My own personal Bell Jar

Depression sucks.  I'm not talking about the occasional blues or feeling sad because the sun hasn't been out lately, but depression, that soul sucking, life draining Dementor who lives inside some of us.    There is a secret for you, I've suffered for years with major depression.  I'm far from alone, according to the Internet there are 16 million adults who suffer with depression.

“The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Some people face situational depression, something horrid and debilitating impacts their life and with the help of a therapist, God and/or pharmaceuticals they get through it and are free on the other side, wiser and prescription free.  For some of us though it's much more of a permanent condition, major depressive disorders impact us very differently and are a part of our daily lives. 

"I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of the throat and I'd cry for a week.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Essentially our brains are off, through a combination of genetics, environment and psychological factors my brain doesn't function like everyone elses.  Popular convention (and the Internet) says that those of us who suffer for the long term with depression don't have enough serotonin receptors in our brains so we don't function normally.  Serotonin has been described as "oil" for the brain. Imagine not replacing the oil in your car, you'd damage the engine, over heat and essentially stop the car.  Similar things happen with a lack of serotonin.  Your mind will race, sleep is off, you have no patience, no energy, sex is repellent and then the wonderful negative scripts start about how the world would be better without you.  It's a viscous cycle. 

“I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I was diagnosed with depression shortly after my divorce, hoping it was situational and I'd be able to go off the Prozac very quickly.  That was 16 years ago and I've cycled on and off almost every offering from Big Pharma because, unlike some people, the anti-depressant stops working for me between 3-5 years after I take it and I'm thrown back down the well.  Cycling on and off of the medications can be a long process.  Realizing that they've stopped working takes about 6-8 weeks for me to admit it, then it's 2-3 weeks coming off one pill and another 2-3 weeks to see if the new one works.  If it doesn't work then there is another 2-3 weeks with a new pill until the right dosage is found. 

I can hear people in my head telling me to stop being so melodramatic, this is personal, and I should keep it that way, cry on the inside, smile on the outside.  Aren't you being too dramatic? You have a great life, a great home, a job you are good at, wonderful friends and family-what do you have to be sad about. It's deeper than sad, it's bone crushing.  And if I don't share my story then I can't help anyone else who may not know what's wrong.

“I was supposed to be having the time of my life.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

So to me depression feels like a fog wrapped around me and something I drag behind me weighing me down, every step heavy through mud. Everything is muted.  All of the literature says that depression interferes with your life, you cannot focus, you cannot think, you don't care about anything. All of this not caring leads to exhaustion and sleeping. I can testify, that is all true. Life becomes exhausting, just existing is overwhelming.  I have mentally written hundreds of suicide notes. I've plotted out pills, opening a vein, wrecking my car or jumping off a building.   Normal people don't do that, normal people don't try and figure out how to end their lives without ruining their friends and family.  These thoughts are always click clacking around in my brain and usually are quickly dismissed. Except when I’m trapped in the fog, they take on weight and substance.  The words have meaning and broken brain or not they have to be talked about.

  

But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Let me say, I know this is a chemical imbalance and has nothing to do with anything other than what I call my broken brain. But the feelings are still very real, the pain exists and the hopelessness weighs down like an elephant on your chest.

  

“I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.” 

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

So this time through I am coping in a slightly different way.  I am not sleeping around or over eating or purging or hiding at home. I am talking to my friends.  I am working out. I have cut out sugar. I have asked for help.  Most importantly I have a dialog with my doctor to adjust the medications quickly.  I'm on week 5 of new meds. The first didn't work so we are on day 3 of the new one.  

Now the work that you need to do. If any of this resonates you, especially if you’ve been dealing with it for a long time, seek help. Call your doctor, call a friend, tell someone you are hurting.  I promise that although the process is painful, there is light at the end of the tunnel.  If you have someone in your life who is depressed, withdrawn and changed don't just tell them to "cheer up" or that "the grass is greener on the other side" or whatever platitude seems applicable, this is so much bigger than a hot bath and a glass of wine.  If you don't know where to turn, there are a many online resources to get you started.  

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/depression/index.shtml

http://www.psychiatry.org/mental-health

But above all we have hope, this doesn’t have to be forever.  The sun will shine again, the birds will sing and somehow we can come through this.

Flying, Part 2

I was having lunch this week with one of my favorite people and we were talking about how pissed off we are that as smart successful people we keep doing the same thing over and over with food (seeking comfort) instead of the "heathy" things we have learned that are supposed to help us get through.  There are so many great avenues out there, mediation, yoga, journaling, talking to friends, taking a walk, taking a nap, or any of a thousand other things that we've decided are better for us than old habits. 

I've talked about how we are flying without a net and that we have to figure new way to cope.  She said that it's the feeling the feelings that is the problem, we fuss and ponder but we don't quite know how to feel the feelings.  Numbing feels better than being angry or sad or lonely or disappointed.

I sprang out of bed this morning thinking about that very thing when once again my own abandonment and sadness issues crept in, I immediately went running back to sugar. Sugar is my personal enemy because I know it makes me nuts.  I jumped out of bed because I realized that we survived whatever it is we are trying not to feel.  We made it through so why should the feelings for something we already dealt with haunt me, why do I still react or more accurately why do I try and shut down? I am still here, the feelings are an echo that my brain wants to keep because there is temptation to go back to what happened and relive it.  My own personal temptation is to try and keep myself down, the comfort level that keeps me miserable and unhappy because that's what I already know. 

Of course I screwed up that meeting, have a cookie.  Of course he's going to leave me, have ice cream. Of course the pants don't fit, have a cake.  My brain is working against me,  the old me in my brain is trying to stay with what we think we know best.  Which has, lets be honest, been less that stellar thus far. Sure we lived, sure we have had success but what happens if we let go of this self destruction and actually embrace our inner light. The following is from Marianne Willamson and it is hard to read because she is right, playing small does not serve the world, it does not serve our soul, it does not serve each other.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” --Marianne Williamson 

Flying Without a Net

I'm overwhelmed by the kindness of all of you. I posted an embarrassing and humbling story last week and I don't even have words for the love I got back to me.  Thank you.  I got stories back about so many of you going through something similar and it was touching and so wonderful to talk to other people who knew exactly what I was going through. It was a lot of great conversations about body image, our own worth and what we do to ourselves. 

In talking about this with a friend we discussed removing food as a source of comfort. Once you do that then what? I told her that I was flying without a net, I didn't have any idea of how to comfort myself.  I didn't know how to make any of the bad feelings go away.  Exercise doesn't work yet, sleep (while lovely) eventually ends and I've put food off limits.  There goes all the self comfort that I know.  So I am ignoring it for now, pretending that everything is ok and that I'm happy and that I'm not constantly thinking of how to get my hands on donuts or ice cream.  Mostly I'm thinking about how I can be stronger than the thought that pops into my head that Winchell's is 24 hours and I have cash.

Eventually I have faith, I hope that I can learn new skills to cope. Or maybe, just maybe actually feel a feeling instead of trying to make it go away.  But if I'm flying without a net, I need to make small movements-self preservation always wins.

Exhausted

I'm tired, I'm really exhausted from fighting with myself.  Monique and I were talking tonight and wondering why it is that every single diet change that comes, comes with an extreme reaction.  I haven't really had sugar since January. I really avoided it and was closely watching my carb intake in an effort to see if I felt better, and I did. No headaches but not much energy, I blame a lot of that on the time change.  But on Wednesday I was on a plane for the first time in quite a while and wow the new seats are small and the seatbelts are short. I did something that even at my heaviest (70 pounds more than now) I never had to do. I had to ask for a seat belt extender.  I promise you any shame you have felt about your body is nothing compared to asking a petite young flight attendant for a seat belt extender for the 1" that I could not force the freaking thing to close. I was humiliated, I was ashamed, I was horrified.  She was very kind and very discreet in handing these to several of us and I'm sure I didn't cross her mind again.

But it stuck with me all day, through two muffins and a slice of lemon loaf.  It stuck with me through Thursday and Friday and with  handfuls of animal crackers and laffy taffy, through pizza and bread and whatever the hell I wanted.  That voice telling me that the disgusting parts of me were never going away and the only way to silence them was to eat and eat and eat.  Except that now I’m miserable, I have a headache from the sugar and carbs. My stomach is killing me from being too full for too many days and I kinda hate myself for letting the voice win, for letting a seat belt get the better of me. All my food fueled temper tantrum did was prove to me what I already know, eating like that makes me feel miserable and uncomfortable.  The numbing I used to get with food and sugar doesn't work anymore, I'm too aware of my full stomach to be comforted by it.

I shared this because I’m humbled, I'm exhausted and I want something different.  I've proven to myself again that food really doesn't do anything when you push it past nourishment.  The illusion of comfort from food is gone but I keep trying and trying and trying but it no longer silences the voice in my head, that evil voice that keeps bringing up the seat belt extender.

So today I reached out to get some help with working out again, I reached out on the food thing too. The lesson here is that what used to work doesn't and instead of forcing the issue I'm going to take the first step in the new direction.  It starts here too. Telling the truth, my truth and opening myself up for whatever may come in my journey. 

Stories and Honesty

The lie is so easy, it's so simple to tell ourselves stories that make us seem  more important, more vital to existence.  We tell ourselves stories to justify our positions, to make the inexplicable make sense.  These stories can make us the hero.

We are all the hero of our own stories.  As the information around Brian Williams keeps coming out and I'm sitting here watching American Sniper I keep thinking about honesty and the stores we tell ourselves.  In both cases Chris Kyle and Brian Williams are the hero of their own story. I honestly think that both men thought that they were telling all of the truth. 

What strikes me in both stories is that they are both amazingly impressive men.  Brian Williams was our voice in the news for the last decade, he worked hard to get where he was and somehow still felt it necessary to embellish stories that started true.  He was in a helicopter in Iraq getting the stories for us he just wasn't hit.  Still to be that close is a feat in and of its self.

I'm not interested in political debate about Chris Kyle, he was an American hero but he felt the need to embellish in his own life story to make himself look bigger and better. He wasn't satisfied with the truth, something in him, like Williams needed to be bigger.

This has been on my mind this morning a lot with looking at how we tell ourselves our stories.  Where Brian Williams and Chris Kyle told stories to make them 10 feet tall, the stories I tell myself are a bit different.  I am not going down a gender path here at all, I do embellish stories for effect. I love a good story and a laugh so I will stretch.  But the stories I'm most interested in are the ones that I tell myself.

We are not kind when it comes to telling our own stories.  I tell the story of the rape and it becomes I should have known better, that I was somehow at fault.  I tell the story of putting on weight as I'm lazy and it was the only way to comfort myself-that I don't deserve to reach out to people.  I don’t work out because I'm tired, my leg hurts and until Thursday it would kill me. 

Like Brian and Chris I know all of my public stories and I believe them, I'm fine, life is wonderful, I'm training for a marathon again.  Like them I will have to come up with a new story when something ends up not true, or I could tell the truth now.

The truth is, life is hard.  Life isn't always wonderful. Sometimes the only comfort we can find is by admitting weakness and reaching out to friends (thank you Monica and Sohp).  I want to be training for the Omaha 1/2 and will keep talking about it. 

Something about admitting this out loud bends my normal story and for today, life is wonderful and I have comfort.

Appreciation

This year I'm trying to love working out, I'm trying to love running and moving my body.  I set a goal to work out every day for 30 days to force the habit. The rule is that if I don't work out then I start over again at day 1.  This alone is inspiration to move. But working against me is the way my body moves. The way that things shake and move of their own volition, the fact that I can't bend or move as well as I'd like because things get in the way.   But there is no such thing as perfection. 

The hardest part of any journey is to remember that it's progress not perfection.  I have to appreciate the getting there more than the destination, because there is no destination with health. There is strength and stamina but no true ending.  I will never be waif thin, and I don't want that. 

I'm starting to appreciate my curves, I know all of us chubby girls all of them curves, but it's time. I have curves and valleys and rolls that the very thin don’t.  I'm sure that thin girls appreciate their angles the way I love the swell of breast or curve of my knee.

There is no judgment in this for me, it's appreciating my own unique form no matter the size I currently am. It's knowing for the jackass who yelled at me while I ran a few months ago, that there is a wolf whistle from a man in a construction truck.  I may not be your type, but I am mine.

Cleanse

This time of year I hear about all kinds of cleanses, juice cleanse, fasting cleanse, the honey, cinnamon and maple cleanse.  Yesterday I did a different kind of cleanse.  I emptied every dresser drawer, every closet and the spare bedroom and started purging.  I feel like there is just too much here, too much stuff just too much.

As I look out at 2015 Monique and I have had conversations about streamlining our food, exercising more and being kinder to ourselves.  To that list I'm adding simplifying my home.  With cleaning out all the clothing I don't love yesterday  I am reminded that there are all kinds of binging that can happen beyond just food.

I'm really enjoying the cleanse I'm on this year.  I've talked about body image and how I want to be more comfortable in my skin in my clothes.  I also want to be more comfortable in my space.  Having three bookcases, two full closets, overflow kitchen gear in a closet and overstuffed drawers aren't comfortable.

Eating food that makes me feel horrible isn't comfortable.  Wasting my talents and my strength isn't comfortable.  I'm considering something scary in February.  I'm considering working out for 30 straight days. I know, 28 days in February but I'm curious to see if I can force exercise to be a habit. I'm scared to say this out loud but I want to love fitness and running again.

I know me, I know that I can find a million things to do that are a distraction. I can find all sorts of things that can distract me from the scary thing that I am working for.  The key with that is to stay silent. Keep my goals to myself so that when I don't make them the only person I have let down is me.

And now all of you. I've said it out loud.  I said I want to work out for 30 days in a row.  And to qualify that, that's at least 15 minutes of my heart pounding like I'm in love for the first time and he's looking back at you too. We all know what that feeling is like, it's truly being alive.  And we can all have that feeling when we challenge ourselves, when we cleanse all the old feelings and attitudes and stand tall and proud and look forward.

As I'm typing this my heart is pounding a little bit, I'm admitting out loud that I want to clean out the fear, clean out the quit and move forward to the new me.  I am saying outloud that I'm worth it and that I can have big goals that someone other than me knows about.

Right now I have six bags of things for the Lydia House and already I feel lighter.  Is there a big goal you are scared to say out loud??  Go for the cleanse!