For one, although I am "anonymous" - many of my Chubby Chasers are real life friends and family, which means that I am not nearly as anonymous as I may originally seem. What I say on this blog and this site can impact the way people look, think about or treat me in real life. It can affect my relationships and my reputation.
However, when I started this journey as the Chubby Chick, I said that I wouldn't have any secrets and that I wouldn't lie to you. If there is something that is impacting my weight, my health or my overall journey, I promised that I would share it with you or I may as well not even bother doing this. It's an all or nothing thing, right? If I'm going to half ass it, I may as well just throw in the towel.
As of this moment, I have 49 Chubby Chasers, I've earned $376.90 for seven different charities and I've lost over 35 pounds in less than four months.
I'm not throwing in the damn towel.
So, with that being said, I hope that those of you who know me personally will not look at me any differently. I am not asking for your sympathy or pity either. And, if at all possible - please don't spread what you learn here to anyone else outside of the Chubby Chaser circle. I'm trusting you with this information because you have chosen to support me in my weight loss journey and because you have stood on the front line and been the first ones to challenge me and make pledges and follow through on your pledges to charity.
First, the good news. Although you have not really heard much from me since the beginning of the month...although I have not been on a strict diet and exercise regiment...I have managed to maintain my weight at approximately 330 - 332 lbs, which is where I began the month.
As a teenager, I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder - otherwise known as Manic Depression. I am going to write this blog for those of you who know nothing about the disorder or its treatment so, for those of you who are more familiar with it, this may seem a little elementary.
Most people are a bit more familiar with Depression - which is a feeling of sadness. When you are clinically depressed, the feeling of sadness may come on for no particular reason, or it may be overwhelming wear you simply can't come out of it. Severe depression can last for days, weeks or months at a time and may lead to thoughts of self harm or suicide if left untreated.
Clinical Depression is just a part of Bipolar Disorder.
Bipolor Disorder is often referred to as Manic Depression because you can also experience episodes of "Mania" - extreme hyper activity, happiness, joy, laughter, productivity. Personally, I never have more fun, nor am I more fun to hang out with when I am experiencing this kind of mania.
But, there is a flip side to this mania, and it literally comes on in the blink of an eye. It's agitation, irritability, aggravation, anger and full on, irrational, illogical and blinding rage. In a healthy state of mind, I am a peaceful, non-confrontational person who will often take abuse just to avoid having to confront someone to stand up for myself but, when the mania sets in, I am so full of hate and loathing and violence that I want to hurt someone. I usually have just enough of "me" left inside that I have never physically hurt someone in one of these rages...but I've sadly made my mother cry and I've actually broken my pinky finger by punching a concrete wall once.
So, although I've been on prescription medication since I was a teenager, every so often, I'll get another medication for asthma or allergies or something, and a drug interaction might cause my mood prescription to stop working as well. So I have to switch. Or, maybe...after a few year of using a particular mood prescription, I start developing a tolerance...so I need a new dosage. Another time, after I had gained a couple of hundred pounds, we found that excessive weight gain was a huge side effect of my mood enhancer - so the doctor thought we should try something else to see if that would help me to get the weight down.
Recently, I've noticed that my mood prescription hasn't been as helpful as it has in the past. I've been having more bouts of depression and anger and less periods of stabilization. So, my doctor decided to change my prescription to something new. He advised me to start the new prescription immediately and started me at the lowest dose possible.
A few days after starting my new medication, I went into a happy, productive mania - but did not recognize the symptoms. I mean, who EVER complains when they are euphoric and productive? It wasn't after three days of euphoric happiness that I crashed and realized what was happening. I left a message for my doctor's office, but didn't hear back. It was Thursday, and I had already missed two days of work.
I called and left another message on Friday - again, with no response. That night, I started having scary thoughts.
For those of you who have never experienced severe depression - there is a big difference between having suicidal thoughts and BEING suicidal. The best way I can explain is - for any woman who saw the movie "Magic Mike" - thinking about stripping Channing Tatum, throwing him down on the bed and having your way with him does not constitute a PLAN for actually raping him.
A thought does not always equal a plan or intent.
By Saturday, my thoughts had turned dark, against my will. This means that - although I was coherent, rational and logical and I knew that suicide was by no means the answer - it was on my mind.
Upon my request, my mother drove me to Urgent Care so that I could speak to a doctor about upping my new medication to the next dose. If I had been familiar with it, I would have just done it on my own - but since it was new and I didn't know much about it, I just wanted to speak to a doctor before doubling up on it. I was just trying to be responsible.
So, we go to Urgent Care and in the triage, the woman asks if I am suicidal. I am trying to get my meds upped, so I assume it will be best to be honest. I tell her I have no desire to kill myself, but I do have dark thoughts. She asks me what thoughts and I explain that the sleeping pill thing crossed my mind a day or so ago. She takes me to my bed where I wait to see the doctor.
The doctor comes by and asks me if I want to kill myself. I say no. She asks me why I told the triage nurse that I did. Now, I'm getting pissed. I explain that I never told her I wanted to kill myself - I just explained that I've been feeling down and having dark thoughts, but that I have no desire to hurt myself and that is why I am here to ask if I can up my meds. The doctor says it sounds suspicious because now I am changing my story. Now, I'm losing my temper. I say I'm not changing my story - a couple of days ago, I had a thought about taking sleeping pills - I didn't do it, I have no desire to do it, that why I didn't do it, that's why I'm still alive and if I wanted to hurt myself I wouldn't ask my mom to drive me to a hospital so that I could ask a doctor if it would be safe for me to take an extra pill.
The doctor leaves.
I start bawling cuz I'm scared shitless. Mom tells me I shouldn't have told them I was having dark thoughts, cuz now they think I'm crazy...which makes me cry harder. Mom tells me I shouldn't be crying because it's only going to make them think worse, which pisses me off, so I stop crying, wipe my eyes and kick my shoes off.
Mom tells me not to get mad because my sudden mood swings are going to make them think they are right. Now I'm even madder. I can feel my face changing color and I feel like "HULK, SMASH!" and my mom's eyes bug out and she says "I don't know - maybe you need to go..." Which makes me sad because I'm scaring her and hurts my feelings because she's saying she things I'm crazy and makes me made because she won't stop talking and I'm mad for being honest and I'm mad for asking her to bring me here and I'm mad for not just taking an extra pill instead of trying to do the right thing and I'm mad because I lost my license and I'm mad because I think it's too late for me to just grab my shit and run for the door and...
Mom starts tearing up and I take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control - willing my face to return to the normal control so I don't look crazy anymore, even though my heart is pounding. The doctor pulls the curtain wide open and she is there with what looks like two nurses and a security guard.
"You're going to Baker Act me." I claim, as calm as I can, although the tears are already beginning to fall.
For those of you not in the know, Baker Act is a Florida Statute that allows you to place someone in a Psychiatric hold for no less than 72 hours if a family member or medical professional deems them to be a danger to themselves or others.
"I'm sorry, but we can't take a risk-" She starts.
"Even though I've told you I have no intention to hurt myself and I came here to ask for permission to up my meds so that I specifically would not harm myself?" I asked.
"You said you had intentions to take sleeping pills."
"And there's nothing I can do about it? At this point, I'm a prisoner, is that correct? If I were to try to get up and walk out that door, you're going to what? Have him tackle me? Sedate me? Tie me to a bed like some lunatic all because I came here and asked you for help?" I asked, indignant tears pouring down my cheeks.
I have to admit, she looked a little embarrassed at that one. "Yes, he would try to stop you."
"Fine. Do whatever you have to do." I started bawling in front of all of them, but you're not really given much dignity after that anyway. One of the nurses came right up in my face and started babying, rubbing my shoulder and telling me it was going to be alright. Like I said - although your moods are all over the place - you are logical and rational...you are just not always capable of behaving in the most rational, logical way. So, I stayed quiet for as long as I could and allowed her to placate me - it felt for an hour, but it was probably less than a minute, before I asked her to stop. I thought I did it pretty nicely, consider what was going down, but mom told me later I pretty much barked at her.
The guard got me a gown and some socks, gave me a second to change and from that point forward, my curtain has to remain opened so that he could monitor me. I have to give it to him, he was pretty cool. Said right from the start he didn't think I was a danger and - although he kept the curtain open and watched me, he didn't require me to stay on the bed and seated and joked with me and mom. In fact - I don't know how I did it...like I've said before, I think my sense of humor is just a form of self defense, but from that point forward, I start joking. I joked about everything. And I laughed. No more crying. No more anger.
Paramedics came to transfer me to a local hospital, and I flirted with them relentelessly. They said there was no way I was a Baker Act and noted as much in their notes. Even said as much to the nurses when I got into the ER. And, therefore, I didn't get paid much attention to in the ER.
They followed protocol, but loosely. For example, the alarm bracelet that they put on Psych patients so that you can't disappear was put so loosely on my wrist that I could slip it off without any effort whatsoever. They joked with me. I missed a girls night out that I had planned, which hurt terribly, and I bawled when I had to tell them why I was going to miss it. But, aside from that, I was lucky to have leveled out. My parents stayed by my side during the ordeal except for about one hour when all visitors had to clear the floor.
That was a tough hour - without any distractions. Fear started taking over as I tried to imagine how I could possibly cope without family and friends in some kind of psych ward all because of some kind of misunderstanding...I almost cried again, but turning my attention on making some of the personnel laugh.
When the doctor came around, the hospital stuff all told him that I was no danger to anybody, so he gave me the option to stay voluntarily instead of being Baker Acted. Apparently, I would keep more rights that way, so I agreed. But, having spoken to me and the ER staff, he placed a call to the Psychologist and instead, they agreed to just up my dosage and release me to the care of my parents, as I was no risk.
That was last Saturday.
It's been a rough week. If you've ever seen the commercials, depression DOES hurt. Aside from the emotions of it all, you really do experience headache and muscle aches, sore stomach, cramps, nausea and other illnesses along with it. Not to mention the hell that you know you are putting other people through. The worry and heartache and hurt my parents have experienced by my side and, I've wanted to be better - if not for me, than for them. It's this constant struggle where neither of us can do anything for the other.
Per the doctors instructions, I've tweaked my meds a little and have finally started to see some results. I still don't feel back to being "me" yet, but I'm on my way. There are some changes that need to be made - I'm not entirely sure that this medicine is the right one for me - regardless of dosage - and its a scary road to travel till I find the right one...but I'm hopeful. Sadly, I've missed two weeks of work and, with not sick time available - that's two weeks of pay I will not be getting right before the holidays. That doesn't help lift my spirits much.
But, don't count me out, folks. I've been through all of this and the Chubby Chick has done ALL that bad, so I must be in it for the long haul, right?
For those of you still in this with me - thank you. I hope that you all have had a much better, brighter Thanksgiving month, and I look forward to making a terrific difference with you in the months ahead.
Most Sincerely,
The "Cheerful" Chubby Chick
