I am obese. I have been for a long time now. I think I may be genetically predisposed, none of my relatives are stick figures, but I know my habits are to blame in large part. Being obese makes me hate my body and leads to more negative self talk, depression, and anxiety but, I think being mentally ill is what makes me obese. You see bad habits are harder to break and good habits are harder to form, though I am trying, when you’ve got bipolar (mostly depression), ADD, anxiety, and PTSD. They feed into each other. I’m obese because I’m mentally ill and I’m having trouble overcoming my mental illnesses because I’m obese. It’s a problem I am sure many people have. I thought about doing some research on this matter but, I think it is very easy to come by, the link between weight and mental illness whether you are obese or underweight is quite obvious. I think instead I’ll just talk about my weight and my history.
I was always short, thin, and awkward growing up. When I became a teenager curves started developing, my legs started getting “thick” as one guy put it but, I was still in a size 3 and had flat abs. The guys loved it and that was very important to me at the time. I wasn’t crazy about my legs, I did Legs of Steel workouts to try and slim them down but, not really in earnest. Then I had kids. Now you might think I’m going to say they made me fat but, you’d be wrong, I was right back in my size 3 jeans after my children. I had my children very young, I was 16 and 19 when I gave birth. So whenever I say “I’m fat” to someone and they say, “well you have two kids” I have to tell them they are not to blame at all. I was able to eat whatever I wanted and not worry about my weight. Though I did do some working out to get rid of the baby weight I didn’t work out regularly and I didn’t keep up with it. Read more
I got this idea from @Davesoapbox; name your disorders so they really feel like something other than yourself which is what they are. They may color your personality but, they are not you. So this is going to be a short piece where I just name all of my disorders. It could have been a tweet but, it would have been too long.
So, here are all my disorders and their names:
Bipolar II – This is a tough one I’m trying to think of a name of someone who is turbulent…oooh Ursula. Yup Ursula the sea witch from The Little Mermaid. I’ll try to make the rest less Disney.
Depression – I think I’m going to name this Debbie after Debbie Downer, the SNL skit and my Mother.
Adult ADD – Addie sounds like someone whose hyper and flighty.
PTSD – Patsy, the name of the tortured, abused child actress from Jessica Jones who goes by Trish now.
Anxiety – Hmm, almost forgot about this one. Nelly? You know the phrase nervous Nelly.
So I am going to try to call my disorders Ursula, Debbie, Addie, Patsy, and Nelly. To prove to myself that they are separate from my true self. Thank you for the inspiration @Davesoapbox!
Please go away Mr. Postman,
I already have enough mail, thank you very much,
And my, aren’t those a lot of dead trees you’re carrying?
What good can possibly come in the mailbox?
Unless it’s my birthday or a holiday why bother checking?
It’s only going to be bad news. It’s only going to be a bill.
Not my normal every day bills, I pay those online,
A mystery bill, most likely from some hospital visit.
Shouldn’t my insurance handle such things?
If I open the mail I have to act and I don’t think I can,
So instead I stuff the mail in all the nooks and crannies.
Every corner of my house is overflowing with dead trees,
Dead trees telling me I owe someone something.
It isn’t that I can’t afford to pay it, it’s just that I can’t handle it.
It’s something about the physical form.
It doesn’t make any sense but, please don’t make me open the mail.
As a Doctor Who fan I know that time is not a strict progression of cause to effect so starting at the beginning would be silly and it would take a long time to get to any real events of consequence. No I think the better option is to make this post my mission statement of sorts as well as a getting to know you, ice breaker post. I have been told time and again that I’m a great writer but, thanks to my very low self esteem, I often think people are saying this to be nice. I don’t think I’m a terrible writer though so I thought blogging along with my twitter feed @RealismBites would be a good way to get my story out there and hopefully cause many people to say, “I’m not the only one!”
So that is the basis of my mission statement. It is to help those who need to know or be reminded (as I often do) that depression is as real as a broken leg. That you aren’t the only one who finds daily things, that others seem to do without thinking, extraordinarily difficult. That it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that you might be extremely lonely and yet cancel every set of plans because you want to be alone simultaneously. That you had a severe panic attack when you heard about the most recent mass shooting. That hearing your neighbors argue gave you a PTSD flashback to feeling exactly like you did that time your ex husband wouldn’t let you leave the bedroom until you agreed to have a drink with him and yelled for hours about you judging him. That it is impossible to watch a rape scene partly because it is a horrific thing for anyone to go through but, also because you wish you had been as strong as the women fighting and clawing and screaming at their attackers. That it isn’t abnormal for you to be able to binge watch Jessica Jones but be incapable of concentrating in a 30 minute meeting. That people do not often go out of their way to be so nice as to make much effort or in my case to promote you as my therapist has assured me many times.