Still crazy after all these years

You know what I find to be the single most frustrating thing about depression? Not being able to just snap out of it already. It’s not as though I want to be miserable. I very much want to be happy. And yet, no matter what I do, happiness eludes me. It’s not like a normal person who has a bad day or two and can do sweet things for themselves and cheer themselves right out of a bad place. With depression no matter what you do, you simply cannot change the way you feel.

It must be so hard on the people around me. From all outward appearances I’m miserable with my life and they can’t help but feel like I’m miserable with them, too. The thing is, my misery has nothing to do with outside influences. No matter where I was, or by whom I’m surrounded, I would be depressed. And that’s a really hard thing to get people understand. Depression cannot be understood by someone who’s never experienced it.

The other day I was listening to Pink’s song “Fucking Perfect” and there’s a line in it that says “change the voices in your head. make them like you instead.” That made me cry. The voices in my head have hated me for as long as I can remember. They consistently tell me I’m a terrible wife and mother. Worthless. Broken. Unlovable.

It makes me so sad that I feel this way about myself. After all, those voices in my head are all my own. What could I have possibly done to make myself hate me so much? Why do I have to have an inner voice that’s so negative? Other people don’t have that. Other people genuinely like themselves. How do I get that? Because I really do want to be happy. I want it so very much.

Reason #4578 why depression and anxiety suck.

Earlier this week I received an email from a friend that really shook me. It was out of line in every conceivable way and was the most unexpected email I’ve gotten in a very long time. Days later and I’m still fretting about it. Allowing it to keep me awake at night and cloud my mind with doubts about all of my friends and how they really feel about me.

In a fit of pique, I quit twitter and no one noticed.

Of course, this sent me further into a downward spiral. I make no secret of the fact that I have very few brick and mortar friends; however, my internet friends mean just as much to me. Now I’m thinking maybe they mean too much to me. Maybe I’ve put too much effort into maintaining friendships with people who don’t consider me a “real” friend because we can’t see each other frequently. Maybe I’m simply an entertaining way to pass the time and easy replaced with whomever’s next in line.

I’m trapped in a whirlpool of negative thoughts and self-doubt and I can’t swim out. All because of one stupid email and wonky brain chemistry.

The End… or is it?

I think I may be done blogging. This blog is four and a half years old, but it’s certainly not my first. I’ve been blogging for almost seven years now.

I don’t feel like I have anything left to say to you. I find myself keeping things to myself more and more these days.

BUT

I can’t seem to just quit. First of all, being a blogger has been part of my identity for so long now that I’m afraid to stop. Who am I if I’m not a blogger? Secondly, and most importantly, I’ve met so many wonderful people that I never in a million years would have met if it wasn’t for my blog. I don’t want to cut myself off from the opportunity of meeting more new people who may become good friends. I’d be lost without my besties and I’d never want to close the door on new friends.

BUT

I feel like I need to be present more for my kids. I think I use blogging as an escape. (Reading, mostly.) It lets me connect with other women like me but at what cost? I don’t seem to be able to balance it like I think I ought to. And no, there isn’t anyone judging me (out loud, anyway) I’m judging myself and I KNOW there are times when I ignore my kids so I can check your posts. And that bothers me. I get one shot at this motherhood thing. I don’t want to screw it up by not being present with my kids.

BUT

BUT

BUT

So, I guess for now I’ll be around, but not as much. I’ll try that for a while and see how it goes. Maybe I’ll be back and maybe it’ll be time for All Dressed Up to finally leave the building. We’ll see. I’m not saying goodbye just yet. More like, “see ya later, alligator.”

To Read or Not To Read

My mother used to collect antique tins. My friend, Jennie, is looking for vintage tea tins. Fate, no? I know that my mother would rather her beloved tins go to someone who will love and appreciate them as much as she did instead of being packed away, out of sight and out of mind. I asked my dad if he had them because I don’t remember what happened to them after she died. That whole time is really blurry for me. I do know that I got quite a few of her things, but didn’t remember seeing her tins amongst them. My dad said he had a box of her/their things in his office that he’d check, but he was pretty sure he gave them to me. I opened and went through the two boxes that I have of hers to check for the tins without a second thought. She’s been gone for almost six years now. The pain isn’t fresh and the wound isn’t raw anymore.

The first box contained the Harley Davidson ‘do rag I bought her when she was first diagnosed with cancer. I figured if she was going to be bald she ought to be bad ass about it. Needless to say, she never wore it but kept it nonetheless. The box also contained mementos from my childhood. Things I had made for her, pictures of me in the paper, school photos, that sort of thing. It also contained her journal. I opened the journal and read enough of the first page to ascertain that she began writing under the advice of the therapist she started seeing when she was diagnosed. I quickly closed it, feeling overwhelmed.

My first thought is that I don’t dare read it. These are the private thoughts, dreams and very likely the fears of a 48 year old woman facing cancer and being across the country from her entire family. I would feel like I was violating her privacy if I read it. The next thought I had was that she’s dead and she’s not going to feel violated or upset or any of those things. She doesn’t feel ANYTHING anymore so it seems silly to try and preserve her privacy.

Then, I’m afraid of what I might find. Will I find something horrible written about me and my undoubtedly selfish behavior? Will I read something that changes my opinion of my mother? Shouldn’t I remember her as I do instead of polluting those memories with things that were written during her darkest hours?

But then I think of all the things I don’t know about my mom. All the questions I never thought to ask while she was still with me. Will I find those answers? Will I learn more about the woman she was outside of being my mother? I blog partly for my children. I want them to know who I am. Who I was while they were children. See me as a person separate from them. But the difference is that I blog publicly and know that others will read these words. My mom wrote in a bound journal for no one but herself and that changes things for me.

So, I sit here with her journal on my coffee table and her ghost thick inside my heart. And I wonder if I’ll ever have the courage to read it.

Detox

I’m detoxing. But not like you’re thinking; which is probably scary-Hollywood-celebrity-type detoxing. I’m detoxing in the middle-class-suburban-housewife-type way.

I volunteered to run up to the drug store last night to pick up my husband’s prescription for the sole purpose of buying, and then gorging on, candy. I fondled different delicious treats in the candy aisle and then left, empty-handed. I felt like some sort of candy-fondling pervert as I slunk out the door. I was proud of myself but knew I’d be pissed later that night when I still had NO CANDY in the house. Turns out that if you simply go to bed at 7:30 pm, you don’t really think about candy all that much.

This morning I woke up and decided I’d had enough. I don’t have anything against candy. As a matter of fact, I sort of love it. What I don’t love is feeling out of control. After almost a full week of being snowed-in together and a raging case of PMS I was a slave to emotional eating. I wasn’t making the conscious choice to enjoy a dessert or a sweet treat. I was eating to make my mind shut up.

For three days I’ve given myself two protein shakes a day, unlimited fruits and vegetables and dinner each night. I’m not going crazy. I want to break the mindless eating habit and addiction to refined carbs, not starve to death. So far today I’ve been strong. I’ve had my two shakes, a pear, some carrots and a tangerine. I’m hungry, but I feel righteous and smug which helps immensely. There’s no feeling like defeating your own worst enemy, is there? Especially when that enemy is always yourself. Every time my stomach growls I tell myself that’s a good thing. It means I needed to do this. I need to feel hungry. I need to remember what that feels like instead of keeping my pie hole filled all the time and never giving myself a chance to feel hungry. The fact that I walk into the pantry and stare longingly at the Wheat Thins means I have a problem. For me, there’s a reason the word CRACK is in CRACKERS. I would grind them up and snort them if I could. TFS.

And that is why I will always, always be a fat girl on the inside. Regardless of my outside.

Frankie Says Relax

So, it seems I’m making a resolution this year. I don’t typically make resolutions, but for the past two days I’ve had a thought that keeps ratting around in my big ol’ noggin.

I need to relax. Not in the “kick your feet up and sit a spell” way. In the “OMG you don’t have to control every aspect of the Universe, Erica” way. I think I know that much of the stress I’m feeling is from my own inability to relax and just go with the flow. I’m a planner and when things go awry, WHICH THEY ALWAYS DO WHEN YOU HAVE TWO YOUNG CHILDREN, I tend to get my nose all out of joint. Instead, I’m going to concentrate on taking a deep breath or seven and just relaxing. We seldom do anything life-altering or world-changing so I fail to see how a change in plans can be catastrophic.

When my mom was alive, my dad and I used to joke about how much of a control freak she was. She was so controlling that she couldn’t play. Seriously. She was unable to let loose and play. Isn’t that terribly sad? I don’t want that to be me. So what if there’s Play-Doh in my carpet? If Maddie and I are having fun, is that such a terrible price to pay? What if Sam gets food smeared all over us because I FINALLY let him hold the spoon himself or let him put his hands in the food to feel the texture? Will the Earth spin off it’s axis? SURPRISE ANSWER: NO.

I would much rather enjoy my children than merely tolerate them living in my house. I’m going to resolve the hell outta this one.

The Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Ten

(2006, 2007, 2008, 2009)

I almost didn’t do the meme this year, but that seemed a shame since this is my fifth year to complete it. I know you’ve probably read a million of these and written your own, so no hard feelings if you skip it.

1. What did you do in 2010 that you’d never done before?
Had a baby boy, became a mother of two children, went to Las Vegas, got fired from a job via Fed Ex.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I didn’t make any. I don’t as a general rule. However, this year I’m participating in the BBL over at Jennie’s place so I’m resolving to win that bitch.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Me. And I’m pretty damn close to myself.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No, thank goodness.

5. What countries did you visit?
Do the themed hotels in Vegas count? If they do, I went to Italy, Ancient Rome, and Egypt.

6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?
Patience.

7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
May 13th – the day I gave birth to Sam.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Getting help for my depression. Starting to write for Food Lush.

9. What was your biggest failure?
As always, my less than stellar parenting moments. I lose my patience with Maddie far too often and far too quickly.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Yes. Nothing major, though.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
The SodaStream for Gerald.

12. Where did most of your money go?
Creditors.

13. What did you get really excited about?
Going to Las Vegas with Shelly, Donna, Becky and Tracy. Giving birth.

14. What song will always remind you of 2010?
I’m a cat, I’m a kitty cat.

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:
– happier or sadder? Happier.
– thinner or fatter? About the same? Maybe a little thinner.
– richer or poorer? Poorer. Fo’ sho’.

16. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Exercising. Money-saving. Playing with my kids.

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Complaining. Shoving food into my pie hole.

18. How did you spend Christmas?
With my family and then we traveled to my in-laws on the day after Christmas.

19. What was your favorite TV program?
Modern Family – hands down, no contest.

20. What were your favorite books of the year?
Holy moly. I’ve read so many books this year. I was happy to finish the Hunger Games trilogy.

21. What was your favorite music from this year?
Mumford & Sons, Cee Lo Green, Straight No Chaser

22. What were your favorite films of the year?
Inception, How to Train Your Dragon, Tangled, Toy Story 3.

23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 34 and had a son. I ate some cake, had some awesome drugs and cried because my little boy was in the NICU.

24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Oh, you know, HAVING EVERYTHING. Having more money and still being able to stay home with my babies.

25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?
Clothed so as to avoid jail time.

26. What kept you sane?
Prozac. My husband.

27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.
Don’t put off asking for help when you need it.

An Epiffy-what?

So it’s been about a week since I told you all about my weight struggles. In that week I’ve made some very real progress. I’ve lost six pounds (of course it’s mostly water weight but a pound is a pound according to my scale, so shut up, naysayers.) and my clothes are fitting better. The most important change, though, is entirely mental. I am no longer out of control with my eating. I no longer mindlessly shovel food into my mouth when I’m not even hungry. Or comfort eat and tell myself it’s ok because I deserve it. What I deserve is to feel good about myself.

I got a little Christmas gift money in the mail and I think I’m going to save it and buy myself some snazzy new clothes when I’ve lost the rest of these 24 pounds. That seems like the perfect gift to myself.

Thank you all for the encouragement via comments and The Twitter. I couldn’t ask for a better cheering squad!

Public Accountability

It’s no secret that I’ve had a life-long problem with my weight. At my heaviest (while pregnant with Maddie) I weighed 315 lbs. When not pregnant, I weighed about 300 lbs even. In July of 2008, I had gastric bypass surgery and lost 140 lbs.

While pregnant with Sam, my OB was concerned that I wasn’t gaining enough weight and encouraged me to eat a little more. I took this to mean “eat whatever the hell you feel like in whatever quantities you feel like.” I only gained 13 lbs throughout my pregnancy, but ruined any semblance of healthy eating that I once practiced. In the six and a half months since Sam was born, I’ve gained 10ish lbs and I’m NOT GESTATING ANOTHER HUMAN.

I am disgusted with myself. I can see these extra pounds hanging off my body. And I can feel them when I try to get into my jeans. I hate it. HATE IT. But for some reason, that hatred completely disappears when it’s time to shove something unhealthy into my cake hole. This is incontrovertible proof that gastric surgery changes your body, but your mind is exactly the same. I’m still struggling to keep my weight in check even though I paid thousands of dollars to have my gut rearranged to help me.

I’m so upset. I know that this surgery was and is my last chance to get myself under control. There isn’t another option. I’m starting Weight Watchers today. Again. I accept that I will always struggle with my weight and I will always have to work harder at it than I want to. I’m willing to do it so that I can feel good about myself again. This is my public declaration in the hopes that the accountability will further encourage me.

Elmer’s Glue and Scotch Tape

Thank you. For not judging. For not saying “I told you so,” even if you were thinking it. For empathizing. For sympathizing. For taking the time to encourage. Thank you. Even though you’re all so far away, I felt each of you close by last night. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me. Thank you.

I saw my doctor today. Have I ever told you that she’s a woman? And a mom of two little boys herself? And her kids are exactly the same age apart as mine are? She gets it. She listened. She hugged. She gave tissues. She said that she wishes more women would be brave enough to say that being a mother isn’t always great. That it’s hard. That we wonder what in the hell we were thinking. That we sometimes wish we’d never had children in the first place. We all struggle to live up to this “ideal mother” persona that we’ve created in our collective imaginations, but the truth is none of us are this mythical mother who never gets upset, never says ugly things to her kids, never feels ashamed and never dreams of running away. She simply doesn’t exist, this woman that we’re all trying to be. Motherhood is HARD. And it would be so much easier if we all said these scary things out loud and supported and encouraged each other, instead of hiding them out of some misguided sense of shame.

We’ve started that, you and me. I wrote my post. You commented about how it’s been rough for you, too. We’re breaking the taboo and admitting that we’re sometimes broken and that doesn’t make us bad mothers. It makes us mothers. Period.

So, my wonderful doctor wrote me a prescription for a new SSRI and will see me in three weeks. Unfortunately, the drug she chose isn’t covered by my insurance because it doesn’t have a generic. I left a message and she’ll call me back in the morning with a new script. Thank goodness. I feel like I’m not quite as broken now. I’m held together with Elmer’s glue and Scotch tape, but I’m held together nonetheless. I keep telling myself that I just have to make it two or three weeks and I’ll feel better. That’s not so long to wait, right? I can plow through knowing there’s an end in sight. I’m not just floundering out here grasping for something, anything, to keep me afloat.

I also got TWO flu shots today. My arm is so sore that I can barely lift it above my boobs. I’m fairly certain that I already feel sick, too. ::cough cough:: I can feel a Man Cold coming on right this very minute. Imma milk this sumbitch for all it’s worth. Which is about $.17.

I also had some labs drawn. My liver enzymes have been elevated in the past and need to be checked (My mother had non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver and her actual cause of death was liver failure due to all the chemo drugs. I don’t have a fatty liver anymore, thanks to losing 140lbs, but my liver may still be scarred so it’s something my doctor keeps a close eye on.) and I’m being tested for Chronic Pancreatitis. My bariatric surgeon suspected that I have it a year ago and I’ve never been tested. I’ve been having flare-ups lately so it’s time to face the music. I’ve got a referral for a Gastroenterologist who specializes in pancreatic and biliary tract diseases. Of course, this includes pancreatic cancer, which I am steadfastly refusing to think about even though it keeps trying to sneak its way into my already troubled mind. Because I’m crazy AND a hypochondriac, apparently.