I’ve posted about this before, but what’s SUPER fun about depression is all the ways it looks that I didn’t know about before I saw doctors for it. And apparently in ME, it looks a lot like being an exhausted, lazy asshole. And since I frequently AM an exhausted lazy, asshole, it’s hard to differentiate.
So basically any time I’m tired I get anxious that I’m depressed, and then I can’t sleep, which is just goddamn delightful.
And I’m still not convinced I even HAVE depression. I feel like there’s a diet or a vitamin I haven’t tried yet that would just fix me right up, and my doctors are just throwing pills at me because that’s what doctors do for middle-aged, middle-class white women. Maybe all I need is, like, less gluten and more St. John’s Wort or whatever the shit.
Human brains and bodies are stupid and obsolete. I demand an upgrade.
Hippie wisdom: “Just listen to your body, it’ll tell you what it needs.”
Me: “Mm’kay. Body, what do you need?”
Body: “I need to order a large pizza, eat one full slice, then eat just the cheese off the rest.”
Me: [blink] “Um… Hey, hippies? I don’t know if the fat broad can be trusted…”
But fuck you, Brain — I’m smarter than you. Nice people are delivering me healthy food so I’m prepared for Philly’s forthcoming bullshit snowstorm. So if you insist on staying indoors, that’s fine. But you are gonna drink weird fruit smoothies and do SOME form of exercise and have a goddamn productive day, and you are going to LIKE IT. And tomorrow you’re talking to the therapist.
The other day my friend made a side-by-side photo of her face on the day she started working out, and her face a few weeks after, and you can really see a difference — she’s lost weight and she’s glowier (totally a word).
I just did the same photo, and…welp, now I’m just gonna eat a whole pizza for breakfast because fuck this fruit bullshit, I look EXACTLY the same. My body is disloyal and this is just what I weigh. Maybe I’ll be a fat activist. Maybe I’ll just gain MORE weight and get my own reality show. I’m probably funnier than most of the people on My 600-Pound Life.
I quit. Send snacks.
Thank you for attending my tantrum.
I understand “non-scale victories” and other standard things people say here, but also…The number on my scale is not moving, and now I just want to eat only manicotti because fuck it, my efforts are meaningless and human bodies are stupid.
Thank you for attending my TED Talk.
My Fitbit finally hit 10,000 steps in a day…as I was on my way back up to my apartment after retrieving my 9 p.m. dinner delivery from the pizza place.
Finally remembered to weigh myself “first thing in the morning after I pee but before I drink anything, because that’s my TRUE weight,” and…FUCK, now I gotta jump out the window.
It’s fine. Now I have my baseline to try to LOSE some weight. My fat, fat baseline… 🙄
I mean…I guess as weight-loss motivators go, splitting the seam on a fairly new — and not inexpensive — pair of pants is probably a pretty good one, if a bit unflattering. 🙄
My mom isn’t saying I need to lose weight, but since I mentioned it earlier, just so I know, So-and-So just died of a heart attack at age 43 because she was overweight.
She also had high blood pressure and smoked, which Mom knows I don’t do, but… just, you know… “It’s not just about vanity.”
“Well, yeah, but my health is fine at this weight. Blood pressure, cholesterol, it’s all perfect.”
“Yeah, I know, but you have to keep it that way.”
So I guess “Don’t get any fatter” is the sage wisdom getting passed down through the generations this Mother’s Day?
Cool. Noted. Someone put that shit on a Hallmark card.
And it was on the way out the door, too. My mom is a fucking MASTER of the emotional drive-by.
“I wasn’t trying to say you need to lose weight.”
“I really don’t know what else you could’ve been trying to say, Mom.”
Aaand SCENE. Her husband got in the car and drove them away.
We win at communication.
P.S. Why, yes, she DID send me home with cake and soft pretzels, why do you ask?