Tag Archives: depression

Weighted Long Enough

I see this sign, every time I drive North through Owasso. It’s for a weight loss clinic and it says “Weighted long enough?”. Well yes, I believe I have, but honestly, what am I capable of doing about it? I cannot afford (nor am I sure I want) weight loss surgery (which I believe is all that is ‘sold’ at a clinic). I’m not quite motivated enough to do it all the “safe” and “hard” way. I’m also rather terrified of loose skin, something that affects the majority of people who lose a lot of weight, even if they do so slowly and safely, while exercising to add muscle tone.

One friend of mine, from once upon a time, had weight loss surgery and recommended it to me. The method she recommended is a relatively new one, that involves cutting out part of the stomach to reduce the amount of food that can fit in it. I don’t know why she considered this safer than a lap-band, but it sounds scary as hell. I’ve had abdominal surgery before, to remove my gall bladder, and I wouldn’t choose to do it again unless I absolutely had to. It hurt like hell for a really long time, and I think that surgery is what really sparked my weight gain.

I think about my weight constantly, but it’s not always something I care about enough to want to change. My addiction to carbs is so overpowering most of the time, and the comfort derived from food is, well, comforting.

I realize that society as a whole completely devalues and objectifies overweight women. Both men and women are guilty of this. From a feeling of disgust or discomfort to an outright bad-person move (such as the one made by above friend, who took a photo of a woman walking in front of her and said “titties on her back”, a move I cannot understand given her own battle with weight).

I play World of Warcraft frequently, and in that game there is a social aspect that is often nauseating. The ‘World’ is full of immature males who feel ‘safe’ behind their character names, and who make incredibly frequent remarks about women (probably because they don’t have much exposure to them) and are especially abrasive towards ‘fat’ women, because “beached and bloated whales don’t count as girls”. Is it wrong of me to assume these ‘children’ don’t have very many feminine influences in their lives to feel and act this way towards women? Maybe. Maybe I’m a bit prejudiced, too. But it seems close enough to the truth to make it okay. How else can they think this way, if not by living in a space in which there are no women, or the only women in their lives are ignorant of their abusive beliefs (ahem, coddled-mommy’s-little-boy syndrome).

In my day-to-day life, on the days that I venture out of my home, I feel perpetually ashamed of myself for my appearance. I’m on-edge about so much. I don’t usually wear makeup or ‘do’ my hair. I tell myself I just don’t care, but part of it is a feeling of hiding, anonymity. I’m hiding in this fat suit, and hoping you just won’t notice me at all.

There’s so much more about this I want to write, but I think I need to call it quits. Call it fear, exhaustion, or sheer laziness, but I think I should bid this post adieu.

My bipolar is my greatest enemy and my oldest friend, but what exactly is it?

While browsing through my stuffed inbox, I found an email from Psych Central, which eventually, after much link-clicking, led me to this page: http://psychcentral.com/lib/the-two-types-of-bipolar-disorder/000612?all=1

 

I’ve discussed with my psychiatrist how crazy and alone I feel before, and I can’t remember what she told me I have.  According to this page, I have something somewhere between ‘Bipolar 1 Group 5’ and Bipolar Depression.

How exactly do I feel?

Well, it may start with a giggle but turn into a choked sob.  I may laugh hysterically, blowing something that may not even be funny to other people far out of proportion.  (It’s difficult to not laugh and cry simultaneously constantly while living in Oklahoma.)

I find other people depressingly hilarious.  They’re so sad, but they’re so sure.  (Political rant withheld.)

I prefer the inappropriate and vulgar to the pristine.

Right now I am: troubled, excited, anxious, depressed, feeling like I’m worthless but also destined to be famous, feeling useless, pent-up energy coated in exhaustion.  I could fall asleep at any moment, but I’m in pain, so never mind, I can’t.

I’m generally quite paranoid about other people, especially those with whom I must share this state.  I’m terrified of every kind of person, except the kind that is just like me – presumably the scariest of all!  I occasionally entertain thoughts of killing.  I do not enjoy this thoughts, per se, but they cross my mind nonetheless.  I’m terrified of death.  I was convinced that my golden birthday, the 16th, would be my last.  When I woke up after several handfuls of pills were consumed the night before, I realized something had either gone terribly wrong or wonderfully right, or maybe it’s the other way around.  That was not the last time I tried.  I imagine falling – from grace, from a cliff, or into an empty pool.  Since then, I’ve become convinced that the next birthday will be my last, and I’m amazed that I’ve made it so far.

I often toy with the idea of my own mortality.  I occasionally become convinced that I have multiple sclerosis.  My aunt has it, my great uncle died from it, and I’ve experienced almost every recorded symptom of it.  But hey, maybe I’m just crazy.

I was given medication for ADHD, but I had to be prescribed an anti-anxiety medication in addition to it, to level me off.  Now I’m still stuck with Klonnie, while the amphetamines are gone.

I can’t hold a thought, form a sentence, without cringing, grinding my teeth…

My dark thoughts race.

My eyes feel both gluey and unglued.  I have a ton of ‘floaters’ and ‘sparkles’ that remain unexplained.

I’m unbalanced, both when I stand and when I think.

I want to create.  I want to embrace the elusive mania, [a red dragon], but can’t summon a signal.

I don’t even have the patience or attention span to play my favorite video games anymore.

I imagine my hair fanned out, in flames.  I imagine myself at 23, ‘woe is me’, but I’m just not combustible any more.

In person I am quiet, shy, withdrawn, fearful, timid, tearful, when I really just want to scream “FUCK” and run around stealing shit and kicking people.  Oh, those were the days.

Oh, I still get upset in public.  I still fill up on rage, I just seem stuck, filled, unable to release it, unable to summon the dragon, breathe flames and “burninate the countryside”.

I remember things that seem to have far too much significance to me, while forgetting to complete simple, yet important, tasks.

I’ve applied for disability, but unless The Cell’s technology comes to fruition, no one else will ever know what it’s like in here.

I feel so fucking stupid.

Thanks for reading, if you do.