Short List of Hope

This morning I had my appointment with the Employee Assistance Program counselor, who was helpful in coming up with a short list of centrally located therapists I can contact, all of whom accept my insurance. My top choice from this list is currently out of the office on vacation, but should be back in 2 weeks. In the meantime I will be seeing the EAP counselor again. I feel positive about doing this and all in all had a very good experience this morning. I was so nervous beforehand, too! But it all went fine.

What I want is to stop disliking myself so much, so that taking better care of myself eventually becomes more second-nature. Maybe that will mean changing some of my thoughts so that I can see the good in myself. Maybe that will mean changing behaviors of mine that truly are unlikeable. I don't know.

So that covers the mental health side of things for the moment; what I don't know is what type of food plan to follow. Oh, I know what foods are good for me and which are fluff at best and toxic at worst . . . but should I count calories? Food groups? Points?

What makes sense for me?

On that note: What makes sense for you, food-wise? Feel free to share in the comments!

A Small Step Towards Freedom?

When I posted yesterday, I wasn't happy with what I had written. I was feeling inarticulate and so miserable that I sat in a closed spare office and cried on the phone to my boyfriend. I know when I get depressed that the episode will end; but what I don't know is when. That's a hard thing.

After a few minutes I had to splash my face with some cold water in the Ladies' Room and get on with my day. I checked back in on my blog post after a while and . . . your comments totally helped to turn my day around. I felt more grounded and actually experienced a cautious sense of hope again, after earlier in the day feeling like ground-up UGH wrapped in a BLECH tortilla.

I made an appointment with someone in the Employee Assistance Program office at work and I'll be visiting with them on Monday morning. I'm hoping to get a referral to a counselor in this community who accepts my insurance. Although I have seen a doctor for the meds side of my depression for years, I have yet to find and stick with an affordable counselor who I can talk to about my issues with depression, food, and general self-loathing. I'm praying for some kind of break here, that the EAP person will recommend a good counselor who won't completely vandalize my checking account, and that I will truly give counseling a genuine try this time around.

One thing I got from a lot of yesterday's comments is that exercise may be critical not just to my weight loss but also to managing my depression. Although this isn't something I haven't heard before, somehow hearing it when I most needed to was incredibly helpful. Thanks, guys!

A Monster in the Fatcave

Oh there's a monster in the Fatcave.

It conveniently arrived last night and has been punching me around ever since. It is Depression with a capital D. It hurts my whole body. It leaves me crawling inside even when it looks like I am having conversations and getting my work done and sitting upright in my chair.

What it does most of all is laugh at me and call me names. They are upsetting and sometimes bizarre and I will list some of them here but you don't have to read them all because (I warn you) they are mean:

Stupid b*tch. Lazy. Selfish. Pig. Pathetic. Wannabe. Hasbeen. Broken piece of sh*t. Boring. Chicken. Worst girlfriend ever. Worst daughter ever. Worst person ever. Self-centered freak. Leech. Disappointment. Waste of space.

In case I don't get the message, Depression makes itself a little more comfortable in the Fatcave and continues its litany of harassment:

Your allergies are your fault because you're a sh*tty homemaker. People hate you because you snap at them because you're too impatient to be a decent human being. You think you're so much smarter than everyone else. You're a f*cking idiot. You were too scared to even study for the GRE because of the math. You'll never accomplish anything. You can't afford therapy because your ass is parked in an admin job with no opportunities for advancement and in the meantime all your college classmates are performing brain surgery and litigating and getting their third advance degree. Failure. You're not dedicated. You're a dilettante. You're a liar. You'll never own a house. You'll never be fit. You'll never be better than you are right now and probably you will only get much, much worse. You can't last a single day without your sad little crutches.

You guys, I have to stop writing what it tells me because it is so relentlessly breath-snatchingly vicious. I feel sure so much of it is true.

But I can do this. And if I can lose weight while dealing with this Depression monster, then that will give hope to other depressed people dealing with extra weight, right? I will be able to do something good for myself and for others who think there's no way they can take care of their bodies because they are too depressed. I want there to be some meaning to this senseless pain, I want to transform this aspect of my life experience into something that can lift up rather than tear down. I've gotten so good at tearing down.

Escape from the Fatcave: The Beginning

I was just sitting here in between tasks with lots of excellent posts written by weight-loss bloggers like Prior Fat Girl, The Anti-Jared, Quix, and Diane of Fit to the Finish bubbling up though my thoughts.

I was sitting here with these fizzy champagne-of-the-fit-blogworld writings swirling around in my head, when I realized that in many ways the primary descriptor of my fat years has been "stagnation." Not moving forward, making progress, socializing, learning, challenging myself, living fully. Although I somehow managed to acquire a relationship (more dear to me than I can express here) during this time, in every other way I feel that I've stood still.

Let's face it: I've been hiding out. In the Fatcave.


The Fatcave is my secluded lair of doubts and resentments and chocolate comforts. It has some good books in it, and lots of fattening food. It has internet access, of course.

What it doesn't have in it is a treadmill, or vegetables, or a mirror. Or a photograph of my current 200-lb self. It doesn't have windows. It doesn't have friends in it; in fact, it doesn't really allow for much socialization at all.

Instead, it promotes wallowing and inaction and reminders that I am broken beyond repair. There are lots of diet books in the Fatcave, but this is actually a trick! Because each book with its advice in conflict with the others confuses me more and more. The confusion turns into molasses and quicksand in the cave.

I have been in the Fatcave for more than 5 years now. I wish I had been in charm school instead, because I'm pretty sure I've grown increasingly snappish and resentful during this period of time, as well as more roly-poly.

Many opportunities for new and interesting experiences have passed me by while I lurked in the cave. I somehow see the situation so clearly now.

I am ready to escape the Fatcave and I will need to use all the resources at my disposal to achieve this. But I know I can lose weight and stop living life in the shadows. I can lose 75 lbs. I believe this! I believe this.

Sincerely,
Hilary