It's Been So Long

First the good news: I'm back to (mostly) sleeping again and eating regularly. Also, Zumba's about to pick up to 3 times a week and then I'll have a hot bod just in time for winter.

Now the bad news: I don't get to go back to Minnesota till after Christmas. BUT when I do go, CJ is coming with me. So I'm happy about that. She can't wait to build a snowman and make snowangels and catch snowflakes and most of all, SEE LUKE.

Let's see... what else is going on? Ed and I are doing great. We're excited to get remarried, but not in a hurry. We've learned a little patience over the last few years.

CJ starts school in a week. Yeesh, where'd the time go? She's all ready for it though. Her school supplies have been bought and I got her some new clothes today. She had her Kindergarten screening earlier this week and did "outstanding," so at least I'm not worried about her starting out behind.

I'm feeling... eh. Okay, I guess. I don't have a lot of energy and I still struggle with my issues, but things aren't worse. I guess I should take that and be happy.

Stay tuned. I hope to have lots of updates in the coming weeks from CJ starting school and life in general.

XOXO

Trazadone: I love you so hard right now!

Y'all. Trazadone is the bomb diggity. It keeps me asleep! Combine it with a Benadryl and some Valerian Root and I just wake up when the alarm goes off. Hope springs eternal. Let's see if we can get it to keep doing its job! :)

Solving life's mysteries one anxiety ridden night at a time...

Y'all. I'm pissed. PIIISSSSSED. It's 4am here in (I can't even say sunny because it's still before the buttcrack of dawn) Florida and I've been up for two, count em, TWO mother-f'in hours.

WHISKEY.

TANGO.

FOXTROT?

This week alone I've taken Valium. I've taken Klonopin. I've taken Vistaril. I've taken Dramamine. 

NOTHING. KEEPS ME. ASLEEP. 

I'm on the verge of breaking Conrad Murray outta jail and asking for the Michael Jackson special (Not the death part. Good Lord, y'all. I heart myself too much!) I just want the sleepy juice. Propophol: Come to Mama!

On the plus side of things, my house is nice and clean. After I abandoned all hope of going back to sleep, I got up and swiffered the floors, dusted, picked up my closet, wiped down the kitchen counters, loaded the dishwasher and coordinated my jewelry. 

I also discovered the answers to a few of life's great mysteries. If you'd prefer to suffer and solve these on your own, I won't be offended if you stop reading now. If you'd like to make me feel like my anxiety is actually somewhat productive, by all means, please forge ahead.  

Mystery #1: "How does one have enough time and energy to do herself up like a Kardashian at the NBA Draft?"

Answer: (***SPOILER ALERT***) One doesn't frickin sleep. I might feel like poo, but my hair's gone be did, my juuury gone be coordinated, my DSW Steve Maddens gone be spiffed up, my makeup's gone be perfect... BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

Mystery #2: "What do you do when there aren't enough hours in the day to do it all?"

Answer: (***SPOILER ALERT***) You don't frickin sleep. House? Clean. Laundry? Done. Checkbook? Balanced. Car? Detailed. (<--- don't ask) 

I'd keep going, but I think you get the drift. The answer to getting it all done is OCD induced insomnia. 

You're welcome. 

Abilify: Because sometimes Prozac AND Buspar just ain't enough

First of all, a vacation recap:

It was pretty awesome. Not as awesome as August, but really, what can top partying with the Vikings? (Answer: NOTHING) It was great to get away for a week and it was REALLY great to see my BFF and sleep in The Cave and enjoy the nice cool weather and no humidity. My sinuses cussed me GOOD when I got back to the South. 

Of course, the day after I get back from Minnesota I have a doctor's appointment. Dr. Morse added Abilify to my already potent mixture of Prozac and Buspar. I've only been on the Abilify for a couple of days, but he's very hopeful that it will help me "separate" from the eating disorder. 

One thing I've noticed is that my body is now responding to hunger. Not with an "Ooh! I'm hungry." But with the shaky, clumsy, low blood sugar symptoms. (In other words, I fall. A lot. It's embarrassing. And painful. And that's all I have to say about that.) That's good though. At least now I have a reason to eat vs. being able to talk myself out of it. 

This is definitely an on-going thing. I have a calorie tracker and I have to watch myself because once I hit 1,200 calories, I just wanna stop eating. But I know that's not the point of the exercise; I'm supposed to EXCEED 1,200 calories and get closer to 15-1,800. 

I'm also flat worn out. Just dog-A tired from all of the internal battle combined with lack of sleep. They ain't lyin, y'all- stress kills. 

Anyways, for the most part I'm keepin it between the ditches (as we say down here). All of the positive thoughts are most appreciated. 

XOXO 

The Prozac Diaries: Chapter 4- Why HELLOOOOO there! Nice of you to join us!

So for the first time in... I honestly don't know how long, I had a short period of time yesterday with NO. ANXIETY.

I know, right? *fist bump*

Surprisingly my food diary is helping me. I am seeing that I can eat and not gain weight (thanks to a more stable metabolism and regular Zumba, I've actually lost a couple pounds. At least that's *my* version- and I'm stickin' to it) I also looked at my tummy yesterday when I was getting dressed and caught myself thinking "You know... my tummy is pretty!"

I had a hard time going to sleep last night, but I purposely didn't take anything. I was so proud of myself for making it through the afternoon and evening that I wanted to keep trying. Of course this morning I was shaking like a leaf, but I put a little bit in my tummy and that helped.

Today I'm going to get mah hair did with Ed's sister- and hopefully CJ will let Chels cut her hair, too! Tomorrow I have to go back to the doc for a checkup and Friday I see my counselor. Then FINALLY it's SATURDAY. The day I fly north for a week of cool weather and relaxation.

With any luck the Prozac will have made itself RIGHT at home by the time I get back to civilization. :)

PS: Thank you SO MUCH for all of your love and support. I can't tell you how much it means to me. (Well, I can, but it's all so sugary sweet that you wouldn't believe me. So... thanks. Just... thanks.)

The Prozac Diaries: Chapter 3- It's all fun and games till they diagnose you as OCD

So I went and saw my new shrink on Friday. I don't know why I was so surprised when she held up her hand and said "Um... I don't think you have an eating disorder per say. You're Obsessive Compulsive. It manifests itself as an eating disorder and with these other feelings you're having, because it's an anxiety disorder. But yeah... you're OCD."


Well, huh. Butter my butt and call me a biscuit. 

Apparently folks with OCD have these common personality traits: High attention to detail, avoidance of risk, careful planning, exaggerated sense of responsibility and tendency to take time in making decisions. 

I never had a chance y'all. Dr. Rogers ACTUALLY face palmed when I told her I majored in Risk Management. (Hey! 'Snot my fault I had a natural aptitude for it!)


I was then given strict instructions to stay away from a scale and keep a food diary- not for fear of overeating- but to ensure that I got at least 1,200 calories a day. She said she'd prefer me to take in at least 1,400, but she'd settle for 1,200. She saw my eyes go all big and PROMISED me at 12-1,400 cals/day I would NOT gain weight. That's the caloric restriction they place on peeps at the Bariatric Clinic (You know, the places where you see the 700lb peoples?) and that Weight Watchers routinely uses that range as well. I musta started hyperventaliting because then she explained to me how people with anorexia have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, not so much because of malnutrition, but because their organs shut down. They shut down cause they start to DIGEST THEMSELVES (Ew?) then their brain goes all fuzzy cause it can't work proper and before you know it you've gone straight to hell in a handbasket. 


1,200 calories a day, you say? Okie dokie then, I'll give it a shot. 


Saturday was day one. Thanks to Drill Sgt Daddy I got up to 1410. I thought I was gonna DIE. After every little thing I ate I wanted to puke my guts up. 


It. Was. AWFUL. 


Yesterday (Sunday) wasn't much better, but thanks to a Little Debbie cake and some cheese grits I hit 1600 calories. Again, wanting to puke all the live long day. 


Today, at 2:48pm Eastern time, I'm up to 940 calories. I figure 260 more at some point before bed and I can call it a day, but durn. This is hard y'all. When your brain has no hunger reflex, nothing sounds appetizing or stimulates your appetite... I imagine it's the same feeling you'd get if you had a stomach virus but were forcing yourself to eat oatmeal and apples and peanut butter. It's not like I'm pouring a vat of molten Crisco into my belly, but lawduh mercy that's what it feels like. Awful cramps and I LITERALLY have to force myself to stay seated and not try to puke it up. 


It's now clear to me that on a "regular" day, I probably wasn't clearing 1000 calories. *sigh* Besides the obvious reasons for needing to eat, she was worried about ol' Gerty. I need to maintain a SOMEWHAT stable metabolism cause woe be unto me if Gerty gets pissed and I drop 10lbs. I'll be a hot mess. And since we have no idea when that might happen... Yeah. Let's just try and keep me fed. 


Then, of course, there's the triggers. I have to try to avoid stressors so I don't get all anxious and compulsive. I have to admit that it's SLIGHTLY easier now that I know what I'm dealing with. And I'm trying to just STOP doing certain things when I think about it, but there's certain things I just can't give up. (The way I lay out CJ's clothes the night before, for example. Not the fact of laying them out, but that I have to lay them out, in a certain way, in a certain order, in the same spot. Same goes for her lunch. It must be packed the night before and in the mornings it must be placed the "correct" way in the car or I can't pull out of the driveway.)


UUUUGGGHHH.


Then there's my Zumba... and the overwhelming urge I have to run and run and run because Zumba's just not enough. To wit: A dear friend is coming into town tomorrow. Not just any dear friend- one of Ed's oldest friends and the MAID OF HONOR in our wedding. She and her family live in Japan now, so I literally cannot remember the last time I saw her. A bunch of us girls from "back in the day" are getting together tomorrow and there's a little part of my brain that is throwing a Veruca Salt-esque tantrum screaming "But I wanna go to ZUMBA! I have CALORIES to burn!!!!!" And I'm twitching. 


I'm going to be twitching the whole time I'm NOT at Zumba. 


And if plans fall through, I'm going to be secretly happy because I get to go to Zumba. 


Seriously... I don't know if Ima make it to mid-May, y'all. At this rate, Bat Shit Crazy is JUST around the corner. 

The Prozac Diaries, Chapter 2: Jack it to Jesus

As much as I tried to ignore it, by late this weekend it was painfully obvious that 20mg of Prozac a day just wasn't cuttin' it. I was feeling more and more miserable and poor Ed was at his wits end. Yesterday I called the doctor to let him know that while I wasn't ready to jump off a tall building, I did feel extreme guilt every time something as mundane as a GRAPE crossed my mouth and if I COULD throw up, I would. (But considering I can barely throw up when I have a legitimate stomach flu, crammin' my fingers down my throat is a lost cause) Misty, his awesome nurse, called me at 8:15 this morning and said that he DEFINITELY wanted to see me because I should be feeling SOME kind of relief now. As luck would have it, Ed was waiting on parts for his service truck and was able to go with me. Not that he thought I was making anything up, but bless him, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.

I have to stop and say this: I absolutely ADORE my doctor. He cares SO. MUCH. about his patients' well being. He sat there for an HOUR answering all of our questions- especially Ed's.

And that's when I got the news: "A couple of weeks ago I wasn't so sure, but now the picture is MUCH clearer and there's no doubt in my mind- this is a full blown eating disorder."

Huh. I mean, I "knew" that... but there was something so final about seeing it in black and white. Sure enough, it says so right there on my lil checkout papers "Eating Disorder- Not Otherwise Classified"

Awesome.

I told him about my Zumba. (God love him, Ed was asking if I should join Weight Watchers of the gym to make myself feel better. And God love him, the doctor sat right there patiently explaining the concept of PERCEPTION and how all the working out in the world wasn't going to make me feel better- it was mental) I was pretty devastated that my weight hadn't dropped any... I was even more devastated when the doc cautioned me with my Zumba. He said that it could become a form of purging. I admitted if it was offered more than twice a week I'd be there with bells on... and that the first thing I did after I got home from class was Google how many calories an hour Zumba burned. I may or may not have gotten the stank eye after that comment.

So now, my body refuses to eat my ass AND my exercise is limited by doctor's orders. (Cause if I find myself trying to do more exercise than just this twice a week I won't be allowed to do ANY until this gets under control)

Awesome...er.

So the final verdict was to increase the Prozac to the "go to" dose for eating disorders which is 60mg/day (that's triple what I'm on now for you math majors) and he's doing it muy rapido. I start taking 40mg/day tomorrow and on Saturday I start taking 60mg/day. I've also left a message for my counselor (who I haven't seen in a year, but whatevs) to at least get pointed in the right direction for the cognitive therapy I need.

Jack it to Jesus, doc! Jack it to Jesus.