My diet sucks… or maybe better stated my nutrition is severely lacking…

I was going to write this wonderful blog post about my Pastor’s sermon about the process of sin, and how it applies to my life, to my doubts, to my self-harm, but instead I want to talk about how this downward spiral in mental health has effected (affected??) (my brain isn’t working today) my nutrition/diet.

Last year I spent about 6 successful months doing 21 day fix by Beachbody.  For those that don’t know it’s basically a sugar free, whole food, portion control plan. And then we moved, and slowly my diet got to be more — American normal. Too big portions, too many carbs, addicting sugar…. But when I started this downward spiral into anxiety, depression and OCD my food went to hell. Literally. The past week my diet has pretty much consisted of bananas (yay), natural almonds (yay again), cocoa pebbles (oops- and sometimes even all 3 meals in a day), ice cream, decaf coffee (with half and half and stevia if you were wondering), vanilla Chai tea (340 calories and tons of sugar if you were wondering) and caramel frappees (spelling?) from McDonalds – anywhere from 440-680 calories depending on if I get a small or a large, and diet crush.  Sounds AWESOME right? If there was one thing I learned from 21 day fix it was garbage in garbage out.  But I just can’t seem to get my food under control. I want to eat crap.  I don’t want to take the time to peel carrots, or make eggs. My dinners are usually pretty good because my poor husband has been coming from from work and cooking dinner.  Which makes me feel even worse about myself. I hate my body right now.  But at the same time I just don’t have what it takes to fuel my body in the way it needs to be. I suck.

So on that note, my anxiety the past  days has been terrible.  Almost as terrible as before I started taking Valium.  I took 7.5mg at 8:30 this morning and when I sat down in church I had a panic attack- sweating shaking nausea type of panic attack.  It was only 10:00, and I took another full dose of valium to make it through church. It’s now 2:44pm and I am shaking inside and out and feel like my world is closing in, another panic attack is on it’s way.  So I took my another dose.  So technically I shouldn’t take anymore today…. I don’t know if I will make it till bedtime without taking it again.

Hubby tells me I have been sleeping very restlessly at night too, more restless than he’s ever seen me in the 20 years we’ve been sharing a bed. I am tossing, turning, waking up talking and hollering.  Last night I was hollering my daughters name reaching for her over and over and over, loud enough it woke him up, he let it go on about 4 times before he told me she was in her bed, and everything was ok. This is something new for me.  I am waking up with severe tremors.  And I feel uneasy unless the valium is pretty fresh in my system.  I am looking forward to sharing this with my counselor and my med doctor this week. Im hoping we can get to the bottom of these symptoms.

Broken and Redeemed- or just Broken?

I’m reading and following along with an online Bible study from Loving God Greatly called Broken and Redeemed. 

I’m really struggling though as I read the blog posts.  I believe in God, I believe Jesus saved Me. I believe He is at work in our lives. BUT I don’t understand how to just turn my feelings of anxiety, fear, hopelessness, depression, loneliness, worthlessness off.  I read His word.  I listen to worship music almost constantly. I have a truth book in my purse with several verses of hope, love, comfort. Verses meant to show me I’m not alone.  I believe He’s here, with me, but it seems as I read these blogs these people have these great revelations and all of a sudden it all makes perfect sense, the storm they’re in.  And suddenly they see the purpose in the storm.

Am I doing something wrong? Am I not faithful enough? I guess my prayer is for the Lord to help my belief in my unbelief? Or through my doubts? Or give me His eyes.  Because I don’t know how to find this revelation that will bring me immediate peace, understanding and healing.  

Does anyone else out there know the answer? 

Labels

How do you label yourself?  

For me it’s usually: 

Fat, ugly, failure, depressed, anxious, grumpy, irritated, impatient, tired, busy, lazy, indifferent, numb. 

But then today at co-op a mom basically told me teaching was my calling. I sent her a message thanking her because I hadn’t wanted to go to co op and her saying that made my day.  Her response was a label she gave me:

“I truly see a gifted teacher. We r blessed that these kiddos have you. ”

Gifted teacher.  Not one I would have given myself.  I rarely have anything nice to say about myself, and I’m not even sure I believe her because I rarely feel like I am doing a good job when teaching these kids.  But her comment at the time made me feel a little less blue, and a little less like I didn’t want to be there. Maybe I’m not a complete failure at everything?

I don’t know what to do…

At the beginning of the year, I was super mom.  I was teaching a co-op class, going to another co-op, doing bible studies (yes more than one), keeping house and that’s just to name a few.  By now everything has dropped away except teaching a co-op class.  And I just don’t know if I can do it. I am dreading going today.  I don’t want to leave the house, I want to stay in comfy pants, I want to take a nap, I don’t want to do a project with a bunch of first thru 5th graders.  I should have told them I couldn’t do it anymore, I actually did, and then retracted because I felt guilty.  I want to retract my retraction. Leaving the house is getting harder and harder, and it seems like I have to leave every day. I just want to stay home.

I am seriously thinking about just not going today, sending out a may day email asking for someone to cover for me, but then my kids would miss out too.  They are working on a theater performance and they need the practice. I need motivation. I need courage. I need… I don’t know what I need.

Life should be getting easier but it isn’t. I am worn to the bone from counseling yesterday, that took so much out of me.  I have zero energy. And yesterday we got a mixed bag of news about hubby yesterday.  He needs spinal surgery. And his doctor would support his application for permanent disability.  He has so many diagnoses I am not sure how hard it would be to get the benefit, but it also means he loses his business, the thing he’s built for the past couple years, the reputation he’s built. This is really affecting his psyche. Which in turn is causing me a great deal of stress. I can’t do anything to change the situation, which means I have no control, which means I am going to just worry and be anxious about it all.

Why can’t I just hide out and not leave the house? oh yeah…. I want more for my children… the most important thing I do.

Well I made it…

I made it through my first session, and my first gut reaction was correct, I had diarrhea of the mouth. I went from topic to topic that seemed to make sense to me in my head at the time but later as I was thinking I must’ve seemed like a squirrel with ADHD.  We talked about my childhood, my dad then and my dad now.  We talked my children, and that I don’t want them to suffer the same fate as me.

One of the first things I said to her was a thought that occured to me when I was driving to the appointment- I never had a chance.  That little girl that still lives inside of me, she never had a chance. The grade-schooler that was miserable with the kids being cruel to her and then her father being cruel when she got home – she never had a chance. The middleschooler who was depressed, overweight and being made fun of at school and home, she never had a chance.  That teenager, who was a recluse, had very few friends – she never had a chance.  Even that lovely, thin, girl who thought she was fat and ugly, who met a wonderful boy at 17 years old.  Even though he rescued her from the homelife she suffered she didn’t have a chance.

I picture the little girl inside me, with her hair and curly pigtails, a blue flowered dress, with lace around the collar, made by her mom, wearing white socks with lace trim and her shiny black patent leather shoes.  This is quite literally her, at age 4.  I have blurred my face as I am not yet ready to share with those who know me all the scars I carry.

She’s sitting there, on a chair, legs crossed at the ankles swinging her little legs back and forth too small to reach the floor.  I see her face smiling, but I can see her eyes. Her eyes don’t lie. She is sad, deep inside because she knows she’s not enough.  She’s not enough for her father, and if she’s not enough for him, she’ll never feel like she’s enough for anyone else. I want to hug her.  I want to tell her that I know her pain, because I am her.  I want to tell her that it will all turn out ok, but that would be a lie.  That little girl haunts me, day and night. What’s worse, is my daughter is practically a clone of that little girl. I am so extra protective of my daughter, almost as if I protect her enough it’ll save the little girl inside me.  But I know that’s not true.  I don’t know if that little girl in the blue dress will ever be ok.  Or if she’ll end up looking like Voldemort at the end of Goblet of Fire.Voldemort's_rudimentary_body_(concept_artwork_for_HP4_movie)

I want to look inside me and see her running through a field of dandelions, her favorite thing to do, I want to see her pigtails flying behind her, with an uninhibited laugh.  Not nervous that she might do something to make Daddy mad that would end up causing her pain.  I want her to be free of the memories of Daddy beating Mommy.  I want her to be free from the pain of beatings, taunting, teasing and ridicule.  I want her memories and thoughts to be of loving and being loved.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to give that little girl that gift, but I sure hope by the end of this that I will be able to love and be loved.  That I will be able to be happy, that I will feel better that I won’t feel like I am less than, that I will be able to know that I am a free, loved, cherished child of God.  I want to know that I will pass that on to my children, not pass on the generational brokenness that comes with my family history. 

It occurred to me…

As I was driving home from another doctor appointment where at least the doctor seemed to LISTEN to me about my hip- tho still prescribing PT first- whatever- and I was scratching my arms out of frustration, driving home without my seatbelt and thinking about how easy it would be to run myself off the road and end it all, it occurred to me that maybe at some point wanting and loving my husband and children won’t be enough.  Maybe they won’t be enough to keep me from seriously hurting myself.  Scratching is pretty beningn – yes it counts as self harm but still in the grand scheme of things pretty innocuous…. what will I do then? When they aren’t enough? 

Maybe that’s a good start for counseling today? 

I don’t remember this from last time…

As I watch the scratches I made on my arm fade (yes they are still there – tho very faint now) – here’s a pic from yesterday- 

I find myself missing them.  Wanting them back. Wanting to do it again.  I scratched in high school. I don’t know what precipitated it, how long I did it or how I stopped- though I vaguely remember my mom having the school nurse do random arm checks… interesting she (my mom) didn’t do them herself. 

But why now do I have the compulsion to do it when I’m not sad, rage-filled or frustrated? Maybe I’m stressed, I certainly have a lot of stressors in my life, but when I look at my arm it’s like something is missing.  I just want them there I want to feel my sleeve rubbing against them and the scratches burning. When did I get this messed up? Will I ever feel “normal” again? 

Tomorrow I see my counselor for the first time.  I’m nervous. I don’t know where to start, what to share, how much to share.  Will I get diarrhea of the mouth like I do when I see my son’s counselor for updates on him or will I just sit there wondering where to start? Childhood abuse? The happenings of the past 3 years that have pushed me over the edge?  That I often feel my sanity is hanging by a rope with just a small strand left?  That I’m not sleeping well again? That I’m irritable again? That I don’t want to leave my house- like ever- unless it’s with one of my few “safe” people. That my OCD is affecting my children?  That I want to keep scratching? That I spend almost all day playing solitaire on my phone and napping and I feel like a lazy sloth of a parent? Or maybe I just shouldn’t say anything at all. Or maybe I should comment on things in her office like I do to my psychiatric NP.  Her choice in art, that she has no tea bag in her cup today. Where’s the broken clock that’s ticking?  Why is the wall behind her blank? I’ve been in this counselors office before for my intake and there is certainly no lack of things to notice and talk about. She has a shelf of Barbie type dolls on the top shelf one of Rosie ODonnell one of Mimi from the Drew Carey show… I wonder if she’ll sit behind her desk- I don’t think I’ll like that, it’s too far away from where I’ll have to sit, I’ll feel like I have to yell. I’ll feel like it’ll be a barrier between us…. 

We’ll see tomorrow I guess…