Jagged little pill

Wow, what a couple of weeks it's been. Where to start...

Blogging, especially when you know people are reading, can be a risky little game. There are things I want to say, but feel I can't. There are things I hate to say, but know I should. I guess that's the nature of honesty and tact, and practicing them can be difficult at times.


Something I don't want to say but should: I've been on Zoloft, a common anti-depressant, for about 18 months now. Looking back, I can't even remember if I've mentioned that before, but it's relevant here. I got on it after the marathon. I probably should have been on it a lot sooner, but I was reluctant because one of the big side effects is weight gain. I hate to say this, but at the time, I would rather have been depressed than fat. When things really started to take a turn for the worse, I changed my thinking to "I'd rather be alive than dead," because that's how dire it was, and I decided it was time for me to experience a day that was not filled with desperation.


So, that's when I started taking my happy pill. While I can understand why people feel the need to refer to anti-depressants as "happy pills," it's really a misnomer- at least for me. They never made me happy; rather, they took my spectrum of misery-to-joy and smooshed it together, until the spectrum didn't really exist any more. Emotional extremes were pretty much gone. This was partly awesome because I hardly ever felt sad. As my friends and family will verify, I am most definitely a crier, and I hardly ever cried anymore on Zoloft. The other extreme was gone too, though. I'm sitting here now, trying to remember a moment of pure joy that I might have had during my Zoloft haze, and I can't remember one. That's kind of sad.

While I blame myself entirely for my weight gain (after all, it was me making those choices and no one else), I feel like the numbing effect of Zoloft played a part. I put on about 25 pounds in the first month. I got fatter and fatter, but hey- at least I wasn't as depressed about it.

When I decided I was ready to try to lose the weight again, I thought I should get everything in my corner that I possibly could. That's when I decided to stop taking it. Let me just say this before I go any further: if you'd on an anti-depressant, always check with your doctor if you're thinking about stopping. I wish I had. She probably would have told me to taper-down, rather than quitting cold turkey. That would have been good to know.

For a few days, I didn't really feel any different. After a week or two, I could feel my old self start to emerge a bit. I'd cry a lot more readily. Pretty much anything cold set me off- an ASPCA commercial, stubbing my toe, seeing a dead squirrel on the road- anything. Old feelings that I thought were gone came rushing back. It also feels like there's a shorted-out wire loose in my brain. Out of no where, I'll get these little "zaps." It doesn't hurt, but it's annoying. While the negative parts of Zoloft withdrawal are bothersome, I will say that the highs returned, too. I'm happier, even with all the crying and brain-buzzing, than I was before.

I'm also not quite as hungry. I've been following my weekly goals and doing pretty well. Last week my goals were to exercise 3 times and avoid beef, which I did with no problem. I even managed to run on the treadmill for a couple of minutes. This week, my goals were to keep up with the exercise, limit beef to 1 serving for the whole week, eat no fried food, and avoid alcohol. I have one more workout to go before tomorrow, but that won't be a problem. The scale is being rather obnoxious- I've only lost 2 pounds since I started, but I feel worlds better. I'm not quite so out of breath when doing everyday things, and I'm feeling more confident. This time around, I'm really trying to focus on how I feel instead of the number on the scale. In that respect, I feel like I'm getting results.

So that's that. Now, where's the Kleenex?

The middle way

Last week, when I decided I was ready to start over, I also decided I had to change a lot of my thinking. The first time I lost weight, it came off very quickly. I suspect that's because I only ate what experts say is the bare minimum amount a person should eat, and I exercised pretty much every day. I don't know how I was able to do that for a whole year. Seems like I should have burned out after a week or two.

This time around, it has to be different. If I'm going to lose this weight again, I can't have my characteristic all-or-nothing attitude about it.

Before Christmas, NBC aired a "Where are they now" episode of The Biggest Loser. I DVRed it, knowing I had no immediate desire to watch all the happy, shiny, thin people who had been able to keep their weight off; but, I knew I might want to watch it someday. On Monday, I queued it up at got ready to be jealous of all the previous contestants. Many of them were right where we left them- ripped and glowing, albeit with slightly sagging skin. A few had become personal trainers, which is a career I thought about for a while. Some had put some of the pounds back on, but still were working at it. But there was one- Eric Chopin- who was just like me. He'd gained most of it back. The words he said were exactly the way I felt. While I'd never wish for someone to feel as awful as I do about my relapse, it was comforting to see how much we're related in our struggles. So many of my readers have written to me, saying they'd lost a bunch of weight and gained it back. All of us are alone- and not alone- all at the same time.

Eric was visited by his old trainer from the show, Bob Harper. Eric was so worried about Bob being disappointed or angry. I feel that fear with my family and friends all the time. I know my family worries about me, and they care about my health and not my weight, but it's still a slap in the face when they bring it up.

When Eric talked about dropping the pounds again, he talked about how hard it was the first time, and how reluctant he was to go "all out" again. Bob said something that really stuck with me, and I'm paraphrasing here: "You know how to lose weight. You know how to put weight on. What you don't know is how to find a balance."

I'm trying to keep that in mind as I climb this mountain again- slowly. My system right now is to make 2 small changes a week, see how that goes, and then move on. This week, my goals were to exercise 3 times, and not eat any beef. I have one more workout to complete before Sunday, but I'm on track. Let me tell you- I had forgotten how great it feels to be completely sore and nearly immobile the day after a weights workout.

So, that's going to be my system for a while. I'm not worrying about calories, mileage, or even having seconds at dinner (for now). Just 2 things a week. That's doable, right?

The way things are

2009 wasn't the best year. My lack of posts may lead some to believe I was very busy- too involved with my exciting whirlwind of a life to blog. They couldn't be more wrong.

After last year's Kansas City Marathon, one of the best days of my life, things took a turn. I was sick of thinking about every little thing I ate, bored with running, and tired. I was so very tired. At the time, I was just allowing myself a little break from my fit existence. The break turned into 14 months of a total downward spiral. I've gained every bit of the weight back, and then some. Here's my new "before" picture, which was taken about an hour ago. By the way, that's my sarcastic "fuck you" smile. I haven't genuinely smiled for a photo in months.























On my right ring finger, there's a red indentation that represents where my grandmother's wedding ring used to reside. She gave it to me as a birthday gift in April. Every time I'd visit her, she'd want to hold my hand and look at it. I told her I'd never take it off, and that always made her smile. A few days ago, I had to break that promise. I could feel it getting tighter and tighter as my fingers got fatter, and I was worried that if I didn't remove it soon, I'd have to get the ring cut off. Four days ago, as I pried it off with the help of lots of soap, I cried. Grammy died in July. She's on my mind constantly. Mostly I wonder what her last moments were like, and if she was afraid. I saw her the night before, but I still feel a lot of guilt for not being there during her final moments. Since the nursing home didn't call me to let me know she was rapidly declining, I was at home on the couch, obliviously eating Taco Bell. I will never, ever forget that I was eating fast food while my grandmother was dying. It sickens me to think it. I miss her so much. She was the most generous person I've ever known.























My life has become one of avoidance. I don't make eye contact or engage people in conversation unless social nicety requires it. I rarely go out with my friends, especially the ones who only knew me as a thin person. A few weeks ago, I met my old running gang for brunch. I don't really know what possessed me to say yes, because it was the very last thing I wanted to do. Of course I wanted to see them and catch up with their lives. I missed all the long, sometimes deep, sometimes silly conversations we'd have on our Saturday morning runs. But I didn't want them looking at me. I didn't want them to see what I've let myself become.

With the holidays came the extended family, most of whom hadn't seen me in a year or more. I almost called in sick to Christmas. My relatives are nice people, and I knew they'd never say "Wow, you sure got fat again," but I didn't care. I knew they'd probably think it. I wound up going to Christmas, but I started pounding beers as soon as possible. Each drink helped me to put away the shame, so I could talk to my family.

God, what a mess.

I've been waiting to be ready to start it all over again. I ponder what I did wrong before, and what I did right. I try to get inspired, to remember what got me fired up in 2007 when this all started. Back then, it was the inability to put my shoes on without getting winded, the headaches, and having a revolving credit line at Lane Bryant. Well, that's all back. Okay, maybe not the line of credit at Lane Bryant, but I've shopped there recently.

So there it is. I weigh 286 pounds, and as I type this, I'm wearing the very same fat pants I held up so triumphantly in this picture:





















Once again, I'm back to square one. I've been down both the thin road and the fat road. Even though the thin road may be more difficult to travel on, the air is more clear and its scenery is certainly more pleasant. The clothes fit and the physical limitations are virtually gone. I can breathe when I'm on the thin road.

Forgive the cheesy metaphor, but it's the way things are. So, here we go again.

McHorrifying

I was just on MSN.com and came across this great site: Picture Show: Visions of Fast Food

As we all know, I'm a fast food junkie. I love Big Macs. When I saw the picture above, of what I can only assume is my beloved "2-all-beef-patties-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-pickles-onions-on-a-sesame-seed-bun," I didn't love it so much. I had a similar feeling after I saw Supersize Me the first time. After watching Morgan Spurlock regurgitate a double quarter pounder all over a McDonald's parking lot, I didn't eat McD's (or any other fast food) for about a month.

Then I really wanted a Big Mac, so I started again.

And now, for your moment of Zen:

False starts

After writing yesterday's post, I was almost giddy with excitement about getting back on the wagon. I made an awesome, healthy salad. I took a 2-mile walk after work. Things were going well. Then of course, I pulled my usual derailing move of driving through the golden arches before bedtime. Ugh.

I woke up feeling bloated and regretful- two words that describe me pretty well these days. I keep trying to remember how I got started the first time around. It wasn't easy, and I had plenty of failures before I got on a successful roll. It makes me wonder how I ever managed to get fit in the first place.

"I'll start tomorrow" has been my motto for almost a year now. Interesting how tomorrow never comes, isn't it?

What's up, bitches?

I decided to finally succumb to Facebook mania this week. Yeah, I know I'm really late, but whatever. Anyway, I searched and searched for the right profile picture. Every single one I could find was from my "Morgan Gets Thin" days. I picked one of the better ones and begrudgingly uploaded it.














I say "begrudgingly" because, well... that's not really me anymore. See that chin, and that jawline? Not there at the moment. I'm back to the old days of avoiding cameras and mirrors. I'm sick of being fat, but apparently not sick enough to change (again). I think part of that is knowing how hard I had to work to slim down the first time. The idea of doing all that again makes me want to cry.

Still, I sometimes see a picture like this one, and it makes me nostalgic for last year's "5K May." It makes me miss my running friends, who I never see anymore (totally my fault). I miss feeling like I've accomplished things.

Maybe I'll never run again, much less run another marathon. But I have to do something. I'm not happy in this body. The weird thing is, I wasn't happy with my previous body either. I still managed to focus on the pudge in my belly and not the fact that I'd lost over 100 lbs.

So, what to do? I guess I'll start by grabbing a salad for lunch.

Bad dreams

About a year ago, I wrote a post about a nightmare I'd had:

Last night I had a dream- a nightmare, really- that I was attending a family gathering. Everyone kept staring at me with a look of pity in their eyes. I'd see them whispering, then they'd abruptly stop when I'd get within earshot. Was my zipper down? Did I have bird shit on my forehead? Why were they looking at me like that?! I frantically searched for a mirror, and when I found one, I saw my former, fat self looking back at me. Every pound I'd worked so hard to get rid of was back- strapped to my belly in three massive rolls. My fingers looked like sausages, and the jawline that I'd once admired was obscured once again.

Now, a year later, that nightmare has become a reality. I've gained back about 75% of the weight I lost. I've spent the last few months eating, drinking, sitting in a sedentary stupor, and feeling pretty damn awful about it. I'm an addict in the truest sense of the word. My habits and behaviors bring me a constant cycle of pleasure, quickly followed shame, pain, and hopelessness. Desperate to change, but seemingly powerless to do so.

I've tried so damn hard to just accept myself- fat or thin. I thought becoming thin and athletic would magically get me what I needed, but that didn't happen. In fact, my weight loss gnarled my self-esteem until it was virtually gone. Even as a size 10, I still thought I was fat.

Now, as I sit here in my size 20 jeans and look at pictures from just a year ago, I wonder what the fuck happened. Good question. I think part of it is that I was totally exhausted in all possible ways. The physicality of marathon training put me through some stuff I don't think my body was ready for. Mentally, I was a total wreck. After 18 months of scrutinizing the caloric values of a million different foods, my brain didn't know how to think of much else. I just got so sick of thinking about it all the time. I stopped seeing my psychologist because I was sick of talking about it all the time. I stopped writing this blog because I was sick of writing about it all the time. I just wanted it to go away.

I'm not quite sure what to do now. Part of me wants to just let this blog die and be more private with my struggle. The support I received as a result of blogging was immense, but I also felt some pressure. My time away has been, if anything, a relief. But, I'd get comments here and there... "What happened?" "We miss you!" "Hope you're doing okay." It made me wonder if I'd made a mistake in cutting ties.

I'm still very confused. I spend every day trying to decide which life I want to have. Do I want the life where I can eat whatever I want but feel sick and tired most of the time? Or, do I want to deprive myself and feel healthy? Some people can have both, but I don't think I'm one of them. I'm a food junkie. I'm a hedonist. It's all or nothing.

For today, I accomplished a 20 minute walk and stocked the kitchen with healthy food. That will have to be enough, just for now.