(Post title comes from this story. It is not a happy story. You’ve been warned.)

Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote a post titled If it quacks like a duck…

…how would I respond if someone said to me, “I have this friend whose been really stressed lately. In fact, a few times in the last month or so she’s forgotten to eat and has made herself sick as a result – she gets really nauseous and dizzy, and one time was out of commission for over 12 hours. Do you think she’s developing an eating disorder?”I’d probably say yes. Not a conscious one – she isn’t chosing not to eat to lose weight, or as an intentional defense mechanism – but yeah, probably.

Since then, I’ve been pretty good at staying on a healthy eating schedule. I’m still not eating healthier (no huge shift to greens like I promised my doctor…) but I am eating, even when I’ve been really stressed.

Well, I’ve been really stressed the past week, and realized two things that are really scaring me. First, I’ve been consciously tempted to not eat as a way to feel like I’m in some control over something in my life. Second, I’ve been thinking about cutting, to have some external focus for pain instead of all the internal ones.

The first feeling, about eating, is something I’ve never experienced before. Last year, I was honestly surprised to look  back at the end of the day, at 8 or 9PM, and realize I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. It was not a conscious choice to avoid meals. Rather, in my stress, I could never be bothered to eat; it didn’t seem worth the time. (At least until I almost fainted at work and finally realized why I’d been feeling so drained and dizzy…)

But now… There’s some horrible desire, somewhere between “I’m hurting emotionally? Well, I’ll show me! I won’t eat! That’ll teach me a lesson!” and “If I can’t control anything else, I can sure as hell control this.” and “If I’m going to be miserable anyway, I might as well lose some weight from the experience.” I’m circumventing those desires, and making myself eat, but I’m not really enjoying the experience.

As for a desire to hurt myself, that’s something I haven’t felt in probably five or ten years. I never actually cut myself, in spite of some long nights sitting with a blade. Likewise, I’ve never actually attempted suicide, in spite of some specific and detailed (and undoubtedly naive) fantasies about it. And I’m not suicidal right now – my instincts of self-preservation are still too strong to actually let me seriously consider ending my life. But that blade is looking tempting once again.

Similarly to the feelings around eating, I’d say it’s about control and about focusing the emotional paid I’m feeling onto something specifically physical. At least, that’s how I’m thinking about it. As I said, I’ve never tried cutting myself. But the thought of smoothly parting flesh, of blood, of pain… It would sure as hell direct my focus away from feeling like I’m worthless, if only for a while.

I’m seeing my therapist on Wednesday, and am going to tell her all of this. I’m going to ask about antidepressants, too. Because I’ve always moved the goal-posts of what I would consider ‘success’ in my life: Come out. Start seeting a therapist. Go on hormones. Buy some womens’ clothing. Start dressing as Rebecca. Ask people to call use Rebecca instead of my old name. Live as Rebecca with friends. Live as Rebecca with family. Live as Rebecca at work. Live as Rebecca full-time.

But each time I hit those goal-posts, ‘success’ becomes something that much further away and unobtainable. And so I become less and less inclined to keep going toward that next goal. And not in the good kind of way, the “The only winning move is not to play” kind of way, the “everyone learns something about themselves and comes out stronger kind of way.”

The kind of way where I fantasize about sitting down and giving up.