Trauma

Trauma.

My body’s way of dealing with trauma is to shut down, block it out, get sick, ignore it, or move on. Not this time. This time my body said no more. I will not hold you together. I will not give you something you can blame on me. I can’t hold all the evil inside. I can’t give you a way out. I am no longer strong enough.

I collapsed into a puddle of tears, leaving my wife to pick up all the pieces. She text my boss from my phone to let her know I won’t make it to work. She finds a doctor. She walks me there. I haven’t stopped crying for three days. The doctor agrees with my wife on leave of absence. A plan is put in place. Medicine is prescribed.

I am horrified.

It takes me forever to do anything. I make a plan everyday on things I will accomplish. It never works out. I spend hours in silence. Get up I say to myself over and over. Just get in the shower. When I finally make it to the shower, I turn the water on so hot that my skin is bright red. I like the feeling. I stand there until the tabby cat comes in and meows obnoxiously. I put on the same dirty clothes and go back to sitting couch.

I try to block out the world. I try to forget the evil. I try to forget the trauma that my body refuses to hold for me. I have memories that play over and over in my head. I sit. I tell myself to get up, do something but I sit.

My body aches and my soul feels broken.

I worry. I worry about work. What will I tell my coworkers? My students? I worry about going anywhere. What if this happens again? What if I am out and all the sudden can’t move? I worry that my life has changed forever.

I wonder why the memories that play over and over again, don’t seem that traumatic in all of the trauma in my life. I wonder why my body refuses to hold me together. I wonder why I can’t just get up.

I cry. I cry for myself. I cry for the little girl I never got be. I cry for the adult that just kept on taking the punches the world threw at me. I cry for my wife.

If there was an answering machine for my body it would say, “You have reached Kim’s body. She isn’t here right now. If this is an emergency please call her wife.” For almost two weeks now she has taken care of every part of my life. I try to be grateful for having a safe and loving place to fall apart but it’s hard to feel gratitude through the pain.

I sit on the couch. I am scared. I am in pain. I cry. I worry. I feel. I feel too much. The feelings are holding me hostage. They won’t let me ignore them. 

Fat, Again

I am fat, again. It is so difficult to be back here. I promised myself when I started this blog that I would get below 200 pounds and never return to the 200s again. I promised myself that I would treat my body with the respect it deserved by exercising and eating healthy. I promised myself that I would work on my emotional crap by painting, running, and being more open with those around me.

I lied but I also felt that I was told a lie. I did everything I was supposed to do and it felt amazing. Then I was betrayed by own body, at least that’s how it felt.

It started over three years ago. I had a crazy pain caused by a rather large gallbladder stone. After surgery this happened, http://speakingaboutthat.blogspot.com/2013/04/tw-trigger-warning.html . I ate and ate some more but I also tried to cope with the memories in all the new positive ways I taught myself. I started getting depressed and crying all the time. I started screwing things up and forgetting to do really important things.

I ran my second marathon. (I was still trying.)

I ate.

Running became a challenge because I couldn’t feel my left side of my body. I started getting migraines and I was exhausted all the time.

My b12 and vitamin D levels were “dangerously low.” I was given vitamin supplements and b12 shots. I felt better but still exhausted.

I ran a half marathon (still trying). Had another surgery to repair the giant hole the first surgery left in my stomach muscles.

I ate.

I was tired.

I went work, ate, and slept. I had no energy.

Summer break, I slept, a lot.

My father died. I was grateful, numb, confused, and angry. I called my step mom to give her my condolences. She asked me how much I weighed. I had not talked to her in years and this was the question she asked.

I ate.

I slept.

I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t do more. Why I couldn’t just get up and start running? Why I was hungry all the time? Why I was always exhausted and in pain? Why wasn’t I coping with my life anymore?

I went to a new doctor. He ran some new blood test. My iron was low, as was my B12 and D despite being on heavy doses of supplements. He also discovered that I wasn’t absorbing protein. He suggested that I stop eating gluten.

Two weeks after that I started feeling better.

It’s been two months since giving up gluten. I am not as hungry all the time. I am only sleeping 8 hours. I have a little bit more pep in my step. I am still not running but I have hope. I have so much hope that I signed up for a race April 2.

I am still fat but I am starting not to hate my body or myself for the extra fluff. My body and I went through and SURVIVED a lot these past few years. The fluff is my armor. It is my emotional crap and my bodies cry for nutrition. I hope I can start down a healthier road. I also hope when I look in the mirror it’s not with disgust with how I let myself go but instead with awe of how I survived.

Here I am in My Wonderful Life, Perfectly Miserable

I have written here about my weight loss and how with every pound I lost I had to deal with the reasons I gained them. I talked about the emotional part of losing weight. The struggle of losing the armor that protected me and comforted me. I shared my joys as I shed the image I had of myself- the uneducated teen mom… the hillbilly whose family members sexually abused her just like in all those jokes people tell that aren’t really funny at all… the person destined to be abused in every relationship.

I did it. I am in love with the most amazing person. I lost 110 pounds. I ran a marathon. I graduated from college. My daughter is doing well in college and succeeding in her own path. I got the career I wanted. Life is good. I mean really good.

But I am not. I know exactly when it happened. It was the second to last blog that I posted, if you want to read about it.  But, here is the recap- I had surgery last April. My step-mother sent me an edible arrangement.

Memories washed over me and I ate to feel good. I was mad at myself. I felt like I dealt with these issues and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. After all, my life was good. I gained 20 pounds. Then I struggled with running. It was hard for me to get out the door. It was hard for me to do something that felt good. Next came the stupid shame cycle. I was ashamed of the way I felt. I was ashamed of losing my healthy mind and body. I was ashamed of not being able to do more. I was ashamed of not being able to talk about it. I pretty much stopped blogging because I had nothing left to say. I was failing myself and that made me feel ashamed.

Twenty more pounds came on and life kept coming at me. I was dealing by trying to pretend that I was dealing. Forget running, waking up was my new struggle. Going anywhere was a problem.

I remember going to the “Chosen Family” Thanksgiving. I cried the hour before leaving the house and the hour and half drive there. I remember thinking that I needed to get myself together. I was being ridiculous.

I gained 20 more pounds. Pretty much stopped running and now find it a challenge to get out of bed to go to work. This is the reality I find myself in today. All because of painful childhood memories I don’t know how to deal with. 

I don’t really believe in depression or mental illness but here I am getting ready for my wife to take me to the doctor. Here I am spending more days crying than doing anything else. Here I am in my wonderful life, perfectly miserable.

It’s time to stop pretending that I am okay. It’s time to start running toward my life again. I hope this includes mental growth, beautiful runs, a stronger marriage, more amazing bonds with my daughter, and life’s beautiful celebrations. I hope to blog more, run more, and celebrate what I have been through.

Run On!

My Shameful Secret

                I have a secret. It’s something I find hard to talk about. It’s the shame that I feel that keeps me from talking about it. My wife is bipolar and suffers from clinical depression. That is not a secret. If you have a question about that, my wife will welcome them and engage you in an open and honest conversation for what that means and has meant in her life. The secret is that I refuse to talk about it.

                I don’t talk about because I am ashamed of the way feel about it.

                I feel selfish. I have read books on how to cope when you have a loved one that is depressed. They say things like make sure you are taking care of yourself. No one tells you how to not yell and take out your anger on your depressed loved one. They don’t tell you how lonely it feels. They don’t tell you how to get over that selfish feeling of wanting to make this about you and scream, “I know you’re depressed but what about me!”

                I think the bigger issue is how afraid it makes me. It scares me. I’m scared because I don’t know how to handle it. I’m scared because it is full of what ifs. I’m scared because I can’t stand the thought of losing Lavender to this disease.  I’m scared because I don’t know how to say the right things. I’m scared.

                The truth is in the past 4 ½ years it hasn’t been a big issue. Lavender is doing well. She has great self-awareness. She takes time for her emotional health. At this time, she doesn’t require medication. Then why you ask do I refuse to talk about it. Well, the moments, the very brief moments this disease has shown itself in our relationship, I did a horrible job of handling it. I was selfish and scared.  I said the wrong things and acted the wrong way. If I can’t handle these brief moments, how can I ever handle a full blown major depressive period? How can support the person I love during this? How will I be able to sit in the darkness with her? This is what scares me.

                When Lavender tries to talk about it or someone else mentions it, I shut down. I know this hurts her. I know she wishes I was able to have an open and honest conversation with her. I know she is patiently waiting. I’m getting there. I need to let go of the shame and talk about how it makes me feel.

Small Circle

For me running has been a form of therapy. I start running and let go of my mind. I see myself more clearly. I have had some really good runs that have ended in some really great crys. My walls come down and I allow myself to feel. I allow myself to be open and free my emotions.
Recently I had one of those really good runs that ended in a really great cry. It was on this run that I realized just how depressed I had been during a certain period of my life. This was a time in my life just after my second divorce. I was raising my child, losing my house, working 40+ hours, being sued, trying to go school, starting yet another abusive relationship, broke, sexually violated, and losing a business. Yet, I smiled during this period so much that my cheeks hurt. I acted happy. Sometimes I even thought I was happy. I had no energy left for very many real conversations. I was a fake to myself and to my friends. I lost a lot of friends. Because when you don't have the energy to maintain a friendship that's what happens.
All of this sounds depressing but at the end of the run my tears were about joy. The joy of knowing I survived. The joy of the small circle of friends that stuck it out with me. The joy of knowing that these days I smile less but laugh a whole lot more!

This is part of the small circle of friends that surrounded me and my wife on our wedding day.