My Good Friend Melancholia (aka Depression)...

De∙pres∙sion [dih-presh-uh n] – n.  A condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason.

I’ve wanted to write a post about depression, but I don’t exactly know how to do it without appearing like I’m throwing myself a pity party… I’m going to give it a try, however. :)

Talking about depression in this country is almost as taboo as talking about abortion… it’s one of those things that many don’t understand. It happens, but people are uncomfortable talking about it… There are also so many misconceptions that come along with it…It’s no secret that I am a little crazy. I have been crazy for years. I take crazy meds, see a crazy doc… I’m sure this is something I will battle the rest of my life. 

Looking back, I think my depression began in my adolescent years, around age 12 or 13 or so… I had the average awkward teenage angst and that feeling of not fitting-in. Coupled with a genetic predisposition to crazy (*insert passive-aggressive sarcasm here*) , depression was ultimately inevitable. My first experience with medication to treat depression came my first year of college and has been ongoing since then. 

I recently was chatting with a friend who has been suffering from depression more than ever before, due partly to the birth of her first child. In conversation she mentioned that someone close to her admitted to not understanding depression and proceeded to say, “I just don’t understand how somebody so blessed could be so unhappy.” This is an incredibly damaging statement to a depressed person. We think about this every day. Every day. In our heads, we constantly go over all that we have and how we are so grateful. We beat ourselves up for feeling this way. But we can’t help it. Depression is not a choice. It’s not something we ask for. Think of depression along the lines of high cholesterol…  A person with high cholesterol can eat right and exercise, but sometimes there is simply no answer other than medication. 

Medication has saved my life. Do I hate the fact that I am dependent on medication to make me happy? Of course! But I needed to do something… People cope with depression differently. My coping mechanism was food. I would eat to fill a void or calm a fear. It made me feel better. It was comfort. Then I ballooned to incredibly unhealthy weights during my high school, college and adult years. The weight made me even more depressed, so I ate more… it’s a vicious cycle and it only continues.

There are so many medications available right now to treat depression or other conditions that are associated with depression (anxiety, obsessive disorders, mood disorders… you get the gist). If you struggle with depression or any of its close friends (see above), the best advice I can give you is to not be afraid of medication. You may hear horror stories of people who didn’t feel like themselves or felt like they were having an out of body experience… this can happen… but there is an adjustment period to everything and medications are no different. If one isn’t working for you, find another. If it’s working, but not enough, speak to your doctor about getting a different dosage… Most of all, give it time. Rome wasn’t built in a day (I sound like my mother). But seriously – give it a month to start working and see how it goes. 

While we’re on the subject of doctors… it’s extremely important that you find a doctor who is skilled in prescribing these medications. Unfortunately, I have been the victim of two different primary care physicians who weren’t the most educated on these medications… Ask your doctor if he is comfortable prescribing them. Ask your doctor what his skill level is with these kinds of medications… You are not doing yourself any favors by having a doctor who doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing. Some doctors are experts at treating diabetes… some may be experts at treating dermatological conditions… and some are experts at treating depression. Just ask. Start with your primary care physician and go from there. They may refer you to a psychiatrist. Seeing a psychiatrist was going to be incredibly expensive with my insurance plan, so I asked my therapist (a psychologist (aka, doesn’t prescribe meds)) for a PCP recommendation. 

Next, find yourself a therapist. I had to go through a handful before I found one I liked… research the types of therapists/analysts that exist. Maybe you would benefit from cognitive therapy? Maybe you would benefit from a clinical psychologist (like myself)? If you don’t like one, don’t give up. Move on to the next, but seek help and for God’s sake, BE HONEST. Seeing a therapist and holding back your true feelings is completely counterproductive. They see crazy every day. Your story is probably no different. It doesn’t matter if you think your thoughts are irrational—tell them anyway. 

Lastly, if you are a person who is part of a support system for someone struggling with depression, my best advice to you is to be there… It’s OK to admit you don’t understand, but be sensitive. Visit this link http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/advice/things-not-to-say-depression to see ten things you should never say to a depressed person. What should you say to a depressed person? Keep in mind that people struggling with depression often feel very alone. They may not be as open or forthcoming with you as you’d think. Even I—yes, bold and brazen Anne who has a way with words and ain’t afraid to show it—have a hard time digging in deep with loved ones on the topic of my depression. Being alone is often the worst for me. It allows me too much time to obsess over being depressed and dwell on my sadness and wallow in my sorrows… On my worst day if you asked me, “Do you want me to come over?” I would still say no. I already feel needy enough, so tearing you away from your daily obligations is not something I’m willing to demand… If you think a loved one is having a really terrible time, sometimes it’s better to just do, than to ask. “I’m coming over and I’m bringing hot chocolate” or “I’m picking you up and we’re going for a walk” are good things to do because they don’t leave us asking for your help. Bottom line: just be there.

Have you struggled with depression? Are you close to someone who is struggling with depression? Feel free to share your stories here too.

Take a Chance on Me (and post-wedding follow-up)

My apologies for not having written sooner. This summer has proved to be an adventure to say the least. My life consists of a full-time job working with the underprivileged at a hospital, a sometimes full-time job working as a Realtor and the ever-pressing grad school studies which seem to get shoved away until the last minute… As you can probably tell, I survived the Reds game. I also survived the wedding. Neither was nearly as bad as I had imagined.

Regarding the wedding, I had come to the conclusion there was absolutely nothing I could do with my body. The part of my body that was in the dress looked great, but the part of my body that went uncovered was not going to suddenly shrink, nor was a sleeve going to appear on the dress. I sucked it up and decided that I’d better rock my hair and make-up. And rock I did. My make-up looked flawless; my hair was exactly what I wanted. It was all very glamorous and luckily for me, the compliments were flowing all night long.

It’s weird to say this, but I felt pretty. I actually felt pretty; so pretty it didn’t matter that my flabby arms were uncovered or that the skin on my legs was sagging. In my life I have had moments of feeling pretty. There is the glimpse in the mirror, a reflection in a window, a vague snapshot of myself while walking past a car… but just at that moment when you think you’re looking good, WHAM! You catch a glimpse of yourself in the… oh, I don’t know… mirror, window, car door… and you think, “Do I really look like this? Good Lord! Why didn’t someone tell me?! Is this what other people have to look at all day? To think I actually liked this shirt!” We build ourselves up just to tear ourselves back down. This is a terribly difficult cycle to break.

And of course, I can’t talk about body image and not mention the good ‘ole dating scene… the fat people dating scene, that is… As if I didn’t always have the world stacked against me growing up as an overweight adolescent/teen/adult, my own anxieties made my dating life even worse. I was so ashamed of my weight that I began to become ashamed of myself as a person in general. I put on a good show, often coming off as the bossy one, the bitch, the girl who could’ve cared less what others thought about her… but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The truth is, I cared too much. And I still do. I cared so much and had so much fear of rejection, that putting myself out there was and still is potentially the scariest thing I could ever do.

My defense mechanism (or lack thereof) was to control the situation. I was going to be coy and act like I didn’t care if he liked me, even though I spent every minute thinking about him and over-analyzing every little detail of our conversation. If we got past the initial conversations, I was careful not to get too close. I kept an appropriate distance and purposefully ended the pseudo relationship before he could end it. I often made things too sexual too quickly because I thought surely my charm, personality and good looks were not enough to keep a guy around... And if he still kept coming around even after all of that, I was eventually such a mean and emasculating bitch that he really didn’t want anything to do with me!

Now 31, single and childless (need I remind you?), I know myself better than ever before. I know my ways. I know how to stop them. So I’m trying to stop them. Trying to reroute myself down the path of healthy dating. But that still brings rejection (or potential for rejection). It’s inevitable… So what does a girl do? Try dating websites? Yes, great idea! Go to the singles pond, where all the fish are inherently superficial, including you. Yes, my friend, I am just as superficial as the next person…

This shouldn’t surprise you; I say it all the time and I’ll say it again… Nobody—NOBODY—sets out wanting to date a fat person. Plenty of people want to date a skinny person. In my past, I’ve even gone so far as to avoid overweight men so people didn’t think, “Oh, how typical, two fat people together.” I also avoid super tall and thin men… I don’t want to look like the odd couple! So you get the point—nobody sets out wanting to date a fat person. But what if… what if I meet a man who is not the picture of thin by any means. What if he has a great personality—he makes me laugh, is generous, seems intelligent enough to carry on a conversation with yours truly… what if? Of course I will give him a try… This is why I’m convinced that dating websites truly work against us. I know, I know—your cousin’s girlfriend’s brother found true love on a dating website and now he is married and has three kids… Sorry. I’m just not willing (at the moment) to try online dating. Ever. Again.

I am happy. I am certainly not going to settle. For now, I sit here, single and looking… playing the broken ABBA record over and over again, hoping it’s loud enough for some man to hear “Take a chance on me!”

Rounding Third & Heading for Home...

I cannot remember the last time I have been to a professional sports game… I don’t know that I’ve ever been to a Bengals game and the last time I went to a Reds game was probably in high school when I got free tickets for my excellent grades. J I’m not a football superfan… nor a baseball superfan, by any means… but I do have a cute Cincinnati Reds shirt and a Reds Tervis Tumbler that might lead people to believe I actually attend games…

Truth be told, I’ve been avoiding sports stadiums for a long time. If you’ve read my original post titled “Back Story” you know that being fat can prohibit you from doing things that are typically perceived by others as being “fun.” I don’t do Reds games. I don’t go to amusement parks. I forego the yearly “cabrewing” trip with friends…  This Wednesday, however, I will watch the Redlegs take on the Pirates in person.

It sounded like a good idea a few weeks ago when friends from work and I decided to buy tickets. At that time, though, I didn’t have major anxiety about it. Now is a different story! I’m already wondering, “Where will we park? We will have to walk far? Will people stare at my large arms (I’ll be wearing a t-shirt)? Should I bring a sweater to cover my arms? No, it’s 90 degrees outside! Will I be sweating? Will I fit in the seats? How many steps do I have to walk up?” I could go on for days!

The closer it gets to Wednesday, the more I think about cancelling my appearance at the game. I’ve literally played out which excuse would be best… which excuse will be the most believable to my friends? I have school work… I don’t feel good… I hurt my ankle at the gym… I have to show some houses… I have to work late and can’t get out of it… After a talk with my mom and a brief crying session, I decided I will go. I will go and I will walk however far I need to. I’ll sit in the seat and if I’m uncomfortable, so be it. I’ll wear my t-shirt without a sweater and not care if people think my arms are huge. If I sweat, I sweat. I won’t be the first person to sweat at a Reds game!

Luckily for me I have great friends. They are aware of my anxieties and are prepared to deal with them. They’re also prepared to deal with me; prepared to sit in the bleachers if the seats are uncomfortable for me, prepared to walk slower so I don’t feel like I’m falling behind, prepared to assure me that I will, in fact, be ok and more than anything, prepared to tell me “shut up, you’re fine” if my whining gets to an extreme that makes them wish they left me at home. LOL.

Say a prayer to little baby Jesus y’all: if I make it through tomorrow, it will be quite an accomplishment!  

Glass Half Full

     The title of this blog was merely to draw you in... make you think this was going to be a positive post because of my positive outlook on life... Those of you who know me, know I am a "Glass Half Empty" kind of girl. It's often difficult for me not to be the only one invited to my own pity party... and when I am the only one invited, it's hard not to make the party a raging all-nighter!
     I don't usually get in a rut of self-pity, but I have that obsessive personality so that when something bothers me, it's hard for me to let it go... I recently closed the real estate deal from hell. Just when you think you've already met the world's worst real estate agent, along comes this girl. And even though it's been almost a week since I washed my hands of her, she calls me today. Needless to say, I spent my entire boxing session at the gym earlier taking out my rage on her (or a punching bag that slightly resembled her). Kicking her ass was exhausting, but I feel much better.
     The old me (the one who ate too much and didn't work out) would've ate my frustration with her. She would have been the mid-morning full-fat iced latte I purchased from the coffee shop... the side of fries or extra salad dressing at lunch... the afternoon bottle of Mountain Dew and Zero Bar from the gift shop... The chips and salsa at night... To the point where I would eventually say to myself, "Wait, why am I upset again?" In the midst of masking all of my feelings with food, I would often forget the problem.
     I still do this. I still sit there and catch myself wanting to eat something (and sometimes actually eating that something) and thinking, "Why am I eating?" But it's gotten better. It takes a conscious mind-- one that is constantly asking, "Is my stomach hungry or is my brain hungry?" Working out helps. I hate working out probably 75% of the time. And I complain about it. And people are always compelled to say, "Yeah, but don't ya feel great after that workout?" No. I feel sweaty. And hot. And thirsty. And exhausted. But I realize that expelling some of that negative energy can do wonders, just like it did today. That shitty Realtor's face will be forever immortalized in that punching bag-- and I'm ok with that.
     At my heaviest, I was full of excuses not to work out. And I always said, "It's hard to work out when you weigh 400lbs." I always had this vision of being one of those people that gracefully skips around the gym like a fitness fairy, making runs on the treadmill look effortless. I convinced myself that I would feel great. Then I lost 90lbs... and it still sucks. A few weeks ago while doing the ropes at the gym with my trainer, I found myself crying. Crying?!?! Yes, it was a two-minute pity party. I was the only one invited. Without missing a beat, my trainer squashed the tears and said, "Those people who find it easy, aren't getting anything out of it." He's right. You have to make your workouts harder or you won't get anywhere. I made a conscious decision to suck it up. And also to get a new trainer. Just kidding!
     I have been through my handful of trainers... some good, some bad. I am lucky to have found Matt (Matt Noe with Mercy Healthplex Fairfield and FitnessAtYourDoor...shameless plug). So here comes my great advice: If you have a trainer and you aren't being pushed hard enough, get a new one! If you aren't pushing yourself hard enough, take the headphones out of the treadmill TV and plug in Pandora's "Cardio Dance" set! If you're bored with machines, try boxing! If you're scared of Spinning Class, but always wanted to try it, see if the instructor will meet you 15 minutes before to get your bike set-up! Try the pool workouts, try zumba, try yoga, try hiking... try it all. There is something out there for you. And once you find it, develop it. I'm working on boxing lately because there's something about punching things that makes me feel better about myself... it helps me mentally... and that's less money I have to pay my psychologist.

Please share what workouts or activities YOU enjoy!

Some updated Photos (Finally)

^ Benihana in early February with my friend, Pat, for his birthday

 

^My birthday (can you tell?) on March 27, 2013

^ St. Patrick's Day with my friend Becky!

^Recent trip to Siesta Key. Posing with my sister :)

^Another vacation pic from late May, 2013 with my sister

^The before & after. Left is pre-surgery and right is 3 months post-op.

I'm down about another 30lbs since this photo on the right :)

The Weight Loss Surgery Blues...

Today is April 22, 2013. Where has the year gone??!?! To date, I have lost 90lbs total. A couple months ago, I started working out. I hired a trainer, Matt, who is awesome. He holds me accountable. Every time I do cardio (which is four times a week most weeks) I have to text him my stats, as in the distance I went, the calories I burned and the time I spent. Together we do two sessions a week of intense strength training. I find myself creating competition between myself and the other girls at the gym. “How much is she leg pressing? Pssssht—I can do better than that. Try lifting some REAL weight, Jane Fonda.” I always seem to win these little competitions… even if the other party doesn’t know they’re part of it. J I’m feeling great… looking great… clothed, that is.

I have always been a proportionate fat person. Some of you reading this may be quite the opposite. There are those who carry most of their weight in their belly, but their legs and arms are the size of a much thinner person… that was never me. I considered myself lucky in a way. Being proportionate made it slightly easier to conceal the fact that I weighed 405lbs. Many would have never guessed I weighed what I did. The negative side of being proportionate is now that I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight, I’m experiencing saggy skin all over my body.

Before I started this journey, the sagging skin was a concern for me. I chalked it up to “Well, I don’t look good naked fat, so I might as well not look good naked skinny.” This has become a sort of mirror-time mantra for me lately. I feel like I have to keep reminding myself of that. I have never been a patient person. When diets I tried in the past weren’t working quickly enough for me, I just gave up. “You didn’t put it on overnight and you’re not going to take it off overnight,” loved ones would say. It’s true… but that wasn’t helping me any! Needless to say, waiting to lose another hundred pounds so I can finally have plastic surgery is currently my own personal hell.

My best friend is getting married on August 30. I’m in the wedding. For fat people, being in a wedding is a constant source of anxiety until it’s over. What will the dresses look like? Will I look ok in them? Will I have to wear high heels? Will the other girls be skinner than I? Undoubtedly, they will. But will I still be prettier? How will my arms look in a sleeveless dress? Will my legs look bad? Are people going to stare at me? No, they’ll be looking at the bride. No, they’ll clearly be looking at me because I’m kind of hard to miss… Will I have a date for this wedding? Will I have to dance with a groomsman who would much rather dance with a thinner bridesmaid? Will I ruin their wedding photos? Does the dress come in my size? Do I have to buy extra fabric again? Maybe you could consider having us wear long flannel nightgowns in your wedding?

I am already the smallest I’ve ever been in a wedding, so come August I will be even thinner. This makes me happy, but the vulnerability I feel wearing the bridesmaid dress is the worst feeling in the world. The dress is cute. I look good in the dress. It fits well. It makes me look thin in the waist and my “girls” look exceptional, might I add… but that’s about it. My arms are a major source of contention… they used to be large masses attached to my already-broad shoulders. They are now large masses of flab. The skin hangs. It sags. It is ugly. I went to see a plastic surgeon, Dr. Jennifer Butterfield, and she said she could do a surgery on my arms in June and it would be healed in time for the wedding, but that I’d probably want to have it done again when I lost even more weight. As much as I want to do it, I don’t have $5,000+ lying around in a jar labeled “vanity.” I decided I would suffer through one day… And then I saw my legs… My God-awful legs. They have never been attractive. I am short and so are they. They are thick and lumpy and now they are sagging, too. If you look closely, I have knees in there somewhere, but the skin of my thighs is sagging something fierce and starting to fold over my knees.

Yesterday I cried. I cried because sometimes I feel like God hates me. I cried because I want to post a message to Facebook that says, “Being fat is hell. Don’t let your children be fat! Save them now before it’s too late! Save yourself!” The grief I feel over vanity is pathetic. It makes me selfish and controlling. I want everything to be about me. If I don’t, I risk feeling vulnerable… the feeling that everyone is staring at me and examining every little dimple in my thigh and sag in my arm. But there is simply nothing I can do about this. I was discussing this with my mom yesterday as we drove home from the mall. While reading the bumper sticker on an old truck we passed on the expressway, she said, “Jesus is the answer.” I said, “Even Jesus can’t fix my flabby skin, mom.” She wasn’t suggesting, just reading aloud, but regardless, it provided a much-needed laugh. For now, I will do my best to hold my head high. I will keep working out, knowing the flabby skin will get worse. I will pray for a good photographer and no emotional breakdown on the day of the wedding. I will pray for sanity through all of this. This is what I wanted. This is what I signed up for. I still have so much to learn and more than anything, so much to experience.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Ahhhh, the holidays...Thanksgiving was my first holiday with my new stomach. To my own surprise, I wasn’t anxious about eating. I had some snacks. That was not a great idea. They went down fine, of course, but snacking can really get you into trouble after weight loss surgery. You might not be getting the nutrition you need and you’re probably taking in more fat and calories than you want. Plus, a nibble here and a nibble there doesn’t quite fill you up, so over the course of a couple hours, snacking every fifteen minutes can allow you to really experience unsuccessful weight loss.

Dinner came and it was quite a spread, as you can imagine. I took a small plate and had maybe a tablespoon of the following: turkey, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes and spoon bread. Were they the best options? No. But I was happy and sometimes you have to give yourself a little leeway. One family member looked at my plate and commented “That’s so sad!” His plate was heaping full and he went back for seconds. The thought of all that food actually made me sick. I was perfectly happy with my small portion.  

Pecan pie has always been my favorite and so a while later when dessert was served, I had a bite of someone else’s and was happy. Christmas came and went and I did pretty much the same. A bite of this, a bite of that and I was happy. I didn't make the best decisions, but I ended up losing 6lbs over the month of December so I was happy. In previous years, I typically packed on an extra five...

I didn’t want to be the person that would test the limits and see what she could or couldn’t eat, but eventually, I couldn’t help myself. Luckily, I learned quickly. It is true that you can pretty much eat anything, but you will suffer consequences. It’s different for everyone, but too much sugar leaves me feeling nauseous and terrible. I can’t even think for a while until the feeling is gone. The sweet things that typically give me the most problems are ones of a thinner consistency. I can take a bite of a cookie and maybe feel a little icky, but a swig or two of chocolate milk and I’ll be lying down or in the bathroom for half an hour! I haven’t yet ventured down the ice cream path. I just know the liquid-like treat will cause me to have dumping syndrome and I don’t like the feeling. Do I miss ice cream? To an extent. It was an old favorite. But I’m not tempted to go to Graeter’s or UDF. I will occasionally have a weight watchers bar or a sugar free fudge bar or something.

The sugar issue is a major thing with me. It affects a lot of the decisions I make, so I’m actually glad I have that sugar intolerance. It forces me to stay in line a little more. The other day I ate just the peanut butter icing out of the middle of a piece of cake and I felt like I was dying! I still like to be social with friends. I don’t go out as much as I used to because I’m still working on myself and I don’t need the extra calories, but I’ve been out maybe four times since my surgery. Of course I enjoy a drink or two… that might be the understatement of the year! But I limit myself to about 3 drinks max. My tolerance is different than it was before. I can’t drink carbonation and I can’t drink too much sugar, so I’ve made my own little concoction: Tequila and water on ice with a splash of cranberry and lime juice. I’ve also been known to drink vodka and water with a splash of grapefruit. To me, it’s delicious. My friends, however, often tell me, “You keep telling yourself that!” The point: do what works for you! I have a friend who will drink Captain and Diet Coke. She’ll buy a liter of Diet Coke and let it sit open for a day until the carbonation is gone, then she’ll bring it with her and just buy captain on ice…

If you have had surgery and are a social drinker, please share what you like to drink or what works for you.