A couple of months back, I noticed that I was getting irritable quickly, and angry at random things. I was quick to dismiss this as simply a manifestation of my depression, but when I was getting angry several times a day, I decided that it was time to do something about it.
Several panic attacks, visits to a therapist, doctor and finally psychiatrist later, I’ve found a combination of medication that seems to be keeping me stable–and more than that, keeping me stable at a happier level than what I was expecting. As an added bonus, I’ve lost about 20 lbs in the two months since I restarted my anti-depressant.
There are a few of underlying factors to this; first, when I’m uber depressed, I self-medicate with food. Second, one of the side effects of the anti-depressant is loss of appetite, though I feel like I more or less have my appetite back (or have gotten used to eating less food than I was before). Third, one of the medications is technically a stimulant, which, while calming my anxiety is also giving me all sorts of excess energy.
But more important than my changed eating habits, I think, is the fact that I’ve started to exercise more. Not a great deal, and nothing terribly fancy or strenuous, mostly walking. And really, it’s the exercise side of thing that I wanted to talk about today.
So, here’s what I’ve learned–and I’m not sure that’s the right phrase, this is all stuff I’ve heard repeatedly over the years, but it’s finally sunk in. Anyway.
1) It’s not a race. If I need to stop and catch my breath, it’s okay to stop and catch my breath. I was getting frustrated for a while that I wasn’t tired, but my lungs had given out. Sis has (very well controlled) asthma, and I asked her what I could do to strengthen my lungs. She talked about how when she was in high school, she was on the soccer team and played the baritone saxophone in jazz band. Her doctors told her that those two activities were the very best things she could do for her lungs. She said that when she was playing soccer, or going on a hike or something and she would start to feel the first twinge of asthma, she’d pull back a little bit until she felt better, then power through. She suggested that I do something similar. So now, when I’m starting to get winded I’ll pause for a bit, then keep going. And you know what? I’m not getting winded as easily or as often as I used to.
2) The numbers don’t really matter. Most weight loss gurus will tell you not to weigh yourself every day. I don’t think that’s necessarily sound advice, I find myself jumping on the scale a couple of times every day–but I’m not freaking out that it’s showing a few pounds heavier in the afternoon when I’m fully clothed and just eaten than it did when I got on the scale first thing in the morning before getting dressed. I’m not even concerned that the numbers might go up one day from the day before. It’s fun to see the overall downward trend of the numbers on the scale, but there are better ways to gauge weight loss–how clothes fit, for example. (I have no idea what size I am these days) I’ve known forever that muscle weighs more than fat, and I honestly think that I have less body fat than the last time the scale was showing the numbers that it is now–I know my muscles are stronger.
3) Don’t forget the water. There are days (mostly when I’ve forgotten my water bottle) when I come home from school completely wiped out. I’ll get a drink of water–and then another one, and in a little bit, I find myself feeling better. I’ve also read that sometimes when the body is craving water, it will manifest as a craving for food. I’ve noticed this in myself, when I’ve got my water bottle, I’m less likely to want sweets. Plus, when the cravings get to be too much, I can add some Crystal Lite to my water to satisfy my sweet tooth.
4) Don’t forget to eat. There was a time (three months ago) when I didn’t know how people (like my dad) could forget to eat. And now I find myself doing it. Most days, I wouldn’t have breakfast except that my morning medication needs to be taken on a full stomach–I’m still not a breakfast fan, but if I’m going to forget to eat until about 2 pm, I better have something early in the morning. And like the water issue, I’ve had days when I’ve just felt terrible, until I had something to eat.
5) Keep goals realistic. I’m not going to go from this:
and I’m okay with that.
I’m not going to run a marathon or hike the north rim of the Grand Canyon tomorrow, but if I keep working, maybe someday I’ll be able to.
6) Healthy is more important than skinny. As much as I’d love to look like Ms. Hepburn there, I’d rather be a healthy 200 lbs (and I still have a ways to go before I get down to 200 lbs) than a sickly 98 lbs. In fact, I’m viewing this whole thing more as getting healthy than losing weight–healthy mentally as well as physically.
7) Losing weight is the easy part. Keeping it off is hard. You don’t get to the size I am without trying to lose weight at least once, only to have it all come back, and then some. I read somewhere that a person who has lost weight needs 500 calories per day fewer than a person of the same size who’s never lost the weight. This same article said that people who maintain weight loss get on average one hour of moderate exercise six days a week. I’m hoping that by getting into the habit of eating right and exercising, rather than just letting the medication do the work, by the time I get down to a healthy weight, It’ll be enough of a habit that I’ll just keep going with it.
None of this is groundbreaking stuff–I know I’ve heard it all a million times before, it’s just been in the past few months that it’s started to sink in. And while I’m not, by nature, and adventurous person, this whole being healthy and happy thing is an adventure that I’m not sure I want to give up any time soon.
Life has not been fun lately.
I’m having a hard time adjusting to this new semester–I like all of my classes individually, but together…I don’t know. I think part of the problem is that I am going to school six days a week, and so I don’t feel like I’ve got much time to relax.
I did start on an anti-depressant, but I had the bad luck of getting hit by a head-cold/ear infection pretty much the same time I started taking the pills, and so I’ve been headachey and dizzy, and I don’t know what’s side effects from the medicine, and what’s because I’m sick.
Emotionally, though, I’m feeling more stable, so that’s a plus. I’m not losing my temper the way that I have been, and while I’m not happy, I don’t feel hopeless.
Even with the beginnings of stability, I feel like I’m being kicked in the teeth. And it’s nothing big, it’s just the little things that keep piling up until they get overwhelming. It’s the anxiety, the frustration of trying to understand the reading, the not being able to sleep, making stupid mistakes then paying the price…. You know, life.
Things have been rough since the semester started this week. Between the stress that comes from new classes, campus going from the ghost town it was over the summer to downtown Mumbai, coupled with some minor health concerns, life has not been fun. And the beast that is depression has reared it’s ugly head, and is determined to take it’s share.
I have an appointment to see a therapist on Wednesday, and I think I’m going to ask for some anti-depressants. I’ve noticed that I’ve been getting really angry and pissy lately–between the times when I just want to sit down and cry. I’ve been off my meds for more than a year, but I think I need something to lift me up emotionally for the time being.
To that end, last night I asked my Facebook friends to share with me what makes them happy. I did ask that they not talk about their children because, well, that biological clock is ticking pretty loudly, and hearing how other people’s kids make them happy makes it worse. I love the responses I got:
being with people
Dr Pepper (twice! I dislike Dr Pepper’s aftertaste, so I’m going to chalk this down as “a sweet treat”)
watching a favorite movie for the millionth time
reading a favorite book for a millionth time
exercising (’cause of the ice cream and Dr Pepper, I guess)
being in nature
going to the library
laughing so hard you cry
sticking your hand out the car window on a nice day
the stained glass window at the Orem Library:
(which I have to admit, I’ve never really paid attention to–this window is in the children’s book section, and when I go to the library, I’m headed off to non-fiction than the fiction section. I’ve glanced at the window, but next time I go to the library, I’ll be sure to go look at it)
Life is always better in the light of morning so I added my list:
that moment that something I’m making–be it a painting or some baking or a story or a blog post–begins to come together and I know it’s going to be awesome.
re-reading a good book
reading a good book for the first time
little dogs waiting to greet me when I come home
hummingbirds fighting at the feeder
waking up because your body tells you to, not because your alarm clock tells you to.
And of course, wonderful family and friends.
So, if you were to add to this list, what would you say? What always cheers you up? I was amazed at how therapeutic just coming up with a list was. I’d love to hear in the comments what makes you happy, but if you don’t want to share with the world, come up with one for yourself.
Yesterday was remarkable.
The fact that yesterday was so amazing leaves me with an interesting conundrum–I’ve been trying all day to organize my thoughts and feelings about what I experiences in a way that feels not preachy and interesting. The problem with these life-changing revelations is that they tend to apply only to the life of the person who experienced it.
So, yesterday, my local NPR station broadcast an extraordinary interview with a man who is both openly gay, and a faithful member–and employee of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You can hear it here. This interview led me to Wilcox’s pet project–beyond the film discussed in the interview–The Empathy First Initiative. The EFI Facebook page had this video of a TEDtalk linked to it.
First off–why had no one told me about TED? It’s amazing.
Second, I realize I just linked an hour and twenty minutes of media that, while I found utterly fascinating and life changing, others may not. What follows is what I found apropos, if you don’t want to watch and listen to those links. Or, even if you do.
So, here’s how I understood all of this. In Randall Wilcox’s discussion on what it means to be a gay Mormon, he talked about embracing his whole self. When he accepted who and what he was, he became more spiritual–contrary to what Orthodox Mormons tend to believe about homosexuality, and what it means to be gay.
The other thing Wilcox discusses beautifully is empathy. Rather than looking at a person as an object–oh, he’s gay, or she’s a democrat, or their poor–he encourages us to look beyond, to see the person who has thoughts and feelings and ideas. To not dismiss someone as an abomination or a bigot, for instance, but to try to understand their thought process and the life-experiences that led them to those conclusions.
Brene Brown’s talk is on similar lines, in that she discusses empathy as well. But what stood out to me in her talk was the notion that when we numb the negative in our lives–the pain, the depression, the vulnerabilities–we numb everything. I think I’d subconsciously come to the same conclusion, at least in regards to my depression. When I started to open up about the fact that I am depressed, and stopped pretending that everything was fine, I started to feel better.
Brown also talks about vulnerabilities–we are all vulnerable. Everybody has something that makes them vulnerable, but it’s the people who embrace their vulnerabilities who thrive, who can love and be loved, while those who try to hide their vulnerabilities struggle, blame others, and spend their lives searching for meaning.
This makes perfect sense, and it’s something that I’ve begun to put into practice. I’ve been dredging up those deep, dark places within my soul and mind, examining everything and–and I think this is the important bit–not reburying those imperfections that make me vulnerable. I’ve realized that all the self-destructive things that I do are because I feel vulnerable, and I’m trying to either hide the vulnerability, or the shame that comes from being vulnerable.
But, by embracing who I am, the dark scary parts and all, I can become a better person, one who has the capacity to love herself, and by extension, others. I feel like I’m taking the first steps on an important journey.
Now, I do understand that this is all shiny and new, and in a couple of months, the shine will probably have worn off–this post is as much a reminder to me as anything. By getting the words down, it cements the way I’m thinking or feeling. I also know that it might be too much to ask that these few words might help someone else. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Right now, me becoming a better person is all I can ask for.
Is happiness an inherent right? As an American, I’ve totally been indoctrinated to the idea that “Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” are inalienable to all men.
So, pursuing happiness is okay, but what happens when I find it–or don’t, as the case may be? Is my potential happiness worth more or less than another persons? Should I abandon what makes me happy, or at least what has the potential to make happy to allow someone else to find their happiness? I think the answer to that is a resolute “yes” if my happiness willfully causes someone else pain, but what about otherwise?
This all stems from my neighbor the lolcat. She struck again yesterday, but this time, I caught her at it. And, apparently, I can’t have my windows open, or let the dogs have free range of their home because they might bark, and that’s annoying to her. Never mind their mental or physical well-being, or mine, not to mention energy consumption because I have the air conditioner on when it’s 60° F outside. If she mentioned sleep, or disturbing her baby, I wouldn’t be so upset by it all, but no, what she says is “annoying”.
On the whole, this has put me in a bigger funk than it strictly should have. I don’t like inconveniencing other people, and the thought that what brings me the most happiness on a regular basis–to whit, the dogs–causes someone else annoyance bothers me a great deal. I don’t know how to deal with this situation, I hate that my neighbor has had this much power over me, especially when she didn’t have the balls to come and discuss her issues face to face. At the same time, I realize that I do have neighbors that I share common walls with, and don’t want to annoy them any more than possible.
I do have to wonder, though, if the lolcat complains about the other children, or the loud music, or the trains, or the roosters, or the traffic or the other dogs or any of the other noises that comes from living in an apartment complex conveniently located to both campus and the freeway. And is the random, loud sobbing of a grown woman better or worse than a barking dog?
In less whiney news, I’ve started gathering inventory for an Etsy shop. I’m still not sure it’s going to pan out–I’m working out shipping and pricing and the like. Still, I figure it won’t hurt (much) to try.
I am so tired.
I’m tired of the stress. I’m tired of the headaches that seem to merely take breaks rather than completely go away. I’m tired of being cold. I’m tired of being scared, what’s more, I’m tired of having to grit my teeth every day and face those fears. I’m tired of feeling twenty years older than I actually am.
I’m tired of being at the beck and call of others, while feeling like I have to muddle through my problems by myself. I’m tired of other people trying to live my life for me, and the guilt that comes when I don’t follow unwanted advice. I’m tired of the guilt that runs my life.
I’m tired of being.
I’m scared of doing anything about it.
Last week, Dan Pearce from over at Single Dad Laughing posted an amazing entry called “The Disease Called Perfection“. I came across both his post, and subsequently his blog yesterday after one of my friends posted a link to it on Facebook.
Today, Dan followed it up with a post titled “The Cure for Perfection“. In it, he begins what he calls “The Perfection Project” where he encourages his readers to share the biggest mistake, trial or struggle they’ve ever survived, and how it changed them.
It struck me that I’ve turned into a terrible hypocrite. When I started this blog, I told myself that having major depressive disorder is nothing to be ashamed of, and, maybe if I’m completely honest with what I’m experiencing on a daily basis, as well as what I’ve gone through in the approximately 20 years since I was diagnosed, then maybe I can help someone else. True, there are things, like the Experiment, that are still too painful to talk about, but on the whole, I planned to be completely honest.
Then, being completely honest, life happened. I got concerned about appearing perfect. Certain family members kept telling me that “it’s not very nice to read” when I write about being depressed. Well, no, it’s not. It’s not very nice to be me when I’m in a low point. I write about it because it’s a) therapeutic, and b) because if nothing else, maybe I can let someone else who’s brain doesn’t work right know that they are not alone in their suffering.
I wish I had someone let me know that I wasn’t alone in my suffering years before it actually happened.
A good part of my anxiety is, I think, linked to the ideal of perfection. I was talking to a psychologist recently, and mentioned my anxiety and agoraphobia.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked me.
“People” I said. “There might be people [at church/in the movie theater/at Wal-Mart]”
“What is it about being around people that makes you anxious?”
I couldn’t answer that, but upon reading Dan’s post, it hit me–it all has to do with the fear that I might say or do something that will reveal to the world that I’m not perfect.
Logically, I know how stupid that is. Just looking at me–I’m more than 100 lbs overweight, I rarely do my hair and almost never wear makeup, people can tell that I’m not perfect. And besides that, perfection is boring. Perfect is annoying. Think about fiction–books or movies or TV shows. Think of a character who always says and does the right thing at the right time. You hate that guy, right? I do.
Our flaws are what make us real. Being less than perfect is what makes us human.
I guess we all need to be reminded of that.
I know I do.
It’s been a strange, rough day.
I’m still feeling the effects of the panic attack yesterday–I was able to go out to make it to class, and to get some grocery shopping done, but besides that…
I’ve spent the day alternately crying, and hyperventilating.
This is really strange, because sleep is a giant ‘reset’ button for me, if I get a good night’s sleep (which I did, once I managed to fall asleep at about 3am) whatever I’m dealing with emotionally seems to melt away–at least, the emotional stuff that comes from inside my head.
I’m so tired of being a crazy person. I hate the way my brain and emotions betray me. I hate that I’m doing everything I should to make it better, and it’s not helping. And mom, I don’t need to hear that it’s time to go back to see a therapist. I can’t afford it, and I don’t want to make you pay for it.
Above all, I wish I could understand why, in the past three years or so, my depression has turned into more of an anxiety disorder.
And I wish I could make it go away.
Until I was 21, everything I did was because my sister did it first. She taught me how to talk–my first words were “Hi Sister!”, and she taught me how to read.
I got my first tricycle after Sis had hers for a year, and the same goes for my first bicycle. My whole life, I’d watch her do something, like learn multiplication tables, or learn to drive, or get her first job, and a year later, I’d do the same. It wasn’t until she got married at the age of 21, and, the next year, at the age of 21 I went on a mission that our paths diverged to any real degree.
I don’t know if that has anything to do with anything, but I’m blaming it on being so lost and depressed these past two days.
I mean, really, Sis, the least you could have done was taken a few classes at UVU so you could then show me the ropes, right?
Yesterday and today have been awful. I think I knew they would be, but was hoping that I’d get right back into the swing of things. As it stands, I’m self-conscious about my age, and am hating being around all the other students, and am so lost as to where I’m supposed to be.
And that’s just from my institute classes. My “actual” classes start tomorrow–and the one tomorrow is the one I’m really worried about–English 1010, Introduction to Writing.
So, here’s the thing, it’s not the writing thing that scares me–I love to write, (obviously) and, as long as I do the work I shouldn’t have any problem with it.
I should know, this is at least the third time I’ve taken this particular class.
What I’m worried about is this is a required class. And I know it’s going to be filled with the little 18-year-olds that I’m so anxious about being around as it is.
It doesn’t help that I have only a vague idea of where the building I need to go to is located, and the way you’d normally get there is blocked by construction.
So–is that true of all college campuses? Is there always construction? There was when I was at Utah State, and now it’s followed me to Utah Valley.
I hope things get easier as I get used to my schedule, and when the “week of welcome” is over–I hate all the noise and confusion and people trying to get you to sign up for stuff that may or may not be pertinent to your success as a student.
All I know it I’m depressed and frustrated.
It’s funny how inspiration works, when I was sans computer, and thus couldn’t update my blog, I was getting all sorts of ideas for posts. Upon getting it back, however, my brilliant ideas seemed less brilliant.
I spent yesterday fighting. Mostly with myself, which was a bit odd, because I was fighting for myself. See, I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like to ask for help. (Really, B-I-L and Jon. I feel horrible when I ask you to help me) Even if the person I need help from is paid to help me (store clerks, for instance) I’m hesitant to ask for help.
I finally made it in to see my advisor yesterday, except, she wasn’t my advisor. Really, I shouldn’t be surprised, that’s how this whole going back to school thing has been for me. Still, she was able to take the hold of my record so hypothetically, I can register for classes–after waiting so long that there’s a very good chance I’m not going to get in to the classes I need.
But, I got my bus pass figured out, and I know who my advisor is now, and, after the system recognizes that my major has been changed to the one I actually want, and I still can’t register for classes I know who to talk to.
Today was destined to be a bad day when, after finally getting to sleep around three, I was awakened two hours later because Lulu was scared of the thunderstorm that was rolling through. And two hours after that because she needed to go outside. Which pretty much describes my day.