I seriously need to quit shoving food into my gaping maw, because even my fat jeans are ridiculously tight on me at this point.
With ECT taking place three mornings a week, I’m exhausted and the gym isn’t happening; so I strongly need to cut back on my caloric intake along with my activity level.
It’s rough trying to eat healthy. I am not naturally a salad eatin’ bitch, and I fell off the keto wagon in a rather spectacular fashion. Last night I ate an entire medium pizza from one of the area’s finest places, crust and all, and then felt like absolute crap.
My stomach looms large, and I’ve got to chill. I don’t want to swing too far the other way and veer back into eating disorder territory, but there must be some balance to be found.
I guess what stumps me is that throughout my life I have only ever eaten too much or too little. I have absolutely no clue what a normal meal plan is. This is something I need to research.
I probably could cut back on my beer intake, too, if I’m being honest. I really don’t need to drink beer three nights per week. That’s just excessive empty calories and carbs.
I’m watching my very tiny neighbor get something out of her trunk and I want to yell, “Hey, WHAT DO YOU EAT?”
She probably would think I’m insane. KNOW I’m insane. Heh.
Small people? Lend me your eating habits.
I’m feeling better this afternoon. This morning I had intense brain fog, was tired, and felt inordinately shitty; but that seems to have lifted, thank god.
I’m concerned that with each consecutive treatment these feelings are going to worsen, but I’m sure that the end result will be worth it. Again, a ninety percent success rate can’t be wrong.
I’ve had to delete my family members from my Facebook since I link to this site from there, and my mom was very concerned about my airing “dirty laundry”. I personally believe that it’s my dirty laundry to air, so on I go.
If I were spilling my mom’s dark secrets, it would be another matter.
I’m pretty much an open book. I think that life’s too short not to be honest with both yourself and others. Maybe I do it on a public platform, but I’m a writer. I write.
Signing off, your favorite oversharer.
Yeah. Totally out of it at this point.
I had my second ECT this morning and I feel like absolute crap. I came home and slept for a few hours, which doesn’t feel like nearly enough, and my neck is outrageously sore.
I hope that this won’t be a continuing trend, but something tells me it will be. I guess it will be worth it in the long run.
At least I cleaned my house yesterday. It’s always nice to come home to a nice clean house!
My father told me recently that he thinks I need religion, which was pretty interesting coming from a man who hasn’t graced the inside of a house of worship in at least thirty years.
I don’t agree. I’m not much for religion. I identify as agnostic; which basically means that while I do believe something divine or meaningful is probably out there, I’m certainly not going to pretend that I know what it is, or that my particular beliefs trump anyone else’s.
You want to practice Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, Wicca, or Reiki? Have at it! If it brings you comfort or joy or better yet, makes you a kinder and more tolerant person, rock on with your bad self. It seems to me, however, that the majority of religious people are at least somewhat close-minded when it comes to their fellow men and women. That’s just what I’ve noticed as an observer.
Notice I said “some” and not “all”. My friend Jessie is kind, generous with her time, and accepting. She is also a proud Methodist. All those things are not mutually exclusive. I don’t judge based upon Jesus.
Still, I do wonder how people have such strong faith when there are so many strong faiths to choose from. The Zen Buddhists believe they’re on the path to enlightenment. The Christians believe in heaven. Somewhere deep in the heart of Africa, a child prays to a carved stone god. Who’s to say who’s correct, if anyone?
When I pray – and I do pray – I talk to the moon at night. Although I am agnostic and don’t really believe that the moon holds any particular power, it comforts me to temporarily believe that for a moment, something is hearing my words or thoughts. It’s very soul-soothing.
Maybe that’s all religion is, after all. A Band-Aid for the soul. Who doesn’t need that?
I love my cats. I am a consummate crazy cat lady, I would probably have two more if I had a bigger house, and the front porch where I spend an embarrassing amount of my time is littered with their toys.
I think most things that they do are pretty entertaining (save sleeping), and they rarely annoy me. However, Skittles has one trait that does annoy me, and that is her tendency to constantly lick me wherever I go. No limb is safe from her tongue. While I’m sleeping, she licks my outstretched arms. Even when I’m wearing socks in the house, she licks my socks.
This is part of the reason I don’t like dogs – something about being tongue molested just seems like it should only be done between two people of consenting age. Call me old-fashioned.
Skittles is a good and faithful cat, and if I call her from anywhere in the house while she’s sound asleep she will come running, but I’ve got to admit that it’s kind of scary to taste that good to a pet.
I mention this because I just woke up a few minutes ago and was trapped in my bed by both cats – one purring and furiously licking me, and the other purring and furiously burrowing her head into my stomach.
People that say cats are standoffish need to come visit me.
Have a great day.
I first started noticing that my brain probably wasn’t wired correctly at around the age of five. I had always been a fragile, delicate kid; and while I generally had a great sense of humor I was hugely sensitive and it felt like any comment directed toward me I had to overanalyze and take harshly.
Kids can be cruel, intentionally as well as unintentionally, so school was hard for me on many levels. I was very intelligent, and was forced to read poetry out loud to my kindergarten class, which left me mortified. Cliques mystified me (and still do), and I was never quite comfortable socially.
All my life I have felt the sense of being not nearly good enough – not smart enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, and certainly not normal enough for the people around me. This led to eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia and now, overeating; and self-harm.
Not being enough feels like one is always trying to reach a top shelf and just can’t stretch far enough. It’s frustrating and makes a person very sad. The obvious thing to do is to obtain a ladder, but ladders, like meds or therapy, are often inadequate.
In early July I grew tired of reaching, became throughly disgusted with myself, and attempted suicide. I will have many horrible, 12-inch scars down the insides of my forearms for the rest of my life. In some ways I don’t regret what I did, because it’s allowed me to seek the help I truly need through ECT; but at the same time I regret the pain I caused my family and friends, and particularly my daughter.
At any rate, I’m still kicking, and I’m taking action. I may be skewed and for now I still may not feel good enough, but I’m doing my level best. It’s a start.
I’m doing pretty well. I arrived at 6:30, was given a chest X-ray, an EKG, and blood tests, and had to change into a hospital gown and a diaper (!); and then I was transferred to an operating room, which was intimidating.
Once there, I had to breathe into an oxygen mask and was given medication through an IV to relax my muscles and knock me out.
I woke up about a half an hour later, somewhat out of it, but generally ok. I was given a sandwich and then returned home, where I slept for four hours.
At this point I just have a headache and back, neck, and shoulder pain, but I’m with it, and hopefully that trend will continue.
Thank you for all your well wishes. They’re much appreciated. ❤️
I just did my morning Headspace meditation, as I do every morning at about this time; and for the very first time I was able to tune out all of the noise and just focus completely on my breathing and not other, extraneous bullshit.
It felt fantastic.
I am ready to do this. Bring it on.
I have to be in the operating room at 6:30 AM, and I’m as nervous as hell.
I’d like to believe that once I’m actually at the hospital this feeling will have dissipated and that I will be calm, cool, and collected; but I will likely be a trembling and teary wreck.
Somehow I doubt I’m the only ECT virgin to feel this way.
Will my memory be wiped like a hard drive? Will I be a drooling, stuttering fool for the next two months? Will I forget how to wipe my ass? My doctor and my extensive research have all told me no, but my anxiety tells me Yes Bitch, For Sure.
I know that this is the right thing to do and that I absolutely need to do it, but part of me pictures myself running through the hospital parking lot in a hospital gown, bare ass bared, screaming “NOOOO!” while being chased by burly orderlies.
I won’t actually chicken out. I can’t. The idea of being so fucked up that I need this is still just a lot to process.
What I need is sleep – a good solid night of life-giving Zs, but I can’t see that happening. I will probably listen to my audiobook until the drugs take hold and then gladly drift into unconsciousness until four.
Wish me luck.