.”
When I was first diagnosed with an eating disorder, I felt relived and understood.
“?” is what goes on in my head.
But I think I am, and have been depressed for as long as I’ve binged, if not longer.
Being a highly sensitive kid, I started using food to numb my feelings ever since I was like 10.
My family moved around a lot across borders, and I never felt I belonged anywhere.
This was especially true when we moved back to Japan.
Having little Japanese with me, I couldn’t converse with my peers.
It being a 100% Japanese district, there were barely any other foreigners where i lived, thus leading to its low tolerance to anything that was different.
I just started to get left out, and called names, and then bullied.
I actually didn’t know that I was bullied.
I just thought there was something wrong with me.
I felt tired and sick everyday, terrified to leave home. But I didn’t know that I had any choices or control.
So I self-medicated with food.
There was not a day that I didn’t eat myself to sleep.
I would wake up every morning trying to find reasons not to get up.
I would always count how many more days I had until Friday, and stay in my room on the weekends protecting myself.
I didn’t know, but these were exactly what depression was.
It was not until I studied abroad that I realized how you can feel good waking up.
That you don’t have to wish that the world will end every morning.
That the sun is not there to judge you.
That life doesn’t always have to be full of suffering. There are those days, but there can also be joy.