Clinical depression and weightloss

Well, this week, I was diagnosed with clinical depression.  I’ve known it for a long time.  Even before my mom died last year, I knew my soul was injured and the physical me just withdrew further and further into the shell of my home.  I no longer see any friends, I feel my family is broken, especially with the death of my mom and I feel like a total failure as a wife and mother.  It was inevitable that I was going to break down, although I tried for the longest time to hold it all together.  My sister and husband had seen the signs for years, although I was in total denial.  My will to live was reaching an all time low.

So, I ended up at the doctor and the diagnosis was delivered.  Medication, therapy and group support have been prescribed so, it would seem, all is in hand.  But, I don’t want to bang on about my depression – it consumes every fibre of my being – I really want to focus on how I am going to beat it.  As you know, 15 months ago, I became sober, giving up alcohol totally, so that is a step in the right direction, although it would appear, not enough to help life my depression.

The next thing on my list is my weight.  I am 30kgs overweight, which is a lot to lug around every day.  I cannot deny that it affects me in every way.  I hate going out socialising because I always feel like a giant (I am usually the tallest and the fattest), I definitely avoid the beach (and I live near some beautiful beaches), it goes without saying that I loathe clothes shopping and even being at work, I feel like I have nothing to contribute because how can someone as overweight as I am be taken seriously.  I conveniently have a desk at work that faces the corner with my back to everyone else.  It has come to suit me very well – like the proverbial ostrich that buries their head in the sand, I feel like if I can’t see them, then they can’t see (and be appalled by) me.

Of course, for the last five years, I have avidly watched the Biggest Loser and for the last five years I have been in awe at firstly, the immense bravery of the contestants showing their bodies in front of a nation, and secondly, the transformation.  As I sat on my recliner with my feet up, stuffing my face with chocolate, I have wished like hell that I could find the motivation to stick to a diet and lose the weight, thereby enacting my own transformation.  Of course, for five years, nothing has changed – well, except for my weight, which has increased in that time.

So, this week, I joined the online Biggest Loser club.  This is not the first time I have done this – like most habitual dieters, I do a rotation of all the popular diets; weight watchers, tony ferguson, biggest loser – but there is something about the Biggest Loser that I like.  I guess having a series attached to it makes it real, inspirational and with that is the notion that perhaps, just perhaps, I could achieve the same results.  My first week, I have lost 1.4kgs, but I have to confess this is not through sticking to the program.  It is probably more about not eating as much chocolate, although that can’t be true – we’ve just had easter for goodness sake.  For whatever reason, I have lost it, and it is quite nice to see I have lost “one blob”.

Tonight hubby and I were watching the Biggest Loser and the last five contestants did the reflective hike where, during a long hike, at intervals the weight they have lost is put into a backpack.  By the end of the hike, they are carrying the weight they have lost, effectively weighing what they weighed in the beginning.  After the program, hubby came up with the bright idea of getting me to feel the weight that I am carrying, thereby giving me a physical representation of how my weight is affecting my energy levels, and hence my mood.  Before I knew it out came the hiking back pack (now moulding after years of lack of use) and hubby was scouting the house for items that would add up to the 30kgs I had to lose. And this is the result:

Normally, I wouldn’t show myself in such a public fashion but in the spirit of attempting to emerge from the dark cloud that sits with me, I decided to be honest with myself and confront the reality.

This is what hubby scouted around the house to put into the bag – yes, an entire set of dumbell weights, numerous books and a cast iron lid!!

I can tell you, it was quite horrible to carry it.  Hubby’s passing comment? “How can you possibly feel well carrying this around, my love.”  How very true!


The Wrath of Nature

Our televisions have recently been filled with images of the devastation that have hit Christchurch in New Zealand as well as the catastrophe that hit Japan. One woman in Christchurch survived the quake, only to return to her home to find an enormous boulder, dislodged from the mountain above from an aftershock, had ripped through her house like some wrecking ball on a mission. She was lucky, unlike others who, having survived the earthquake and had returned to their homes to survey the damage, had been killed by other renegade boulders.

The devastation has been huge with the water particularly being affected by sewerage pipes that were ripped apart in the earthquakes in Christchurch and the radiation contamination in Fukushima. As I watched the coverage, I wondered what Mother Nature is up to? I mean, since the beginning of the year, we have seen Queensland and Victoria devastated by flood, Western Australia devastated by fire, birds seemingly randomly falling out the of the sky, Christchurch devastated by an earthquake, not to mention the catastrophe that continues to unfold in Japan – and we haven’t even got to the end of April. It seems that every week we are seeing footage of one disaster or another.

A quick gander across some forums tell of a story of the beginning of armageddon. With all these disasters befalling the world, wouldn’t now be a good time to find Jesus, we are asked in one. This is the beginning of the end of the world, it has been foretold by the end of the Mayan calendar, 21st December 2012 is the end of the world, we are told by another. Climate change advocates tell us that this is the result of our wanton disregard for the precious resources that the earth provides, that the greed that capitalism engenders and the prolific consumerism that it encourages is slowly killing the earth and now it is fighting back. It certainly does seem like Mother Nature is groaning under the strain of all that is going on in our world.

We stand at a population of nearly seven billion, more than double the population in 1965. Surely we have to ask ourselves if this is indeed sustainable. Is it any wonder that Mother Nature is reacting. Are these just random acts of devastation, or is this indeed an earth that is yelling out for us to be more accountable, more considerate, to stop the consumerism, to stop the wars and to find some way to live in harmony with the wonderful gifts with which She provides us every day. It is certainly food for thought, don’t you think?


Traditional Family Values – Extinct?

Whilst on my way to work today, I tuned in to my local radio station. The topic for the ten minutes was whether or not traditional family values exist. The argument, according to the middle aged presenter, was that The Brady Bunch should return to our screens so that current up and coming youngsters can learn what true traditional family values are all about. The Brady Bunch episodes would always culminate in the entire family being together either at the dining table or in the lounge discussing the moral of the episode – the proverbial image of families talking together and solving problems together. The lines were then opened to hear what the general public thought about this notion and indeed the notion of traditional family values and whether or not they still exist.

An expert was called in who categorically declared that the traditional family values of sitting down and eating together do not exist and that it is due to technology that this is the case. Then a plethora of people called in. Most of them wanted to make me puke. You know the kind. The goody-two-shoes types you used to hate at school who would tell on you if you were passing notes. I listened as mom after mom phoned in to say that they had traditional family values and that they insisted upon it in their family (not a hint of jealousy there, see?). I wanted to hit each and every one of them. I preferred the ones that phoned in to say that it was a miracle if their family got to see each other for more than five minutes in a week. In fact, I liked them a lot.

This got me to thinking. Why was it that I despised the family-value supermoms and loved the family-value wrecks. Was it because that I indeed fell into the category of the latter. Let us have a look at it. I am in my forty’s. I have a husband, an 18 year old and a nearly 13 year old. I work part-time, my 18 year old is hardly ever at home and the only time we get to talk is in the car when I am ferrying her from one place to another (which admittedly is quite frequently). However, she announced the other day that she really hates my incessant questions in the car, to which I snapped that I wouldn’t ask so many questions if she would volunteer some information on her life, rather than have me extract them like some painfully wedged in wisdom tooth. Strike one there then.

Our 13 year old has PDD-NOS and Sensory Processing Disorder. For those unenlightened (as we once were), PDD-NOS (which is short for Pervasive Developmental Disorder – Not Otherwise Specified) is a mild form of autism and SPD is a condition that renders the sufferer unable to filter sensory input. They, by default, find communication on any standard level extremely difficult.

And isn’t that the point of the Traditional Family Value (which we shall term TFV for short) of getting together at the end of the day? For families to get together to communicate, to talk about their day and find solutions to the day’s problems as a collective family? I wondered at my own upbringing and tried to remember our TFVs. We sure enough sat down each night to eat at the dinner table, but more often than not, my parents would end up arguing. Us three kids would just look at each other, rolling our eyes, sighing at yet another chaotic meal. Eventually, my father would insult my mother and I, being the eldest and feeling the most protective of my mother would jump in and have my say too. We invariably would end up in our rooms not talking at all (and even perhaps a bit hungry because the meal had not been finished). However, sure enough, the next night, we would all have to sit down to begin the ritual again. By the time I was 15, I began a protest and simply refused to eat at the dinner table.

When I became a mother, I imagined a life of TFVs and the Brady Bunch image of eating together, talking through our problems and celebrating our successes together. But, alas, the reality just didn’t gel. I was exhausted, suffered terribly with post natal depression and it was all I could do to get the food down the baby’s throat so I could curl up and find some blissful sleep. As the children got older, I returned to study and then to work. Time became an issue. The children couldn’t wait for my husband to get home as they would be too hungry, so I would feed them early. Being almost six years apart, the conversation was somewhat difficult. They certainly did not want to communicate with each other. I would try to eat with them, but gave it up in favour of adult conversation later in the evening. While they were eating, I would try to complete household tasks so that my house didn’t permanently look like a bombed flat in Beirut. The TFV dream seemed to be slipping away.

Eventually, I didn’t even think about the TFVs. We succumbed to technology (which, frankly, I love). A TV and laptop in each room and a mobile phone for each person. When we have dinner, sometimes we manage to eat together, but more often than not we don’t. TV eating is big in our household. I get the feeling I should be ashamed of that, but somehow, actually I’m not. I realise that society’s demands are a double-edged sword. It demands as a mother you expose your children to as many activities as is humanly possible, jamming their every waking moment with some learning experience. But then, you also have to make sure that they have enough time to slow down and sit quietly at the dinner table (and even at lunch on the weekend) to talk and be together. Frankly, with all the activity we are shoving at them, it is incredible they even have the energy to eat, let alone talk and solve problems as well.

As it happens, neither of our children do ‘activities’. They are extremely anti-competitive and as such don’t do sport/music/dance. Our 18 year old doesn’t talk, full stop. It wouldn’t matter if we made her sit down and eat with us, she would still glare at me every time I asked her a question about her life, like I was invading her privacy. Our son blurts out random things whether we are at the table or not. As parents we can make sense of what he is saying, but again, sitting at the dinner table would have no baring on that at all. As for my husband and I, well, we have always done our talking in bed (among other things), when we have crashed after a very tiring day of working, cleaning, cooking, running kids around, etc., etc.

In fact, I am wondering, really, why we have a dining table at all. All it is used for is a dumping ground and on which to do homework when the kids don’t want to be in the study. I guess it is a symbol. A symbol of an ideal – of a family that sits around it at each and every meal time, talking animatedly about their days, sharing and caring in that Brady Bunch way. I guess it is an allusion to a TFV I once wished I had, but now realise is just a pipe dream (loaded with guilt for the time strapped mother). Maybe one day, in act of rebellion, I will burn it, but for now, I’ll keep it … just in case.