Tuesday Truths – Weight

Has something ever scared you so bad that even with all the fear and knowledge that you have to overcome that moment you still are in a sense of shock?

Has something ever been so clear and obvious to you that you knew it was the truth even with out being told but still were overwhelmed when that one thing was brought straight forward to your attention?

Has something ever been so “in your face” that even though there was no denying it, you still did?

I am guilty of all of the above.  I knew my weight was an issue. I knew my weight was unhealthy. I knew it was there, hell it is all of me. Yet even with me saying I knew these things, and knew changes needed to be made; I denied it to myself when it came down to actually doing something.

Sure, I changed the way I was eating….sort of.  Sure, I was going to the gym….sort of. Sure, I was walking the dog, having “dance parties” in the living room with my kids, walking during work, dancing in the car…sort of.

It all tumbled down and smacked me in the face when I was going through paperwork from when I was in the hospital in February for dizziness and passing out. I went through every test imaginable, saw every type of doctor I think they could send my way, spent five days in the hospital, final diagnosis: Meniere’s disease (which runs in my family).  Not so bad, it is manageable and treatable.  Not one single time did anyone say to me the words “blood sugar” or “diabetes”.  Not one single time was it an issue at all.  Neuro or Cardio perhaps, but all of those tests came back “normal”, “negative”, “with in range”.

Now as stupid as this may sound, it never dawned on me to look at the papers they gave me from the hospital at the time of check out. I did my due diligence, called my primary physician to tell them I had been in the hospital. Spoke to him and he stated since the paperwork they received mentioned the possibility of the Meniere’s disease, he didn’t need to see me and to proceed to an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist since Meniere’s is an inner ear thing. Never once did he say to me “blood sugar” or “diabetes”.

So, upon finally looking at the discharge paperwork from hospital, almost two months after discharge, I noticed that it said Hemoglobin A1c test was done and that mine was a 5.9, fasting glucose tests were within ” 108-114″ and above normal. Again, called my primary care physician and was told to see an endocrinologist. So I did just that.

The result was borderline diabetic.

So now I am on a real mission. I know I have talked about losing weight and needing/wanting to but now it is an issue of my health. Plus being heavy like I am feeds into my depression, which is a matter of my health as well.  I know I might get some grief about this because I am supposed to love my body the way I am or love myself for who I am. I don’t. I am not happy with anything about my body. I am not trying to say that losing weight or being thin is for everyone or even trying to push any type of body image or eating disorder. I need to be healthy, and my healthy weight according to my doctor is 135 pounds. So it will take some time to get there but slow and steady wins the race.

Twenty-Two Years

I cannot believe it has been twenty-two years since I last saw you.

Twenty-two years since we last spoke.

Twenty-two years since you left this world.

Twenty-two years without you.

 

I was ten years old.

I am now thirty-two years old.

Twenty-two years.

And it hasn’t gotten any easier.

 

And I wonder……

Are you proud of me?

Do you know how much I miss you?

Do you know how desperately I wish you knew my children?

Do you know that you were my best friend?

 

IN MEMORY OF VIVIEN M CHAPMAN NOVEMBER 3, 1912 TO JANUARY 31, 1990.

 

 

Thursday Truth – Old Posts Stir Up Hurt Feelings

I have removed myself some from the online world.  I do some things still; I try to continue to write on my blog (for me more than anything because it feels good sometimes just to get it out), I still use facebook, I tried to get back to twitter but I just can’t keep up with it (especially now with work).  I enjoy Pintrest, GetGlue and Klout; although not being as active on the internet and in social networking atmospheres probably doesn’t give me much of anything in any subject or topic area.

I hadn’t opened my reader in I don’t know how long.  Probably not since the last time I blogged while I was still living in California, and well that post wasn’t exactly one of my finer moments in life.

“You have to take responsibility”

“You have to own your words”

“You have to own your feelings”

“You have to learn to blame yourself, redeem yourself and forgive yourself for the things you have done/said/wrote/blogged/texted/etc. whatever they may be”

People don’t really understand how hard that is to do, especially when depression is playing a role; not unless they have been down that road.

The blame, hate, rage, misunderstanding, sadness, emptiness, loneliness, anger. It is misappropriated, flung on to people when it is really yourself you feel all of those things about. Flung on to people you love and care about and then it just batters them down until they can’t take the beating anymore. Why? Because it is easier to blame then to take responsibility.

Back to the reader….

I open the reader and see a gazillion blog posts that need to be read. We are talking haven’t looked at this thing in over a year’s time. I have now limited myself to the few that I actually care to read.  I took my reader from 126 blogs down to 18.  I lately have been more of a lurker than anything else, there are times I intend to comment and don’t.  Why? Fear perhaps. Maybe because I feel what I have to say makes no difference. Because I don’t want to be just another “comment on the page”.  I am not sure why I don’t comment when I want to….ok it is fear.

As I was weeding down my reader, I was going back to blogs and reading missed posts.  Going back sometimes as much as a year because I haven’t read the blog in that long. Laughing at things, smiling about others. Crying over some. Amazed by how a lot of these bloggers write.  Jealous because I don’t write as well or keep up with my blog like I want to. Envious, even.

But when you read back through old blog posts, you sometimes come across things you don’t want. Stories of death, bad days, hurt feelings. Stories that make you, yourself face truth. Posts that hurt because you know they are directed at you even though your name is not used.

And tonight that has opened up a whole new set of feelings for me.  A part of me I thought I had put behind me. Feelings that I thought I had gotten past. Hurt that not only emotionally hurts but physically hurts as well. Loss. Feeling broken again. Broken, a word I said I would not use about myself again…yet as I write this I feel so broken.

I don’t know how to fix what did or didn’t happen. What has or hasn’t happened. I don’t know how to fill in gaps and holes that are so large they swallow me whole.

I want to reach out. I have tried to reach out at first, not as much as I should….not so much anymore.  And that pains me because I want to. I feel I should. But I don’t know what good it will do. And when I do and there is no response, complete ignorance of the attempt it just hurts. And then the broken comes back.

I miss what was there, more than I can ever explain. More than I knew I would.

And the hardest part of it all?  I did this.  This was all me. I caused the hurt, I caused the pain, I caused the confusion, the mistrust. Now I have to learn to live with it.

Yes, I have an illness and it has taken me some time to truly understand that illness and control it not let it control me.  There are still times that I can feel it taking hold and sometimes I wonder if it would just be easier to let it take over. I use to say I didn’t want to be defined by it, yet I used it as an excuse every chance I got. I hid behind it like a coward. I used it to excuse actions, behavior and words of mine that I didn’t want to take responsibility or acceptance for myself. I allowed it to be an excuse and I allowed it to control me. That was me, not the illness.

I don’t know if I can ever truly apologize for what happened.  What I do know is it was my fault, and mine alone.  I said those things, I behaved that way, I made the choices, they were my actions; with or without the illness, all of it was me because I allowed it to happen.

I truly am sorry, after all this time has passed I still am not able to forgive myself fully because I damaged something that was so special. Now I have to live with that. I don’t expect to ever be forgiven because I can’t even forgive myself for that, at least not yet. I miss you.

Working Girl

It has been a while since I have actually worked.  Like actually had a job that was an 8 to 5 type thing with a paycheck that was mine.  Money that I was making myself.  Something I was working for and achieving.  A job.

I have held many in my life and I don’t know if I am proud of that or not.  I have had jobs that have been my favorite and ones that…well…there are reasons they are not my job any more, whether I ended the employment or they did.

I worked for one company in the Oil/Gas Industry involved with sub-sea robotics for almost 2 years and that was, at this point thus far, one of the best jobs I have had; and also one of my favorites.  I was utterly devastated when that job ended and for the reasons it ended.  I felt betrayal, as if I had been used, angry, guilt, sadness…a whole slew of emotions I did not really understand.  I honestly believe this was a major turning point with my mental illness, for the worse.  Many things with the way the job ended and the events leading up to the termination of the employment were not handled right by the company, other employees or me.  I am a lot to blame for the events that happened there, I know that now.

I spent some time doing odd and end type things that did not really amount to much or cost me more than I made.

When we moved to California, I was convinced that I would never work again.  I looked for jobs and applied for jobs in California and in many cases never even got answers back.  I accepted I would be unemployed.  This was a major stressor for me and caused a lot of anxiety.  I did not have money of my “own” and it was degrading to me to have to ask my husband for money; not that it was ever an issue when I asked for it however, I felt belittled when I had to ask him for money.  Sad, I know.

When we made the decision to move to Florida, even before we moved, I started looking for jobs.  I started in December of 2010. Many places told me to contact them as soon as I got to the state or to the area I was moving to.  Others did not answer.  Some told me they could not hold the position until I moved but would hold onto my resume in case something came up.  This was also very stressful for me because I felt the need to have a job.

A place I used to work offered me a job with them when I got to town but it ended up being a very flakey thing.  Hours were scattered and on an as needed basis.  I wanted and needed something more “permanent”.  I put my resume in with the local staffing agency.

Through them, assignments came that were only for a day; and I also went on quite a few interviews that ended up in nothing.  On a few occasions I was actually told I was over qualified and that the company was worried I would get bored with the position and/or pay and leave after a short time. I was starting to feel down again when an opportunity came along with a company in a town about 20 miles away from my home (approximately a 40-minute drive). I jumped on it when the position was offered to me.  The first few days seemed to go well.  Then things started to come out about the company, the owner and the stress began to set in.  Promises that were made during the interview were being taken back; and there was a lot of tension in the office.  It kept growing and growing.  I had regular stress/anxiety attacks.  I decided I needed to quit.

The reason for quitting was to start school.  I have been talking about going to school for nursing for about five years now and that this would be the best time to do so.  We are at a spot in our lives where I could concentrate just on school and all three of the kids would be in school as well.  I thought perfect timing.  I left and started the process of starting school.

Upon leaving that job, an opportunity came up with another company to work as a “blogger/social media” person.  I had not expected this to happen and when it presented itself to me, I again jumped, who wouldn’t.  We all are looking for an opportunity to be paid to blog and be involved in a social media position, be paid for something we enjoy.  That, unfortunately, has turned out to be a big mistake.  Aside from the fact that the job is very political based, there is a slight language barrier at the job, a lot of stress with the job and the atmosphere of the work environment is not good (the building).

Now, once again in the process of all of this happening another opportunity presented itself to me.  I took this opportunity very seriously and applied for the position.  It is with a reputable company and one that I know would be a solid job.  I was called for interviews and fell in love with the possibility.  Although I promised myself, I would not get over excited; especially when the second interview was scheduled…I did.  The environment is everything I am looking for; and the person I would be working with I know from high school.  P.E.R.F.E.C.T.

The stress and anxiety while waiting to find out if the new opportunity was going to pan out was tough because I did allow myself to get excited.  Thankfully, it did pan out; the job has been offered to me.  This time when I jumped, I looked before I leapt and am going to land safely and soundly in probably the best position/job/opportunity that has ever come my way.  I could not be more excited.

After being unemployed for almost two years, I have had three opportunities in approximately a three-month period with this last one being exceptional.

So, where is the problem you ask?

One is telling the current job that I am leaving.  There is a lot of anxiety there…not because I feel I owe the job anything since I have only been there a week; I just let some guilt set in because I knew I was waiting to hear about the other job and did not tell them as I wanted to be sure it was mine before leaving.  Well that and I seem to have this horrible habit of predicting the worst, convincing myself that is what is going to happen and then feeding on that.

The other…as much as I am happy for the new position, I am a little scared, as well.  You know…new job jitters.  I have no doubt I can do the job and will be great out it.  Just nerves.

So wish me luck as I take this leap once again…but as I stated; this is time I will land exactly where I want and need to be, and right at a time when I need it the most.

A “Weighty” Issue

On the radio, not too long ago, it was mentioned that a survey was done of women and nearly 80% said they would give up one (1) year of their lives if it meant they could have and keep an ideal body weight/image for the rest of their lives without having to work at it. Ten (10) percent said they would give up two (2) to five (5) years for the ideal body weight and an additional two (2) percent  said they would give up UP to TEN (10) years of their lives to maintain a ideal body weight/image.  The rest was undecided or didn’t respond.

So this got me thinking, and…well…you know how dangerous that can be.

If giving up  one (1) year of my life could get me to my idea of an ideal body weight/image for myself and possibly allow me an additional ten (10) years of life because I have a weight that is healthy for me; I would do it.  Might seem a little steep to give up a whole year of my life just to be “skinny” but if the weight I am at now is dangerous for my health (which I believe AND know that it is) and being at this unhealthy weight could put me at risk for death five (5) to ten (10) years sooner than I should die; then losing that one (1) year so I could have that additional four (4) to nine (9) years might just be worth it, especially since that is time I could spend with my family.

I never had a problem with my weight when I was younger.  I didn’t have to work hard at losing weight and I could eat anything I wanted to.  I had my oldest young and took the weight off in no time, even took the weight off pretty easily after my second child.  Was a little harder after the third child but I was also older and not as active.  My weight has fluctuated throughout the years from 124 pounds up to 215 pounds. Not something I am proud of but it is something that I struggle with now.  Having depression hasn’t helped and being on some of the medications I take hasn’t either as their side effects include weight gain and/or bloating.  I don’t want to be super skinny I just want to be at a healthy weight and maintain that weight.

So you tell me, would you be willing to give up any amount of time of your life to have and maintain an ideal body weight/image for the rest of your life; one that you don’t have to work out to maintain?

Fear…

I haven’t written in a while out of fear.  Fear of my own feelings, of my own words…and fear of those words hurting someone else.  I was once told that your blog is just that, yours.  Write how you feel, what you feel, how you think; so on and so forth.  I have read other blogs that have out right just been classified as nothing other then rude about a topic, person, thing, idea….well you understand.  And it just seemed to me it was accepted.  Like, “Oh, well ‘so & so’ is just like that” so it is expected.  I don’t want to feel afraid to write the words on my page out of fear.

While in therapy one of our topics was fear.  We were supposed to come up with 10 things we had a fear of.  Most people in the group picked things like spiders, heights and the normal phobias.  One other girl and myself were the only ones in the group that wrote things like losing someone we love and ourselves.  That was one of the hardest group topics we had, realizing that you have internal fears and bringing them externally to be examined is not an easy thing.  Especially when one of those fears is your own self.

The therapist that day put this on the board:

Feeling

Emotions

&

Accepting

Responsibility

Fear is just that, it is feeling an emotion or emotions and then having to accept the responsibility of those emotions and the consequences or outcome of those emotions.

My fear of writing comes from a post I made that hurt people I care about.  People who were close to me.  I fear that my writing may do that again.  So I realize in this that the emotion I am feeling is guilt for hurting other people, as well as a little anger towards myself for doing so.  It has taken me sometime but I believe that I can write my feelings, my thoughts on my blog and not have to have the fear.  I just need to take the time to watch my words, not write based solely on emotion.

So here I go again, I  miss writing.  I have quite a few things written up in drafts that I would like to be able to post but have had a fear of doing so.  I am fighting past that now.  I hope in the process I don’t hurt anyone else.

30 Days of Truth – Day 4-5-6

Day 4: Something you have to forgive someone for.

I need to forgive anyone I have hurt.  I know that might sound selfish, and in many ways perhaps it is but there is reasoning behind this.

You see when you hurt someone; whether it is done intentionally or not, whether it is done because of reason or none, whether it is done in sickness or in health, whether it is done when you are of full sanity or on the brink of insanity; there seems to be preconceived notions and misconcepted thoughts about you as a person.  These lead to people thinking or believe that you will continually be that way, do those things, say those things or act a certain way.  Even if it has happened only once, and you have apologized, the ever lingering feeling of, “you are going to do it again” is always there; and I need to understand why that is and forgive them of that feeling, because after all I am the one who placed it there.  The feeling of mistrust, of walking on eggshells, of tip-toeing around things because you are afraid of what might happen again can be strenuous.  I need to forgive people for feeling that way about me because it is not all their fault, it is mine for making them think, feel or believe that is the way I am or the only way I can be.

But you see this is hard for me to do because I wonder…if I was sick with say cancer or lupus or fibromyalgia…and I said or did things like I have with my depression that have hurt people; would the pain still be lingering?  Would they still be walking around me like I am fragile and might break at any moment?  Would relationships stay destroyed?  Would friendships still be ruined?

 

Day 5: Something you hope to do in your life.

One of the biggest hopes I have in my life for right now is to go back to school and finish my education.  I had started on a track for the medical field.  Every time I tried to return to school; which has happened on three different occasions now; I have ended up pregnant….and well frankly that isn’t going to happen again so this is one hope, one wish that I know I can make a reality.  So within the next 3 months I will be returning to school, starting back on the medical track and with-in 15 months have a CNA license.

Day 6: Something you hope you never have to do.

Something I hope that I never have to do is watch any of my three children have their hearts broken.  Unfortunately I know this is going to happen, probably with each one of them.

But, if I had to pick one particular thing I hope to never have to do it would be to see their hearts broken; because after having mine broken as bad as it has been, I hope that it never happens to them.

30 Days of Truth – Day 3

Day 3: Something you have to forgive yourself for.

Something I have to forgive myself for is for hurting the people I love either with my actions or my words.   I have to own these actions and words as they are mine; even if some of them happened during episodes of my depression when I wasn’t medicated properly or when I was on an “episode” as they have been called.

Unfortunately, I have been quite ugly and mean when I have said and done some things, and it wasn’t always intentional; and unfortunately, sometimes it was.  There were times that I convinced myself of things that were not true but for whatever reason, I believed that they were even if the proof of them not being true was in front of my face.  There were also times that I was just so low on myself that nothing seemed right or perfect and it felt like it was easier to just give up.  I know now that is a coward’s way out.

But I have figured out that until I can fully accept these misfortunes that I have brought upon myself; and make amends with the people I have made them upon, I will never be able to forgive myself.  And believe me it is hard to accept these things because I know that I hurt people I love and care about.  That was something I never meant or wanted to do.

The Small Things That Remind Me

When I was twenty, my father passed away.  My dad was fifty-four when I was born, so he was older than most of my friend’s fathers and I accepted at about the age of fourteen that my dad was not going to be in my life forever, but I guess I always thought I had more than twenty years with him.

The last ten years have been hard on me without him around.  My children will never know their grandfather, they will only know the memories I have of him; and even some of those are diluted with the years that have passed.  I wish my daddy was here to hold my little girl.  I wish he could tell his stories of being in the Navy and World War II to my middle son.  I wish that my teenager could have him to talk to like I did.

Things always remind me of him, and I think about him and miss him every day.  I wonder every day if he is proud of me.  Would he be happy with the path I have taken?  I often think sometimes when a problem comes along; what would my dad do or what would he tell me to do?  He is the one who encouraged me to move to Houston, even when I was having doubts.  He always told me to take chances.  One of his favorite sayings was: “Never be afraid to ask, because if they tell you no; what have you lost? Absolutely nothing, because you didn’t have it in the first place.  But if they tell you yes, you have gained everything.”

Lately however a lot of little things have really reminded me of my dad, and I wonder if it is his way of letting me know he is there, that he cares, that he is watching over me; over us.

• Like watching a favorite TV show of ours and one of the main characters’ fathers dying.

• Like being out and about, and hearing someone say, “BILL” and wanting to turn around and see my dad standing there.

• Like flipping through the channels of TV while in a hotel room and running across Saving Private Ryan which was the last movie we saw together in a movie theater.  In fact, he liked it so much we went to see it three times in the movie theater.

1. Like my husband picking randomly Who Framed Roger Rabbit for us to watch as a family of all the movies we have.  I haven’t seen that movie since my dad took me to see it when I was the age of my middle child.

• Like being at a friend’s wedding and losing it emotionally when she and her dad dance to the father/daughter dance.  Knowing that I will never have that, nor would I have ever had it because of my age when he passed.

• Like wanting to punch someone square in the face when they complain about how much of a douche bag ass hat their dad can be when in all actuality of it, their dad is THERE for them…yet they don’t take advantage of the opportunity they have to spend time with him all because of a stupid disagreement.

• Like when my kids tell me that their friends were talking about their Christmas breaks and Christmas Days; and how they spent them with their families including their grandfathers.

• Like turning on my computer and signing into facebook, and having a message from a group I belong to (that happens to be our family name) when I haven’t visited that group page or had a message from that group in over a year.

• Like my brother calling me on Christmas day and seeing I had a missed call from Bill (our last name), which happens to be what my dad’s name was.

• Like having him be involved in some aspect of dreams I have had over the past month.

It’s hard when you are reminded of the person you love that you have lost daily.  Especially when you have no real reminders of him.  My sister got most of his stuff, and was supposed to equally share it with myself and my two brothers, but that never happened.  She even has his ashes…which as morbid as it may sound; I wish I had.  I have no place to go for him….I have nothing but the memories that we shared and built together…And even they are starting to fade and become diluted with time.

I miss you, daddy.

Twelve Steps – Step Two

Step 2 – Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

As I mentioned before, with the help of my therapist (and through her suggestion) I am working through the 12 Step Program that is used by AA. Although a lot of people associate this with alcoholism or addiction, I am finding it is a very helpful and powerful tool in the recovery and understanding of depression. At this point I have worked through and completed Step 2 of my 12 Step program.

I would like to believe that this step has been achieved a few times during my depression. Although the 12 Step program wants you to take the spiritual and religious path on this; that part of it has taken me longer to accept and believe. I am a spiritual person, I do believe in God; however it has been hard for me to just hand myself (or any part of me) over to him to “fix”. Have I put faith in him? Yes, I have. I believe that God has a path for me, but I also believe that God wants me to figure it all out for myself before he shows me the light or the path that I must take. I need to believe in myself first. I need to believe that I am that power and that I am better than the person I have been.

The first time a “power greater than myself” restored me to sanity was the first time I was hospitalized for my depression. I did not want to admit that I needed help for my depression, let alone that I was even depressed. The first hospitalization happened in Houston in 2009, and was for eleven days. The longest eleven days of my life. If you think being in a medical hospital is bad, being in a rehab/mental hospital is horrible. However, at that point in my life; I needed that horrible. I needed something large enough to wake me up and slap me in the face. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough, or I did not allow it to be enough.

Quite a few times that power has been another person. My husband or a friend grabbing a hold of my shoulders and saying, “HEY SNAP OUT OF IT”, or reasoning to with me to a point of understanding or at least compromise. A few times that power has simply been looking at my children and saying to myself, “you are better than this and they need you”.

When I was hospitalized the first time in California, I was embarrassed. I felt as though I had failed myself, my family and my friends. I thought, “I have already been here and I promised I never would again”. But I allowed myself to be there. And as much as I believed that the hospitalization in Texas had shaken me to a point of belief, of “a power greater than me”; it hadn’t and neither did being hospitalized this time. I again promised I would stay on track, not let this happen. I did not, and that was all on me; that “power” was all my doing.

Then something bigger happened. I allowed myself to fall into a hole again, back into a dark place; and didn’t really tell anyone or do anything about it. I was lying to myself as well as people around me. People who cared. I let feelings and thoughts fester and grow. I let those feelings and thoughts consume me. And although that is no excuse for what happened or my actions; I hurt people…people who care…people I love…people who love me. And I don’t know how to say I am sorry for that in a way that will ever make it better, will ever “fix” it. Again, that was all on me; that “power” was all my doing again. Every action, word said, thought thought, feeling felt was my own, my own responsibility; and I have accepted them. I made the decision to put myself in the hospital yet again, I made a more valiant effort in the groups, spoke with the counselors and doctors; held nothing back. Previously I had looked for help but never reached out for it. Now I am, I am reaching out in every direction I can. Groups, therapy, medications, doctor’s appointments.

I think I have realized; with the help of therapy, that this time that “power greater than myself” was actually myself. The only person who can do anything for me, is me. I have to make the effort; and before I was not. I wanted to believe I was, but I know now that I wasn’t. Does that excuse any hurt I have caused, any relationships broken, any harsh words spoken…no it does not. Illness or not, depression or not; those things where and are my fault. I just hope someday I can find a way to repair those things.

Moving on to Step 3 (Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God) is going to be slightly harder for me. Although I am a spiritual and religious person, it is really hard for me to just hand myself over to my beliefs. I think the first step in achieving Step 3 is going to be to return myself to church. So for now, that is where I am.