Transition

I'm tired.

I can't watch the same tv shows I used to. I'm watching cartoon movies because anything even vaguely realistic is too fucking depressing.

I want to run away to the ocean and sit staring at the waves until my eyes tear from the wind. I want to feel the cold all around me and then feel the warmth tingle my skin when I finally go back in. I want to relax in the quiet and relish the break from whatever it is that keeps me so exhausted.

I feel sad a lot and it's boring.

I feel as though I'm standing in a clearing of trees with a crossroads in front of me. Classic fairy tale would have one side show light, illustrating hope and a bright future. The other way would hold darkness, shadows and foreboding beckoning. I feel like I'm  at the edge of both and sometimes...they look the same.

I'm more than tired actually.

But I don't really know what I am other than that.

Not For Me

It's not just feeling sad. There are lots of parts to depression that people don't talk about. They're starting to, which is good,  but talking about something, doesn't always mean its understood.

I was diagnosed with depression at 18. My mother took me in to see the doctor because I hadn't left my bed in two weeks. I stopped eating, I didn't shower and I cried constantly. Even though she was told I was 'just going through a phase' my mom recognized it could be something more and it was.

But having depression at 18 and 40 are very different.

I don't remember much about my symptoms then, only that I was put on medication to 'feel better'. Counseling was never suggested. Self-care wasn't even a term recognized or practiced yet. Eventually the meds stopped working and I started drinking and smoking pot to numb the pain instead.

In my mid twenties I made lines in my skin with razor blades. I didn't talk to anyone about how I was feeling until a friend came over and found me clutching a bottle of painkillers.  My doctor sent me to a psychologist that read my chart and said, "I can't do anything for you." I was convinced there was nothing I could do to feel 'normal'.

Eventually I ended up in counseling. I got on different meds. I learned that my past can affect my present. I got 'better'.

When I was barely 30, I was intensely anxious. I didn't know that's what it was though. I just thought I was shit at being a human. I was managing a retail store and it was the first time I'd tried to lead anyone. I was learning as I went along, failing and succeeding constantly. One morning a coworker shared she was taking Prozac for anxiety. She suggested maybe that would work better for me and desperate to feel 'normal' again, I asked my doctor about it.

He put me on it and things got better. It got easier to breathe again. I still had ebbs and flows of depression and anxiety, but they were manageable.  I've taken Prozac ever since... until two months ago.

I didn't stop taking it because I suddenly didn't think I needed it. I stopped because I had dental surgery and taking that many pills was literally painful. It had been figuratively painful for awhile. I hate taking medication to feel 'normal'. It's frustrating to know that something synthetic is the only thing that can make me feel real.  At the time of surgery I was taking 5 pills a day. After the surgery I took only what I needed to make the pain stop.  I stopped taking my antidepressants cold turkey. Everything everywhere tells you not to do this but I did it anyway. I justified it.

I was fine for awhile. I felt clear headed and focused. I felt like I could handle anything and everything that was coming towards me. I felt 'normal'. And then my cat went missing. I still felt ok for a short time...I was sad, but I could tell it was sadness and not depression.

Until it was.

Depression took it's time coming to me, sneaking up like shadows at twilight before finally engulfing me in darkness. I didn't realize I was even in it until...well, I'm not even sure when. I just seem to know, I'm not 'normal' right now.

I cry.
I don't eat.
Unless I'm eating everything. (Like all the sweets in the house. Are you trying to be a diabetic?)
I can't sleep even though I desperately want to. All the time. (It's never quiet enough.)
I have little motivation. Even to get showered and dressed is a great effort sometimes. (I'm not that bad, I still make it to work. )
I want to go out and do things but it feels like I can't and then I feel mad because I don't do anything.
I am extremely sensitive. I soak in others' sadness and add it to my own. Empathy doesn't begin to describe it. Sad news sends me spiraling. (Nobody said life was easy. Jesus, get over it.)
I forget things. I have to ask people to repeat requests only an hour after they've asked them.
I space out.
Loud sounds make me wince and I am startled easily.
I feel worthless, disgusting, pointless. I believe Depression's lies.
I don't care about the things I want to care about.  (Doesn't matter anyway)
Unless I care too much.
I doubt kindness from others-wondering if someone told them to be nice to me or it feels like everyone is talking about what I look like, act like, said last week.

This isn't normal. Not for me.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

I just analyzed a facebook comment response for 20 minutes.

I contemplated sending someone a link to this blog because it's easier than trying to explain why I am the way I am.

I often feel like I need to explain myself.

I can't remember the last name of my first boyfriend. I can't even remember if it was Jeff or Tim that was first. They both dumped me so who cares?

I think my black and white profile picture is pretentious.

I just did one of those DNA test things and I feel like a scientist. And like I've eaten a bag of cotton balls. They want a lot of spit.

When songs from my teenage years become commercial jingles I am old.

My hand hurts. So does my neck. My stomach. My eyes are strained too. I'm broken, weighed down from pounds of depression and brownies.

I'm angry. I nearly hit a bicyclist today. He was riding through the crosswalk against a green light and if I hadn't been paying attention, I would have hit him. I laid on the horn instead and then roared through the light he almost made me miss.

I am completely lost. I don't know what to do and I lack the confidence to act on my own.

I miss my cat more than I ever thought I could. I'm regretful for letting her out, while trying to be gentle with myself and acknowledge that she was very happy as an indoor/outdoor kitty and anything less would have made her miserable.

I fear paranoia will come back. I want to trust that I am loved. I want to believe it and not need to hear it to feel assured.

I want to be happy again with what I have instead of irritated for not having more.

I have to admit to myself that I'm not ok and goddammit that's hard to do. It's even harder to admit it and not do anything about it. Harder still to realize you're not doing anything about it because you literally can't.

"I feel _______."

"Why?"

"I don't know. "

"But what is it that's making you anxious?"

"I don't feel anxious."

"Are you sad? Angry?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Ok, but why?"

"I don't know. This is just how it works for me."

I hate this. I hate that I am constantly worried that one day it's just going to be too much and he'll leave, stop loving me, throw his hands up. I hate that he has to see me this way, live with me, hear me and see me cry. I hate that he looks at me and doesn't know what to say so he says nothing. I hate that I know nothing he says can help.

I was sad last week-crying nearly all the time. This week I'm angry. I can't keep up with my own emotions. I have no motivation and yet, I feel stagnant.

I've been counseled to try to embrace these feelings when they come up but why? I don't want to accept them, hold them close to me. I want them gone.

I know the steps to practice self care but I don't want to take them. To do so would mean accepting (again) that there's something wrong with me. That I'm not ok.

It's not weakness, but it's crippling. Studies may show otherwise, but depression feels self inflicted. It feels like if I could just reason with myself that I would be fine. I try faking it til I make it by putting a smile on my face when I don't want to. I raise the tone of my voice so it sounds like I'm happy when I'm not and I tell people I'm crying because of some hormonal reason instead of not being able to do anything else. It's exhausting.

I'm tired from all of these things, the nightmares, the insomnia.

But most of all, for doing nothing.

Start Small to Be Less Big

I spent 45 minutes trying to get dressed this morning. I'm not injured or suffering from pain. At least...not on the inside. That sounds super emo but fuck if it isn't true.

I'm fat. Like icky fat. And I'm not trying to be self deprecating (defensive much?)  but I know the difference between plump and whoa. I'm so much closer to whoa than I want to be. And I know why.

I eat. When I'm sad. When I'm happy. When I'm bored. When I'm cranky. When I have pms, when I don't. When I'm alone and when I'm surrounded by friends. I wedge myself into restaurant booths and want to cry as I'm reaching for the appetizer.

When I waited tables, there was a woman that came into the restaurant frequently and she was a large lady. She wasn't particularly friendly either and because I was young and thought I'd never in a million years be the weight I am currently, I made fun of her. I wasn't alone in this. My coworkers and I created cruel nicknames about her behind her back. I won't repeat them now because I'm ashamed.

It didn't necessarily come from a need to be cruel, I just couldn't understand. Why was she so big? How did she get that way? Was it a health condition? Her habit of clutching a candy cane (or other sort of hard sucker) while eating pancakes and biscuits and gravy told me it wasn't likely. But I was curious nonetheless. How did she let herself get to such an uncomfortable place?

I wish I hadn't judged so harshly. Because now, I understand. It's actually really easy to gain weight. It's not that I wanted to, but I certainly didn't try to control it. I currently weigh the most I ever have and even though I'm not as large as the lady from the restaurant, I feel much larger.

So much of this is a mental struggle and I wonder how many people understand that. If they do, why don't we talk about it more? We live in an age where all shapes, sizes, colors and creeds are much more accepted. Are we where we should be? No way. But in the 20 years since I've waited tables, I've seen things change and it seems to be headed in the right direction.

But I digress.

I'm fat. And this could be where I begin the mantra of I'm tired of feeling like this, I want to be healthier, I want to FEEL better, I don't like looking this way.... And all of those statements are true.

I'm not very good at being kind to myself. But earlier this week in therapy, we started talking about how I could be. It's going to be hard but life is teaching me that most of the things that we desperately need to better ourselves,  ARE hard.

I've  received a lot of advice over the years to help myself either lose weight or embrace the weight I am. Things like the no/low carb diet. Or, drink lots of water and exercise more. Try meditation so you don't stress-eat. Go for walks by yourself or with a buddy! Go to a plus size yoga class, plus size swimming, plus size support group. This last suggestion is often followed by well meaning positive people. Embrace yourself and all your fat! You're beautiful just the way you are! Just be you! If you can't love yourself, how the hell you gonna love anyone else?

That last one is actually pretty easy for me. I just give my love to everyone else and stop thinking about me altogether.

Turns out that's a problem.

So when it was suggested I look at my past to see how food might tie into traumatic or even non traumatic events, I sort of freaked out. Going inside, rooting around in my past...it's not going to be pleasant. But maybe that's why it will work.

One of the first things suggested to me was to truly work on being kinder to myself. I mentioned before it was hard. It sometimes feels impossible. I don't think of 'eating healthy' as being kind to myself. It feels like I'm depriving myself of what I really want.

My Fella is able to have the sort of mindset of, "If it's not in the house, I won't eat it." I'm not like that. I'll go to the store and buy it if I really want it. If I'm already at the store, somehow I end up on the ice cream aisle. If I have time to kill,  I'll check out the new grocery store down the street. I can find food anywhere and will use any excuse to have it.

Food with friends is a favorite thing. I don't drink so instead of "let's go get a drink" it's "let's go have dinner!" But dinner so often includes appetizers and dessert because then we get to chat longer. It's not even always about the food (although it often is). It's about spending time with people I enjoy. So spend time together doing something else you might suggest. Like exercise? Do you know how challenging it is to have a conversation when you're huffing and puffing around a track?  Is that all I can do? No, but do I even want to exercise in the first place? Exercise is NOT FUN to me. 

I was counseled to focus on other things I can do to help myself that don't necessarily involve diet and exercise. In other words, start small.  During my 45 minute costume change this morning I was reminded. I need to get rid of all the clothes that don't fit me. That's unfortunately going to be quite a few items because I have a tendency to just go buy more clothes when I 'outgrow' others in a sad attempt at making myself feel better. It usually backfires. I don't feel better having to buy a size up. While riffling through my clothes this morning I tried to think more along the lines of 'this will help someone else if I donate' instead of 'look at all the fucking money I wasted on clothes that I hoped might fit one day'.

Another suggestion was to have mirrors all over the house. I felt sick at the idea at first and couldn't understand how that could possibly be a good idea. It was explained to me that the purpose behind all that...exposure..is to learn to see yourself. I felt I had this down since every time I pass a reflective surface I wince but evidently that's not the point of having the mirrors. Seeing my reflection consistently might show me every flaw at first. But then, maybe over time, if I can learn to look deeper, I'll see that I have nice eyes. Or that when I turn a certain way, and the light catches my hair the color is nice.

This journey is different from other weight induced voyages. I mean, I KNOW that eating ice cream and bread and pasta and chips and basically anything delicious isn't good for me. I KNOW that moving around and doing that hated exercise thing would probably make me feel better once I got past the sweat storm. And maybe I'll get to the point that those choices will be second nature to me.

But I'm not there yet.  I'm going to have to start small to feel less big.