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[feelingfreak]

weekend!

Today will be day 6 of p90.  We have yet to finish a video, but we’ve made progress.  We’re coming from being almost completely sedentary all day, so this is not a surprise.

I’m very pleased with how things are progressing.  There are many things I’m working on right now, and I’m not expecting to get to everything right away or even perfectly.  I can see progress in all areas except smoking.  Still no urge to gamble.  I stopped eating meat.  I’ve been saying affirmations every day.  My body already feels better.  My mood is even better than it already was.

Yes, I’m very pleased.

[feelingfreak]

here we go!

Today is Day 3 of exercising.  My wife and I are trying p90.  We haven’t completed any videos yet, but we’ll get there.  We’re both very out of shape and are trying to make sure we don’t overdo it or injure ourselves.  I definitely always feel better after some kind of physical activity.  Which makes sense, based on the science!

My eating has not been ideal.  Not even close.  I have greatly reduced the amount of soda I drink, though.  I’ve lost several pounds, and I’m pretty sure it’s just water weight.  I started a new medication, Jardiance, that replaced Farxiga.  They work pretty much the same way, but I’ve definitely been drinking lots more water.

Every day for a while now, I’ve been “doing my affirmations,” as I like to call it.  I wrote about them in my first post.  I think it’s been helping with my poor self-image.  I’ve been kinder to myself.  I’ve also been trying to pray every day.  I’m still not sure what I believe, but I do believe in some kind of intelligence behind all *this*.

Right now, I’m feeling pretty good.  The day didn’t start out that way, though.  I was very sad earlier and I’m not sure why.  This new medication, Latuda, I’ve been taking is helping.  Either that or it’s the other stuff I’m doing, because it all started around the same time.  It’s still my goal to be 100% medication free, but I’ll keep taking the help until I’m ready. 

I’ve decided that I want to be emotionally healthy for at least six months, preferably a year, before I start trying to get a job.  When I tried to go back to college last fall, I failed miserably because I couldn’t handle the stress.  I can’t even imagine trying to work a 9 to 5 right now!  I feel like I’m in a precarious situation and just one wrong step could throw everything else off course.  Yes, for about 3 weeks, I’ve been happier and more stable.  But counter that with a lifetime of mania and depression...Yeah.  I need time to make sure it will last.

Honestly, I’ve been concerned that I’m either manic or hypomanic.  That’s certainly kind of how I feel.  I’m not having delusions, though, which usually accompany those states for me.  I’m also not jumping from one thing to another.  My thoughts have been a little crazy than what my “normal” is, but not so severe that I can’t reign them in.  I just don’t trust how I feel.  Every time in recent memory that I feel this good, it’s quickly followed by debilitating depression.  I guess it’s natural that I’d be worried.  I’m trying not to dwell on it, though, because I want to be here now.  I want to be present and enjoy what seems like monumental change.

Well, my cuter-than-should-be-legal dog is trying to get my attention, so I leave this update here.

[feelingfreak]

of monsters and moms

When I was a child, elementary and middle school ages, my mother was crazy.  In fact, she was emotionally abusive and negligent of my needs.  I was terrified of her.  It wasn’t until my younger brother was born that she started to change.  I was 12 when he was born.

My older brother and I, like many children our age, had chores to complete before Mom came home.  If we didn’t finish, she would yell and scream at us.  She’d throw and break things.  One time, she broke all the dirty dishes in the sink because we hadn’t cleaned them.  After she was finished yelling, she’d usually go to her bedroom, then come out and apologize, tell us she loved us, that we made her go crazy, and make us tell her that we forgave her.

Sometimes she’d just snap and start yelling without a cause that I know of.  We never knew what kind of mood she’d be in when she got home.  I was always afraid.  Always.

When I was in 6th grade, I remember being pulled out of my math class by the guidance counselor.  She took me to her office, where Mom was waiting.  My teachers were concerned that I seemed depressed.  I was.  I had already been cutting myself, not that Mom knew.  She never knew until I told her when I was 16.  They asked me if I’d like to talk to someone about feeling sad.  I said yes.  Mom promised me she’d take me to see someone.  She didn’t. 

When I was younger, I fell frequently and got hurt.  Mom took me to the doctor.  I remember him asking me if, deep down inside me, there was a smiley face or a sad face.  I told him a sad face.  He told Mom that he thought I needed a psychological evaluation.  She scoffed and never got me one.

Mom married an alcoholic when I was 11.  He made things even more miserable, especially when he WASN’T drinking and had no work.  It wasn’t all bad.  I gained some cousins and we spent time at a lake during the summer.  But I was extremely unhappy.  My step-father had some kind of violent outburst and ended up slamming a door on my mom’s arm.  She kicked him out and promised to never let him come back.  Another broken promise.  She took him back, but it didn’t last long.

By this time, my little brother was born and Mom started to be less unpredictable.  More happy.  Sometimes, I’m jealous of my little brother for the mother he grew up with.  She was always there for him.  I guess she learned from her mistakes.  Overall, I’m extremely glad that he didn’t have to experience what I did.

Fast forward several years.  I’m 16, a junior in high school.  I start to scare myself with how much I’m considering taking my own life.  I think about it almost every day.  I cut myself frequently.  Desperate for help, I finally tell Mom that I’ve been hurting myself and that I need help.  I saw the family physician who prescribed me an antidepressant.  Mom also got me in to see a counselor, but it was through a church service and I was going through a Wicca phase.  The counselor had me play with toys and asked what they were feeling and even made a comment about Wicca when I told her I was exploring my spirituality.  Obviously, I was very uncomfortable with her and never went back to see her.  Mom never took me to see anyone else.  Well, not until I was 21 and in the midst of a crisis away at college.  Those are details for another time, though.

I’m angry.  My older brother had physical issues that Mom took care of.  She never took care of me.  She never gave me what I needed.  Never.  My therapist thinks my anger has worked as a defense mechanism to protect me from the pain my mother has caused me.  I think she’s right.  When I think about it and start to feel the pain, I immediately get angry and end up not feeling the pain and sorrow.  I never get to the point where I can heal.  Even typing this out, I’ve been getting angrier and angrier, pounding my fingers on the keyboard.

My childhood wasn’t all horrible, of course.  There were good moments.  Maybe more than the few I can remember.  But I mostly remember the fear and the sorrow and loneliness I felt.  When my little brother was born, I didn’t feel quite as lonely.  He was a light in my darkness.

I often think of my mother, as she was, as a “monster.”  I equate expressing anger with being a monster.  I do not like expressing anger.  I’ve always felt like it was unacceptable, because of how my mother made me feel--unloved, insignificant, afraid, useless.  I tend to ignore anger and bottle it up.  I actually have done this with most emotions over the years.  I’m just uncomfortable with emotions.  Even joy, once it reaches a certain point, makes me uncomfortable.

So here I am, almost 36-years-old, trying to learn how to healthily handle emotions.  Something a little ironic is that my mom was a social worker and had a degree in psychology.  You’d think things would’ve been different.  I don’t blame Mom for all my problems.  There’s another, smaller, part of my childhood that I don’t deal with well and was afraid to tell her about, which actually made things worse.  I also have bipolar disorder.  They aren’t too sure about the causes, so it could be related to the trauma I experienced, but I don’t blame Mom for that.

Anyway, I’ve cried while writing this and that felt good.  I’m trying to allow myself to experiences emotions.  Only by experiencing them, can I heal.  I’m just realizing how true that this is.  I wanted to share all of this anonymously, which is why I’ve written it down here.

[feelingfreak]

in the beginning...

I’m embarking on a new journey.  My destination is the land of wellness.  My goal on this blog is to share my journey, so that someone may find inspiration, consolation, solidarity, or just something good.  If no one reads, that’s okay, too.  I want to document my progress and talk about it, even if I’m talking to myself!

There are many things I’m taking on right now:  poor physical health, bipolar disorder, self hatred, smoking, gambling, emotional eating, and diabetes. 

Ultimately, I would like to be able to manage my mental health issues without medication.  (Don’t worry, this would be done with the guidance of a psychiatrist and counselor.)  How, you ask?  By processing my emotions, being aware of what may trigger a mood swing, and having a plan to deal with a manic or depressive episode.  I’ve taken medication almost my entire adult life, and I’m at a point where I feel like I don’t know the real me anymore.  I’m not at all like I was before I started medication, but I don’t know if that’s because I’ve changed over the years or because of the medication.  I know I haven’t had true happiness and peace of mind since I was around 21 or 22.  I’m almost 36 now.

I’d also like to be able to manage my diabetes without medication.  Unfortunately, I have an eating problem.  I emotionally eat.  When I’m sad or stressed, I turn to food, and then I’m even more unhappy because I’ve overeaten and eaten a ton of junk and gained weight again.  Again, I hope to deal with this by processing my emotions instead of just shoving them down and ignoring them.  Also, I want to eat a plant-based diet.  This won’t be easy.  I’m going to slowly start to incorporate more plant-based meals into my every day and eventually, I’ll get there.  Hopefully, this will help me control the diabetes and lose weight.

As far as smoking goes, I’ve quit before, and I”ll quit again.  I have a few cigarettes left in this pack, and then that’s it.

And then there’s the gambling.  I’m not someone who anyone would call “spiritual,” but I do believe in some kind of god.  I’ve prayed for help so many times, only to fail again and again.  But recently, I had a heart-to-heart with “god,” and I haven’t had the urge to gamble or even thoughts of it since.  Was it God?  I don’t know, but I hope it sticks.

For the self hatred, I’ve started saying affirmations every day.  Things like, “I love myself.  I have compassion for myself.  I deserve this love and compassion.  I am worthy.  My weight and physical appearance do not determine my value.  All humans, including myself, have the same intrinsic value and nothing can change that.”  I even include visualizations of healing, body and mind, and of how I’d like to live my life.  I’ve noticed a subtle shift of how I view myself, and I’ve only been doing this for less than a week.

This road I’m on is long and definitely uphill, but I’m going to make it, and I won’t stop once I get to the top.  There will always be a journey.  This is just the beginning of a new one.