It Hurts My Heart

 It was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake when I clicked on it, but the therapist in me was curious and the survivor of abuse in me never wants to be alone. I had done a stupid thing and left Alex's headlights on when I borrowed his car, draining his battery. I had nothing better to do while pinned in my car between his car and the house in our barely-wide-enough driveway, foot halfway down on the gas, trying to feed enough power over to his car for about 25 minutes. I clicked on a story about a child sex slave. This story. I wouldn't recommend you read it if you don't want to hate people today. I cried. Let me explain.

I've been in therapy ever since my Ahjashi died. He was a man who was every bit a father to me. When he died, I was devastated. I wasn't prepared, as much as people tried to let me know what was going on. I didn't react the way I thought I would. I didn't cry at first. I just screamed. God, it was so unfair. I was a senior in college and he was supposed to see me walk at the end of that school year. He was supposed to be there for me and be proud and I just couldn't fathom that he wouldn't be. I couldn't get it together, so the Residential Director of my dorm room couldn't help but notice and walked me down to my college's counseling center. There I met an awesome therapist who helped me so much during that difficult time and I've changed hands a few times since then, but more or less I've been in therapy since September 2009.

I thought I had it pretty together. I thought I was strong enough to overcome what I had gone through while I was growing up. I was wrong. As soon as we processed through my grief, my therapist showed me everything that was lurking underneath my surface. It was terrifying and painful. I was and had been for some time an angry little girl who struggled to accept her feelings. It wasn't until I had been transferred over to a student after my first therapist had maxed out his available sessions with me that I started really feeling that anger. This is what I share in common with the girl in that story.

There were many adults in my life who could see what was going on, or were so close, or worse yet completely turned a blind eye because it was too hard or not proper or embarrassing. How dare they. How dare they. I was so angry when I finally got around to feeling this. How could they not help me? How do you look at a child, know they're hurting, and say to yourself, "Not my problem?" I couldn't fathom it. I was so full of rage, but mostly I cried and mourned for the younger version of myself. I didn't deserve what happened to me.

What made it worse was when I moved into my apartment away from the campus proper. It was the top floor or a two-story house, and it was lovely. It turned out that my bedroom was directly over the bedroom of the little girl who lived downstairs. It was amusing to sometimes hear her get ready in the morning, singing her favorite boy band pop songs at the top of her lungs. The downstairs neighbors were lovely people. We rarely had problems. Then one day I happened to be home when the little girl came home from school and I heard her getting punished for, as far as I could tell, bullying another girl at school. I was paralyzed, frozen in place, listening to this all happening below me. I wasn't there. I couldn't say for sure, but it sounded like her mother was really laying into her. I could hear the smacks through the carpeted floor. I could hear the little girl painfully crying. And I did nothing. I didn't go down there and stop it. I didn't call CPS. Nothing.

I was a mess at my next therapy session. God, that was so painful. My therapist, god bless her, she tried so hard to help me understand that it wasn't my fault and I couldn't help and maybe I would've just made things worse and maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. I mean, I had never heard the mother punish her child like that before, nor raise her voice. All evidence pointed to the fact that it was an isolated incident, but this clearly wasn't about the little girl who lived downstairs. This was about me. I was that little girl living downstairs and I know damn well the upstairs neighbors heard what was going on on more than one occasion and no one did a damn thing. God, I was so angry. How could they? Why wouldn't anyone help me?

I once let it slip to an elementary school counselor when I was in kindergarten or first grade, and it went about as well as it did for the girl in that Cracked article. I was once caught in an unconvincing lie about why I had bruises on my arms. My tutor didn't press further. Some people even walked in on it happening and pretended they saw nothing. A pastor was told from the source and played a major part in making sure we all pretended to forget what happened. This was all so painful to recall, but I got through it.

I started crying when the girl in the Cracked article talked about scars, because I know what she's talking about. I am unloved and ugly. I am unbearable and a bad person. Except I'm not. I know I'm not - most days. Therapy helps. Time helps. Amazing, supportive friends help. Alex helps. I still have bad days.

So why did I click on the article? Well, it's nice to know that you're not alone sometimes and hell, I'm a therapist. I got into this field for a reason. It is part of my job to listen to and sit with my clients' traumas. It is also part of my job to call if I have any inkling of neglect or abuse of a child. I do both gladly. I will not be the adult who ignores. I will do my job and, if possible, extend further help. My experience in the field and especially in my graduate program, where I had the privilege of getting to know like-minded people who were also in this field for a reason, has shown me that I'm exactly where I need to be.

I just have bad days, that's all, days when my heart hurts. A lot.

My Weekend with Contrave

So, I took my first dose on Friday morning. I've been taking one pill in the morning ever since. Maybe it was because it was the weekend, but my anxiety and nausea were nowhere to be found all weekend.

I went for a run on Sunday after getting new shoes and gear Saturday. I played games with my friends and roleplayed on my new LARP's forums and I felt good. I felt calm. Maybe it was in part channeling this new, mature, calmer character for the LARP. Maybe it's a placebo effect. I am taking Wellbutrin, though as far as I can tell it's not at a therapeutic dose for depression.

My supervisor pointed out today that sometimes people just don't know they're depressed until they get better. Maybe I've been depressed all along. Maybe that was always the missing link. I'm considering staying on an anti-depressant after I'm done with the Contrave. Maybe it will make a difference for me. I don't know. What I do know is that I had a good weekend.

Also, take a look at my breakfast smoothie recipe:

 

Holy cow! It was a bit thick, so I'm adding honey and eliminating the greek yogurt. Better to use that stuff as a snack later in the day. Had to buy a new blender because I burned out the motor on my old, cheap version by blending a bag of kale with a 1/2 liter of vanilla almond milk - that's my "green base."

Oh, and I'm down in weight from last week. Like, 0.8 lbs, but still.

Onward!

And Now For Something Completely Different!

I've tried. Look back and read and see that I've tried. I've tried getting advice, not getting advice, and blogging. I've tried calorie counting and exercise and taking pictures of my progress. I've tried over-the-counter pills and daily weigh-ins and monthly weigh-ins. I've tried 12-step meetings, Facebook, and reading everything I could on the matter. I've tried. It hasn't worked. I'm not saying I've been faithful to any of my programs. In fact, that is a symptom of the problem I will be discussing in this entry.

My appetite is out of control and has been for some time. It doesn't matter how hungry or full I actually am, I'll just keep eating. I wouldn't say I'm addicted to food. I certainly have some symptoms that point in that direction, but addiction to food is as controversial as addiction to sex. How can you be addicted to something that's a biological imperative? You can, certainly, but I don't think my relationship with food as ruined my life - yet. Real talk? I'm afraid, terrified actually, of developing diabetes and heart disease. I've been in the 230 lbs range for a while. I'm young and, remarkably, healthy. I've had recent blood and urine tests that say as much, but how long can that really last if I keep going this way? I don't want to have to inject insulin into myself. I don't want to develop neuropathy in my hands and feet and eventually risk amputation. I don't want to keel over from a heart attack before my time. I don't want to die at all, but certainly not before my time. This is a problem. It needs a solution. What I've been doing isn't working. It's time for something new.

Enter Contrave. I've been considering this for a while, but yesterday I finally went to see my doctor and had the talk. I told her all of the above and some of my thoughts. She prescribed Contrave (combined, extended-release bupropion - also known as Wellbutrin - and naloxone). If you know anything about brain science (I myself am a brain science groupie/nerd) then you know why this combination of drugs makes sense. I poured over all of the literature and studies material they gave me with the prescription last night. The side-effects are mild, but still scary. The primary side-effect they warn about is nausea, but they also warn about blood pressure issues and suicidal ideation. Since I have no history of either of those last two things, I decided this was an appropriate decision.

What's great about Contrave is that they pair the prescription with a (voluntary) behavior modification program called "ScaleDown." The ScaleDown program sends you a wireless scale free of charge that encourages you to weigh in daily and then sends this information to the program, which them sends you daily text messages with support and advice based on your weigh-in. No calorie counting. No judgement. Just support. This is not just about taking a pill to fix all of my problems. This is about changing my behaviors in the meantime so, less than 6 months from now when they take me off of Contrave, hopefully those habits will endure and I'll keep the weight off.

I stopped drinking after March 8th for various reasons, but Contrave gives me another reason not to drink. The seizure risk is greatly increased by massive alcohol consumption (I would say my drinking behavior trends toward "binging"). The literature also recommends taking the prescription with a low-fat meal. According to my research, that would be 3 grams or less fat per 100 grams of food, or 3 %. I'm just taking a morning dose now but eventually I also have to take it at night, so that means I really should have a low fat breakfast and dinner with some leeway for lunch. This morning I had egg whites with steamed broccoli. I actually find this delicious with a 1/2 tablespoon of butter and some spices.

I'm scared. I took my first dose this morning and I already went through a nausea episode. Also, I'm feeling anxious, which is side-effect. I'm pretty sure both of these symptoms will decrease over time and because I'm experienced and educated, I know what to do to deal with both of these symptoms. For now, I could use some support. No judgement, just support. I don't want obesity-related illness. I don't expect everyone to believe me, but this really isn't about being skinny. I like my body most days. I truly am really afraid of obesity-related illness and I really want to be healthy. Please give me encouragement and wish me luck on this journey. I appreciate it.