Squinting my eyes shut I whisper to no one, ” I wish I could lose weight.” Slowly exhaling a deeply held breath the candle in front of me flickers a moment and then is blown out. I eat my cake, enjoying each savory bite, washing it down with a large glass of Dr.Pepper wondering why I just can’t lose weight.
You may laugh, but we all do it. Wish away our worries, our ailments, our pains, while feeding them like a prized pig we’re trying to fatten up for the upcoming fair.
For those who haven’t noticed, I’m suffering from a recent bout of borderline severe depression. That’s not an easy thing to admit to others, let alone to yourself. The stigma surrounding depression is an awful thing for the depressed. It hinders them from the exact actions that would help them, such as speaking openly about it or seeking professional help.
As my blogging years have passed though I’ve developed quite an interesting perspective on the issue of revealing too much. Frankly, I don’t really give a fuck. People are going to think what they want to think regardless of what I do or say or write, so fuck it. I’ll throw it all out here. Then again, maybe that’s the depression talking.
Depression is a funny thing. Well, I might just have a twisted sense of humor about it. This morning I woke up and, like I always do, prepared a pot of coffee. I poured a cup and added some sugar. I walked to the fridge and grabbed my half empty container of liquid creamer, a “treat” in my household. There are about five feet between the fridge and the counter where my coffee mug waited. In those five feet I actually thought about leaving my husband so that I could have my creamer to myself. As it is something I rarely buy and had just gotten the other day.
I actually laughed inside my head at this thought as I poured the delicious liquid into my coffee.
It’s a frickin’ 2 dollar bottle of creamer. Creamer that I shouldn’t really be drinking anyway that goes into coffee that I also shouldn’t be drinking. I really don’t give a fuck if other people use it. It was 100% the depression talking. Plus I totally love my husband. He’s my best friend. I don’t want to leave him. But, THAT is the kind of shit depression likes to pull.
Now that I’ve acknowledged the cause behind my most recent um, meltdowns, (like the blog I wrote the other day for example) I can better put into proper perspective the thoughts and feelings that I am experiencing. I’ve also doubled up my dose of Welbutrin, like the doctor ordered, months ago.
Anyways, I did want to make a point of speaking openly about my depression, as it’s difficult to hide when trying to blog the way I blog, plus it’s just plain unhealthy for me to not talk about it. One must always strive to bring light to darkness.
But, that’s not really what I wanted to talk about today. What I wanted to talk about was my ridiculous “habit” of wishing away things while not working to resolve the issue, or worse yet contributing to it.
Yesterday I went to the doctor. The shitty doctor that I hate seeing but have no other choice as I’ve yet to get into a ‘real’ doctors office since we moved, over a fricking year ago. Yes, I’m slightly frustrated over that, but….
There I sat in his waiting room for about 30 minutes. Though unusual for him, not too bad compared to the length of time I’ve waited in other waiting rooms. Finally I got called back where the nurse took my vitals and said the doctor would be with me shortly. I was anxious to see the doctor as I had some things that, despite my opinions of him, reached the point that they needed to be addressed. I believe that my high blood pressure is merely a symptom of an underlying condition. While this underlying condition could be something as obvious as obesity, like I’m sure he assumes, I have other symptoms he is unaware of that suggest a thyroid or kidney problem. I wouldn’t mind having them ruled out.
Perhaps there’s a doctor out there, or someone else out there that could be helped in some way by my revealing these exact symptoms. Plus having a record of a list may benefit me given I actually get more than 30 seconds of this doctors attention, or get into a real doctor. So, aside from uncharacteristic massive weight gain, I also have diagnosed high blood pressure. Hypertension stage 2. I also suffer increasingly more frequent and severe episodes of depression and anxiety. I have only ever had to be medicated for this issue once in my life for less than three months when I was dealing with postpartum depression after I had my son, 12 years ago. I have been medicated for a year now, with a need for increased dosage. On top of that I have had one menstrual cycle in the last 5 months. My husband is “fixed”. I also took a test. I am not pregnant. While I don’t prefer to complain about this, I’d rather be assured that nothing is wrong.
To me, treating high blood pressure, if it is caused by an underlying condition, without treating an underlying condition is as helpful as treating COPD in a patient that continues to smoke…. I say while smoking a cigarette.
I apologize, I’m all over the place today. Yesterday, when the doctor finally came in for the 10 seconds I saw him, he noticed that my blood pressure was high, 179/98, and ordered the nurse to retake it. I never saw the doc again, but the nurse took my blood pressure another three times before tricking the machine into the lowest reading we could get. I was “safe” to leave.
While I laid there trying to relax my body and lower my blood pressure so I could go home rather than the emergency room I thought of a few things. I thought of the pot of coffee I drank while blogging that morning. I thought of the pack of cigarettes I smoked as I went about my day. I thought about the large Dr. Pepper and jar of delicious pickles I had been consuming on my way to the docs. I thought about how stupid I was.
Naturally, I was scared. I’ve been in near death situations three times in my life, well two because the accident doesn’t truly provide a good example. I used to have an extra valve in my heart that increased my heart rate when activated. This was diagnosed when I was rushed into the emergency room one day with a heart rate pushing 200 beats per minute. Immediately my hospital room was filled with doctors and nurses and specialist. The paddle machine to restart your heart was wheeled in. My husband left the room, unable to watch any more. They needed to give me a medicine that would slow my heart down. The risk? It might stop my heart. Hence the paddles. Tears started streaming down my face. I was terrified. Of course, this shot my heart rate to nearly 300. I was on the brink of a massive heart attack, explosion. I was like 23 years old tops. There was a nurse there I’ll never forget. As the tears streamed down my face she rushed to my side. She held my hand and whispered calming words through the entire thing.
Obviously, I came out okay and had SVT ablation surgery to prevent further issues.
The other time I was on the brink of death I had a severe infection that entered my blood stream. I was seconds away from complete organ shut down. Again I was rushed to the emergency room, surrounded by a host of doctors and nurses. I was 21 when that happened.
I also, on numerous occasions watched my dying father get rushed into the hospital. I have learned one thing through all of this, when ‘they’ pay attention to you, something is seriously wrong. A thing to keep in mind when you’re sitting in the er waiting room for hours waiting to be treated. Be thankful for the wait, the alternative is not what you truly want.
So, when the doctor glanced at my vitals and immediately yelled for the nurse, well, my blood pressure probably shot through the roof. I was scared.
Wanna know the really stupid part though? Guess what I’m doing right now? Come on, take a guess….
Sitting here blogging, drinking cup after cup of coffee, stubbing an ever growing pile of cigarette butts into the ashtray.
For dinner last night, I ate brats. Oh they were delicious. My fat ass ate FOUR of them! Four over processed, loaded with sodium, brats.
In my defense I did have a 24 ounce glass of ice water too.
I wish I could lose this weight, I whisper to no one as I blow the candle out and eat the entire cake.
We all do it. We wish away our worries, our ailments, our pains, while feeding them like a prized pig we’re trying to fatten up for the upcoming fair.
We look around us every day. We complain about our problems. We get angry at the doctors who don’t listen, the friends that don’t understand. But really…
How bad does it have to get before we stop eating the cake?