Am I binging?

20190914_164447The first one slid down so smoothly and easily, an intoxicating balance of peanut butter and dark chocolate. The second one was almost as good. I lost count as I continued to eat. Taste and enjoyment faded away behind the urge to eat just one more… and another… and another… I couldn’t stop. I’d been planning on having two peanut butter cups a day but I ended up with twelve treats in under ten minutes. Why had I done it again? My mind continued to berate me. I was lazy… lacked self control… fat… ugly… I would never eat healthy… I’m the ugly sister in the family and this overeating just proved it. Obviously I was weak. Who couldn’t stop eating? I just needed to put the food down. It was that simple.

But it wasn’t that simple. Time after time I’d eaten a whole carton of Haagen Daz, a whole bag of chips, a huge bowl of spaghetti, a sleeve of cookies (and maybe one more). I’d eat until my stomach stretched uncomfortably and it felt like my food was kicking the valve to my esophagus.

And I have to stop.

This won’t be easy. I have to stop worrying about dieting and my weight because they seem to cycle into this eating. And I’m going to have to ignore some pretty strong cravings for just about anything unhealthy. Funny how I never crave an orange. Maybe that will change.

I see my psychiatrist this week, which is good. Even though I feel like I have binge eating, he’s the one that went to school for this.

If you struggle with binge eating, could you please share any tips on what made the cravings better? Thank you so much!

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Time is sprinting…

Our current building does a home inspection every year and this year’s was done today. When the property manager and superintendent were leaving, I asked who I give the letter of notice to, the management office on the top floor or with the superintendents in the basement. It will be with the superintendents, who were quite surprised we were leaving. Then I realized I’m giving them my notice in three more weeks, the real start of the moving countdown. 83 days (today) seems very long. Two months doesn’t

Colin’s blissfully unconcerned about moving. He knows he’s getting a room… somewhere. Apparently someone in the John Howard Society has one but she was off for the last few days. I need to get Colin to call her tomorrow because I’m not nearly as blase as he is. He’s positive everything will turn out perfectly in the end, like this is some Disney Movie or one of his animes. But we’re not in a show and he needs to be a lot more proactive. Sadly I can’t push him into calling, it’s like moving a mountain. He’s stubborn to say the least.

Next we need to find boxes. It used to be easy. NoFrills, a Canadian grocery store, always had bins of boxes at the front of their store. We’d go in and grab the suitable ones. Now they’re selling yellow shopping bins at the front of the store. I guess free boxes were competition.  I know there’s boxes for sale at Home Depot because my sister got hers there. I’m still hoping for free boxes first.

I should have asked someone at NoFrills today what they do with their cardboard boxes now. No Frills being where Colin asked me to meet him, although honestly, it would have been better if I never went. I knew I was really anxious before I left but my psychiatrist suggested taking an ativan and immediately leaving, which I did. I might as well have taken a skittle considering my anxiety got worse instead of better. The walk to NoFrills  and back were okay seeing as we went through the park instead of down busy roads. And I made a beeline to my swing chair and giant soft carrot as soon as I got home. That helped a lot. Part of me wants to go out for a walk now because it’s gorgeous and being in the woods would be so nice. But the rest of me feels the anxiety squirming around my stomach and knows it would be one miserable struggle.

I’ve bought all sorts of things for my new apartment. Wooden cutlery rack, dishes, beautiful cutlery shaped like tree branches, candles from Bath and Bodyworks. And there’s so much more to buy. I need a new dish rack because mine is falling apart. My garbage can is a cheap one mounted inside a cabinet door and it’s breaking. We need a slim line one for the kitchen. Luckily I get the GST cheque after I move to pay for some of the odds and ends.

And it’s evening here again. The cats are all sleeping, Colin’s watching shows and me? I just don’t know.

And every passing second brings us closer and closer to moving. And then my life will start up anew.

smudge-on-my-packing-boxes

Losing myself…

We were all lazing around the resort pool on a hot tropical afternoon. I was a bit bored and remembered that someone I know, who was on the trip, used to brag about her “gaydar”. So I went up and asked her to guess me. I wasn’t that interested in the label, I just wanted to see if she actually read my posts.

“Kath,” she replied, “you’re not going to like this but I see you as being lost, lonely, and desperately looking for labels.”

I was simultaneously shocked and angry. Shocked that she could think such a thing and angry that she paid that little attention to my life. I’ve been identifying as an asexual for around four years now and panromantic for almost as long. I never mention it anymore because the label gets too long but I’m still demiromantic too. We have to be friends for me to be interested in a relationship. The last four people have been friends. I’ve only ever mentioned two of them though.

A little while ago someone who’s very close to me told me several things, all having to do with “the old me”.

“These days you put yourself in so many tiny boxes. The old you wouldn’t do that.” and so on. I’m assuming the boxes are sexual orientations.

Most of the conversation washed past with the “the old you” comments stinging like a wasp’s bite. I know I’m not the same as the old me. I have memories, both my own and on Facebook. I know I could do a lot more before my breakdown. I didn’t need daily naps and didn’t go to bed at 8pm. I didn’t struggle with making simple meals. I used to meal prep on Sunday, something I think I posted recently, and had no problem doing so even though it took most of the day.

Being told I’m not the same as the old me makes me feel like the new me is an inferior copy, one that can never succeed.

It’s noon on Monday and I’m still in my pjs. I’ll get dressed soon but will likely pass lunch because there’s nothing I can think of that I want to eat. It’s okay because I’m not hungry anyway.

I try my hardest to be a good and decent person. I hold doors open for people, smile and hold a cheery (albeit brief) conversation in the elevator. I always make a point to smile and say “hi” to the homeless people downtown and give any food I have, which is usually my own lunch. I support people on Facebook, helping talking them down from suicide sometimes, giving relationship advice (mostly how to tell if it’s abusive). I’m not qualified for either but somehow I’ve fumbled through and helped. And all of that feels inadequate because I’m not working 40 hours a week anymore then coming home to cook from scratch. I’ve always tried my hardest, it’s just that my apparently my hardest isn’t good enough anymore. And I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t go back to my old me. She’s gone now and I have no way of bringing her back.

It’s now 1pm. I’m up and dressed and even fielded a phone call from a Facebook friend of mine. I’ve even made my bed. So now’s the time to wash the handful of dishes in the kitchen and take a nap. I’m going downtown this evening to support having a rainbow crosswalk (or two). I don’t want to leave this post on a down note so here’s a song I sang while my friends and I sang karaoke. My apologies for the couple of flat notes in the beginning and I don’t have a clue where that half a line went. But it does get better, hopefully just like me.

 

Monday musings…

me-feeling-sunnyYesterday was amazing. The temperature went up to 25C and I was in shorts and a tshirt. Plus Value Village had a 50% off sale where I got five new tshirts that I love and a pair of lacy shorts.

The only down part to the day was I just had 3000 steps for the whole day, not nearly close enough for my 10 thousand steps goal. So I put on my sandals and went for a walk in the woods that evening.

I know I make it sound so easy but it’s not. I struggle the whole time I’m going to the conservation area and the whole time back. Even in the woods I struggle a fair bit of the time, although it’s easier there. I used to wonder when this anxiety would fade away. I’ve finally realized the answer is never. I did, however, enjoy the walk. Except for the mosquitos. I didn’t have mosquito repellent at home so I used Vicks Vaporub since half the internet insisted it worked amazing as a repellent. I had some reservations about it but the mosquitos sure didn’t. I’m pretty sure a sign went up saying “fresh meat” and then they descended en masse. I was so itchy last night, trying to scratch everywhere at once.

Meanwhile, by the time I’d finished my walk I had over 16 thousand steps, which is a great amount! I my-steps-on-the-9th-2went to bed very happy with my accomplishment. Then, of course, I wanted to weigh myself this morning. I think it’s a mixture of curiosity and anxiety that fuel my urge to weigh every day. I managed not to this time and I’ll keep holding off on weighing myself until July 7th.

Today is not so amazing. It’s calling for rain all day long and is 10 degrees colder. I’m currently hiding out in my room with my little electric fireplace puffing out warm air. I do have to get cat litter so that will be some outside time. Otherwise I’m going to hit the treadmill this evening. Not as nice as a walk outside but considering a walk outside would be miserable today, it’s a decent alternative.

Oh my goodness, adorableness alert. Lara and Blackie were curled up with their heads touching and they looked like they were making a heart. Of course I carefully turned my phone on and gently swiveled my chair around before quietly standing up, which is when both cats looked up at me curiously. So no picture but it was sweet.

I’ve got so much ahead of me, short term is getting ready for Colin’s birthday this Wednesday. I can’t believe he’s going to be 22 years old. And my packing. I’ve got two boxes done now, which is good for a movie in October. I had no idea how much stuff was in the corner of my room until I started packing it up. There’s still so much left. I’d been under the impression that I had one box of kitchen supplies and a box of decor. Boy was I wrong! It’ll all look amazing in my new place though.

It’s almost lunch time. I better get out to No Frills and buy the kitty litter (and hopefully some fresh berries) then start cleaning up the living room so it’s ready for Colin’s birthday on Wednesday. I hope you’re all having an amazing Monday!

glitter monday

 

I don’t know…

filtered-flowersI was walking through the field in front of the park I usually visit and I realized I absolutely did not want to be there. I wanted to be safe at home, curled up in my swing chair right now. Short of a teleportation device, that wasn’t happening. I managed to keep on walking.

Tears prickle my eyes for no reason multiple times a day and I keep hoping I won’t start sobbing, which would be embarrassing if I was out, and often causes a headache.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. And yet I have a completely detailed suicide plan. And Colin’s away and I got a sudden idea that I could implement it before he gets home. I won’t.

I ate a handful of crackers for lunch today and nothing at all yesterday because I’m not hungry. To be fair, I had packed an apple for lunch yesterday but there was an elderly man rummaging through the garbage and I figured he could use it more than me.

And I’m so very tired. All. The. Time. I wake up from a nap and feel like I should be sleeping again.

So much of my future is up in the air. I have a floor plan that likely looks like my unit but I have no idea if it’s accurate or not. I have a move in date but what if my building wants me out on the 31st? I’ve found several apartments for Colin and he’s turned them all down. I have no idea how much a moving van costs and am too scared to find out.

Will I make friends there? Will they be the sort of friend who hang out with you and do stuff together? Will they accept me for me? Autistic, asexual, panromantic, vegan, atheist. I don’t want to hear “I like you but…”

I have a psychiatrist appointment on Friday and I have a sinking feeling my answer to “And how’s Kathleen been?” will be “I don’t know”. But I really don’t know. And I’m going to take out the garbage and wash some dishes because leaving them as is will not help my mood. And hopefully my doctor will have a better idea to deal with this than I do.

glitter-in-my-hair

Me with glitter gel in my hair. Because depression’s on the inside, not on the outside

Saying goodbye to the old me…

It was Easter dinner last night and I had the menu all planned out. The previously frozen tofu was thawed and marinating in pickle brine. All I needed to do was peel and chop potatoes for fries then make the sauce for the broccoli before cutting the veggie into bite sized pieces. Oh and get the fries and broccoli into the oven to bake and dredge the tofu in a garlic powder and flour mixture and fry the tofu…

You get the picture. I’d hoped to make brownies too but I was struggling even with the thought of prepping the tofu. The veggies were overwhelming. So I ended up slicing up a tomato and an orange instead of prepping veggies. That way I wouldn’t end up curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor. Been there… done that… don’t want to do it again.

food prepI miss me. I miss the woman who could happily spend the day prepping meals then go on to read or write for a couple of hours. This picture’s from Facebook where I captioned it:

I spent all day cooking! I made apple sauce (apple, cherry, and nectarine sauce to be precise), chocolate pudding, fudgesicles, pizza dough, two different soups (lentil and broccoli-cauliflower), four loaves of banana bread, chocolate covered cherries, spaghetti sauce, almond cheese, and cashew cheese. Now it’s time for me to have a bubble bath, read a book, and relax before bed 

I struggle so much. I had to listen to two songs already just so I could be relaxed enough to write and I’m contemplating watching a third one. So many things I could handle with ease a couple of years ago, I can’t handle now. I get overwhelmed with shopping and will have to apologize to Colin because I just can’t handle one more store and the bus ride home too.

I used to curl up to read and finish (or almost finish) a novel. Now I’m lucky to get through a chapter. And I’m finding sleep getting harder and harder. My heart pounds… I feel short of breath. You’d think I was in a horror movie instead of my own safe bed. The past two days have found me listening to music in my swing chair in the wee hours of the morning, too anxious to sleep. It helps but it means I’m losing about two hours of sleep a night and I’m already needing an early afternoon nap so I can make it to evening.

I have brain fog. So much brain fog. People tell me things and I forget almost immediately, no matter how hard I try to remember them. I forget what I was saying as I’m speaking. I even forget what I’m thinking. I check my calendar multiple times a day, just in case I’m missing something. Sometimes I am and, luckily, I’ve found it before I was late. I signed up for free massages at Carea and completely and utterly forgot about them. Like I had no idea I’d even signed up, in writing, for one session let alone two. It was a pleasant surprise but still disconcerting. I am so thankful for reminder calls and texts.

The old me was lively and outgoing. She cheered people up and customers used to comment that her smile and friendly wave brightened their day. The old me carried around a notebook and wrote novel excerpts on the bus and quickly typed them out at home. The old me could hold a conversation that wasn’t online.

I’ve been autistic my whole life but the depression and anxiety ripped off my masks and I haven’t been able to find them again. I rock and sway regularly, listen to the same songs over and over (and over). Bounce in my swing chair to settle down. I have meltdowns when things aren’t going the way I thought and the world’s suddenly strange and different. Even though it really isn’t, it’s just my perception.

It’s weird to be mourning myself when I’m still here. But, in a way I’m not, there are so many differences between the old me and the new me, it’s like I’m a whole new person. I guess all I can really do is get to learn who the new me is and try to like her.

hair-band-1

 

Life, death and music…

CN: frank discussion of suicide

So I sit here in my nightie. I didn’t have anywhere to go today so I stayed in it. It’s cosy at least.

I just got myself dinner, feeding the cats first because they’re important. I was going to make french fries and gravy but I couldn’t handle peeling and chopping for that long. Even thought it would only be about five minutes. So I toasted myself an english muffin and made a mug of hot chocolate. I make them so often I can do it on autopilot.

I washed the dishes yesterday before dinner and I presume the dish fairy arrived shortly after. All the dishes look like mine but there’s way more there than there should be for a day. The thought of washing them is overwhelming.

Depression is like wading through tar. It clings to you and pulls you down further and further. Every single step is the hardest and every conversation is a struggle. How am I doing? Fine is too much of a lie. I usually settle for “okay”. It’s enough to slide by without sounding like everything’s all right. Because it’s not.

So I browse on Facebook, looking at the message box and wishing someone would message me. I am always the first one to message, which makes me wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Everyone assures me there isn’t. Besides that, I have no idea what to say beyond hi.

I read an article in the Reader’s Digest a bit ago. The author had been suicidal and jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. As soon as he let go, he knew it was a mistake. But what could he do at that point? Thankfully he survived. One out of four who managed that feat. Out of thousands who didn’t. And you know what? Every one of the survivors knew it was a mistake as they let go. I refuse to believe they were the only ones and it breaks my heart to know the thousands more were lost. There’s no second chance when you’re plummeting.

I also read a surprisingly graphic news story about a teenage boy who jumped from a four storey balcony. The surgeons discovered shattered bones and shredded organs. They had to stitch him back up and let him die. There was no way to save him. They couldn’t stitch together fragments. I’d wanted to donate my organs and gave no thought to what condition they’d be in after a fall. I figured I’d be just me, still intact only dead.

I’d planned on jumping off our seventh floor balcony (eight if you consider the slope to the basement). The only thing that stopped me was my fear that it wouldn’t be high enough. That I’d disable myself enough not to be able to try again. Thankfully my sister saw my rambling note on Facebook and drove me to the hospital and she and my mother took turns sitting with me while waiting for my turn with the psychiatrist.

Any time I start feeling suicidal in the least, I think of that first article and the four survivors. Some mistakes you can’t come back from and that’s one of them. Jeez, I waffle over which ice cream to buy at the grocery store. Deciding whether to die is so much more dire and the consequences spread devastation over such a wide range. That’s not a decision I should be making. Someday I will die but it won’t be today.

So here I sit weighted down by depression. Soon I’ll move my bones and wander over to my swing chair, where I’ll proceed to rock and listen to music videos.

And hopefully this bout of depression won’t last too long.

List of world wide suicide prevention lines