Motion Masquerade

Quick update regarding F***ck: Chase (my baby brother) read his text messages at 5:41 PM yesterday evening — thank God for those receipts — so I know that he’s at least alive.

You wouldn’t know it to look at me now but I was once a pretty damn impressive competitive athlete. I’m 5’8″ and my senior year of high school I weighed 109 pounds. My mom was convinced that I had some sort of eating disorder but I just burned every calorie I consumed.

I was always a part of at least one varsity sport, if not two, and I trained four to five hours each day. I could easily consume 2,000 calories every 24 hours and not gain an ounce.

When I got pregnant with my son (at nineteen) I put on 45 pounds, but I dropped back down to 135 pounds after having him and maintained that weight for many years after.

By my early thirties I weighed around 154 pounds but I still looked relatively healthy for my height; and then, I got really sick.

When the Hurt and the Healers Collide…

I started having unexplained seizures and experiencing debilitating migraine headaches. Fainting also became an issue.

I had chronic muscle and joint pain, and extreme insomnia.

My menstrual cycles (which had always been painful and irregular) went from being a nuisance to completely out of control. The bleeding was so heavy that I could soak the most robust pads in a matter of minutes; and the pain was so intense that it would drop me to my knees. They also started occurring more frequently and lasting longer.

My husband and I started visiting doctors and specialists on a regular basis; and, for the longest time, we were told that much of what was happening was “psychosomatic” or “due to stress.” Thankfully, I didn’t have one of those husbands that bought into these bullshit theories. He knew as well as I did that what was happening had a source and he was as determined as I was to find it; so, we kept seeing physicians until we found the ones that were willing to figure out what was going on.

After many, many months of visiting different neurological practices we finally found a female practitioner who was willing to listen and to ask questions about my history. She did a slew of tests and looked deeply into my past prescriptions. Dr. W was appalled by the dose of Wellbutrin I was taking, which was well above advised limits (something we weren’t aware of) — and further horrified by how long I’d been on it (I had started the drug when it was in its clinical trial phase, more than a decade earlier). She explained that one of the side-effects of high-dosage Wellbutrin intake was seizures and that given how long I’d been taking extreme doses I may well experience these side effects for the rest of my life. She started weaning me off Wellbutrin immediately and started me on medication for seizures and migraine headaches. She also recommended a new primary care physician.

My husband and I booked an appointment with the new PCP right away — Dr. P. Dr P was as kind and empathetic to our situation as Dr. W was. She took her time asking questions and ran her own battery of tests. She discovered that my vitamin B and D levels were low, that I had hypothyroidism, and that I was extremely anemic (not surprising, given the amount of blood I was losing every month). She gave me injections for the vitamin and mineral deficiencies and started me on Levothyroxine for my thyroid issues. After that, the fainting stopped.

Dr. P then gave us a referral to an OB/GYN that she thought might be able to help with my menstrual issues. Dr. L discovered that I had endometriosis and cystic ovaries. Her recommendation was that I have a hysterectomy; but, our insurance company wasn’t willing to cover one because of my age — they insisted that I was too young and there were other courses of action we could take.

I spent the next eight years having D&C procedures, endometrial ablations, and trying one birth control after another — all to no avail. During this time Dr. L also regularly prescribed opiates and muscle relaxers for my pain because I was literally bedridden by it. Finally, after more than a dozen unsuccessful other surgical procedures, our insurance company approved a partial hysterectomy. Dr. L said to take what we could get and they removed my uterus in May of 2016.

To this day, I still have cystic ovaries that cause unbearable pain every three to four weeks. I also have an essential tremor, seizures, and migraine headaches as a result of long-term, overprescribed Wellbutrin use.

… but the Damage Had Already Been Done

I gained 21 pounds while I was laid up all those years and my husband and I drifted apart.

My pain was so great that it literally hurt to be touched. Michael started sleeping in a separate bedroom; and, by the time I got better, we had spent years apart and no longer remembered how to communicate with one another intimately. My husband also announced during this time that he had always felt asexual (to read more about how this affected our marriage see Puff, Puff, I Ain’t Givin’ It Up) and I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.

My Self-Esteem is Evident in My Weight

For some borderlines (not all) their sense of identity and self-worth is highly tied to their sexuality and I am one of them. If I don’t have a sexually intimate relationship with my partner then I don’t feel desired nor fully loved — which has a negative impact on my self-esteem.

I don’t use anymore. I don’t drink anymore. Now, I eat my negative feelings. In the absence of a sexual relationship with my husband I have put on a lot of weight. At 294 pounds, I am now the heaviest I have ever been. I am wearing my waning self-esteem in the form of fat.

Michael recently said to me, “I’m worried about you, Babe. You’re not taking care of yourself.” He’s not wrong. I’m not taking care of myself.

I just had the worst semester of my academic career and I can feel myself pulling away from my friends and family — mostly because I’m embarrassed by my appearance and have a harder time getting around these days.

We had a membership to a gym last year and I was doing really well; but, we had to let it go due to financial reasons and I just haven’t found the motivation to leave the house since. Also, I live in the Sonoran Desert and it’s June; so, the summer temperatures are a major deterrent when it comes to outdoor recreation.

If You Have to Ask if You’re Depressed, You Probably Are

The only reason I haven’t descended back down “the rabbit hole” into a major depressive episode is because I’ve kept my mind above water. I’ve been writing quite a lot and I’ve been binging television series and movies that I enjoy. I keep meaning to read (something I used to love); but, I just can’t seem to get my heart back into it.

I know that I’m losing my sense of self. I can feel it.

I also know that it isn’t Michael’s fault. Sure, if he was willing to have a sexual relationship with his wife (i.e. me) life would be easier; but, the man loves me dearly and I have total faith in that. I adore him too.

I’m stressed about a lot of things that I don’t have control over. My sex life is just one of them.

It’s also June. June has been a difficult time since 2018. That’s when we lost my brother and my family has been in shambles since. We’re not the same and we will never be the same again. The grief ebbs and flows, but it’s always highest in June.

My psychiatrist (who only does 15 minute appointments to manage medications and make sure you’re not going to off yourself) says I need to get back into therapy and that Michael and I would benefit from couples therapy. Michael, of course, doesn’t believe in therapy. (Well, for me, he does.) He’s kind of like Chase in that way — he’s smarter than 99.9% of the rest of the world and he thinks that most therapists are idiots.

I’ve made some calls over the last few months, but only one office called me back. They told me that they only handle Russian-speaking EMDR clientele (In Tucson?! WTF?!) so that was a no-go.

I don’t feel depressed; but, then again, depressed persons don’t often know they’re depressed until it’s too late. I know that I’m showing signs of depression and that my husband’s worried… so, I better do something. I’m just not sure what to do. I should probably start with a shower. It’s been a couple days… 🤦‍♀️