Category Archives: Depression

Depression, General Health, Relationships, Thought Patterns

A Freak Show of the First Order

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After a recent visit, a friend told me that she loves it when I come to her house because I make her feel normal. Okay, Hmm. Now, friends, I can take that one of two ways:

1. Damn, girl! That flaky-assed, three-ring, freak-show you got going on over there makes my life feel positively June Cleaver! or
2. When you share your thoughts and struggles, I realize that they are like mine and I don’t feel so alone.

I’m going to choose to believe that she meant it the second way for three reasons:
1. Even if she meant it the first way, she would never be so crass or cruel as to even hint at it.
I watched a Brené Brown documentary on Netflix called The Call to Courage. Her common sense and straight-forward approach to life and leadership resonated so much with me that I got her audiobook Dare to Lead. I’m listening to it for the third time and am picking up things I missed the first two times. While I don’t know that I will ever lead people again, I believe that applying strong leadership principles makes me a better employee, friend, and person in general. Knowledge gained is never wasted. One of the tenets of strong leadership that she proposes is to always assume that people are doing their best. I have to admit that this is a HUGE struggle for me. I am just certain that the idiot parked in the passing lane doing the speed limit is there specifically to slow me down. And popular culture would have us believe that people are often snarky and have hidden insults in what they say. Right? It’s not easy to turn that off, to decide to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they just phrased it badly. Maybe that driver is just zoned out and unaware that they are blocking the passing lane – I’ve done that myself. I know my friend and I don’t believe she would deliver a back-handed compliment like that; so, I’m going to choose to believe that she meant it positively

2. It makes my life more pleasant to believe that.
One of my college philosophy professors accused me on the regular of creating my own reality – and I’m fairly certain that he did not mean it as a compliment. However, I believe we all do it to some degree and it dovetails with the previous paragraph. I can choose to be irritated about something or I can choose to not be irritated about it (to some degree – there are always variables like whether or not it is your children pushing your buttons or plucking your last nerve). And I suppose that you could say that in deciding that an intentional slight is not an insult is creating my own reality. Well, if that’s the case, then, yes. I did it then. I do it now. I will continue doing it. And, what’s more, I recommend it highly.

3. It fits with my belief that we are all more alike than we are different and we would know that if only we really talked more.
“The First Order wins by making us think we’re alone. We’re not.” This quote from the latest Star Wars movie really struck me. Replace The First Order with Fear, Depression or Anxiety and the statement is just as true. Those feelings keep us isolated and silent. We don’t really confide in anyone. I mean, I often see people use memes featuring quotes to describe their own feelings; but, I don’t think that really counts. It’s using someone else’s words. To really connect, we have to use our own words and to select individuals. We can’t just cast everything out over the internet (she says as she writes a blog to be read by strangers talking about connecting on an intimate level). I think you know what I mean, though. I have those close individuals with whom I share my deepest fears and darkest corners, and I have those who share them with me. We know we are not alone.

We each have a ring in the flaky-assed, freak-show.

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Depression, Emotional Eating, General Health, Grief, Motivation, Relationships

Pity? Party of One?

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So, I’ve kind of been over here all “Lesley-Gore-It’s-My-Party-And-I’ll-Cry-If-I-Want-To” and here come some friends busting in the joint with gifts for me, screwing the whole thing up. Nothing will kill a good pity party vibe like getting an amazing gift. Here are three of the ones I got:

“You spoke my words.”

That’s a pretty tough gift to beat there. After reading “How To Survive The Loss Of,” a friend told me her own experience of losing her “life” after a sexual assault. (I put life in parentheses there since I don’t mean her life in the terms of pulse and brain activity. I mean her life in the sense of her home, her marriage, and her job. You know – nearly everything but her pulse.) I have known her for many years, laughed with her over a million things (she’s the funniest woman ever) and I had no idea that she had survived an assault at all, let alone that she had she survived wave after wave of polluted crap that smashed into her afterward. She stood up to each wave, but, like me with the loss of my wallet, it was the loss of something small that sent her to her knees. I’ve always really liked her and I am blown away with the honor of having her say that I had spoken her words.

“Your writing is insightful, funny, and grammatically correct.”

Another huge gift! After reading “I’m Pretty Sure I Should Be Rich By Now,” this friend, who is a wonderful writer himself, called to encourage me to continue to write, saying that he enjoys the thoughts that I share and how I share them both verbally and mechanically. What a delightful surprise! It’s always wonderful to hear that your work resonates with others and, even better, that it doesn’t make someone twitch! Bonus gift! I know that sometimes I take liberties with grammar; however, if you visit with me often, you know that I generally do it for emphasis. It’s important to me that my language mechanics be as nearly correct as I can make them so that you can hear what I have to say without being distracted by the monstrous way I’m saying it.

“Your writing is always very concise, reflective, and thought-provoking. The reason I miss it so much when you are silent.”

This was after I asked her to read “Mixed Metaphors Inside the Asteroid Belt” prior to publication. My thoughts are like ping-pong balls in a tornado – bouncing all over the place, hitting first this thing, then that thing, then each other. It’s bedlam in there! And that particular piece had even more metaphorical collisions than most; so, I needed to get another set of eyes on it. Sometimes I am afraid that connections, analogies, and metaphors that make perfect sense in my head sound like the Mad Hatter when I let them out. It’s both comfort and confirmation when someone understands the point I’m trying to make with my occasionally unconventional comparisons. Again – awesome gift!

Each of these gifts (and others I didn’t mention) have gone a long way towards helping me through grief and get a handle on what I need to get done next. However, as I mentioned, they completely ruined the Pity Party for One I had going in full swing over here. While it’s still true that I can cry if I want to, I feel less inclined to do so.

Thanks, you guys.

Depression, Grief, Habits, Thought Patterns

Sounds We Feel

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I like music – all kinds of music. Here lately, I have found myself listening primarily to my Move It playlist on Amazon. This list includes music that makes me want to walk, dance or just nod my head, and it includes music by artists ranging from Avril Lavigne to Godsmack, from Shakira to Rob Zombie, from Charlie Sexton to My Chemical Romance. It’s a weird mix, but it works for me.

I prefer to listen to this playlist using headphones to minimize distractions. As I mentioned last week, I am a Disturbed One and I really love the drum track from The Light, especially through headphones. I noticed this week how much I also enjoy the bass track from Lenny Kravitz’s Are You Gonna Go My Way, which made me realize how much I enjoy bass tracks from other songs like Voodoo and Live and Let Die. The thing about bass guitar, though, is that I don’t know that I hear it as much as I just feel it. I mean, I must be hearing it because I can differentiate the different tones; but, it doesn’t feel much like a sound on my eardrums if that makes any sense. Still, I find myself trying to find that bass track and follow it.

During periods of grief, my mind is disordered. There is so much going on in my head that I can’t seem to get my mind to settle on anything. I’ve heard this mental state referred to as a pot of boiling water and I think that analogy is apt. There is a lot going on all at one time and it’s difficult to get a handle on anything. Finding one issue or thought and focusing on it is more like pulling out the bass track in Bohemian Rhapsody than you might think. Finding order in the chaos of Vicarious helps me find order in the chaos of my own mind.

We all have tools to get us through periods of difficulty. It’s important to continue to use and develop those coping mechanisms that work. It is just as important to seek help when those coping mechanisms are overwhelmed. And it is crucial to recognize that coping mechanisms that include self-harm must be replaced with edifying ones. I mention that because while my loud music therapy may not make any sense to you, it works for me and it hurts nothing. However, if I were drinking Stoli through a fat straw while I was listening to the loud music, that would be another issue entirely.

If you are using a destructive coping mechanism, please seek help from a mental health professional. Call a psychiatrist, psychologist, grief counselor or suicide hotline. Get help to find mechanisms that will let you actually survive whatever it is you’re grieving, working through or experiencing. Call someone and do it now.

If, however, you are just looking to tweak what you’re doing and you wanna share some loud music, hit me up. I’ll share my playlist with you. And, if you’ve got some jams to share, send them on!

Now, I’m late for my therapy session with Rush and Tom Sawyer charges by the hour.

Peace.

Depression, General Health, Grief, Habits, Motivation, Social Issues, Thought Patterns

The Contradictions of Grief and learning to call the wolves

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A friend of mine sent a text just to check on me Monday. At first, I told her that I was fine; but, then I told her the truth. Grief is a strange thing. When you are dealing with the grief of losing a job, some days you wake up like, “Ooh-rah! New challenge! Let’s do this!” Other days you feel like you’re just circling the Drain.

I admitted to her that Monday was a Drain day for me. As it happened, it kind of had been for her, too. She is grieving the death of her sweet 19.5-year-old Yorkshire terrier Pedro. It was a great comfort to me to know that I wasn’t circling the Drain alone and I appreciated both her text and her honesty more than she knows.

I once knew a woman who would regularly quote Jeevan Pradhan by saying, “If you… throw me to the Wolves… Then I will come, leading the pack…” When she said that, you could almost hear P!nk and Gwen Stefani singing bra-burning, Helen-Reddy-style, ooh-rah, feminist power anthems. And there are days when I feel exactly like that – a Dharmesh Agravat “You can’t throw me to the Wolves for they come when I call” kind of feeling. Then there are days when I feel like the chewing gum stuck to the roller rink floor.

In my current situation, no one threw me to the Wolves – it was just a business thing. It happens. This process might actually be easier for me if there was someone I could target with my anger, but there just isn’t, which kind of sucks, too. Anger is a stage of grief and my stage really wants a target. The fact that it doesn’t have a solid one increases my frustration, which makes me even angrier. It is wholly unsatisfactory to be angry at a Situation. But, that is where I find myself. UGH! What a completely ridiculous cycle – and one that I must break if I am to ever call the Wolves.

I am a huge fan of the band Disturbed, a Disturbed One, as the band says. They recorded a song called The Light which is a personal favorite for several reasons, not least of which is the drum track. (a-MAZE-ing) I recommend listening with headphones to really appreciate everything going on in there. I also recommend reading the full lyrics, which I’ve included below. The line that I keep repeating to myself on my Drain days is: Sometimes darkness can show you the light. It’s a hopeful thought for surviving the Drain days on my way to creating more Ooh-rah! days. As I concentrate on the Light and understand the lessons of the Darkness, I’ll learn to call the Wolves.

Then, before you know it, I’ll be back, leading the pack.

Like an unsung melody
The truth is waiting there for you to find it
It’s not a blight, but a remedy
A clear reminder of how it began
Deep inside your memory
Turned away as you struggled to find it
You heard the call as you walked away
A voice of calm from within the silence
And for what seemed an eternity
You’re waiting, hoping it would call out again
You heard the shadow reckoning
Then your fears seemed to keep you blinded
You held your guard as you walked away

When you think all is forsaken
Listen to me now (all is not forsaken)
You need never feel broken again
Sometimes darkness can show you the light

An unforgivable tragedy
The answer isn’t’ where you think you’d find it
Prepare yourself for the reckoning
For when your world seems to crumble again
Don’t be afraid, don’t turn away
You’re the one who can redefine it
Don’t let hope become a memory
Let the shadow permeate your mind and
Reveal the thoughts that were tucked away
So that the door can be opened again
Within your darkest memories
Lies the answer if you dare to find it
Don’t let hope become a memory

When you think all is forsaken
Listen to me now (all is not forsaken)
You need never feel broken again
Sometimes darkness can show you the light, beautiful

Sickening, weakening
Don’t let another somber pariah consume your soul
You need strengthening, toughening
It takes an inner dark to rekindle the fire burning in you
Ignite the fire within you

When you think all is forsaken
Listen to me now (all is not forsaken)
You need never feel broken again
Sometimes darkness can show you the light

Don’t ignore, listen to me now (all is not forsaken)
You need never feel broken again
Sometimes darkness
Can show you the light

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Dan Donegan / David Draiman / Kevin Churko / Mike Wengren
The Light lyrics © Warner Chappell Music, Inc, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

Depression, Grief, Thought Patterns

Mixed Metaphors Inside the Asteroid Belt

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I vaguely remember the moon landing – at least I think I do. My first memories are from when I am a little younger than two; so, it’s possible that I actually do remember it. But, whether it’s the first moon landing that I remember or another moon mission, the result was that my childhood heroes were astronauts. And Little Joe Cartwright. And John Wayne. But mostly astronauts. That never really changed, either. Those early explorers and daredevils are still heroes to me – even to the extent that my son is named in honor of Gen. Chuck Yeager. I was awed at their bravery to fly into the perils and into the unknown of space. After all, there are dangerous things there – black holes, Marvin the Martian, comets, meteors, and (of course) asteroids.

That’s kind of where I feel like I am right now – in the midst of the asteroid belt. For the past few weeks, it has felt like I have been hit from all sides, and I’m reeling. Now, please understand that I still know that I am very fortunate and that things could be worse than they are….MUCH worse. However, the fact that things are not as bad as they could possibly be does not preclude me from mourning my losses or from feeling overwhelmed. As a counselor once told me – whether you step on a land mine or get shot in the leg, you are still wounded. You are allowed to feel the pain of a leg wound even though you didn’t step on a land mine. So, here I am, unexpectedly dealing with a metaphorical leg wound.

I’ll be honest, my wound treatment today consisted of staying in my pajamas all day. They are the new pink cat pajamas that I got for Christmas; so, they are cute, but they are still pajamas. I have unabashedly worn them all. day. long. I set one goal for myself today and it was not to change clothes. It was to wash, dry, fold and put away all of the laundry. I got that done. I also baked a batch of cherry, macadamia, white chocolate cookies, and cleaned up the kitchen. So what if I stayed in my pajamas?!

I set the goal of completing all the laundry to begin the process of steadying my world. I am trying to control the controllables. I can’t control Ellie dying, the roof leaking or losing my job; but, I can control whether the clothes are clean, folded and put away. Tomorrow, I will take all my trash and recyclables to the collection center. One small step at a time, right?

Those small steps may not seem like much; but, to me, they are life. They are a signal to myself and to the universe that I am still alive and that I am still fighting. These recent hits have left me bruised, sore, and limping; but, I’m still here and I’m still walking.

I’m sure there are people who can have months like the one I just had and come out of them just fine. They take the hits like Deion Sanders – spinning out of them and continuing to run. Good for them! I’m more than a little jealous, but that’s not how I’m made. I don’t spin out of a hard hit sporting a million-watt smile. I go down like a bag of rocks then I bitch and moan the whole time I struggle back to my feet. But, guess what. I do get back to my feet.

The process seems slower and more difficult every time, but I still get up – whether I call it an asteroid hit, a leg wound, or an NFL tackle. I got up today and I will get up tomorrow.

And, who knows? Tomorrow, I may even change out of my pajamas.

Depression, Emotional Eating, Exercise, Habits, Motivation

The Silver Lining to a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

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Well, my weekend kind of sucked. Sorry. There it is. I spent most of it in a funk over some personal stuff and I really just wanted to eat all of the chocolate in Nashville, then get in bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep.

I didn’t do any of those things.

Instead, I washed the windows in my house, washed existing curtains, hung some new ones, cooked a double batch of Jamaican Black Beans with Pineapple Chutney (from the Forks Over Knives cookbook), got rid of some junk, hung a new light, watched a couple of superhero movies and cooked a vat of tomatoes down to sauce. And, I rode my bike each day and did yoga or Tabatas, depending on what day it was. I stuck to my calendar and kept working towards my goals.

And that felt GREAT!

For some reason, I have felt really brittle the past couple of weeks. I don’t know what the deal is. I don’t know if it’s related to the changes in my diet, the changes in my activity, or maybe I’m approaching menopause. I don’t know. I just know that I’m taking my meds daily; but, I’ve still bitten my poor sister’s head off about three times. I’m struggling to get a handle on it.

Throughout the struggle, I’ve stayed away from my bad, old habits and that, frankly, feels pretty freakin’ awesome! I have been known to drown my sorrows in an Oreo Blast or a pint of Phish Food; but, so far, I’ve stayed away from the bad stuff. Honestly, my food diary and my little calendar on the fridge have been great helps in this. I can easily see what I’ve already eaten for the day, how many calories I have left for the day and I can quickly get the calorie count of whatever thing it is I am thinking of eating. I can also walk to the fridge, check out the calendar and see what tasks are marked off and what I still need to do. Having those physical reminders is proving to be really instrumental.

I’m choosing to see my brittle and/or decidedly cloudy mood as a test of my resolve to ditch my old, unhealthy habits and replace them with new, healthy ones. So far so good! And that’s a silver lining I’ll take any day of the week.

Depression

The Struggle is Real

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I haven’t posted since mid-October which might lead you to think that I failed in my OktoberFast mission to avoid ice cream and dirty dishes. I am super proud to announce that I did, in fact, successfully complete my OktoberFast and, although I have since eaten ice cream, my sister and I have continued to keep our dishes washed and put away. You know, like grown-ups and stuff.

My office is in the home of the couple of work for. Their home is always very neat and clean which has led me to be more diligent in keeping my own home neat and clean. Well, maybe “keeping” isn’t the right word. A better word would be “making.” As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve never been much of a housekeeper. I’ve been better at it some times than others; but, I’ve never kept my house Company Ready. But I’m getting closer and that feels really good.

I have believed for a long time that the state of my house often reflects the state of my spirit. When I am depressed, my house is VERY messy. When I am up-beat, my house is more presentable. The correlation really isn’t accurate right now because, although my bed is made daily and my house is vacuumed and dusted weekly, my spirit is struggling. I spend a lot of time alone. I’m fat again. I’m out of shape. My ankle/foot hurts almost all the time. Finances are always a struggle. It has gotten me down.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been down like this, although I wish the last time had been the last time! I know that I have a history of beating times like this 100% of the time; but, I’m just so sick of fighting, you know? The struggle is real and, frankly, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of it and that doesn’t help anything, either. Yesterday was particularly bad.

Then I talked to a friend.

I’ve shared with you all that I have been treated for depression since I was in my early 20s. For more than half of my life, I’ve had a monster living in my mind – a monster that tries to destroy me on a daily basis. I tell with absolute conviction that without a handful friends over the years (you know who you are), that monster would have won. While the monster is not threatening my life at the moment, it’s certainly being a pain. I don’t like to call on my friends with every episode for fear that they’ll get tired of hearing about them. (I know I get tired of experiencing them, for sure!) So, I was reluctant to tell my friend what was going on in my head yesterday. However, the man reads me better than nearly anyone I’ve ever met. When I finally told him what was going on, he said this:

“…you’re on my team and I’m on your team.”

It humbles me and amazes me every time someone chooses to like me. I’m hard to get along with. I’m hyper-critical. I procrastinate. I’m often full of shit. I try to be better. I am rarely successful. But, I try. I struggle. My struggle is real.

So is my team. I thank each of you.

(Team t-shirts coming soon!)

 

Depression

Confessions of a Maya Angelou Flunkee

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Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.      –Maya Angelou

Yeah, except that I don’t.

  • A stitch in time saves time.
    • The button that came off my duvet cover this weekend isn’t back on the duvet. Are you kidding?! It’s on my nightstand where it will stay until it gets lost forever.
  • An apple a day keeps the doctor away.
    • I buy apples all the time and a few days later, I throw those same apples into my compost pile when I take my fast food containers to the trash can.
  • Haste makes waste.
    • In my case, haste makes waist – I can down a pint of Phish Food with frightening efficiency.
  • Well done is better than well said.
    • I talk about eating right and exercising all the time; but, where some people are healthy by following the 80/20 rule, it’s a banner day if I’m 50/50.

Since I have not been able to go to work, I don’t have a set time when I have to be up most days, which means that I can get up really early and enjoy the day! Um, we’ve met at least virtually, right? Yeah. So, no. I am sleeping late, then napping later – no early to rise for me, Poor Richard! I don’t have a schedule or routine which, it turns out, is super bad for my adulting efforts. So maybe I need a roommate or chaperone (whatever).

I got one. My sister has lived with me for the past 18 months or so which is both a good thing and a really bad thing. We keep each other on track with a lot of stuff; but, we both struggle with adulting on some of the same issues. We don’t fold clothes or put them away. We don’t dust. We don’t wash dishes. We don’t clean out the refrigerator. There are lots of things we’re just really not very good at. I don’t want you to think that my house looks like an episode of Hoarders, it doesn’t; however, if you walk into my kitchen and can see the top of my table, it’s a pretty sure bet I’m expecting guests. When I say that we don’t do those things, what I really mean is that we don’t do them willingly. We do them, but there’s a lot of pouting and foot dragging that goes on.

I see people and I know people who never have a pile of clothes sitting around waiting to be folded. There’s never a dirty dish in the sink. The brightware in their bathrooms is always sparkling. I am not one of these people. It’s not rocket science on being one either, is it? I mean, if you take clothes out of the dryer, fold them and put them away. Wash the dirty dishes and put them away right when you’re done with them. I don’t need an algorithm to figure out how to do it. I know how. I know better. I just don’t do it. I flunk Maya Angelou.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a piece about how you don’t get a Gold Star just for doing the minimum. Yet, I have to admit that when I go to bed knowing that there are no clothes to be folded and put away, that the floors have been vacuumed and that there are no dishes in the sink, I feel like I should get a gold star. I feel like I’ve done something note-worthy. It’s not particularly note-worthy in the larger scheme of things; but, these days, when my universe has been limited largely to my own home for months, I really don’t care about the larger scheme of things. I don’t. These days, I’m trying to motivate myself to rejoin the human race. I’m WAY behind the curve now that I’ve been sidelined for so long; so, sometimes, the only step I make in the direction of a reunion with humanity is putting away the dishes. Maybe you’d say that doesn’t merit a gold star; but, right now, I say it does. And I’m going to take it.

 

Depression

Drowning in Disability Depression

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If you’ve read my blog over the last year, you may know that I’ve been struggling with foot issues. July 2016 I began to experience extraordinary left ankle and foot pain. I’d been suffering with plantar fasciitis in that foot for several months; but, this was something else, something worse. Several nights I left work literally in tears, hobbling like Quasimodo on a bender. Let me put it in perspective for you on my pain scale:

  • 10 – childbirth
  • 9 – folded meniscus
  • 8.92 – this foot and ankle pain, hence the “extraordinary” adjective

Resized_20170411_115300I began consulting an orthopedist which has been a very expensive proposition, both in terms of bills and in lost wages. I’ve had stress fractures in the foot as a result of a  fibrous calcaneonavicular coalition in there. I’ve worn a walking cast/boot for so long that the rubber at the ankle is beginning to tear. I’ve been in a hard cast twice and I’ve been unable to work since the end of December. A little over a month ago, I had surgery to remove the tarsal coalition in my left foot. What that means in practical terms is that the doctor drilled a hole in the middle of my foot to allow the bones that were previously improperly connected to each other to move freely – that’s actually my x-ray with the shiny new hole in it.  As of today, I’m still in the orthopedic boot. I hope that changes when I see the doctor on the 22nd.

This foot problem has impacted every area of my life and I hate it. Walking with crutches or using a knee scooter is such a hassle and because I couldn’t walk without them for so long, I stopped going places. Because I didn’t go anywhere, I wore my pajamas most of the time. Because I wore my pajamas most of the time, I felt like a slug. Because I felt like a slug, I got depressed. Because I got depressed, I ate more. Because I ate more and couldn’t walk, I gained even more weight.

My skin feels greasy. My hair looks like crap. I’m enormous….again. I feel ugly nearly all of the time. And I feel so ugly all the time that when I get dressed, I can’t tell if I hate what I see in the mirror because it’s an I-feel-ugly-because-I-feel-fat thing or because it’s a genuine WTF are you wearing thing. I would ask my sister (who is my roommate) but since I left her favorite stuffed monkey Zip outside and the dogs chewed him up when I was four, I can’t completely trust that she wouldn’t let me walk out looking like Holy Hell Barbie just to pay me back.

As you know, I have battled depression since my early twenties – sometimes the battle is a raging internal conflict, sometimes there is an uneasy peace. These past months have been a constant, intense onslaught due to pain, immobility cause by the pain, frustration caused by the immobility, and anger caused by the frustration. Throw a little self-loathing in there and you get a pretty good idea of where I am today.

Normally, I try to end my posts on a positive note – you know, since I’m the Positive Thinking Blog Goddess and all – but, y’all, I just don’t have it right now. The combat has exhausted me and although I am able to get my head above water from time to time. I feel like I’m drowning.

Maybe this is overshare. Maybe you don’t want to know all of this. Maybe you don’t care. But, maybe you do. Maybe you’re drowning, too.

Maybe you know where the life buoys are?

 

 

Depression, Emotional Eating

Just a Duck at a Penny Arcade

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Last week was an exceptionally emotional one for me. It started out great with that five pound weight loss; however, that triumphant moment was followed quickly by a professional disappointment, then an enormous financial failure. I kept my chin up, though, and focused on good things and solutions. Then, as you know, our dog stopped eating, signaling his approach to the rainbow bridge. Still, I kept moving forward. I got help for the financial crisis. Trey got pain meds and began eating again. I was still moving.

But the coup de grace still awaited – or, rather, the coups de grace (if that can be plural).

Sunday found me accidentally awakening a childhood demon. This event was followed literally minutes later by a real blow when I received an email from a man from my distant past. This man is associated with a particularly difficult time in my life – a watershed time, you could say. My life has since been divided into before him and after him. It wasn’t a bad email; but, it portends another irrevocable change in the life I’ve made. These two things on top of everything else were just too much for me.

My emotional eating triggers started snapping and, honey, it sounded like a shooting gallery in a penny arcade! (Do they even have penny arcades anymore?) Anyway, those triggers were going off left and right! I wanted to strap on a feed bag of puffy Cheetos, go after a gallon of Phish Food with two spoons, then (as I told my friend Jeff) climb into a bottle of cheap Cabernet. (It would have to be a cheap bottle. Good ones are for sipping. Cheap ones are for drowning.) In the end, I did none of those things. If I had, I would still have all those issues to face today, plus I’d have processed food and wine hangovers. I’d have initiated another bout with my sugar addiction AND I’d have the guilt associated with all of those things.

So, in the end, I had some veggies with hummus and a little ranch dip, some fruit, a little Margherita pizza, some chips and corn salsa, a vegetarian corn dog (hot dogs are a Super Bowl tradition for me), and a little salted caramel Dream gelato while I watched Pete Carroll blow the game. I drank one Mike’s Hard Lemonade and did not count my calories for the day. Well, I didn’t count them yesterday. I counted them just now. Ouch.

For the day, I ate just under 2200 calories. With the little bit of exercise I performed, my net for the day was just under 2000. It wasn’t a gawd awful day, but my daily calorie budget right now is 1317. Sooooohoho…….I blew that up. Do I feel guilty this morning?

Nope. Not even a little bit.

In the face of what I wanted to do and what I would have done four years or even four months ago, I restrained myself yesterday and I count it a victory. For sure I felt like a shooting gallery duck but, that’s okay because you know the great thing about those little guys?

When they get to the end of the line, they get right back up again and make another pass.