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Posts Tagged ‘Mental Illness’

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It’s 10:15 p.m. and I feel like I’m going to explode. You know, the type where your stomach tightens and an acid taste builds in your mouth. It feels like a loud animalistic noise will screech from my throat if I open my mouth.

Keep typing. Yup, that’s the thing to do.

I attached a picture of myself with the new haircut I got a week ago. I like this picture. A rarity for sure. I like my hair. I actually look happy in this photo. I think I was. Yeah, it was a week ago Monday and I’d spent the afternoon downtown Sidney looking for the perfect gifts for Lynn when I happened upon my salon. The rest of the story is evident.

So now, here I sit one week later, frustrated to the point of shaving my head because I couldn’t get my hair to look like the photo this morning. I tell myself I didn’t have the straightening gel, so of course my hair is poofier. I’ve always been so uncoordinated when it comes to styling my hair which is why I never do a damned thing to it. I feel so ugly with all of this weight on me. 227.8 That’s a whooping 11.8 lbs lost since January 1st. I’m being mature and accepting the loss, but fuck, it’s still 77.8 lbs away from my goal. And I still weigh over 200 lbs! That’s what disgusts me the most, weighing over 200 lbs.

I took a photo of myself tonight and as usual was shocked at the image. At least I don’t look full term pregnant like I did in January; now, it’s about 5 months pregnant. I don’t feel attractive and I miss that. I know I’m married and shouldn’t really care if anyone looks at me, but I do. I remember what it felt like to have a man gaze at me and I want that to happen again. Sure, I can dress nice, do my best to make my hair look like the above image, but no man looks at me in that way anymore. Not even my husband.

That hurts the most.

So, life’s not fair. But I have no one to blame for my situation but myself. I chose to binge on peanut butter, Starbucks ginger cookies, butter tarts, banana bread, cereal and milk. The results of my binging are 77.8 lbs of jelly like fat that gives me two stomachs, big boobs, large ass, thick legs and round face. Then there’s my laziness. I’d sat on my ass for years and now that equates to aches in every joint and with every movement. Trying to move around my load takes a lot of energy and I am definitely lacking in that area. I hear myself. I’m feeling sorry for myself.

Enough of that shit girl! Stop your fucking whining and get with the plan!

Taking this journey one day at a time is so slow and impossible to accept with patience and perseverance. I’m so sick of reading how it’s the journey, not the destination that is most important, to focus on this moment and to accept that the process is slow and steady. I want what the Biggest Loser offers – 6 hrs per day of pure hell in physical activity with a trainer that pushes you to the brink and beyond. I’m not working, I could do this. I think of it every night before I fall asleep and plan how I will take this approach in the morning. Well, the next day arrives, I sleep most of it away because I’ve been awake all night, and exercising, fuck, I haven’t even given it a thought.

No, my routine is 15 minutes of biking on my indoor recumbent bike at a light speed per my physiotherapist’s instructions. She permits me to do this twice each day. Following this, I do my stretches, balancing exercises and core work that she has given me, which takes 15 minutes. What do I actually do? First two days, I follow her instructions 100%, the third day I bike at a moderate pace working up a sweat and add additional stretches. Why do I do this to myself? I want to move without pain now, not a few months from now.

I’m obsessed with how I looked seven years ago. I was slim, could wear short skirts, cute hats, tank tops and best of all, I felt and looked sexy. I could see the eyes of men and women looking at me and I loved it. No, I craved it. The thing about it is that who I was seven years ago is dead. I cannot recreate her for she doesn’t exist.

So, what’s left?

On the exterior is an obese 47 year old woman who walks with her head down avoiding eye contact at all costs. I avoid going anywhere to be with people because of the shame and disgust I feel at how I let myself fall apart. I notice that I’m the minority in the public and now when I’m looked at it’s because I am different. I’m big. I’m fat. I’m ugly. Gone are the gazes. Now it is stares.

The depression and anxiety are like a roller coaster and I’m always terrified of moving towards upwards. Each jerk pulls my body deeper into my mind so that by the time I’m at the top, there is but a minuscule piece of me left. I look down and before I can take a breath, I am tumbling faster and faster until I crash at the bottom, landing in a murky, sticky brown puddle. Try as I might, I cannot lift my arms or body to rise. I am mired in this mess, my mess and right now I feel trapped, unable to find my way out.

Now I ponder my situation. I do have a choice. Continue or give up. I will continue. I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it so much that I have the urge to vomit. I’ll trudge forward and hope that I’ll figure out how to get out of the mud that encases my body and mind.

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image Still not good enough by ~Iamno-Scientist

There is no such thing as an angry font, so this will have to fucking do! No fucking meeting today for a variety of reasons. First, ms. bitch continued to today to denounce our existence, then she told Paul about the meeting, so there was pressure when he asked if we had it, when we were going to have it, then we got really tired from our meds.

Maybe we don’t exist. Maybe we’re just a figment of her imagination. I know she was feeling all scared this afternoon at how she would go to our inner world from her world. God she can be so stupid at times! Ah, close your eyes and just let it happen! Duh!

Can’t stand her. Can’t stand any of us. Can’t stand this life, or whatever the fuck it is. Yeah, we know we’re really, really fat, obese class 2, that we’ve gained weight so far this week, but we still are not going to exercise! What’s in it for us? Not a damned thing! So why would any sane person leave the comfort of their recliner to put on socks and runners and a tshirt and get on that fucking bike and move for 30 minutes all the while sweating and hurting? Not us! We weren’t born yesterday. If we can get out of that stupid Weight Watchers contract, we’re going to eat whatever the hell we want. Come on peanut butter! Let’s gorge on Starbucks ginger cookies. Dozen doughnuts? No problemo.

Fuck, why bother writing anything more. We didn’t have the meeting which means we’re a failure, that includes you too Cathie. Yup, we’re all a failure and now have to face Paul with this news and yhou know what that means…he’ll get that sad face and eyes which always upsets us. We’re no good. We’re no good at all.

By All of Us

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in_the_deep_dark_hole_by_demonikangelx in the deep dark hole by ~demonikangelx @ deviantArt

I did it. I finally did it. I cancelled all my massage and physio appointments. I was so conflicted before, during and after. Sure we got back 80% of the cost and once we paid $1,000 of our own money, it was free, but still I felt immense guilt for spending the money. When I looked at what I spent over the last few years on trying to lose weight it was appalling. I’m going to send an email to Weight Watchers to see if I can get out of the six month contract that cost $299. I bought it my first meeting because it was a huge savings $11.50/meeting verses $15.80/meeting, a whopping 28% less! What the fuck?! I mean look at my track record, I quit everything, so most likely I’ll quite this as well.

I weighed myself today and saw a 1 lb gain. I’m so fucking pissed it’s beyond belief. I know I’m not exercising, but I’m not going over in my points and I’m eating healthy. Okay, I admit, I ate 6 pkgs of oatmeal yesterday so that was like 12 points, but I do get 27 points total for the day, so that’s not bad and besides, unless I’m blind, I don’t remember seeing anywhere in the Weight Watchers’ books that I can’t eat just one type of food all day. Well, they do say to eat a balanced diet, so I’m probably wrong.

I left a message for my psychiatrist who won’t be in until Thursday or Friday asking her advice on what I can do to make myself do the things that will help the depression like showering, exercising and following through on what I say I’ll do. I know that mediation alone can’t lift depression, but I seriously don’t have the energy or desire to do anything. I just want to stay in bed. In fact I’m going to bed shortly, it’s 11:11 p.m. right now, that way I can sleep until 4:30 p.m. tomorrow. The thoughts of facing tomorrow fill me with dread. I’ve got things to do like grooming all the dogs which would definitely take more than one afternoon, crochet the fingerless mittens and summer bag, block the scarf I made Lynn then wrap and mail it (was for xmas), patch the walls in the exercise room, paint the exercise room, actually exercise in the exercise room, cook meals, sweep floors, wash floors, wash walls, wash windows, walk the dogs, make the bed, finish that anniversary slideshow I made for Paul for our 25th anniversary which was a year and a half ago, go to bed at 10 or 11 and get up by 8, eat three meals and two snacks daily and the list goes on.

I think I’m a dog. All I want to do is sleep, sleep, maybe grab a couple packs of oatmeal with milk and brown sugar to eat, drink a cup and a half of coffee, check my email and facebook to see if there’s anybody out there and finally, go back to sleep. Oh yeah, I’m one of those dogs that doesn’t like to go for walks.

So what can my psychiatrist to with one fuckinig call? Probably not much. I feel frustration  push up from my vagina through my stomach into my chest and get stuck. How do I make the want bigger than the don’t want? Or maybe it’s ‘how do I make the can bigger than the don’t want?’ That’s it..I’m fucking brilliant! I’m totally capable of getting on that damned recumbent bike and moving my legs in a circular motion, but like a spoiled rotten child I refuse to.

No! No! No! I Won’t! You can’t make me! I hate you! I hate you! Get away from me! No! Now fuck off!

Problem arising……

Genital arousal is happening as I type all of this. That is usually a tell tale sign that I’m being triggered by something or that I’m feeling intense fear, no make that, terror.

So am I afraid of losing weight? Am I afraid of having a nice looking body? Am I afraid of being able to breathe? Am I afraid of going for walks? Am I afraid of having energy? Yadda yadda yadda…..

It’s the same old bullshit I’ve been feeding myself for years, yet nothing ever changes. If I look at a journal from five years ago I’ll read almost verbatim what I write here. Frustrated. Can’t figure out why I don’t follow through. Wonder when I’ll wake up and feel better, whatever the hell that means.

I saw there is a 10 day silent meditation retreat late April that is free. This really intrigued me, but there was a section written that people with mental disorders should not attend as the retreat won’t heal them. Well, I know that! I’m seriously thinking of applying to go, getting a letter from Dr. Campbell to state I won’t go off on some rampage and kill every breathing entity and hopefully find a carpool. The thoughts of 10 days of silence seems a bit daunting as does 10 hours per day of meditation, but this quietness may be what we need to push through whatever barrier is in front of our face not allowing us to move ahead. I do worry how I’ll do without Paul and the puppies for 10 days; however, the way I am right now is no good to them at all, so if there is a glimmer of hope that this retreat might shake me loose from the vie that holds me, I’m willing to give it a go. I always rush into things then later quit, so this time I’m going to sit with it, discuss it with Paul, maybe even call and talk to them about my mental illnesses and finally talk it over with my psychiatrist.

Aagghh….gotta stop now…letter c is giving me problems and I can feel my frustration rising. If I don’t stop now, within a minute I’ll want to murder someone.

Before I go and since I’ve found the image for this post, I need to say that the little circles of hope I used to see in the distance are diminishing. This means that pretty soon there will be no opening with which to escape from my hell.

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Dear Elisabeth, Rob, Lisa, the others who wrote and those who did not write;

This is my first step in trying to accept each of you instead of hating what you represent. I want the inner/outer war to end and I figure after eighteen years it’s sure about time. So, it looks like it was a good idea to restart the blog as you have written in it twice already. Having that new program so you can have your own fonts, colours and pictures really helps as well.

I’ll admit it, this feels weird.

It feels like I’m talking to myself or thin air, not to other personalities within my mind. I don’t know why I resist this diagnosis so much. Part of it is that it is one mental illness that definitely doesn’t get discussed in public. That in and of itself is shame producing.

Alright, it’s really late and I’ve got to go to bed.

Thank you for inviting me to the meeting.

 

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Rage All That I Have by Bashai

Image: Rage – All That I Have by =Bashai at deviantArt

I was trying to think of how best to describe what’s going on inside, and suddenly I thought of that old song "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." I read through the lyrics and realized each verse is a warning that the lion is sleeping and to be quiet. So that’s how it is with me. Everything was going along as usual, not great, but not horrendous, then rage crept in, nudged my lion and now all hell has broke lose. I feel like screaming, ripping every paper into pieces, stomping up and down, wrecking anything and everything that is mine.

It all started after Paul got home at 4:30 pm. and I realized how much more work was involved in setting up our finances in Quicken than I had anticipated. That or I’m just stupid now, which could likely be the case being that I can’t remember things. It’s 12:28 a.m. now and I’m still not done. I got confused with setting up the mortgage and loan, as well as the Blue Cross Payments. By this point, my vision was blurred due to the ativan I took to calm down, so I had to stop completely which only angered me more.

I didn’t finish setting up our finances as planned. I didn’t groom Lacey, Bree & Polar and cut Molly’s nails as I’d planned. I didn’t ride my recumbent bike while watching The Biggest Loser Australia as I’d planned. I didn’t shower as I’d planned. I didn’t drink enough water as I’d planned. Finally, I didn’t eat as healthy as I’d planned. One big planned day. One big day of nothingness.

It’s so stupid how I am anyway. I sit on my fucking recliner, laptop on my desk and refuse to get up even if I have to go to the washroom. Yup, there has been many accidents with my not making it to the washroom in time. Now why the hell would I do this? Fucked if I know! I’m being judgmental and I know it and I don’t give a flying fuck!

So back to this not wanting to leave my laptop alone…

I know logically that whatever I’m working on will still be there five minutes from now. Staying these couple of minutes trying to type in the information before I forget, all the while squirming and squeezing my kegels will definitely not result in anything I want to keep anyway.

Bree has just come downstairs, and what would normally make me happy only annoys me. She peed on the mat in front of the door because I couldn’t get to her in time. And where was I? On the fucking toilet having a pee that wouldn’t stop because I’d been holding it for over an hour!

I think my lion is doing all the pooping from my body and that’s why it’s so big, round and hard because it’s the fury of the lion leaking out. Just in case it’s not, I’m going to start taking Colace today, a stool softener. I mean I just cannot eat any more vegetables, fruits and fibre.

This rage, it sits right in the center of my breastbone. I wonder if this means anything on the chakra charts. The thing with my anger is how I always want to hurt myself or my things. My scalp is really really painful after a hard night of picking, scratching and scraping. It hurts like hell while I do it, but it is also calming, kind of like a cigarette.

It’s 12:47 a.m. and I should go to bed. Trying to get back onto a normal sleeping schedule. But even going to bed at this time, I’ll still be asleep until Paul wakes me at lunch. If I could, I’d just sleep, sleep and sleep. I love being curled up under the warm covers where I feel safe and can escape to daytime dreams of being functional and happy.

Damn, damn, damn!!!!

I hate this depression and the rage it brings!

So hush my darling, don’t fear my darling,

The lion may sleep tonight…

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