The times they are a-changin'

It's time for a transition.  A new start.  New adventures.  A change.  *BARF*

Pictured above: ME

So.  My trainer is done training.  He's moved on to explore different opportunities.  I knew it was coming (thank god he weaned me off of his services by cutting his schedule down first).  I've been waiting for this day for a few weeks, and I've anticipated being a sad panda about it.

Pictured above: EVERYONE WHO HAS ANY INFLUENCE ON MY PLANS.  DAMN YOU.

Surprisingly, I'm not a wreck.  I'm actually feeling really good, and way more optimistic than I thought I would be.  Especially considering how anxious I am.  I thrive on routine and "change" is a big fat scary boogeyman (unless I instigate the change, of course).

My being okay with this transition is no reflection on my trainer.  Pretty sure he was frickin AWESOME and changed my life in ways I never could have or would have on my own.  Buuuuuut...

Sometimes change is a good thing.  Changing up my routine.  Changing up my guidance.  Exploring new mentors and new methods and new places.  But a lot of change can lead to stress.  Especially for an anxious little bee like myself.

In addition to my trainer leaving...

My trusty, rusty Toyota finally went to the big scrap heap in the sky.  It's been sitting in a parking lot at Van's service for a week, waiting to be pitifully hauled away.  Because of this...

My husband had to get a new job.  Which is stressful for both him AND me.  Also...

It's the beginning of a new semester.  Which means ten tons of work and no time for funsies.  And...

We have so much mandatory overtime at work right now it's not even cool.


What's the point?  Am I looking for sympathy?  Empathy?  A getaway car?

Nope, just wanted to say, as much as I hate change, and sometimes transitions can suck it, I'm handling this pretty well.

And, cornball as it seems, I feel like, in large part, it has to do with my new habits.

I eliminate stress by moving my body (exercise) or sitting completely still (meditating) and if all else fails, I take a nap.  In the past, I stifled my emotions and bottled up my stress by eating or getting drunk (or smoking stuff).  Not the awesome-ist plan ever, and really stupid when you remember that I'm an educated person.

So thanks again to my lovely health gurus.  Without your guidance, I'd be navigating all this change and transition with gin and Funyuns instead of deadlifts and cardio and naps and guided meditation.

Everyone knows deadlifts are more fun than gin, anyways.  And I can't wait until my new trainer makes me do them until I swear at her. :)

Depression

TRIGGER WARNING: Depression, Anxiety, Mental Illness, Suicide

Some of you may be shocked to know that I have depression.  "Major Depressive Disorder with Severe Anxiety," to be exact.

I am REALLY good at putting on a happy face, but since 2006, I've been on Citalopram and Xanax...Citalopram I take every day to stave off depression and keep me more even-keeled, Xanax I take once in awhile for severe anxiety attacks.  Truthfully, I should have been medicated a LOOOOOONG time before 2006.

"But Angie!" you say, "Everyone gets anxious sometimes!"

That they do, dear readers.  My weird brain likes to take it one step beyond normal stress reactions.  

For example, on the morning of my first day at my current job, I was vomiting pretty profusely.  Why oh why didn't I call in sick?  

Because this happens to me.  All.  The.  Time.  I vomit on the reg.  It's actually pretty gross.  It's a miracle my teeth are so nice, to be honest.  

Pro Tip: Do not, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, EVER do a google image search for "gross."  This is NOT the first image that appears.  *shudders*

I also get palpitations so severe it feels like my poor heart is going to explode right out of my chest.  My hands get so cold and stiff I can barely use them.

This happens every single time I have an exam, or do something new.  My first workout?  Bet your ass I had Xanax in my bloodstream.  Flying overseas?  XANAX, BABY.  Statistics test?  BENZOS FOR EVERYONE!

It's a common misconception that antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds make you happy.  They don't.  They just make you feel less like dying.  A little less like bursting into tears constantly.  They take the dirty grey veil off everything so you can almost, ALMOST view it normally.

You may also be thinking, "I get sad sometimes...does that mean I have depression?"  

No.  A thousand times, no.

It's completely normal to feel sad sometimes.

What's not normal is to feel absolutely nothing.  To just not care.  To have amazing parents, wonderful friends, a supportive and loving husband, a sister who you look up to, a steady job, a roof over your head...and just not care about any of it.  And then to feel crushing guilt because you don't care.  The guilt is one of the few feelings you DO have.

The only other feeling you do have is to occasionally think that all of the people mentioned above would be so much better off if they didn't have to deal with how fucked up you are.  Only most of them have no idea how fucked up you are because you retreat into your sad place whenever you start feeling like this.  If there is some place you absolutely have to be, you slap on a happy face and fake it until you can go home, put on the same dirty sweatshirt you've been wearing for a week, and cry.  Some people lose tremendous amounts of weight, because they don't care enough to eat.  Some people (myself included) gain tremendous amounts of weight, because they don't care what they put in their bodies.

The best way I can think of to describe depression to you is it feels like swimming through pudding.  Your brain moves as slowly as your limbs.  Every step you take, every word that comes out of your mouth is a challenge.  Just being alive is EXHAUSTING.  You may or may not become suicidal...but even if you don't, you probably fantasize about your own death a LOT.  Not necessarily because you want to die, because that would require doing something.  Just because being alive means nothing to you except perpetual exhaustion.

I've never attempted suicide.  But I can't even count the number of times I've prayed for something else to kill me.

That's the difference between sadness and depression.

In the wake of Robin Williams' death, I've seen a lot of terrible things said about depression and suicide. 

Suicide is not the "coward's solution."  

Yes, it pisses me off that people take their own lives.  But what pisses me off about it so much is the knowledge that many suicide attempts are desperate pleas for help.  It just makes the "successes" (and I hate to even call it that, but you know what I mean) that much more tragic.  

It also makes me so angry that there is such a stigma on mental illness.  

I have a mental illness.  I'm still awesome.  

Yes, some mental health issues are far more stigmatized than others (schizophrenia comes to mind).  I know some people with schizophrenia who absolutely terrify me.  I also know some people with schizophrenia who are fiercely intelligent, loving, social, caring, amazing beings.  Just like I know people without mental illnesses who absolutely terrify me and others who amaze me in positive ways.   Mental illness should not define anyone any more than their blood pressure reading, hair color, address, favorite meal, or fingernail length.  It's absolutely ridiculous to boil a life down to that one component of their being.

You may also be wondering: what in the holy hell does this have to do with my weight loss journey??

EVERYTHING.

Would you take care of yourself if you didn't care about anything?  Would you work to be healthy if you truly believed your loved ones would be better off without you?

Nope.  And neither did I.

Robin's suicide also absolutely terrified me, as all suicide deaths do.  I do not share his diagnosis of bipolar depression (totally unipolar here) or his history of substance abuse, but I completely identify with his zany persona, his loud and brash nature, his foul-mouthed rants, and finally, his hidden depression that nobody saw. 

If you think you're depressed or are thinking about harming yourself, please, please, PLEASE reach out.  The National Suicide Prevention Hotline is staffed around the clock.  1-800- 273-8255.  

So many people love you.  So many people need you.  They love you and need you more than you love and need yourself right now, but some day, the clouds will part.  They always do, eventually.

Rest peacefully, sweet soul.

Judgement, Fat Discrimination, and the Isolation of Obesity

Read the letter below, and think about it for a second.

This letter wasn't to me, but it may as well have been.

For the record, let me say this:  

Yes, I realize that I have not been marginalized as much as, say, ethnic or religious minorities.

Yes, I realize that some of my attributes that apparently invite discrimination were self-induced.

But anyone who thinks that fat discrimination isn't a "thing" is delusional, and/or blind.

If you are an average-sized human, ESPECIALLY AN AVERAGE-SIZED CIS-MALE HUMAN, I ask you this...how many times have you received a letter like this?  How many times have you been shouted at from passing cars, or laughed at by bitches at the YMCA?  How many times have you been reduced to tears because somebody made a hateful comment about your appearance?

My guess is: NEVER.  

And that's awesome.  Because nobody should be reduced to tears by hateful comments about their appearance.  It's just unacceptable.

For some reason that I can't fathom, people feel that women's bodies are theirs to comment on. Especially if you are not a Victoria's Secret model.  Too fat, too thin, too "mannish."  Omg, that crazy hippie doesn't shave her legs.  Holy crap, that girl should NOT be wearing leggings.  Eat a sandwich, you look anorexic.  Just because it zips, doesn't mean it fits.

I've been subjected to this kind of awful attitude more times than I care to remember.  I can't imagine what on God's green earth would EVER possess anyone to say or write this kind of thing to another human.  

I will never, EVER, forget the first time this happened to me.  It was my freshman spring at UWSP, and I went for a walk on a glorious afternoon.  Four guys in a blue car drove past and slowed down just long enough to shout "You need to start running, you fat bitch!" before peeling away and laughing their stupid faces off.  It was just another in a series of comments, looks, laughs, and rude comments that cut me down again, and again, and again, until I believed I was worth nothing.  I thought I deserved nothing but a lifetime of those kinds of comments.

There are people out there who seriously think that fat-shaming will motivate fat people to get thin.

Do you know what is really does?  

It makes them hide.  It makes them become binge-eaters because they don't know how to deal with their shame.  It makes them vomit.  It makes them start taking Xanax and Citalopram because of their crushing depressive disorder and nauseating anxiety (which, no doubt, contributed to their obesity in the first place).  In spite of those who love them (including fab friends, supportive siblings and parents, and an amazeballs husband), they have no idea WHY anybody cares about them so much, because they feel worthless.

Sometimes, it makes them wish they were dead.  Not because their life is awful...it's not.  They have the aforementioned amazing support system and a lot of things going for them.  But because they're not confident they can endure a lifetime of this kind of cruelty.

It's unbelievably isolating.

Until one day, the lucky ones realize they are worth so much more than they ever realized.  

Who knows what brings on this realization.  Maybe they are in a new relationship.  Maybe they read a motivating book or article.

Maybe they receive a life-changing gift from a complete stranger.  For the first time in forever, they think "holy crap, somebody has faith in me.  Somebody believes I can do this."

"SOMEBODY THINKS I'M WORTH IT."

(FYI, the "they" in this story is me, if you hadn't caught my drift)

Thanks, again, Jen.  If I said it a million times, it wouldn't be enough.