Hello.
Well, since I've left Weight Watchers, I've been on a journey of self discovery regarding my weight. The ways of containing my weight that seemed to work whilst I was with Weight Watchers, have left me. I didn't want to go back to meetings, it seemed like a bit of a comedown to be sitting in a meeting as a member. Isn't that a crap way of thinking? So, I have tried a lot of things to manage my weight. First, when I left WW, it was like "wooohoo, I'm not a leader any more, lets just eat everything in sight.". So, my weight stayed the same for a while, especially as I was exercising a lot. But after a couple of weeks, I hit the 100 mark again. Ugh. I feel so much better about myself when the scales say "98", as opposed to "100". And if they say "94"....well, that means that I'm an awesome person, right?
Ugh. So I tried protein shakes, I joined the gym, I let myself have one day of eating whatever I wanted, I tried to restrict, I went for long walks. All of this culminated in me weighing 107 kilos. That's right - since I've left WW, in January, I have put on nearly ten kilos. And whilst I know that this doesnt' make me a bad person, I wonder if there is something wrong with my metabolism? Because I don't overeat that much...I just seem to be able to put on weight extraordinarily easily. It sucks.
So - I had been eating vegetables, vegetables, vegetables. So many vegetables that my tummy was bloated, the scales werent' moving and I felt more and more down on myself. I've since quit the Fast Food place that I was working at...that I'm sure didn't help.
I ended up at a place where I never wanted to be again - crouched over the toilet, trying to get rid of some biscuits and chocolate that I had just consumed. How had I got so low that I was punishing my body with food again? This is more than just input in and input out. There is something wrong with the way that I think about food.
My answer was to reach out for help- in group therapy. I know that one of the reasons that Weight Watchers works and worked for me is that it involves talking about my feelings surrounding my weight. And the food isnt 'the issue - it's a symptom of a greater problem. Address the problem and you'll solve the symptom. So, I've been reading a wonderful, amazing book that my friend Kellie wrote about her recovery from an eating disorder and many other ways of disordered thinking. I am victim of all of these things as well - and I want to get well. I am no longer going to deprive, starve, overfeed and overeat vegetables. I am going to listen to my body, tell it that I love it, drink lots of water, do exercise that I love, feel good about the food that I eat, and not beat myself up about the times that I slip and overeat. I have been fighting this demon for over 20 years, and all the other ways of fighting it have failed, time and again.
This time I am going to love my body and stop panicking and trying to lose weight. I made the mistake of stepping on the scales with PMS last night, and it said 109. I panicked, so went and ate two vegemite sandwiches. Punishing my body, it doesn't make any sense, but that's where my mind goes - and that is the thing that keeps me overweight. I need to let go and give God control of my weight. My ways do not work, they just don't. If I practice loving my body and nurturing it, it will become second nature and I will no longer feel the need to overeat and punish myself with food.
Wish me luck! :)
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Danni Minogue
This is a previously unpublished post from 2008 :)
I've been uploading more songs onto my ipod, and am plundering the depths of my music collection....Danni Minogue "everything I wanted"....oh how I loved that song and the album it came from, can't remember what it was called. It reminds me of moving furniture around in my tiny flat in Narrabundah, where I lived with my little cat Xena. They were some lonely times, I tell you what. I existed just to go out on the weekends, and if I didn't - I had nothing to do and no-one much to do it with. I just had party mates, or my other friends were in relationships and I felt sooo alone. Nothing more alone than a Sunday when you're single and apart from Church, you haven't spoken to a single person all day.
I've been uploading more songs onto my ipod, and am plundering the depths of my music collection....Danni Minogue "everything I wanted"....oh how I loved that song and the album it came from, can't remember what it was called. It reminds me of moving furniture around in my tiny flat in Narrabundah, where I lived with my little cat Xena. They were some lonely times, I tell you what. I existed just to go out on the weekends, and if I didn't - I had nothing to do and no-one much to do it with. I just had party mates, or my other friends were in relationships and I felt sooo alone. Nothing more alone than a Sunday when you're single and apart from Church, you haven't spoken to a single person all day.
I think that's why I love music so much, because a song can catapult you back into memories of another time. I am one for playing a song over and over again and having it represent how I feel at that time. Thinking about the songs on my depression list, make me think of a particular feeling or episode...a time when I was not well in myself. I love the power of music. I am part of a group in Facebook that says "why yes, I do frequently burst into song". I am always singing to myself and if someone says something, I can usually think up a song that has those words in it.
I hereby present 10 songs that make me happy:
1.Walking on Sunshine, by Katrina and the Waves - I can remember geting a bit tispy with my girlfriends and heading out to the RSL club to dance to this song. I loved it, everytime I hear it I can see the three of us dancing around like we were having the time of our lives. It also reminds me of my husband...he makes me feel like I'm walking on sunshine. aww.
2.Unbelievable, by EMF - this song is the title song for angst and tenage rebellion. I hated moving to Taree from Canberra in 1989, and my friends and I learnt the song words and would write them in letters to each other. I loved EMF, particularly the hunky lead singer James, and bought many copies of Smash Hits from Borders newsagency in Taree. When I moved to Canberra for Uni, my good friend Laura was also an EMF fan and knew all their songs, they way I did. We often would walk along or sit and quote their songs.
3. Xanadu - or any song from the Xanadu soundtrack. I love this movie. I love it because the first time I saw it I was about eight and it embodied all the romantic dreams I had about love. Love breaks down all barriers. I liked to think that I would be good at rollerskating if I really tried. But I didn't ever try, so remained one of those people who pulled themselves along the edges at the rollerskating rink. The girl next door, Tracey, and I would watch the movie while saying the lines. I got to play Sonny cause I was taller, and she got to play Kira.
4. Kiss from a Rose - Seal. I spent much of my late teens and early twenties yearning for my one true love. I didn't have much success with the guys (don't know why, as I had long dark hair, long dark eyebrows and very dark lips. Gothic? slightly.) and I was slightly bitter, as my friends paired up with guys. I remember sitting in a nightclub in Taree, listening to this song, vowing that one day I would meet someone who would feel like this about me. It was also in the soundtrack for Batman and I loved Chris O'Donnell at the time. hehe. Oh, and cause my hubby is so great, we had this song as the bridal party walked into the function centre at our wedding. yay!
5. Crazy in love - Beyonce and Jay-z. I remember hearing this song around the time of my sister Jen's wedding, where I was paired with Richard (my gorgeous husband). I had a massive crush on him and was too scared to speak to him, but overcame those feelings at their wedding and talked to him a fair bit. He invited me back to his house with some of the other bridal party and his best friend Jamie dropped me home. The next day my sister Angela drove me back to Canberra and all I could talk about was Richard. We stopped at Wagg and I bought a mix cd that had this song on it. I listened to it all the time, and whenever I hear it, I remember that weekend!
Life changing discoveries
Oh my goodness gracious me - sobs were on the menu at my session with my psychiatrist today. It was tough! I went in to discuss my latest job meltdown - hurling abuse at coworkers isn't the way that I want to behave. The last few times that I've spoken to him, he's been approving. I have had my issues and I've brought them to him......and he's been in favour of the way that I've solved the problems.
I've evolved a lot from the lady that I used to be. I was once angry, hurting those who I assumed were hurting me, I validated the way I behaved by the feelings that burned inside me. I was a mess.....I can still go back there, too.
I was so angry at my psych cause he said that BPD wasn't an illness, it's a personality disorder, it cant be cured by medicine, it can be cured by hard work, and he was explaining in all this detail about what BPD was and what other diseases are and how they're cured -
But I think he was making a point of how quickly my temper turns when someone disagrees with me.He said its part of my abandonment issues, that I think if people don't agree with me then I get afraid that they're gonna leave and so I get angry so that I can end things, not them
And he said if you can't work through this here, you won't be able to get through this in life!
I am crying as I write this because it is such a truth - soooo deep to my core. And i know why he pushed me so much, because it is something I need to get past in order to stop repeating the pattern of approval seeking behaviour. I just find more people to approve of me and repeat the pattern. This is core stuff for me. It's scary as hell. I wish I knew why I was like this. I am starting to remember some bullying that I think is perhaps to blame - the trauma I guess?
I was sobbing in the office when I came out but he was so proud of me when I said "I am arrogant and I want people to know that I am the best at everything but I don't want to try unless I'm the best - and I need people to tell me I'm the best constantly" - he was like "that's what I wanted from you - you needed to come up with your own solution to your problem" - it's so much easier to get angry and run away than confront what is wrong.
I'm going to confront this. I am going to work on my approval issues. I am going to get well and stop repeating these patterns - I am going to be God's creation and proud of me, instead of trying to be what I think I should be.
Peace out.
I've evolved a lot from the lady that I used to be. I was once angry, hurting those who I assumed were hurting me, I validated the way I behaved by the feelings that burned inside me. I was a mess.....I can still go back there, too.
I was so angry at my psych cause he said that BPD wasn't an illness, it's a personality disorder, it cant be cured by medicine, it can be cured by hard work, and he was explaining in all this detail about what BPD was and what other diseases are and how they're cured -
and I was like - wt, how is it not an illness? i felt like he was saying it was my fault, I wanted him to agree with me and then I felt like he wasn't getting what I was saying and I got cross...and he was getting cross at me getting cross - and he wasn't telling me what he wanted me to say, so I was like "listen to me, I am sick, I should be on medicine, you've said it's an illness before'
And he said if you can't work through this here, you won't be able to get through this in life!
I was soooo angry at him, I was like "you are the psychiatrist, I don't know what you want me to say" and he was like "well thats' where we have to leave our session today" and I was like noooooooo I need closure! don't leave me being cross with me!!" and that's when I realised that he was right. I get a huge knot of fear when someone disapproves of me - don't leave me, don't disapprove of me. Love me. Like me!! Please!!!
I was sobbing in the office when I came out but he was so proud of me when I said "I am arrogant and I want people to know that I am the best at everything but I don't want to try unless I'm the best - and I need people to tell me I'm the best constantly" - he was like "that's what I wanted from you - you needed to come up with your own solution to your problem" - it's so much easier to get angry and run away than confront what is wrong.
I'm going to confront this. I am going to work on my approval issues. I am going to get well and stop repeating these patterns - I am going to be God's creation and proud of me, instead of trying to be what I think I should be.
Peace out.
Friday, March 23, 2012
In the nuthouse.
First of all, a big hello to my new followers!! I'm so excited that I have people following my blog who don't even know me....very blessed.
Since I last wrote, my blog post was published on Mamamia and I got so many positive responses to my struggles. I worried a bit that I'd made myself too visible, and too open. I said a lot of stuff in there that I can't take back - I came out of the closet as a mentally ill person to my Facebook friends. That's scary stuff....I worry sometimes that I put people off, that they won't want to be friends with me if they know all about me. And at the same time, I guess it opens a dialogue that's amazingly healthy and helpful to be a part of. Then again, is it too much info?
I've been thinking a lot lately about my time in the psychiatric ward of a hospital. I wanted to share my experience...because let's face it, the average person in the street doesn't know what it's like (or do they?). So, I have always had depressive iss-yews, but the months after I had Alex was the first time that I ever had the experience of staying in a psychiatric ward. I'd developed Post Natal Depression with Alex, that at first presented as anxiety. Fair enough, we thought - and started some coping strategies. I read some books and wrote gratitude lists. I spoke a lot to my friends in AA. I didn't want to seek psychiatric help, as I felt I'd been working towards handling this. So I tried. My maternal health nurse was extremely worried about me.... My results on the Edinburgh Depression Scale were off the charts. Yet, I tried to fob her off "No", I said "I don't have Post Natal Depression - I'm just an anxious person". I walked everywhere. I tried soothing techniques. I went to sleep school. I tried to bond with Alex. I tried to breastfeed. I watched the clock constantly, and one morning woke up with gastro. Terrible gastro. Yet, I wasn't throwing up or going to the toilet. And something was sitting on my chest. I couldn't swallow. I must have been sick. Surely there was a virus going around?
I went to the doctor that day, trembling as I unloaded the pram from the back of the car and tried to snap it together. Loaded Alex, my gorgeous baby (who I was terrified of), into the pram and waited for the solution. I saw a different doctor, and as I outlined my symptoms, he smiled and looked at me kindly. "You have Post Natal Depression and Anxiety", he said. "You must go on antidepressants and put the baby on the bottle". I was instantly relieved and hopeful. The solution was found! I drove home feeling happy for the first time in ages. I called mum to come over from Albury to help me wean him and organise bottles. I waited for things to get better. They didn't.
I was terrified of being a mum. Terrified of Alex crying and terrified of not being able to make him stop. Panic and dread flooded me every time he cried. I hated breastfeeding. I felt disconnected with my body. It hurt. It took ages. I took to watching the clock to see how long he was feeding, how long he would sleep, how long I'd been awake, how long I had to sleep, how long until Richard went to work, how long before he came home. I became obsessed with sleep and time....until time became my enemy. Time seemed to be stuck. I was stuck. I sometimes wished that he would go away, so that this feeling would go away, yet I loved him fiercely, and was terrified that something would happen to him. I was terrified of being away from him, scared that he would be in an accident and die. Scared that something would happen to Richard, scared that I would hurt Alex. I was terrified. And things started to happen to me. I had never, ever wanted to kill myself, but suddenly it seemed like a good idea. To stop the insanity, to stop the madness. I was sick of the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind and the constant fear, nausea, anxiety and churning of my stomach. The constant weight on my chest, the palpitating of my heart, the urges I felt towards myself and to my beautiful baby boy.
The church organised a roster so that I didnt' have to be by myself. Someone would arrive while Richard was about to leave for work, and the shifts would change over during the day. Richard would come home. The whole day was an excruciating passing of the seconds and minutes. I was trapped in deep, deep and cloying misery. I had ceased to be myself. I stopped being able to eat or sleep. I couldn't imagine coping. I had started cutting myself, just to stop the thoughts. I had never done this before....I had worked through my issues - why was it happening now?
Alex got a place in the mother and baby unit, and we moved over. Richard came to visit and we tried to be a family - pretty hard when you're in a hospital. I tried so hard not to talk to Richard about how I was feeling. I felt like I was dead inside. I felt like I wanted to escape. If it wasn't for the love I felt for all of them, that I knew I felt, I would have just checked out. I was in agony.
I transferred to Banksia house at the Austin after a few days, as it was a public hospital, and I met some lovely women. Sam and Alicia and I remain friends to this day. We got used to bathing our babies and trying to normalise the situation. But I was still terrified. I still felt like I was a million miles away from everyone else. And I was stuck in a hospital. I saw psychiatrists and psychologists, I took my pills. But nothing helped. After a month, they sent me home. Things got worse. I started seeing another psychiatrist in Albury, who prescribed some new antidepressants, sleeping pills, and anti anxiety tablets. I couldn't cope. People were around me all the time. I wanted to escape. I told them that I could cope and overdosed. I called Mum and a helpline as I took the pills. I didn't want anything bad to happen to Alex. A neighbour came over to be with him. I still cry when I hear the story about my sister in law, Catherine, driving away with Alex. My poor, poor baby. It wasn't that I didn't want to be with him - it was just that I didn't want to be with me any more. I couldn't cope with the desecration and agony that was living in my head - the counting down of the moments and living through each day without any hope or life.
I was taken by ambulance to the Albury Base Hospital and admitted to Nolan House, their psychiatric wing. Mum and Dad lived in Albury and came over to be with me. And this time, it was different. I was taken to a hospital room and had most of my possessions removed, particularly anything sharp. I had a bed with hospital bedding and a communal shower. I still couldn't sleep or eat, and I was terrified. The seconds and minutes were agony. There were large, high, brick walls around the outside of the ward. The inner gates were locked. Some of the nurses were nasty. Once it was 10pm, you had to go to bed. There was no wandering around. You couldn't watch TV late at night.
The days were marked with military precision. There was a schedule of group therapy, coping exercises, walks in the morning with one of the nurses, and mealtimes. The meals came on a cart, with plastic covers. I can't see those plastic covers without getting a shiver down my spine. They meant that you'd survived part of the day. Another section of the day was over. I was surprised at how hard it was to pass time. Time was still my enemy - I would wake at 5am, in panic and anxiety, and force myself to wait. I couldn't stay in my bed.... I would try to read but was unable to manage more than a couple of words. It was torture. Suicide was a constant thought. I couldn't justify it but the ending of this agony had become paramount. The suffering became worse the longer I went through it. There seemed to be no end and I had no hope. I saw my psychiatrist and he advised a medication change. I was to have sleeping tablets. I was not given anything for my anxiety during the day. They wanted me to try and cope. I still have a piece of paper where I have calculated how many more hours it would take before I could see my psychiatrist again, with the time I slept taking out. I was in prison, but it wasn't about my surroundings - it was all in my mind. I couldn't escape.
Some of the people around me were terrifying. There were no other mums there with stories to tell of husbands who were confused and feeding schedules. These were unwell people. And some very nice people. I remember a real estate agent who had a gambling problem, and who had driven his car into a pole rather than cope with his problems. He did really well in therapy and recovered quickly. His depression was reactive and he was going to get his life back together. There were people who came in every six months to get a course of Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT), as it reset their brain chemistry. Every time they came back from their sessions, they went to bed, slept, and woke up a step closer to themselves. It was amazing. I was jealous of the people with lots of medication, who had to take it often. Why couldn't I have more medication? Surely that would make me feel better?
The walks and the times we were allowed outside were the worst of all. It only served to highlight our incarceration when we were given freedom. I remember going on a walk with the other patients and realising that we were about a kilometre from my mum's house, where Alex was staying. She was coming to visit me with him later that morning. I longed to break away from the group and run towards them - but I knew that would only cause more trouble. I remember thinking that this is what it must be like to be in rehab - and I thought that looked so cool in all the Hollywood movies...and how wrong I was to wish to be in rehab all those times I found sobriety hard going.
I remember being on a trip to the supermarket over the road, and seeing a woman my age buying groceries. I remember wishing that I could be that woman. I remember thinking, "one day, I will be out of here. One day I will be that woman, and I won't resent having to get those groceries. I will be glad that I am getting those groceries and that I'm not here".
The next time I went on a shopping excursion, the fact that I felt so far away from that woman was too much to bear. I stole a pack of 24 panadols and when we got back, I took them all. I thought that everyone would understand that I couldn't live anymore if this was all that I could be. I cried for myself, I cried for Richard and I cried for Alex. I cried for my parents and for my family. I was so loved but I couldn't feel any of it. I was imprisoned, I had ceased to be a person, I was a series of symptoms and agonies. I wasn't me. I was dead inside.
I couldn't believe it when nothing happened. I was so upset that I smashed a mug and tried to slash my wrists. That didnt' work either. All it ended up doing was landing me in the isolation ward, where I wouldn't harm myself or others.
That day, when both of those things happened, and when my liver tests came back totally normal, and I sat trying to make sense of why I was still here, when I wanted to die, I realised that there was a reason I was here. A reason why God had kept me alive. It was hard and I couldn't understand it, but I remember writing in my diary that "THIS IS SERIOUS! PEOPLES LIVES ARE AT STAKE!". I suddenly realised that it wasn't all about me. That I wanted to stop being in hospital. That I wouldn't get any better until I became responsible for getting better. I realised that I wanted to go home and start trying to live and be a proper mother to my son. That I wasn't going to get any better for a while, but as one psychiatrist said "This is a severe depressive episode. We don't know why it happens, or when it will end - but we do know that as long as you keep on living, you will get better."
Lots of other things happened, and it was a while before I got out of the hospital and even longer still before the episode ended and I found my way back to where I am today. But, I still remember it. I still remember that there is a reason why I am here today. And I still remember to be grateful when I am buying the groceries and I don't feel like it - because I could be the other girl, and today I'm not. Today I'm a million miles away from her. But I carry her in a tiny piece of my heart, because she's taught me to be responsible for me.
Love,
Deb
Since I last wrote, my blog post was published on Mamamia and I got so many positive responses to my struggles. I worried a bit that I'd made myself too visible, and too open. I said a lot of stuff in there that I can't take back - I came out of the closet as a mentally ill person to my Facebook friends. That's scary stuff....I worry sometimes that I put people off, that they won't want to be friends with me if they know all about me. And at the same time, I guess it opens a dialogue that's amazingly healthy and helpful to be a part of. Then again, is it too much info?
I've been thinking a lot lately about my time in the psychiatric ward of a hospital. I wanted to share my experience...because let's face it, the average person in the street doesn't know what it's like (or do they?). So, I have always had depressive iss-yews, but the months after I had Alex was the first time that I ever had the experience of staying in a psychiatric ward. I'd developed Post Natal Depression with Alex, that at first presented as anxiety. Fair enough, we thought - and started some coping strategies. I read some books and wrote gratitude lists. I spoke a lot to my friends in AA. I didn't want to seek psychiatric help, as I felt I'd been working towards handling this. So I tried. My maternal health nurse was extremely worried about me.... My results on the Edinburgh Depression Scale were off the charts. Yet, I tried to fob her off "No", I said "I don't have Post Natal Depression - I'm just an anxious person". I walked everywhere. I tried soothing techniques. I went to sleep school. I tried to bond with Alex. I tried to breastfeed. I watched the clock constantly, and one morning woke up with gastro. Terrible gastro. Yet, I wasn't throwing up or going to the toilet. And something was sitting on my chest. I couldn't swallow. I must have been sick. Surely there was a virus going around?
I went to the doctor that day, trembling as I unloaded the pram from the back of the car and tried to snap it together. Loaded Alex, my gorgeous baby (who I was terrified of), into the pram and waited for the solution. I saw a different doctor, and as I outlined my symptoms, he smiled and looked at me kindly. "You have Post Natal Depression and Anxiety", he said. "You must go on antidepressants and put the baby on the bottle". I was instantly relieved and hopeful. The solution was found! I drove home feeling happy for the first time in ages. I called mum to come over from Albury to help me wean him and organise bottles. I waited for things to get better. They didn't.
I was terrified of being a mum. Terrified of Alex crying and terrified of not being able to make him stop. Panic and dread flooded me every time he cried. I hated breastfeeding. I felt disconnected with my body. It hurt. It took ages. I took to watching the clock to see how long he was feeding, how long he would sleep, how long I'd been awake, how long I had to sleep, how long until Richard went to work, how long before he came home. I became obsessed with sleep and time....until time became my enemy. Time seemed to be stuck. I was stuck. I sometimes wished that he would go away, so that this feeling would go away, yet I loved him fiercely, and was terrified that something would happen to him. I was terrified of being away from him, scared that he would be in an accident and die. Scared that something would happen to Richard, scared that I would hurt Alex. I was terrified. And things started to happen to me. I had never, ever wanted to kill myself, but suddenly it seemed like a good idea. To stop the insanity, to stop the madness. I was sick of the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind and the constant fear, nausea, anxiety and churning of my stomach. The constant weight on my chest, the palpitating of my heart, the urges I felt towards myself and to my beautiful baby boy.
The church organised a roster so that I didnt' have to be by myself. Someone would arrive while Richard was about to leave for work, and the shifts would change over during the day. Richard would come home. The whole day was an excruciating passing of the seconds and minutes. I was trapped in deep, deep and cloying misery. I had ceased to be myself. I stopped being able to eat or sleep. I couldn't imagine coping. I had started cutting myself, just to stop the thoughts. I had never done this before....I had worked through my issues - why was it happening now?
Alex got a place in the mother and baby unit, and we moved over. Richard came to visit and we tried to be a family - pretty hard when you're in a hospital. I tried so hard not to talk to Richard about how I was feeling. I felt like I was dead inside. I felt like I wanted to escape. If it wasn't for the love I felt for all of them, that I knew I felt, I would have just checked out. I was in agony.
I transferred to Banksia house at the Austin after a few days, as it was a public hospital, and I met some lovely women. Sam and Alicia and I remain friends to this day. We got used to bathing our babies and trying to normalise the situation. But I was still terrified. I still felt like I was a million miles away from everyone else. And I was stuck in a hospital. I saw psychiatrists and psychologists, I took my pills. But nothing helped. After a month, they sent me home. Things got worse. I started seeing another psychiatrist in Albury, who prescribed some new antidepressants, sleeping pills, and anti anxiety tablets. I couldn't cope. People were around me all the time. I wanted to escape. I told them that I could cope and overdosed. I called Mum and a helpline as I took the pills. I didn't want anything bad to happen to Alex. A neighbour came over to be with him. I still cry when I hear the story about my sister in law, Catherine, driving away with Alex. My poor, poor baby. It wasn't that I didn't want to be with him - it was just that I didn't want to be with me any more. I couldn't cope with the desecration and agony that was living in my head - the counting down of the moments and living through each day without any hope or life.
I was taken by ambulance to the Albury Base Hospital and admitted to Nolan House, their psychiatric wing. Mum and Dad lived in Albury and came over to be with me. And this time, it was different. I was taken to a hospital room and had most of my possessions removed, particularly anything sharp. I had a bed with hospital bedding and a communal shower. I still couldn't sleep or eat, and I was terrified. The seconds and minutes were agony. There were large, high, brick walls around the outside of the ward. The inner gates were locked. Some of the nurses were nasty. Once it was 10pm, you had to go to bed. There was no wandering around. You couldn't watch TV late at night.
The days were marked with military precision. There was a schedule of group therapy, coping exercises, walks in the morning with one of the nurses, and mealtimes. The meals came on a cart, with plastic covers. I can't see those plastic covers without getting a shiver down my spine. They meant that you'd survived part of the day. Another section of the day was over. I was surprised at how hard it was to pass time. Time was still my enemy - I would wake at 5am, in panic and anxiety, and force myself to wait. I couldn't stay in my bed.... I would try to read but was unable to manage more than a couple of words. It was torture. Suicide was a constant thought. I couldn't justify it but the ending of this agony had become paramount. The suffering became worse the longer I went through it. There seemed to be no end and I had no hope. I saw my psychiatrist and he advised a medication change. I was to have sleeping tablets. I was not given anything for my anxiety during the day. They wanted me to try and cope. I still have a piece of paper where I have calculated how many more hours it would take before I could see my psychiatrist again, with the time I slept taking out. I was in prison, but it wasn't about my surroundings - it was all in my mind. I couldn't escape.
Some of the people around me were terrifying. There were no other mums there with stories to tell of husbands who were confused and feeding schedules. These were unwell people. And some very nice people. I remember a real estate agent who had a gambling problem, and who had driven his car into a pole rather than cope with his problems. He did really well in therapy and recovered quickly. His depression was reactive and he was going to get his life back together. There were people who came in every six months to get a course of Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT), as it reset their brain chemistry. Every time they came back from their sessions, they went to bed, slept, and woke up a step closer to themselves. It was amazing. I was jealous of the people with lots of medication, who had to take it often. Why couldn't I have more medication? Surely that would make me feel better?
The walks and the times we were allowed outside were the worst of all. It only served to highlight our incarceration when we were given freedom. I remember going on a walk with the other patients and realising that we were about a kilometre from my mum's house, where Alex was staying. She was coming to visit me with him later that morning. I longed to break away from the group and run towards them - but I knew that would only cause more trouble. I remember thinking that this is what it must be like to be in rehab - and I thought that looked so cool in all the Hollywood movies...and how wrong I was to wish to be in rehab all those times I found sobriety hard going.
I remember being on a trip to the supermarket over the road, and seeing a woman my age buying groceries. I remember wishing that I could be that woman. I remember thinking, "one day, I will be out of here. One day I will be that woman, and I won't resent having to get those groceries. I will be glad that I am getting those groceries and that I'm not here".
The next time I went on a shopping excursion, the fact that I felt so far away from that woman was too much to bear. I stole a pack of 24 panadols and when we got back, I took them all. I thought that everyone would understand that I couldn't live anymore if this was all that I could be. I cried for myself, I cried for Richard and I cried for Alex. I cried for my parents and for my family. I was so loved but I couldn't feel any of it. I was imprisoned, I had ceased to be a person, I was a series of symptoms and agonies. I wasn't me. I was dead inside.
I couldn't believe it when nothing happened. I was so upset that I smashed a mug and tried to slash my wrists. That didnt' work either. All it ended up doing was landing me in the isolation ward, where I wouldn't harm myself or others.
That day, when both of those things happened, and when my liver tests came back totally normal, and I sat trying to make sense of why I was still here, when I wanted to die, I realised that there was a reason I was here. A reason why God had kept me alive. It was hard and I couldn't understand it, but I remember writing in my diary that "THIS IS SERIOUS! PEOPLES LIVES ARE AT STAKE!". I suddenly realised that it wasn't all about me. That I wanted to stop being in hospital. That I wouldn't get any better until I became responsible for getting better. I realised that I wanted to go home and start trying to live and be a proper mother to my son. That I wasn't going to get any better for a while, but as one psychiatrist said "This is a severe depressive episode. We don't know why it happens, or when it will end - but we do know that as long as you keep on living, you will get better."
Lots of other things happened, and it was a while before I got out of the hospital and even longer still before the episode ended and I found my way back to where I am today. But, I still remember it. I still remember that there is a reason why I am here today. And I still remember to be grateful when I am buying the groceries and I don't feel like it - because I could be the other girl, and today I'm not. Today I'm a million miles away from her. But I carry her in a tiny piece of my heart, because she's taught me to be responsible for me.
Love,
Deb
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Does that make me crazy? Probably....
This week has been a very interesting one. So, first off, I've always been a little bit different. Always had trouble living life on life's terms. I have always been afraid, always been thin skinned, always taken things personally. Always been afraid of being alone, always been bullied, always been sure there was something wrong with me. Always looking at the person next to me to see how they did it, and trying to do the same. Always sure that I would be rumbled, and people would see how crap I truly was, and that nobody would ever want to be my friend.
So when did that change? Well, about eight and a half years ago, I started taking things a little more seriously. I started looking at the circumstances in my life, and how people were always being unreasonable...I started looking at how the common denominator in that was me. I started thinking that, as someone says in Bridesmaids "You are the problem. You're your own problem, and you're your solution". How true. My relationships with people have always been interesting, different, fraught. And although I got help, a lot of it didn't make sense. Not until I reached my rock bottom (those other ones were just practice), when I developed extreme Post Natal Depression, and was forced to evaluate my own life.
I was forced to see that if I always let other people define me, then when I was alone, I would always feel weird and sort of nothing-y. I learned that nobody was going to show up and help me fix my life. I began to see that I was my solution. I also learned along the way, that the reason why I behaved like this, was because I had an underlying mental illness. I have a mental illness. I don't like having a mental illness. I want to be all better, because I decided that I should be. But at the same time, it is a relief, when I relapse and I look at the criteria for having Borderline Personality Disorder. Because, there in black and white are all the things I do. All the things that I struggle with. And I realise, again, that this is not something that I enjoy. This is not something that I brought on myself. This was the answer to the question the 14 year old me asked herself again and again "WHAT THE F&*K IS WRONG WITH ME? WHY AM I LIKE THIS? WHY CAN"T I LOVE MYSELF?"
Being diagnosed was a huge relief because it meant that there was a REASON why I found life so difficult, why I struggled so much with extremes of emotion, why I became obsessed with certain outcomes, why I struggled to let things go, why I sought to bury my emotion in food, shopping or drinking, why I felt things so much more deeply than other people did. Why I compared myself, why I judged myself and others.
So, it was a curse and a blessing. A curse, because I had all that stuff that I had to deal with, to work on, to try and live with. But, a blessing, because I finally knew what was wrong with me. I had help. I was shown the way and had a loving family, friends, and a psychiatrist who specialised in making people with BPD find a life that was liveable.
But - I still struggle. I still struggle fiercely with my emotions, and in particular, anger. I haven't had an anger episode for a long time, but I had one last week. And it destroyed some stuff in my life. Good friends, who I haven't known for that long, saw me at my worst, and didn't like it. It scared them. This episode set off a chain of events that led to me having to resign from my job, a job I loved, a job where I finally felt that I had found my calling. A job that was proof that I wasn't limited or challenged. A job where people looked to me for the answers. A job where I could give back for all the compassion and help that I'd received in the past eight years.
I am struggling to not feel like I blew it - like I should have tried harder. But, my overwhelming feeling is that I may have lost friends and a job, but that I am moving on. I have made some amazing friends through this job, and I am proud of my achievement in keeping this job, even though I wish it could have lasted for longer. I recognise that I was starting to get tired. That I was starting to get stressed. That the responsibility was starting to be too much for me. That I was feeling out of control...that I didn't know how I was going to fit it all in. That I felt like it defined me.
And you know what? I don't need a job to tell me who I am. I am Deborah Louise Hay (nee Cook). I make mistakes. I let people down. I fall down, but I get back up again. I am honest about my failings. I try to right my wrongs. I am what you see. I love helping people. I love being social. I love sarcasm. I love food. I love sugar. I love my family. I love my son. I love my husband. I love cats. I love toilet humour. I love that life is full of surprises and I love that I"m getting better at rolling with the punches. I love that my husband has taught me to laugh at myself, and I love that I have taught him compassion. I love that I am me. I may not be the best me that I can be, but I'm working on it. Watch this space.
Much love
Deb xx
So when did that change? Well, about eight and a half years ago, I started taking things a little more seriously. I started looking at the circumstances in my life, and how people were always being unreasonable...I started looking at how the common denominator in that was me. I started thinking that, as someone says in Bridesmaids "You are the problem. You're your own problem, and you're your solution". How true. My relationships with people have always been interesting, different, fraught. And although I got help, a lot of it didn't make sense. Not until I reached my rock bottom (those other ones were just practice), when I developed extreme Post Natal Depression, and was forced to evaluate my own life.
I was forced to see that if I always let other people define me, then when I was alone, I would always feel weird and sort of nothing-y. I learned that nobody was going to show up and help me fix my life. I began to see that I was my solution. I also learned along the way, that the reason why I behaved like this, was because I had an underlying mental illness. I have a mental illness. I don't like having a mental illness. I want to be all better, because I decided that I should be. But at the same time, it is a relief, when I relapse and I look at the criteria for having Borderline Personality Disorder. Because, there in black and white are all the things I do. All the things that I struggle with. And I realise, again, that this is not something that I enjoy. This is not something that I brought on myself. This was the answer to the question the 14 year old me asked herself again and again "WHAT THE F&*K IS WRONG WITH ME? WHY AM I LIKE THIS? WHY CAN"T I LOVE MYSELF?"
Being diagnosed was a huge relief because it meant that there was a REASON why I found life so difficult, why I struggled so much with extremes of emotion, why I became obsessed with certain outcomes, why I struggled to let things go, why I sought to bury my emotion in food, shopping or drinking, why I felt things so much more deeply than other people did. Why I compared myself, why I judged myself and others.
So, it was a curse and a blessing. A curse, because I had all that stuff that I had to deal with, to work on, to try and live with. But, a blessing, because I finally knew what was wrong with me. I had help. I was shown the way and had a loving family, friends, and a psychiatrist who specialised in making people with BPD find a life that was liveable.
But - I still struggle. I still struggle fiercely with my emotions, and in particular, anger. I haven't had an anger episode for a long time, but I had one last week. And it destroyed some stuff in my life. Good friends, who I haven't known for that long, saw me at my worst, and didn't like it. It scared them. This episode set off a chain of events that led to me having to resign from my job, a job I loved, a job where I finally felt that I had found my calling. A job that was proof that I wasn't limited or challenged. A job where people looked to me for the answers. A job where I could give back for all the compassion and help that I'd received in the past eight years.
I am struggling to not feel like I blew it - like I should have tried harder. But, my overwhelming feeling is that I may have lost friends and a job, but that I am moving on. I have made some amazing friends through this job, and I am proud of my achievement in keeping this job, even though I wish it could have lasted for longer. I recognise that I was starting to get tired. That I was starting to get stressed. That the responsibility was starting to be too much for me. That I was feeling out of control...that I didn't know how I was going to fit it all in. That I felt like it defined me.
And you know what? I don't need a job to tell me who I am. I am Deborah Louise Hay (nee Cook). I make mistakes. I let people down. I fall down, but I get back up again. I am honest about my failings. I try to right my wrongs. I am what you see. I love helping people. I love being social. I love sarcasm. I love food. I love sugar. I love my family. I love my son. I love my husband. I love cats. I love toilet humour. I love that life is full of surprises and I love that I"m getting better at rolling with the punches. I love that my husband has taught me to laugh at myself, and I love that I have taught him compassion. I love that I am me. I may not be the best me that I can be, but I'm working on it. Watch this space.
Much love
Deb xx
Friday, December 16, 2011
Crying over you...
This time of year brings back too many memories.
5 years ago, Alex was 3 months old, and I was in the grip of truly terrible, severe post natal depression. I'd had depression before, but that was the "have a few drinks or a coffee with yer friends and you'll feel better" kind. This was the hardcore, can't eat, sleep or read variety.
It was unfortunate, as I was so excited about having a baby. I had longed for Alex...and thought he was the most adorable thing in the world. I was so proud to be his mum. It was just that I worried. I worried every time he went somewhere, that it was the last time I'd see him. I kept thinking that he was going to die. I kept being afraid that I was going to hurt him. I felt like I was a long way away from everyone else, talking to them from under a weight, and watching myself from the ceiling at the same time.
Christmas 2007 was horrendous. I'd never been suicidal before or truly anxious, but I was all these things. When I look back at home videos of this time, I can see my fear, see that I wasn't there, see that I wanted someone to come and rescue me from the prison of my consciousness. I kept wanting to scream, to scream and never stop.
So, on th 27th of December, I was admitted to a mother and baby unit in Melbourne. I spent a whole month there. Alex wasn't with me at first, so I spent New Years Eve 2007 in a mental institution. I was so horrendously, severely unwell, and I didn't know why someone didn't come and rescue me from it. If I was in that much physical pain, I'd be on the strongest painkillers. How could I pretend, and keep pretending to be normal, when how I felt was as far from normal as I had ever felt?
And it's not just how I felt, it's hearing the stories about how my sister in law drove Alex home all by herself, with him in her car seat. Because I'd been admitted to hospital again, because this illness was so horrendous that I thought everyone would understand if I just checked out of life. The time that my mum and sister looked after him. The fact that everyone loves him, because they all had to pitch in and look after him while I was busy being treated. I am grateful that Alex was shown such love. But I'd be lying if I wasn't deeply grieved for a long time that I couldn't be there for him. Because I loved him, so so so much. The psychs always said that I had a very strong connection with him. ...and how couldn't you?
I found a bit about how I felt at the time, and I enclose it below. To those of you who are suffering - it will end. As long as you keep living, it gets better. Today I have an amazing life.....but I can't help think about what I went through 5 years ago, what we all went through. I feel saddest for Richard...because he loved Alex and I so much...and he was so amazing. He never walked away from me, even when I was angry, horrible, bitter and full of hate. Neither did my mum, sisters, dad, and my amazing in laws. Girls from the youth group wrote me beautiful letters. Thank you, Klasine, Del, Frances and Jossy. Thank you, all who were there. I'm all better now. But I still remember.
Love,
Deb
Diary:
16 March07 - I love my husband but I hate him seeing me like this. In fact, I feel like saying to him and the rest of my family "Don't love me!", but I know I don't really want that.
24 April 07 - I am so afraid and so scared that I'll never be all right again. I feel really confused, like I'm stuck in a big black hole. Feel suicidal, like I just want to die....can I go home? I just feel like I want to pass out or die, I can't go on living like this.
18 May 07 - All I want is a good night's sleep, and to be able to sleep again. I miss sleep sooo much and I'm afraid I'll never sleep again. I can't believe that I will ever get better but I have to trust God. I would much rather be the one cheering other people up than the one going through this, wading through so much horrible anxiety and fear. Please God, release me from this horrible prison. Just a tiny little bit, just enough for me to go home and cope at home. I am so weak, Lord, please help me. Lord, this is hell on earth and I would really like to not feel like this for much longer.
A verse I love is Jeremiah 29:11 - For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future".
10 July 07.I feel unable to copeI feel scared that I'm going mad, feeling disconnected from everyone around me, I seem to be in a world of my own. I feel a sense of impending madness, s though I would fall over a high cliff at any moment, and this would signify my lost grip on reality.I can't enjoy anything about life anymore. All I think about is this illness and the feelings that I'm having. I keep thinking that I just want to be normal, why has this happened to me?
Psalm 13 is really good....David gives it to God in the first bit, I love it!
About May/June 08 I started to feel better. I started to be able to go out in public with Alex or by myself and not worry. Things have just kept on getting better.
And do you know what? I know that I'm stronger for having gone through this. I feel like I know I can get through stuff. I am woman, hear me roooooooooooooar! :)
5 years ago, Alex was 3 months old, and I was in the grip of truly terrible, severe post natal depression. I'd had depression before, but that was the "have a few drinks or a coffee with yer friends and you'll feel better" kind. This was the hardcore, can't eat, sleep or read variety.
It was unfortunate, as I was so excited about having a baby. I had longed for Alex...and thought he was the most adorable thing in the world. I was so proud to be his mum. It was just that I worried. I worried every time he went somewhere, that it was the last time I'd see him. I kept thinking that he was going to die. I kept being afraid that I was going to hurt him. I felt like I was a long way away from everyone else, talking to them from under a weight, and watching myself from the ceiling at the same time.
Christmas 2007 was horrendous. I'd never been suicidal before or truly anxious, but I was all these things. When I look back at home videos of this time, I can see my fear, see that I wasn't there, see that I wanted someone to come and rescue me from the prison of my consciousness. I kept wanting to scream, to scream and never stop.
So, on th 27th of December, I was admitted to a mother and baby unit in Melbourne. I spent a whole month there. Alex wasn't with me at first, so I spent New Years Eve 2007 in a mental institution. I was so horrendously, severely unwell, and I didn't know why someone didn't come and rescue me from it. If I was in that much physical pain, I'd be on the strongest painkillers. How could I pretend, and keep pretending to be normal, when how I felt was as far from normal as I had ever felt?
And it's not just how I felt, it's hearing the stories about how my sister in law drove Alex home all by herself, with him in her car seat. Because I'd been admitted to hospital again, because this illness was so horrendous that I thought everyone would understand if I just checked out of life. The time that my mum and sister looked after him. The fact that everyone loves him, because they all had to pitch in and look after him while I was busy being treated. I am grateful that Alex was shown such love. But I'd be lying if I wasn't deeply grieved for a long time that I couldn't be there for him. Because I loved him, so so so much. The psychs always said that I had a very strong connection with him. ...and how couldn't you?
I found a bit about how I felt at the time, and I enclose it below. To those of you who are suffering - it will end. As long as you keep living, it gets better. Today I have an amazing life.....but I can't help think about what I went through 5 years ago, what we all went through. I feel saddest for Richard...because he loved Alex and I so much...and he was so amazing. He never walked away from me, even when I was angry, horrible, bitter and full of hate. Neither did my mum, sisters, dad, and my amazing in laws. Girls from the youth group wrote me beautiful letters. Thank you, Klasine, Del, Frances and Jossy. Thank you, all who were there. I'm all better now. But I still remember.
Love,
Deb
Diary:
16 March07 - I love my husband but I hate him seeing me like this. In fact, I feel like saying to him and the rest of my family "Don't love me!", but I know I don't really want that.
24 April 07 - I am so afraid and so scared that I'll never be all right again. I feel really confused, like I'm stuck in a big black hole. Feel suicidal, like I just want to die....can I go home? I just feel like I want to pass out or die, I can't go on living like this.
18 May 07 - All I want is a good night's sleep, and to be able to sleep again. I miss sleep sooo much and I'm afraid I'll never sleep again. I can't believe that I will ever get better but I have to trust God. I would much rather be the one cheering other people up than the one going through this, wading through so much horrible anxiety and fear. Please God, release me from this horrible prison. Just a tiny little bit, just enough for me to go home and cope at home. I am so weak, Lord, please help me. Lord, this is hell on earth and I would really like to not feel like this for much longer.
A verse I love is Jeremiah 29:11 - For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future".
10 July 07.I feel unable to copeI feel scared that I'm going mad, feeling disconnected from everyone around me, I seem to be in a world of my own. I feel a sense of impending madness, s though I would fall over a high cliff at any moment, and this would signify my lost grip on reality.I can't enjoy anything about life anymore. All I think about is this illness and the feelings that I'm having. I keep thinking that I just want to be normal, why has this happened to me?
Psalm 13 is really good....David gives it to God in the first bit, I love it!
About May/June 08 I started to feel better. I started to be able to go out in public with Alex or by myself and not worry. Things have just kept on getting better.
And do you know what? I know that I'm stronger for having gone through this. I feel like I know I can get through stuff. I am woman, hear me roooooooooooooar! :)
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
You are why you eat.
I think too much. That's for sure. Part of my journey with weight loss, and Weight Watchers, has been unpacking some of the ways that I think and the ways that affects my food, mood and weight.
So.....I love watching those psychological experiment shows where they try to get people to lose weight, put on weight, and work on the way that they eat. Last night I watched a show that was about skinny people who were made to eat twice their regular calorie intake over four weeks. It showed that some of them put on weight, but some of them didn't. Isn't that weird? Some of their metabolisms were firing so strongly, that any more calories than they needed were put into muscle, automatically. Their bodies just did it by itself. This program also explored the idea that genetics has a big part to play in whether people overeat or not.
There seems to be a gene that makes people more susceptible to overeating and feelings of hunger. Through an MRI, they showed that obese people, who had lost some weight, had a brain reaction of being ravenously hungry when they saw food, even if they were full, or had just eaten. Isn't that amazing? So persons who have a predisposition towards weight gain not only have to fight the mental battle, but they have their bodies telling them that they are STARVING!
The skinny people in this show were not allowed to walk more than 5,000 steps in one day, and many of them found this difficult. And, once they had finished the four weeks of the study, they went back to their normal eating habits, and all of them lost the weight WITHOUT DOING ANYTHING.....eating what they needed and stopping when they were hungry was just their body's way of doing things. Wow. Doesn't that sound fabulous?
I have experienced a phenomenon in the past few days.....that I could relate to with the skinny people. It showed them eating lots, and not wanting to....that they were looking forward to getting into exercising again, that they didn't want to live with minimal exercise and shovelling food into their mouths. And I can totally relate! In the beginning of Weight Watchers, all I wanted to do was eat, and I felt fat and gross, and deprived, and that I couldn't keep doing it. But, gradually, as this thing has become a way of life....and I have learned to embrace healthy eating and to LOVE my treats...and include them daily....but to feel good about what I eat without feeling deprived.
Does that make sense? On the weekend, we had a family Christmas, and I ate:
Uncle Tobys' Oats, 4pp
Skim Milk, 4pp
Flaked Almonds 2pp
Beesting from Howlong Bakery 6pp (sooo yum!)
Chicken Breast 3pp
Greek Salad 4pp
6 x mini Milky Bars 9pp
2 x mini flakes 4pp
1 Milo snack bar 3pp
Gourmet Chicken Sandwich 12pp
Hot Chips, large serve 9pp
Cadbury Favourites, 13 pieces 14pp
71 Propoints, baby!! But....guess what? I ate what I wanted, stopped when I was full, didn't eat everything, and felt good about myself. After eating all the chocolate, I felt a bit piggy, and was glad to get back into eating good food again. And it's so nice not to have to beat myself up about having a little mini pig out. Because of the 49 weekly propoints, it's all completely legal.....there is no more forbidden food, and because of that, overeating is less of an issue. I dont' feel like I have to gorge myself, because I know that I can always have more of what I am eating tomorrow. And I can fill up on fruit and veg that make me feel fabulous.
Oh...and I had the beesting on the way to my nephew Petey's party....where a variety of party food was served...but because I'd had the delicious custardy creamy beesting, I was so full that I didn't need to eat anything there. I had that at 10am and didn't eat again until about 1pm...because I was craving exactly that, ate it, and didn't need to stuff myself full of other things that I didn't really want, just because I felt deprived. I think that's the number one reason why I used to overeat, because I felt lonely, sad, and because the food was so forbidden......I couldn't just have a little bit of it. There was no moderation...there was either "I am being good and eating salad and cottage cheese", or "I AM A SUGAR MONSTER AND MUST CONSUME EVERYTHING IN MY PATH"....
Yesterday I got up, had a 2 yummy crumpets with peanut butter, then some fruit salad with yoghurt and flaked almonds. It was delicious!! I went and did all my jobs, went to the gym, which felt fantastic, and realised I was hungry about 11.45. I did not feel hungry until then. For some people, who have never been totally at the mercy of their appetite and food thinking all their lives, this may not seem like a big deal...but for me it is a total, massive and amazing victory. I have always obsessed about food...but now I enjoy it. I listen to my body, eat what I want to, without guilt, enjoy a variety of healthy and unhealthy food, and feel like I am really getting on with the business of living, without being a prisoner to my thoughts any more.
So.....I may not get it all right every day, and I have massive self doubts sometimes.....but I see my life coming together in a way that I am so happy with....and I want that for you. Yes, you, reading this. I didn't ever think that I could be this free, and now I am. And so can you be.
Love always
Deb :)
So.....I love watching those psychological experiment shows where they try to get people to lose weight, put on weight, and work on the way that they eat. Last night I watched a show that was about skinny people who were made to eat twice their regular calorie intake over four weeks. It showed that some of them put on weight, but some of them didn't. Isn't that weird? Some of their metabolisms were firing so strongly, that any more calories than they needed were put into muscle, automatically. Their bodies just did it by itself. This program also explored the idea that genetics has a big part to play in whether people overeat or not.
There seems to be a gene that makes people more susceptible to overeating and feelings of hunger. Through an MRI, they showed that obese people, who had lost some weight, had a brain reaction of being ravenously hungry when they saw food, even if they were full, or had just eaten. Isn't that amazing? So persons who have a predisposition towards weight gain not only have to fight the mental battle, but they have their bodies telling them that they are STARVING!
The skinny people in this show were not allowed to walk more than 5,000 steps in one day, and many of them found this difficult. And, once they had finished the four weeks of the study, they went back to their normal eating habits, and all of them lost the weight WITHOUT DOING ANYTHING.....eating what they needed and stopping when they were hungry was just their body's way of doing things. Wow. Doesn't that sound fabulous?
I have experienced a phenomenon in the past few days.....that I could relate to with the skinny people. It showed them eating lots, and not wanting to....that they were looking forward to getting into exercising again, that they didn't want to live with minimal exercise and shovelling food into their mouths. And I can totally relate! In the beginning of Weight Watchers, all I wanted to do was eat, and I felt fat and gross, and deprived, and that I couldn't keep doing it. But, gradually, as this thing has become a way of life....and I have learned to embrace healthy eating and to LOVE my treats...and include them daily....but to feel good about what I eat without feeling deprived.
Does that make sense? On the weekend, we had a family Christmas, and I ate:
Uncle Tobys' Oats, 4pp
Skim Milk, 4pp
Flaked Almonds 2pp
Beesting from Howlong Bakery 6pp (sooo yum!)
Chicken Breast 3pp
Greek Salad 4pp
6 x mini Milky Bars 9pp
2 x mini flakes 4pp
1 Milo snack bar 3pp
Gourmet Chicken Sandwich 12pp
Hot Chips, large serve 9pp
Cadbury Favourites, 13 pieces 14pp
71 Propoints, baby!! But....guess what? I ate what I wanted, stopped when I was full, didn't eat everything, and felt good about myself. After eating all the chocolate, I felt a bit piggy, and was glad to get back into eating good food again. And it's so nice not to have to beat myself up about having a little mini pig out. Because of the 49 weekly propoints, it's all completely legal.....there is no more forbidden food, and because of that, overeating is less of an issue. I dont' feel like I have to gorge myself, because I know that I can always have more of what I am eating tomorrow. And I can fill up on fruit and veg that make me feel fabulous.
Oh...and I had the beesting on the way to my nephew Petey's party....where a variety of party food was served...but because I'd had the delicious custardy creamy beesting, I was so full that I didn't need to eat anything there. I had that at 10am and didn't eat again until about 1pm...because I was craving exactly that, ate it, and didn't need to stuff myself full of other things that I didn't really want, just because I felt deprived. I think that's the number one reason why I used to overeat, because I felt lonely, sad, and because the food was so forbidden......I couldn't just have a little bit of it. There was no moderation...there was either "I am being good and eating salad and cottage cheese", or "I AM A SUGAR MONSTER AND MUST CONSUME EVERYTHING IN MY PATH"....
Yesterday I got up, had a 2 yummy crumpets with peanut butter, then some fruit salad with yoghurt and flaked almonds. It was delicious!! I went and did all my jobs, went to the gym, which felt fantastic, and realised I was hungry about 11.45. I did not feel hungry until then. For some people, who have never been totally at the mercy of their appetite and food thinking all their lives, this may not seem like a big deal...but for me it is a total, massive and amazing victory. I have always obsessed about food...but now I enjoy it. I listen to my body, eat what I want to, without guilt, enjoy a variety of healthy and unhealthy food, and feel like I am really getting on with the business of living, without being a prisoner to my thoughts any more.
So.....I may not get it all right every day, and I have massive self doubts sometimes.....but I see my life coming together in a way that I am so happy with....and I want that for you. Yes, you, reading this. I didn't ever think that I could be this free, and now I am. And so can you be.
Love always
Deb :)
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