As you know, yesterday was Therapy Thursday. I had three appointments:
1) One with the psychiatrist. We are changing my medications slightly and adding another drug.
I told him about needing his approval to go on a Weight Loss Clinic appetite suppressant. I was embarrassed to ask him. I sensed he would not approve. I was right. He said something like that could trigger a bipolar episode. However, he did say he would prescribe me something that had the effect of giving me more energy and suppressing my appetite. I am very optimistic about something that will have that effect. I’ll start it when I return from my trip. Understandably, we don’t want to switch anything while I am away from home. He told me during my travels to get plenty of rest and try to get some physical activity, which I assured him I would.
2) Then, I picked up all my medications that would get me through the trip.
3) Lastly, I met with the clinician. We talked and talked. It doesn’t always have to be related to my mental health. We talked about where I could locally purchase big girl clothes. We talked about a local resort. We talked about traveling. She agreed the trip was a good thing too. Anything that gives me an enthusiasm for life. She just stated that if I get worn down, I need to speak up immediately and take a break. If I let it go too far, I’ll get impatient and cranky, which leads to all sort of mental unpleasantness.
In between my appointments, I did a little shopping for trip supplies.
I went to Walmart to stock up on the not so fun items like camera batteries, a SIM card and a suitcase scale. But, I was excited to pick out my travel journal and pens. Then, I went to my favorite clothing store in town and picked out another cute outfit.
My mom assures me I have enough clothes now. Waka Waka.
When I went to the mental hospital the last time, I was staying with my father. He had just passed away.
Obviously, his passing was a catalyst for the hospital. But, that’s not what this post is about.
When I was in the hospital, my stuff was stolen out of my dad’s house. Both of the brothers denied knowing anything about it and even pointed fingers at each other.
A whole car load of stuff was stolen. Things very personal. Like my Victoria Secret bras.
My iPhone came up missing while I was away. When I got back to my parent’s house in Louisiana, I did an inventory of what I had.
I had one shoe but not the other (five pairs including my Crossfit and running shoes). I was missing my very expensive Uggs and Cole Haan Nike heels altogether. My workout clothes were missing. So much of my nice clothing was gone.
Most of my makeup was gone. Actually, all my personal bathroom toiletries were gone. I can’t imagine someone using them so I suspect that they were maliciously thrown in the trash.
All my jewelry. My kitchen appliances. My iPod radio.
Shockingly, and I did report this to the authorities but I had a gun and I never got that back either. To this day, I haven’t heard anything.
I was upset about my black alarm clock because my uncle gave that to me when I got my first job. I had it for years. I just replaced it with an identical one but it is white. Not the same but it’s the best I could do.
For me, the most upsetting thing was my missing journaling supplies and books. But, I did get back a book one of my friend’s gave me so I feel fortunate to have that one back in exchange for all the others.
And, I have replaced all the other books. Almost all of them I’ve come across in thrift stores or a second hand book store. I just ordered the last one on Amazon last night and it is being shipped.
It really sucks losing my stuff. I can’t imagine someone stealing from a mental patient but believe it. There are those people in this world. It still irks me if I think about it.
But, things are ok because I’ve replaced everything I could remember.
I figured if I can’t remember the item enough to replace it, it must not have been that big of a deal.
So, yeah, that’s one of the things that happened to me that makes moving on so difficult. I still can’t believe it happened.
I wouldn’t say I’m attached to my stuff but as I write this I must admit I am. I like what I like. I buy quality stuff. I like to keep that stuff. I like my stuff just so so. When it comes up missing or someone does something to it, it’s very upsetting. I go all “Where is my red Swingline stapler?”
It’s very comforting to me to have the stuff I like back again even if I had to buy it all over again.
They say admitting your problem is the first step so I have to admit I have an unhealthy love affair with food. Instead of food being my nurishment, over time it became my friend when im bored; my comfort when im stressed or sad, and my relief when im anxious or nervous. All moods were celebrated with bites of something decadant and savory.
…. but I fail miserably. Nothing stays consistent. The good thing is every time I fail I learn more about new alternatives and helpful hints. Some things stick and some dont. Sometimes I may find myself in a bind and revert backwards, but I know I am human and breaking bad…
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I don’t know what to say. I’m still failing. I haven’t conquered my depression. I haven’t conquered my weight. I have no goals for the present or future. My life is operating on very tiny baby steps.
My mom keeps telling me to take it one day at a time. And, I do. I have to.
One day, I am good. I go shopping. I might wander around the internet. I connect with old friends.
Another day, I have a hard time getting out of bed. I literally could sleep all day. Here lately, I’ve been living on coffee and Redbull just so I’m not a complete slug.
On these days, it’s enough to drag myself out of bed in the morning. To brush my teeth. If I make my bed and tidy up my room, I feel fortunate.
I just cleaned my bathroom the other day because it was starting to look pretty ghastly.
As bad as it sounds, I have to make a sign to put in my bathroom for my nightly routine that says:
• Take Medication
• Brush Teeth
• Wash Face
• Night cream
I have to force myself to complete the tasks.
If I can get my daily maintenance plan done in the morning, it’s a good day:
• Get out of bed
• Let Ginger Out
• Brush Teeth
• Weigh Self
• Get Coffee
• Take Fish Oil and Multivitamin
• Make Bed
• Enjoy Coffee
Today, might not be one of those overachieving days.
I recently read a couple of articles about depression.
They really helped. First, they acknowledged that a depressed person is feeling really really low.
Motivation is almost none.
They advise to take it easy on myself and to take it slow.
Depression is so horrible. I can’t decide if I prefer the psychotic manic state. At least then I have some energy.
Anyway, that’s me. The Turtle.
Who did win the race, I might add but it was pretty dicey in the beginning.
Some time ago, we bought two fruit trees.
My mom picked out a fig.
I picked out a lemon tree.
We are patiently waiting to see who has harvestable fruit first.
The fig tree has a ton of baby figs.
For awhile, the lemon tree did nothing and I was worried.
Then, BAM! Mini lemons all over the branches.
Now, we have a real race.
When I was about 12 years old, I found out that the man I was calling dad, the man that raised me, was not my biological father. It didn’t matter. He was still my dad. More than that, he was a hero.
He made me the person I am today.
He died when I was 16 and he took with him a piece of my heart. Since then, I have missed him terribly and often wonder “what if.” What if he was still here?
Now, I have my stepdad, who is amazing. He’s been around longer than I remember. I don’t even remember him coming into our lives because I was so busy wallowing in my own grief and pursuing my own goals. But, now we reminisce. He says, “yep, I remember when you got married. I was there.”
“You were at my wedding?” I don’t even remember.
He’s been there for a long time. In the background. He comes to my rescue. He is my provider right now and the reason I can live rent free. I go to him for guidance. He is so smart. So calm. So strong. Nothing rattles him.
I often think my mom was fortunate to have two such great men in her life.
Then, there was my biological father. I called him Sr because I couldn’t bring myself to call him dad. It didn’t seem right. He hadn’t been in my life. When I had my breakdown, I spoke to him for the first time. Then, I went to live with him, meeting him for the first time. Surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. He instantly made me feel at ease and welcome. He knew exactly what was going on with me mentally and we talked about it for hours.
I discovered a very smart, spiritual and charismatic man. An enormous man with a big appetite for everything: food, people, entertainment. I’m glad I went to meet him because a few months later, he passed away. Again, he took another piece of my heart with him. I felt privileged to be his daughter and thankful for the genetics he gave me.
For me, I have many dads and I love each one.
If I was stranded on an island, I could get by with these books:
o Eat Pray Love
o The Harry Potter Series
o Love in the Time of Cholera
And, blueberries. Fresh blueberries. Not those rotten mushy store kind.
One of my very favorite things to do is to either pick or get already picked (depending on my mood & the heat) farm fresh blueberries. It makes the store bought produce section blueberries unbearable to eat. Frozen are just ok.
When I lived in Florida, I would drive maybe an hour and 45 minutes to pick the best blueberries. To me, they are like candy. Like balls of nature’s crack candy.
Well, here I only have to drive 30 minutes and they are awesome! Better than Florida! (shocked face)
Now, you know why I couldn’t resist the homemade blueberry cobbler.
I’ve been putting these little crack candies in everything or just eating them by the handful.
One of my favorite creations is taking all the fresh fruit we got this weekend and throwing it into a bowl of yogurt. The last few days I’ve been doing a combo of blueberry and peaches. The peaches are now gone so I’m switching to plums and blueberries.
Today, I am off to make another blueberry run and to see what the farmer’s markets are up to.
This morning I woke up and as usual headed straight to the coffee pot second to letting my dog out.
I went about my business. Weighing myself and brushing my teeth. Seeing what day it is. Friday the 13th. Great.
Then, I go back to the little coffee pot and find a quarter cup of coffee and a clogged pot.
So, I went to my Nespresso. I had just gotten in a batch of coffee.
I knew if this machine didn’t work the universe was conspiring against me.
But no, all was well. I steamed my milk and made myself a latte.
When my mom got up, she said, “You know what your problem is? You didn’t have the coffee filter in.”
And, that sums up my day for the first hour.
I’m in a slightly depressed mood. I read an article on how to be a millionaire before you are 30.
I am 5 years late . . .