the End, the Beginning.

My first few years in college were what I considered to be the best of my life. I was active, I traveled, I partied, I had a lot of friends. I've struggled with depressive episodes my whole life but was generally happy and was enjoying all the activities I participated in. I was fun. Funny. Carefree. I climbed roofs, danced in bars, went streaking. I went on a three month camping trip where I visited thirty some national parks in thirty some different states. I climbed mountains, I slept under the stars, I drank cowboy coffee for breakfast. I visited bustling, colorful, overwhelming Mumbai, India... not once, but twice. I talked to people. I heard and told stories. I was engaged with the world around me. I was desperate for learning about the world around me and thirsty for spiritual discovery.

But I still kept a secret. I don't know why, but I was still scared to tell anyone I was gay. Luckily, during this time, I didn't have much of an interest in dating--- I loved myself enough and enjoyed my independence. So, I quietly tucked it away and told myself, "I'll worry about this later."

That was until 2010 when I met two elders from a college Christian ministry. They seemed like a couple of really incredibly human beings and eventually offered to let me live with them over the summer so I could stay in my college town of Bowling Green. They accepted me into their family, cooked me meals, prayed for me, laughed with me, and (most of all) encouraged me and built me up beyond skyscrapers. I was up to my ears in this pure, sparkling, white love. Of course I wanted to be a Christian, this was amazing. I was completely overwhelmed and dazzled by the whole thing that I was blinded to that fact that some of the teachings of this church went exactly against everything I ever believed in. Mostly, that little aforementioned secret. But I pressed on anyway. I went to church. I sang worship songs. I read the bible. I prayed. I went to freaking bible study. I was immersed in this seemingly perfect community.

After the initial novelty of it all wore off,  it really fucked with me.

When you live for three years believing that you either have to somehow change or hide who you really are, or otherwise lose this amazing community and face an eternity of pain beyond human grasp, anxiety and depression take hold fast. I was a mess. I over compensated for my secret by trying to date boys. It didn't work. I prayed every morning, afternoon, and night for my desires to go away. They didn't. I tried to personally commit my life to one of singleness, and that just made me hella depressed. Quickly, I was realizing that in order to stay in this community I loved so dearly, I was sacrificing a huge part of myself. The part of my human core that wants to love, and be loved, and fuck, and date, and mobilize with the LGBT community had to be shoved away. I made a mistake.

I started drinking heavily to self medicate. I lived most of my life completely hungover waiting for 5PM to roll around so I could crack open another tall boy. I couldn't find God anywhere. I was terrified of going to hell for something I felt like I couldn't control. I isolated myself from most of my friends because I was afraid of how they would react (and with good reason). When I finally couldn't take it anymore, I was totally boiling over when I came out of the closet. I didn't execute it well, but I stated the facts, and I put it out there. I am gay. I like women. I want to date women. I want to marry one. There was a small part of me that hoped my Christian community would still accept me like they had before, still love me. Still keep me safe in the amoeba. Some did. Most didn't.

Slowly, old friends stopped talking to me and stopped trying to hang out. When I would see them in public, conversation was awkward and rushed. I know they were trying but there was a twinge of pain that came from knowing they thought my sexuality was a sin against God. The couple I mentioned earlier, who took me in and loved me like family, started to lose interest in me. I wasn't invited over much, and their kids who called me "aunt Erica" did not have me as their babysitter anymore. She admitted that our friendship was going to change because I wasn't a follower of Jesus anymore. I started to really feel like I wasn't good enough. I wasn't pure enough. I didn't pray enough. I couldn't possibly love Jesus and love women at the same time. I was dirty. She assured me that she was willing to work on our friendship through this, but I really wasn't sure. It seemed like an ultimatum. Losing them seemed impossible, but not living the way I was born to live seemed impossible too. The cruel paradoxes in my life at the time became too much, eventually.

I went insane. And landed in a psychiatric unit in November of 2013.

When I got out, it was over. I received the dreaded message from the very person I felt was impossible to lose. "Dear Erica, I can no longer have any communication with you, or be in the same social circles." When I read that everything felt like it was underwater. I remember the ringing in my ears. I didn't know what to do. I had lost my family. I had lost my friends. I wasn't welcome at church or any church related groups or functions she was apart of. Since she was an elder, she single-handily used her power to totally excommunicate me. It hurt. I was pissed. I was sad. I wanted to hit something. Since then, I left Christianity all together. The taste it left in my mouth was least desirable.

I was devastated to the point of remiss. I was devastated so deeply, that for a few months I didn't feel a thing. I had a few friends left over from the train wreck (which now my gratefulness for them extends beyond the galaxy) but, I lost interest in everything. I was just sad. I hated my job. I never stopped drinking. I had sex with people I didn't know. I was trying to simultaneously ease the immense amount of pain I was in, while trying to feel something again, too. I lived like that for an entire year. The world that once was full of love and color and wind and rain and mountains and beauty... became bleak and grey. Everything had this evil tint to it. Even the things I once loved and held close to me. Even the once beloved oceans seemed to have this sinister twist to them. It was horrific.

Then I met Angie.

For the first time in a year, I was having fun with somebody. We laughed, we drank, we cooked meals together. We TRAVELED. We traveled. Did you guys fucking hear that we TRAVELED. I was suddenly inspired to be a better person. We fell in love. We got engaged. I cared about a person on a romantic level. I cared about something enough that I wanted to marry it. It was beautiful and terrifying and exciting. I really, critically, began look at myself. Who I had become. What I was about. What was left of me since the year I let life kick my ass. And I didn't like it one bit. When I actually looked in the mirror for the first time, I realized I had gained a lot of weight. 90 pounds to be exact. In a year.

Do you know what happens to your body when you gain 90 pounds in a year? Only horrible things. My feet hurt. My back hurt. I can't cross my legs. I can't do any of the things I once loved easily. Hiking is hard. Swimming is hard. My asthma got worse. I was tired all the time. I have difficulty tying my god damn fucking shoelaces. Tying my shoelaces now is like trying to fold a bowling ball in half. I am not the person I used to be. I used to jump around and dance and be able to hold high energy conversations. Now, I'm perpetually embarrassed and tired.

What happened to my body? I'll tell you what happened. I turned 23, my metabolism packed it's bags and moved the hell out. I let depression and self loathing completely take over in it's place. I ate gummy bears for breakfast. I put well over 2,000 calories of beer in my eating hole every night before I went to bed. If you want to gain 90 pounds in a year, I can tell you exactly how to do it. Just live exactly like that and you'll be all set.

I don't want to live like that anymore. I want some parts of old Erica back. I want to foster a space for new, better Erica to grow. Slowly, I walk out to the meadow where my tree bears fruit. I am choosing to water it, and give it sun, and tell her that I love her.

I have some goals to work on now. I've got 100 pounds altogether that I would like to get rid of, and from the aftermath of excommunication, a severe, relentless cruel anxiety that I never had before. (But, that's for a the next blog update.) I desire health now. Holistically. Earnestly. And I couldn't be more absolutely terrified. You don't know what terror is until you go out in public and become fat girl running. But I will do it anyway. I will run. I will eat well. I will work on my anxiety. I will not continue to take jobs that I'm over qualified for because it's easy. I will find myself again. It'll take a while, but I will. I have to.

So to both combat and embrace the fear, I am starting a blog about how I'm doing it. It will cover mostly the weight loss but, the mental health aspects as well. I want to invite you to cheer me on, pursue your own path, make fun of me behind my back, and/or talk to me about it to my face. I plan to talk about how hard my workout was that day, gripe about how I want to eat ONE MILLION FUCKING DONUTS RIGHT NOW, maybe sometimes post pictures of what I made myself to eat that was healthy and I was particularly proud of. Most of all, I will be endlessly exploring the deep oceans of what it means to love myself. 

I am currently counting calories, watching what I eat, and running via the Couch to 5k program. I'm in my fifth week and have so far lost a total of 13 pounds (don't be fooled though, there was some serious on and off flaky shit before I really got it together). I'm working on getting in touch with a mental health professional for some counseling and medication (but don't be fooled again, calling a doctor is terrifying because what if I say something stupid! or what if the doctor is evil and is planning to perform illegal experiments on me! or what if I die and spend eternity in the hellish void of my own mind!) But, like I said, most of all I am making the choice to love myself. To be gentle to me. To speak kind words. To embrace. To let my soon-to-be-wife love me. And believe it.

This is the end. This is the beginning. And I am excited and petrified to share it with you all.