If It Looks Like a Duck...

I'm sure most of you have heard the idiom, "If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's probably a duck."

The more I think about what's going on and what I've written in the last few days, I realize that "if it looks like depression and feels like depression, then it probably is depression."

Why would I be in denial about being depressed? I've always been very pro-active in getting myself help when I need it.

I suppose it's hard to break the stigma/stereotype of depression being a sign of weakness, laziness, etc. And let's not forget how it ties in with obesity. I guess I'm trying to deny I'm depressed because I equate it with gaining weight and getting fatter. And I don't want any of it.

Yesterday I found myself really thinking about this realization and taking a good hard look at myself and my behavior over the last few years. It's been such a tumultuous time, and my moods have been so up and down, it's no wonder I'm crashing and burning now.

I guess the big thing I'm wondering is if this cycle of anxiety and depression could be a form of bipolar disorder. I have two members of my immediate family that I know have been diagnosed with it, a few more in my extended family that I suspect may have/had it, so it's not out of the question. Now granted, I know my highs and lows aren't quite as extreme as the typical bipolar case, but I would think that like any other disorder that there are different levels of intensity.

All I know is, I have to get this under control. I'm tired of being in this fog, of every little thing feeling like a climb up Everest, of not being able to muster up the energy to enjoy anything. Except food, that is.

That's the worst. I have reached the point that I am so sick of turning to food, yet I can't seem to break that compulsive need. I'm at that scary place that thoughts of weight loss surgery seem like my only option. Of course, I know it's going to take more than a Lap Band or cutting up my digestive system to fix this.

Well, today we'll find out. I'll also face the music with my weight. I took a preliminary reading at home over the weekend, so I basically know that bad news. We'll just have to see how bad the official weight will be. The only positive I can see in it is that it's proof that I'm not doing well with this medicine and that I need help. I just hope my doctor sees it that way, too.

Cutting the Connection

Another busy day. Just got back from my appointment with Dr. K., and I talked a lot about IE and how it's going for me. I told her about this past weekend's binge and uncovering its causes, and I also explained how I was beginning to get a handle on my emotions through analyzing the beliefs behind them.

For example, last night everyone in my house was cranky. Mabel was in full Drama Queen Mode, and Hubby was in a foul mood. The latter really affected me at first, and I started to get all upset and anxious and wanted to escape. But then I thought about the Food and Feelings book and went over my mental notes to see if I could deflate it. And then I got it: this situation was triggering memories and emotions of how I used to feel as a child when dealing with my father. I knew that if he wasn't home by 6 o'clock, it was best to quickly eat supper and run for shelter in my bedroom. Dad's work day was 7 a.m. to 3 p.m., and was always topped off with a stop at the bar. If it was a "good" day he'd be home by 4 or 5 and be happily buzzed and in a good mood. But if it went past 6, he would get way past buzzed, and then his mood was a crap shoot: sometimes he'd come home completely anesthetized and out of it, but in an instant he could get nasty. Never physically violent, but definitely angry and full of verbal venom.

You could say living on eggshells was a normal way of life for my mom, sister and me. In the worst periods, Mom would prepare for this time of day by hitting the liquor cabinet and "bracing" herself for whatever was coming. Like I said, if the 6 o'clock news came on and there was no Dad, my sister and I would eat our supper in front of the TV and hightail it to our rooms to do homework, listen to music, etc.

Unfortunately, both my sister and I wound up recreating this scenario in our relationships as adults. Life with my Ex was definitely strewn with egg shells. While he wasn't as heavy a drinker as my dad, his diabetes would greatly affect his moods, and his OCD tendencies led him to blowing up at me over the tiniest imperfections in my housecleaning. So he would drink too much on a Saturday night, then Sunday morning when he was hungover and his blood sugar would go all out of whack, he would blow up at me. One weekend I got the announcement that he couldn't live with me anymore because the couch cushions weren't properly fluffed. I got a sticky note telling me to "Clean up after yourself, you pig" when I left some grains of sugar on the kitchen counter. After he felt better he would calm down, but it left me strung out and in constant fear of the next explosion. Unlike my mother, instead of hitting the whiskey bottle waiting for my man to come home, I'd escape in the food.

As for my sister, her ex-husband not only would drink too much, but from my observations he shared my father's bipolar disorder. His wild highs and lows and paranoid thoughts were way too familiar. When I went to visit my sister for a week, I could see our childhood repeating itself once again. As for my sister's drug of choice, every afternoon before her husband came home she would sneak off and smoke to calm her nerves.

I realized the anxiety I was feeling last night was triggered by my memories of my evenings as a child, in addition to my life with my ex. Even though my husband was completely sober and not verbally abusive, his bad mood immediately took me back to those days of living on egg shells and wanting to eat and hide. I informed myself that this situation has nothing to do with those bad times, and it was senseless to connect what's happening today to the past and get myself worked up over someone else's emotions. (I believe that's called transference!)

Suddenly the anxiety and fear was gone. I did kind of keep my distance until he calmed down, but later on we talked and everything was fine. And I had no need to inhale a box of cookies or run down the street and get a big sundae to cope with it. I did have one cookie last night, but hey, it was a couple hours after dinner, I was craving it, and I was completely satisfied with it and felt great. I think that's called normal eating!

It feels so good when I have a moment like this when I can put what I'm learning into practice and see immediate results. Each time this happens the urge to binge gets a little smaller and the desire for food to comfort and console me decreases. I know there are no instant cures with IE, but as long as I continue to collect these positive moments, I will continue to recover.

Fear of Clothes Shopping

Busy day. Trying to get my church newsletter done, which involves a lot of copying, folding and labeling. I also have to get a memorial bulletin done on top of my usual Sunday bulletin. Plus, I had to write up a press release and send a photo I took last night to the area newspapers for a rummage sale/fund raiser we're holding. The busy life of a church secretary.

It's a good thing I'm on the upswing moodwise this week. It's one of those hectic weeks with lots of appointments and errands, plus the house really needed some cleaning. I don't know how I would have handled all of this if I had been in last week's PMS/ foul mood.

In fact, I told Hubby last night I feel almost a little manic. My mind and body seem to be in constant motion; I keep thinking of things to do, and instead of procrastinating, I'm just doing it. And since there's always a million things to do, there's no end to it.

There's a family history of bipolar disorder in my background, although up to this point none of my long list of therapists have ever diagnosed me with it. I've always been firmly in the depression side of things. But my father's first major episode didn't happen until he was in his late 30s, so you never know when this can start.

So am I worried? ("Do I look bovvered?" -- sorry, channeling Catherine Tate again) Not really. Hubby's reply to my comment was, "I just thought you were starting to feel better again," and I suppose I have to agree with that. But that Eeyore in me has to spend a sunny day looking over my shoulder to see if any black clouds are sneaking up behind me.

This morning I walked my three miles to a pre-recorded episode of "The Closer." I really like detective/whodunit shows, and Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson (played by Kyra Sedgwick) is an interesting and quirky character. I like the fact that this character has food issues -- she is a stress eater and can be found secretly scarfing down candy bars or snack cakes when she's at her wit's end. While I think Sedgwick does a terrific job, I think it would have been interesting if the producers had selected an actress who was heavier (I'd say fatter but I'm not sure if you could actually find many fat lead actresses in Hollywood). On the other hand, maybe it isn't such a bad thing; it doesn't feed into the stereotype that all fat people have out of control eating disorders. But I wouldn't be surprised if some viewers assume that if she's eating that much, she must be vomiting it up later offscreen. In one episode she was running, so maybe she's into excessive exercise to burn off the binge foods. Just an observation.

A few days ago I realized my favorite spring jacket has a bunch of tears in it and has to be thrown away. It's got a vinyl outer layer, so there's no sewing it without it looking very strange. It was a long black trench-type jacket which was great for dressing up a little and had a really slimming effect. Now I have to start looking for something new, which I really dread.

In fact, clothes shopping in general has been something I haven't enjoyed lately. I am in such clothing limbo -- I'm right in between the plus size and regular sizes. About a month ago I went to Lane Bryant and saw some clothes I really liked, but I couldn't find any 14/16s, because the 18/20s are simply too big. But when I went to a "regular" store a few weeks ago and tried on the size 16 jeans, they were way too tight.

I know, at every store, and sometimes even the brands within those stores, the fit of sizes can vary widely. But I've got this crappy attitude right now that I'm tired of going to the plus size section, yet I've got this pathological fear of rejection if I go to the regular section. So I don't want to shop at all! Hopefully this mood too will pass as Spring finally seems to be pushing its way out of Winter's fierce grip.

I'd love to go on, but I have so much to do! I'll check in with y'all later.