The Ugly Truth

I've been writing this particular post in my head for about a month now.  Though words would continue to stir and try to form into coherent sentences, nothing seemed to formulate.  So, bear with me...I'm not sure if this will make any sense or just be a jumbled stream of conscience that maybe comes together by the end.

Everything started out so well.  I mean, sure, it was hard, but I was kicking some diet booty.  I was so proud of myself.  The willpower was high...the weight was getting low(er).  I was thrilled at how good I was feeling, both physically and emotionally.  I was going to the gym at least twice a week.  Counting calories and portion control was a huge help.  All the support and encouragement was the icing on the (fat free) cake.  I was ecstatic that people were noticing my hard work!  As ridiculous and conceited as that sounds, it was true.  By the beginning of May, I was almost at my FORTY (40!!) pound mark.  Just about 4 lbs from it, to be exact.  My goal was to be 50 down by the beginning, or even middle, of summer.  But then an old friend...that sneaky bastard... came knocking on my door.

Can I blame all of this on depression?  Absolutely not.  I don't.  I do know that for some reason, even though I was exercising, eating well, taking my doctor prescribed meds, going to said doctor, trying to keep an optimistic look on things...depression knocked on my door, threw me to the ground, and took up residence.  And just like that, I was thrown off the positive road I had tried so hard to stay on.

I love (which is such an ironic word to use when writing about depression) when people personify depression.  Making it into a thief stealing life from you.  Turning it into a drug that you can't escape.  It helps to see depression as something tangible.  That's how it feels.  It feels like a thief.  I had a therapist describe it as a large man sitting on your chest...it sounds ridiculous, but it's so true.  No leaving.  No breathing.  Paralyzed to your bed.

In the midst of all this, I was also having to make some pretty big life decisions.  Moving jobs, cities, houses, etc.  Depression mixed with change equals dangerous territory.  And here I was....right smack in the middle of it.

At some point, it felt as if that large man, that thief, that rat bastard had led me to an ocean pier and pushed me off into the dark churning water.  Falling, I heard him yell, "Good luck!"  By the end of May, I had barely made it to the shore.  But all the will power had been taken into the ocean.  I was stripped of my desire to continue on with the diet, exercise, or anything slightly resembling it.

This summer, I've used traveling and no routine as an excuse to not exercise or "get back on the wagon".  And though that is true, the other part is, I'm just angry with myself.  I am so mad I have to start over again.  And here is the ugly truth, because maybe if I type it, it will cement in my head, I've gained half of what I lost back.  HALF.  It's like two steps forward, 15 steps back.

So what's the point of writing all of this?  Well, you, kind reader, have cheered me along.  The positivity and encouragement were the best motivation EVER.  And I feel like I don't really deserve it again, but I do owe a "what just happened?"  4 solid months of work down the drain is what my mind is telling me, but my heart (oh, that precious organ of stubbornness) is telling me to get back on the horse, wagon, bike (ha), and go for it again.

I don't know when I will be back in full "COMMENCE HEALTHY EATING AND LIFESTYLE" mode again.  A lot of things in my life have got to change, namely food and exercise and routine.  But, I've not COMPLETELY given up hope.  Not quite yet.  So, maybe you won't either.  No words of encouragement necessary, just a silent prayer that when I do get back up again, it will be okay.  The motivation will be there.  The strength will come.

Thank you, friends.