An Impossible Choice

What if you had the choice to be either fat and happy, or thin and witchy? Which would you choose?

I'm starting to wonder if these are my options. Yes, I'm sure there are shades of grey in there, but hear me out: my brain seems to have issues with its neurotransmitters. Namely, I don't think my serotonin/dopamine/beta-endorphin connections work properly. I say this from years of struggling with low-level anxiety (with some high-level flare ups), occasional depression, and pretty much daily irritability. I don't think my brain works properly.

It's possible my brain doesn't work properly because of the foods I choose to eat. I admit that. But I think it's more likely that the foods I choose to eat are impacted heavily by what my brain is screaming for, as there are certainly times in my life in which I've been avoiding lots of processed foods and still struggled with these feelings.

In the past I've gone on SSRI's for help - both times after my kids were born and I sank rapidly (hook, line, and sinker) into terrible, terrible post-partum anxiety and depression. Which is again a good reminder to me a lot of this battle is chemical, and nothing emotional reasoning seems to be able to change.

When I go on SSRI's, they do help with the irritability, and they definitely help when the anxiety gets out of control. They also have side effects. If I'm on a higher dose, I seem to be happier in some ways, but much less interested in my husband (sorry, honey). And, I've learned, I feel compelled to eat. Carbs. Chocolate. And lots of it.

The unintentional experiment which made me catch on to this happened in the last two years - I was still struggling with some irritability and asked to go up on the SSRI. Next thing I knew, I was eating all the time. I felt DRIVEN to eat. I gained 15+ pounds. When I realized this, I told the doctor I wanted to go back down. The compulsion lessened. I'm still a compulsive eater, I would still binge, but it was nothing like it had been when I was on the higher SSRI dose (plus, l got interested in my husband again! *waggly eyebrows*). So I stuck with the lower dose, even though my moods and my foods weren't perfect. The higher dose wasn't worth it to me.

Well, a few months ago I decided I wanted to see if I could get off the SSRI. Yes, I know, it seems silly - if it's working to ease the worst of the crappy moods, why change? I don't know. I wanted to see what I would feel like without chemical aid. AND we had decided to give our son 5HTP (a supposedly natural serotonin maker) to see if it helped HIS moods. I thought I'd try it on me, too - first, so that I could know if it did anything really wonky, and second, because the idea of having my body make MORE serotonin, rather than just keeping it from reabsorbing what little was there (a la the SSRI), seemed to make sense. So I've been taking 5HTP for about a month and a half.

I've been a bitch. No doubt about it. Yes, being sick for so long impacted that. But when your basic underlying feeling is witchiness, um, it doesn't feel good. So I decided about a week ago to up my 5HTP intake from 100 mg to 200 mg - I figured it was still half the dose I'd read might be appropriate (it's been hard to find dosage charts, but the one I did find recommends 2mg per pound of body weight, so at 200 mg I'm still well below what this chart recommends).

Have I felt better? Yes, actually, I have. Again, perhaps it's from coming out of the sickness. Perhaps it's even from trying to change my parenting style from Total Bitch to Gentle Counselor. Or maybe I could make that parenting switch *because* the 5HTP is making more feel-good serotonin? I don't know.

What I DO know is for the past week ALL I've wanted to do is EAT. EAT EAT EAT. And I have. I've been struggling with bingeing about every day. On bready sweet carbs. Today I even broke down and bought a chocolate bar - my binge food of choice. Yes, it was just one. But once I ate it, I went on to eat 2 croissants and some Doritos. Hello, Binge Monster. I hate you.

Battling the guilt in my head as I realized I'd just inhaled an entire day's calories in the space of about 10 minutes, I once again wondered what the heck was going on? I've been doing so well on SparkPeople, limiting calories and foods, dropping about 10 pounds. I wasn't even craving chocolate on Halloween and didn't eat any! But this week? Watch out!

And it finally occurred to me that the one change I had made was the 5HTP. I've doubled it. I've been nicer, but voraciously hungry for carbs. And I know some people say, "Well, just don't eat them! Don't keep them in the house! Eat veggies instead!" All great ideas, but it's like saying "Don't think about monkeys!" and trying to keep the image of a monkey out of your head, or turning on the faucet and telling someone not to think about peeing. It's not impossible, but it's darn hard.

I'm not saying it's 100% the 5HTP. Bingeing is a complex issue, compulsive overeating is complex struggle that tends to build on itself. However, it's going to be kind of easy to find out: I'm going to cut the 5HTP back in half and see what happens. *If* this insatiable drive to eat eases up, I'll know.

And then comes the choice: do I stay on a higher dose of 5HTP or Zoloft if it eases the Almighty Bitch, but drives me to eat? Because a side effect of all that eating is, um, more of me. And there's PLENTY of me as there is. Or do I decide to stay on a lower dose and want to bite people's heads off, but at least that's better than biting into chocolate? Is it true, as my husband jokes, that it really IS better to look good than to feel good? Because that's what it feels like it's coming down to right now: Medicate and gain the weight, or go au naturel and tell everyone to go to hell.

I'm sure in some ways it's not as Black and White as that. And perhaps forewarned is forearmed and I'll be able to summon the strength to resist the food now that I know (or have guessed) what's triggering the desire for it. But oh my GOD, I'm tired of this constant battle. It's exhausting. It's depressing. I may win a skirmish here or there, but overall I'm losing the war. And it's an impossible battle. I don't want to be this overweight. I CERTAINLY don't want to gain MORE weight. But I'm also really tired of feeling like such a grouchy, cranky, witchy, not-fun-to-be-around person/wife/parent. *I* don't even like me lately; I can't imagine what my family thinks.

So what would you choose? Fat and Sassy, or Bitchy but Thin(ner)?

Mother, Can You Spare A Dime?

An excerpt from my afternoon.

The scene: driving home from Walmart. We are two minutes from home. I am entering the left turn lane to turn into our neighborhood.

Ellie: "Mom, I'm sorry I put dat coin in my moufh."
Mom: "What?!? You put the coin you found in the parking lot into your mouth? Did you take it out? Take it out!"
Ellie: "I can't! It's stuck!"
Mom: "What do you mean, it's stuck? Did you swallow it?"
Ellie, beginning to whimper: "No, it's stuck! I can't get it"

I look into the rearview mirror and see the dime stuck perpendicularly in my daughter's bottom teeth.

Mom: "You put it in there and bit on it, didn't you?"
Ellie, crying: "Yeth! Get it out!!!"
Mom: "I can't, honey, I'm driving the car. Don't swallow it!"
Ellie, wailing: "I wan it out!"
Mom: "We're almost home, I can help you then - right now I'm driving the car!"

Ellie, crying. Then calmer: "Oh, I got it out."
Mom, reaching back: "Hand me the coin."
Ellie, whining: "I don want to!"
Mom: "Give - Me - The - Coin."
Ellie: "But I wan it!!!"
Mom: "When you stick coins in your mouth, you are not old enough to have coins in your possession."
Ellie, throwing a tantrum: "It's not fair!"

And how was  YOUR afternoon?

Words From The Back Seat

A recent conversation from the car:

Brett: *grumpy sigh at stop light.* *grumpy sigh at next stop light* *grumpy sigh and slouch at third stop light*
Anne: "My, my, my, you're sure grouchy about the lights today."
Brett: "No, I'm not."
Anne, laughing: "Well, you're throwing hissy fits like you are."
Brett: "This is not a hissy fit."
Anne, chuckling: "Yes, it is."
Brett, wryly: "No, it's not - look up the definition of hissy fit and you'll see that this is not it!"

Jefferson (in monotone voice, as if taking dictation): "Look - up - hissy - fit."
Eleanor, from the back row of the van: "*I* will look up 'hissy fit' when we get home because I'm a 'PUTER EXPERT!"

O.K., it cracked us all up. And ended the stoplight sighing.

Sick.

It seems like forever since I've written here. Apparently it's only been about 2 weeks, but that shows you how slowly times passes in the land of the sick. Sick. I've been sick. For what seems like forever.

At the beginning of October I had some sort of 2-day fatigue-and-oogy virus. No big deal. Except the next week I caught the Head Cold From Hell - which started out for 3 days feeling like allergies (although Claritin and Zyrtec did NOTHING), but by day 4 I could tell it was a cold with all the lovely phlegmy things a head cold entails. This cold stuck around for about 10 days.

Even that might not have been so bad, but then the last week of October I caught The Plague. O.K., it wasn't really the plague - just a bad flu-like virus. I'm guessing coxsackie virus, a..k.a. Hand-Foot-Mouth disease, based on the blisters in my throat. Then again, I'm not a doctor. But I saw one twice in the space of  5 days - that's how bad I felt. 101.8 temp for several days, chills, aches, severe sore throat, severe sore ears and swollen neck glands. Phlegm phlegm phlegm phlegm phlegm (I went through 7 boxes of Kleenex ON MY OWN). And a hacking, nasty cough. I just felt gawd-awful. And it lasted for pretty much 14 days.

2 + 10 + 14 = 26 days of illness in the space of about 5 weeks. Is that enough to discourage you? It was me. Because of course I'm not sick in a vacuum. I'm not sick in the times when it was easy to be sick - childhood, and college. I'm sick as a stay-at-home mom. That means I have to try to deal with my kids and every other mundane detail while sick. Or ask my husband to help, which means he misses work. And which means he gets in a bad mood after about a day or two. I don't exactly blame him, but I could do with a little more empathy and a little less Bitter Martyr Syndrome.

But by Tuesday of this week (11/9), I felt awesome! I went to the gym! I gloried in the sunshine! I had energy! Life was good! By Wednesday, my voice was hoarse for half the day. By today (Thursday), I have a mild sore throat and mildly sore ears and a SEVERELY bad attitude. I'm praying this does not turn into something bigger. And if it is, I'm hauling myself back to the doctor to find out if I have HIV or cancer or something. Because I don't know what else to do and I feel like I'm going to snap from the stress and frustration.

I guess it's like that dude from The Princess Bride said, "If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything..."

Count Me In!

I'm realizing lately how much I've counted myself out of. I've found myself saying I couldn't do this, couldn't be that, ought not to try the other. I've told myself I'm too fat and/or too old. Isn't that sad?

Yesterday I sketched out a list of all those things I've said "no" to (at least most of the time) "because" of my weight or my age. Here is the list:

• Looking pretty
• Feeling pretty
• Dressing nicely
• Running
• Exercising intensely and regularly
• Keeping my hair bleached blonde
• Short hair cuts
• Showing off arms or legs
• Dancing (seriously? I LOVE dancing! Why don't I do it more?)
• Jumping on the trampoline
• Playing nearly any physical game
• Thinking well of myself
• Treating myself well
• Eating well
• Being able to eat just one of something
• Thinking I can ever change
• Being a model for my kids
• Being able to achieve this goal, or most goals
• Feeling sexy
• Dressing sexy
• Acting sexy
• Sitting on most seats without worrying if they'll hold me
• Being comfortable on airplanes
• Being worried about fitting into amusement park seats
• Being "normal"
• Believing people like me just as I am
• Thinking I can be like most people (size-wise - I kind of prize my weirdness)

Well, no more. I cannot change my age. I might not be able to change my weight as much as I would like (although I'm working on it). But I can change my poisonous thinking, starting today.

What has brought about this strong desire to permanently eradicate this mindset? First it was taking care of my face and wearing a little bit of make-up again. I didn't really initiate those things so much on my own; they're a result of a neighbor starting up a Mary Kay business, and me wanting to support her. And of having her say she thinks I'm prettier than I let myself be. That was kind of eye-opening to me. And what I'm learning on the days when I actually "do my face" - either just cleaning it well or adding make-up to it - is that I DO feel prettier when I take care of myself. Duh.

I'd read a few years ago about a woman who decided to love herself unconditionally, large girth and all, and started by rubbing lotion into her legs every night and praising them for all they did for her. That was it. Every night, loving actions and loving words toward herself - and apparently she lost more than 100 pounds. I'm experiencing a little bit of that self-love when I take care of my face. Now I just need to do it every day!

As for my body - yes, I have had hurtful things said to me. Most from my childhood, though, if I'm honest about it. People have made judgments about it, and I've certainly felt the sting of rejection from being too big. But NONE of those words, judgments, or rejections have been as harsh or as frequent as what I've done to myself, and still do to myself daily. That will stop. I wouldn't want my daughter or son to talk to themselves in such a way, so why would I think it was O.K. for me to? And self-criticism and condemnation rarely bring about positive change, they just bring about punitive, destructive behavior. I don't want that anymore.

I may never get to a size most other people would consider normal, but I can get to a better size. I will not get any younger, but I can take care of what I have and show it off to its best potential.

There are days when I will do better at this, and days when I might not. That's O.K. But when it comes to my own life, from now on: COUNT ME IN!

And I Ran... I Ran So Far Away...

O.K., not really. It was more like a slow jog, and it certainly wasn't far - maybe a third of a lap at a time, sometimes half. One whole one at the end, just to prove I could. And I did. I ran.

For most people, this is probably no big deal, especially such a short distance at a time. For me, it's huge. I'm not a runner. I've never been remotely interested in running. What I mostly remember about running in childhood is being embarrassed that I was always the slowest one in the 600m gym class race (which I usually ended up mostly walking). So embarrassed that I've HATED running ever since.

My husband's a runner and has been so for years. He claims he doesn't like it, but I just don't buy that someone can really dislike it that much and still do it for 3+ hours a week, every week. I enjoy watching HIM run (*insert eyebrow waggle here*), but have always figured it was not for me. After all, I'm a Big Girl. Big girls don't run. Do they?

Lately I've been mulling over trying to run, just a little bit, but when I'm thinner, of course. Maybe when I'm under 200 pounds. I certainly can't do it now. Right? But this morning at the gym, I don't know what happened - I walking along just fine, at the beginning of my 3 mile walk, and suddenly felt like running. It took me 3 more laps to get over my self-consciousness; the track at my gym goes around all the fitness equipment and the aerobics room, so people can and often do glance at those of us using it. I didn't want people watching me run. I didn't want them noticing my butt bouncing up and down, or the weight on my back moving in rhythm to my music. I didn't want anyone making fun of me for only jogging a little bit at a time, or for jogging so slowly.

O.K., in reality I know no one is really interested in me enough there to do any of those things. They're all concentrating on their own bodies. And hopefully if they saw me running, they might momentarily think, "Hey, good for her, she's trying to run!" But boy, was it hard to break through the nerves. Britney helped me, though. Who, you ask? Britney Spears, of course. "Toxic" came on my mp3 player - one of my favorites from her, but one whose beat is too fast for me to walk to. So I ran!

And for several more laps, I alternated running when I felt like it and fast walking. I have to tell you, I felt so awesome! I don't know if the beta-endorphins were from the jogging or the joy of having overcome my own self-consciousness, and I don't care! Because I felt wonderful! Powerful! Capable!

I started fantasizing about running an actual mile. Then I started daydreaming about a half-marathon. Then I laughed at myself and realized the goal for now is one foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

We'll see how my knees feel tomorrow. But right now, *I* feel great.

Out of the Mouth of Babes (In this case, Eleanor)...

Ellie and I were driving on South Main Street in Harrisonburg today when suddenly she yelled, "I want dat house!" Looking around and seeing mostly businesses, I asked, "Which house?" "DAT one," she said excitedly. "The one wiff da pink and da BARBIE on it!"

Bwah ha ha. She was referring to Pamela's Secrets. The somewhat run-down white house with pink trim on it, with a sign that features, yes, a rather Barbie-doll looking blonde woman with big hooters. It's an "adult novelty" store.

Oh, Barbie. If you only knew. It cracked me up completely, I have to say. Although Ellie couldn't quite comprehend why I was chortling with glee.



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