My Constant Companion

In a previous post, I mentioned that I started walking back in February to get a handle on my anxiety, a faithful companion for the last twenty plus years.
Although I've never been formally diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, if it quacks like a duck and all of that. And because I've never been diagnosed, I take no medication for it. And I wouldn't want to anyways: I'm adverse to taking anything unless I really have to.
My anxiety is exacerbated by stress and the fact that I'm obese does not help. Talk about the proverbial vicious circle.
When I look back on my life, I can not pinpoint the place in time when I first was afflicted with it. All I know is that it popped up somewhere in my twenties.
Anxiety is always in the background, lurking in the corner. I have no idea when it will strike and the most inane thing can set it off.
But these are my symptoms:
First, I will have vague sense of unease. There's a slight shift in my well being about nothing in particular or everything. This is how it always starts. Gradually, it escalates to restlessness, chest tightness, illogical thinking and then full blown agitation.
The chest tightness is about the size of a grapefruit in the middle of my chest. It both expands and constricts at the same time. It can feel like a vice and it physically hurts. When I get to this part, I know that I am in trouble.
The illogical thinking is defiant. An illogical thought will careen around the inside of my like a runaway train. My rational mind will argue against it but it is soon overwhelmed by the thought processes that have gone off the rails.
This all leads to agitation, which is an awful feeling: restlessness squared. You don't know whether to sit up, stand or pace; to cry, scream or remain mute.
In the past, a phone call to one of my sisters helped to alleviate it. Why? Because they could distract me like no one's business. And they know me and my anxiety well enough to know how to navigate through the choppy waters. And God was good when He gave me two sisters: one to prop me up on each side. Both Jen & Bec- to their eternal credit- can get me out of it. But it can sometimes take a good hour. Initially, they are sympathetic and talk logic to me and then they go in for the kill: they distract me. But by the end of it, I am exhausted.
My husband is just realizing the harsh reality of my anxiety and has expressed a willingness to help.
I started my own research on the internet because I couldn't keep eating up these huge blocks of time of my sisters' lives. The mantra out there is this: deep breathing, exercise, meditation and yoga. ( I have to forget yoga- no one tells you that you have to be uber flexible to do some of those poses).
And that's why I started walking- to take the edge off and it has helped. I also am trying to be more aware of when I feel that sense of unease coming on and nipping it in the bud before it gets out of control.
Anxiety's cousin, Depression, gets a lot of media attention which is good because it leads to awareness,demystifies it and lessens the stigma attached to it. Recently, Catherine Zeta Jones spoke about her problems with bipolar disorder. Here in Ireland, Marian Keyes has gone public with her own battle with depression. Maybe someday a celebrity will speak out about anxiety and how apprehensive they are towards the setting sun when the dark can make it ten times worse. It's time to bring it out of the closet.

Thanks to Natalie Dee for the fabulous comic.

I'm Not Usually Jealous But...

By my own nature I am not a jealous person.If anything, I'd be the opposite.In fact, one thing I love is weight loss testimonials because it gives me hope that someday it could be me.When others succeed, I'm happy for them.When they acquire nice things, I'm happy.Others succeeding and aquiring tends to inspire me.For if it can happen to them, it can happen I just don't do jealous.
Except for this one big thing.
Two weeks ago, we took the boys to Fota Island Wildlife Park and it was there that I first laid eyes on a scimitar horned oryx (see accompanying pic).I was perfectly all right-living happily in a jealous free zone- until he leaned his head back and used his horns to scratch his back.
Instantly, I was consumed with jealousy.For I've had this itch in the most unreachable part of my back for a long time- and I can never quite get to it.I've used doors, corners, the letter opener, pointy ends on anything, etc.In fact Daniel walked in on me one day using the letter opener to reach the middle of my back and commented, "If you need to use that to scratch your back then you should see a doctor." He's eight and he may have a point.
But I thought if I had a pair of horns on my head like that I might just be able to get that itch scratched properly.
Just saying.

I'm Still Here

I've been thinking about writing this blog post since February. It's now almost May. I guess I'll never be accused of being speedy.

There's a saying that the definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different outcome. And if you take away the expectation, then what you have is a habit.

In January, I went temporarily insane. While in the States in December, I jumped onto the newest diet bandwagon, anxious to start it right away, full of hopes and dreams that this time was going to be it. It was going to be the magic bullet and solve all of my weight problems and I'd be thin and happy and rich and you get the picture. I grabbed onto this diet with both hands like it was a lifeline and wanted it to be that. But secretly, deep down- after thirty plus years of trying every diet out there- I hate 'diets' because I know that they don't work long-term and the statistics are consistent enough to back that up.

I lasted 3 days on the 7 day detox phase where the only thing you ate was fruits and vegetables. My capacity for any diet is 3 weeks and true to form, by the third week I began feeling anxious, restless and most of all, deprived. In the end I gave up on that particular diet, but not my determination to lead a healthier life.

In February, the boys were out a week with a terrible bout of the flu- different weeks of course- and I used food as my coping mechanism. But when it was over, I was aware of what I had done and was determined not to use it as an excuse to slide into one long binge.

On February 18th, I started walking-not for exercise or to lose weight- but in an effort to get a handle on my anxiety. The first day, my husband went with me. I had asked him and even though we're separated, he would help me like that. I was afraid that I wouldn't make it or worse that one or both of my knees would buckle. I managed 14 minutes- 7 minutes one way and 7 minutes back. Granted, I had to hang onto my husband to get back, but I did make it.

I've been walking ever since and am now up to 30 minutes. I've discovered the 99 acre Demesne park in town and it's quite lovely as you can see from the pictures.

And after two months, I can see a difference. Thursday, we took the boys to the Fota Wildlife Park and we were there for over 5 hours and I managed to walk the entire thing. Granted, I would have to sit down on a bench and rest at times, but dammit, I was able to do something with my boys. At Christmas, I could barely stand up. A pair of pants that I had bought in December, are now falling off of me and I love wearing them because it reminds me that I'm doing it. Right now.

Unlike other attempts in the past where I would try to figure out the maximum amount of weight I could lose in the shortest possible time, I'm taking this one slow. I'm happy with my weight loss so far and am ok with the fact that I have many more pounds to go.

One day at a time.

Mission Not So Impossible

It's easy to be overwhelmed. I am. Sometimes, when I think about the amount of weight that I need to lose it makes me want to sit down and a) cry b) eat more chocolate and/or c) lose the will to live. Despite all of this, I have one affliction; I am afflicted with this tiny thing called 'hope.' I'm full of hope that my life can be better, that I can be better. It's the eternal optimist in me that rears her dreamy head every so often if only to whisper in my ear that everything will be all right. It's what keeps me sane. For whatever reason, this time I am determined. Like a dog with a bone, I'm going to deal with this. I'm going to fix it, acknowledge it, own it. And if I fall down and have a piece of chocolate cake, I'm not going to beat myself up over it or use it as an excuse to slide into a food fugue. I'm going to be the Zimmer girl that I am and brush myself off, take the bull by the horns and get on with it.

When I was back in the US at Christmas, I met up with my friend, Patti. She was profiled here last summer with her 95lb weight loss. She has maintained it and credits her boot camp workouts as part of the formula for her success. But she said something to me that has stuck with me ever since. I had mentioned to her the overwhelming feeling of having to lose so much weight and she agreed and said that yes, it was hard, but it was doable.

Doable.

For the past month, that word has boomeranged around the inside of my until it has become my mantra. Doable. I figure, if anything, Patti knows. She's got the 95lbs off to back up that statement.

So I work on replacing my attitude of mission impossible with doable.

Doable, oh how I love that word.

A New Year

I've just returned from a fabulous and long overdue trip to the US. The boys and I had a blast and are counting the days until summer when we return.
I'm aware that I've been crap lately at posting on this blog. From my last post (in August) until now, I've been inert and supine on the couch and discovering the new (to me) world of television. Prior to my separation, I rarely, if at all, watched tv. Now, with the boys spending time with their father, I find I have a lot of time on my hands. Lots.
After the initial relief and euphoria of moving into my own place wore off, I was confronted with the question of 'Ok, now what? What do I do with the rest of my life?' Being one who avoids confrontation like the plague, I decided not to think about it and spend my time on the couch, zoning.
Four months later, enough is enough. Even as I write this, it's because I was sick to death of lying on the couch and watching endless tv.
From the couch, wrapped up in the lives of characters on my favorite shows, I could ignore what was happening in my own life: my problems and most of all my weight. But the truth is, I can't ignore it anymore. Especially the part about my weight. I know this sounds familiar and I've written plenty of posts where I've brushed myself off and started again. And fell down again. There are no guarantees that this time will be different. But I have to try.
Right now, I'm at a place in my weight- over 300lbs., a place in my wildest nightmares I'd never thought I'd be- where every single pound gained is felt. 50, 100lbs ago I could put on 10, 20 pounds and the only place I'd notice it was in my waistband. Not so anymore. Every pound is felt in every step and in any attempt to do anything.
So what on earth does it take for me to sit up and pay attention?
I'll tell you.
I can't ignore the fact that when I get up from a chair I can not stand up straight. I can't ignore that I have to limit myself to 2 trips upstairs- morning and evening- because that's all I can handle. I can barely bend over to put my socks on. I get breathless getting dressed in the morning. And don't even get me started on the state of my knees. Not to mention the endless list of diseases that I'm at risk for if I continue down this slippery slope of self gratification with food. Type 2 diabetes, anyone?
I can't ignore it anymore, as much as I want to. The time has come to get serious about my health.