Monday, November 14, 2011

Depressed much?

I've always been super relieved that I've never suffered from any sort of crippling depression. What do I consider "crippling"? Well, I guess being so depressed that you don't want to do much. Can't really do much. Don't have much control over motivating yourself to do much. I've especially felt relief after both pregnancies, being able to avoid PPD. Depression runs on all sides of my family, it seems, so I'm certainly no stranger to it. And I've certainly experienced it myself, as well. I've always had manageable depression. It's made me sad as I've watched those I love struggle from the burdens of their own depression.

But heck, no one's in the clear, I guess. There have been a few days since having Diesel (9 1/2 weeks ago) where I've felt a new level of "depression". I don't wanna slit my wrists or anything drastic like that. I just really feel overwhelmed with a sort of self loathing. I want to sit in a chair and eat. All. Day. I don't want to move from said chair other than to shower, take care of the necessities for the kids, eat, and eat. Oh and go to the bathroom. Today is one of those days. Although I did clean the house.

I am in such unfamiliar territory, and I'm not certain how to handle it. I know that tomorrow I will wake up and not struggle with the things I'm struggling with today. That's how it's gone the other two times I've felt like this. But it's weird feeling this way. Let me explain.

I've always been chubby. I always talk about it. I've always had self esteem problems because of it. I've never, however, felt like my eating was a particular problem. I've let myself believe that I just don't like exercise, and that the quality of the food I eat isn't the best. But I've never felt like I abuse food. Until just recently, anyway. I've had 3 days total since having Diesel where I'm getting glimpses (day long glimpses, BAH!) of just exactly what my problems are.

Today is the third of these days. I ate and ate. I didn't enjoy the food I ate. It wasn't particularly awesome, in fact it wasn't even on my list of favorites by a long shot. But after I would eat, I would feel better. Well, during and after. And then ten minutes after being done eating, I would feel the desire to eat again. So I would. And it's not like I'm sitting down and polishing off a family size bag of chips or a case of oreos. I'm just snacking much too frequently, even when I'm already full. And I'm doing it because I like to be filled. Does this make sense to anyone? I've never been able to identify with others before on levels like this. I always thought I just really loved food. Not that I had a need for it or any other unhealthy attachment. I just liked to eat like I like watching movies, or something! But today I watched myself eat myself into deeper and deeper self loathing and depression. It was weird.


I think my new found awareness of my "issue" has stemmed from my recent awareness of addictions and how they hurt people. And more importantly, what exactly an "addiction" is. My brother has been an addict since just after highschool. After years of sobriety, he recently hit rock bottom again. Drugs. Someone else I love dearly struggles with another addiction, and as I've learned to help both this friend and my brother, my own problems are flashing around on a giant blinking sign right in front of my face, it seems. Food is not my friend. I abuse it like my brother abuses (abused) drugs, and it's just as unhealthy for me as it is for him. I feel out of control, I feel shame, and it's essentially killing me. Granted, I can't O.D. on cereal or anything, but my health certainly suffers from my lack of care. I see this as a problem, and something that I need to take seriously. But it's also something that I'm absolutely ashamed I need some help with. Not very many people understand unhealthy relationships with food, so it's totally embarassing. I think my husband might be one of those people. He never abuses food. He always takes care of himself. It's easy for him to pass up the cookies or brownies if he's eaten a little too unhealthy in a day, and also makes sure to work off any extra calories he's consumed. He's always WANTED to take care of himself. Like most people, his love for food is healthy and normal. It's a non issue for him.


So, I'm sad about this. I'm sad at this self-realization, but I'm also glad that I'm finally aware of it. It's been easy living a life of denial. I can absolutely sympthasize better with addictions of other natures, because all addictions are the same, as far as being behavioral issues. The bad thing about all of this is, just because someone is aware of their addiction doesn't mean they're gonna do anything about it. My issues with food totally suck, but instead of feeling like I can get a handle on things, it's just thrown me into a gnarly sort of depression. I wish I was one of those people that's all stoked up on running and exercising and eating right. I'm just not. So it's a lot of work for me. It's hard enough finding time to just straighten up my always-messy house. But now I've gotta make an extra effort to turn my cheek to the one thing that comforts without fail? Granted, it hurts me in the long run because I'm just grossed out by myself after, but shoot, if I'm always grossed out by myself anyway, I might as well eat for SOME moments of comfort, right?


I'm sure a lot of this has to do with my always-present hormones from nursing. On top of my LOVE for food, I'm hungry much more frequently than "normal", so I've allowed myself plenty of excuses. Allowed and STILL allow, I should say. It's a decent excuse. It's the truth. I'm always hungry because I nurse my kid ALL THE TIME. He's such a hippo. But, when I'm depressed, I eat even when Im not hungry.


Anyways, no point in continuing. You get the point. I hate food for making me feel good sometimes. Just like my brother probably hates and loves drugs for making him feel better sometimes too. Guess I need to take care of my ish. My brother is. It's the least I can do too.