Yesterday went well until I got home. There was homemade pizza. I ate a little. Then I ate a little more. Then I ate a cookie. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I have this cloud that hangs over me sometimes? I've struggled with depression forever. Since I was a child I suspect.
I remember being about 6 years old and laying on the sofa, just crying all day. For no reason. My grandmother would ask, "What's wrong? Why are you so upset?" I would just cry and cry and say, "I don't know." And I didn't. I still don't. It's weird and crazy. I have so many wonderful things in my life. I feel guilty for being down, but sometimes I can't help it. Usually I pull myself out after a day or two. Today is one of those days I'm trying to pull myself out.
I had nightmares last night. Silly things and scary things. I woke up feeling sad and down. My husband left to go to Oklahoma to the football game with a friend. He needed to pick somethings up for work. So I'm here with the girls. Son is at boy scouts and I pick him up at 10pm. Me alone feeling down. Not good. I wasn't going to post. I wasn't even going to read blogs, but I knew that would only make things worse. So here I am.
Last week got me down. I am still having trouble with asthma. I can't breathe very well. My throat is sore. I think I'm getting a sinus infection. I have an infection in one of my incisions. It hurts when it is touched and looks gross. It woke me up several times last night. I am tired of feeling bad. Tired of it.
I was great last week. I ate well and I had finally made it under my pre-surgery weight. I was feeling back on track. Then...I gained 1.5 pounds for no real reason and I started feeling down. I've followed the challenge all week. I am still up in weight. I'm not weighing anymore for a while. It really set me off.
My brain chemistry isn't right. I know this. I know it is genetic. Both of my parents have mental health issues. My Dad is really sick. That's why we have no relationship anymore. There are times. Like today when I wonder. I don't see him or speak to him. It's better that way.
My parents divorced when I was 2 years old. He was abusive to my Mom. Not physically. Mentally. She left just before the physical part started. I think she is very brave for realizing it. Especially considering her childhood. It isn't my place to tell her story, but she's been through things that many don't survive. I didn't know the whole story on my Dad until I was old enough to understand. My Mom never bad mouthed Dad.
When I was little around 4 or 5, my Dad started telling me I was too fat. I shouldn't eat this or that. He'd tell me how pretty I'd be if I weren't fat. I only saw him occasionally. It was very hurtful. I was always so excited to see him and he would comment on my weight every time when he greeted me. As I got older, I was hurt more and more.
He is Lebanese. That added to our conflicts. In my experience, women are not valued in that culture. His 2 sons, my 1/2 brothers, got everything their way. I was supposed to cook and clean and be quiet. Well, this didn't mesh too well with the independent ideas my ERA supporting Mom was teaching me. When I think back, I realize we just didn't get each other and he never really put a lot of effort into making sure he knew me.
He lived in Colorado. I lived with my Mom in Oklahoma. We went for months without speaking. Months without seeing each other. Then, I guess he'd get guilty and he'd send me a big box of clothes and money. I found out later he never payed child support. He was remarried with 4 kids. Twin girls and 2 younger boys.
The last summer I visited was the worst. I was 15 and just starting to find my way and independence. He kept telling me he wanted me to stay with him. He was talking about moving or going to Lebanon. He was physically abusive to his wife and the girls. I've seen him beat them with shoes and belts and sticks and whatever was handy. I saw him hit my step mother in the head with a frying pan once because she didn't cook something right. He would shout in Arabic, which I couldn't speak. He never hit me. He knew he couldn't or he wouldn't see me again. But I would watch and I would spend my time trying to keep the twins safe.
That summer I got the chicken pox a few days after I arrived. I had babysat for a baby that had them. My mom thought it was safe since I'd already had them. Two days after arriving I had a high fever and the rash came. My Dad said my Mom and I planned it to ruin his visit with me. He was so angry at me for being sick. He didn't want me in bed. He didn't want me calling my Mom. He wasn't going to give me medicine for the fever, but my step-mother fought with him and he finally gave in.
For those 2 weeks, he came in every morning and work me early, sometimes before the sun was up. He would make me and the "fat twin" walk around the block. Every meal, he'd give me some food and then take it away after a few minutes. Once there was a family dinner where all these people I didn't know and couldn't speak the language with were there. I knew he was talking about me and pointing to me. Finally he came and in front of the whole room he says in English, "See. I tell you she is fat because she eats all the time. She would be pretty, but she won't stop eating." They laughed. I just sat there. Soon, I was sent outside to walk around the block. I cried the whole way. I walked down the block and sat down and cried.
I didn't tell my Mom about this stuff. I think it's because I so desperately wanted him to love me. I also had come to believe him in some ways. That I was a fat failure. That I was a loser and not worth anything.
The last days were worse and worse. He told me if I didn't stay with him I would not be his daughter anymore. I called my Mom and she heard the fear and sadness sin my voice I guess. She asked what was wrong. I told her he wanted me to stay with him and that he was going on a trip and wanted me to go. I told her I didn't want to. She told me not to worry about it. Everything would be fine.
The next morning she and her best friend arrived to pick me up. I had no idea, but Dad thought I'd asked her to come. She knocked on the door, said she was taking me home and I should get my stuff. My Dad was furious. I went down stairs and started packing. I was so relieved. The twin girls were in my room crying and begging me not to leave. Then he came in. He told me that My Mom was deliberately making me fat so that no man would ever want me and I would have to stay with her forever. He told me I was going to be fat just like her with no man. He told me that if I left that day, he would never speak to me again. He would never call me. He would no loner be my father. He told me that all I wanted him for was money. He took out his wallet and shoved all the money in it at me and walked out.He wouldn't let the kids or my step mother say good bye to me.
I cried and cried. I told my Mom what he had said. She was so nice. She said he was just mad and didn't mean it. I have this big wad of money and I was in shock. Just sitting there crying and not speaking. Mom said, "Hey I thought you said you were going to the mall to buy that watch." She took me there. Then we went and ate a HUGE meal. She said I could eat whatever I wanted. This was new considering she tried to make me eat healthy. I had a big burger, fries and a giant ice cream sundae. And I learned I can bury my sorrow with shopping and food.
I didn't hear from my Dad for 10 years. Just before I got married I called him. I felt like I was ready and I wanted to forgive him. My husband, bless his heart, drove me there. We met him. We reconciled. He came to my wedding and my half-siblings did also. He was furious that I didn't let him walk me down the aisle. I didn't feel that he'd earned the right. That started the end.
We stayed in touch every few months I'd call him. We'd talk a little. He asked me when I was going to give him a grand child and said a lot of the old hurtful things again. I told him I didn't know. At the time, I didn't. I was in residency and very busy. I decided that if he wanted a relationship with me, he could call me. He didn't. A year later, I had my son. I felt bad for not telling him. I sent him an announcement. I received the meanest letter from him telling me that I was never a good daughter to him. I never called him or tried to know him. He then said that my son didn't look like me only like him and that I didn't deserve a son like that. He was angry that I didn't choose an Arabic name.
After that it was over. I never responded. I never spoke with him again. I didnt' want him anywhere near my son. When we moved, I didn't tell him where. A few years ago, before I'd had the girls, he found me. He called and wanted to come see me. I met him at the office as I didnt' want him knowing my home address. My mom and husband were there. He was very apoloetic. He wanted to meet my son.
My husband said no way and I agreed. We agreed that we'd see how things went. If he really was trying to show me he'd changed, we'd see with time. Until I was sure, he wasn't meeting his grandson. We were parents and we had to protect our child. A few weeks later he called again. He got angry. Said I was punishing him and not being a Christian by not forgiving him. I told him I had, but I wasn't ready for him to meet my son. He started yelling. I hung up. I sent him a long email detailing all the things he had said and done and why I didn't want him near my son. I told him that unless he got some mental health treatment, I didn't want to speak with him again. I haven't heard from him again.
And that is that..I feel better. I'm sorry I went on and on. But, I actually feel better after pouring all that out of me. I am still down, but less. I went over my calories for the DDDY challenge yesterday by about 200. I had eaten less though twice this week, so over all I'm OK as long as I reign it in the rest of today. I think I can. Maybe I'll take the girls for a walk or just play Wii for a while. See y'all tomorrow!
This blog is an accounting of my personal journey to find fitness. All the content on this blog should be read as a biographical piece of literature, not a medical resource. I am a physician, but I am in no way giving medical advice or establishing doctor patient relationships with my readers. I am simply keeping a diary. If you are starting a diet or exercise program or require medical evaluation or advice, please see your own family physician.