I’ve been feeling incredibly self concious lately, it’s actually been since I wrote the feminazi post. It’s like I wrote that and my eyes opened to it all in everyday life. Or maybe I just got paranoid.
I’ve always valued my comfort over my looks, overall. I honestly hate clothes. I feel uncomfortable in them. I may be happy with what I’m wearing in them before I go out, then I catch a glimpse of myself, from a bathroom mirror, or a window in a shop. And I instantly hate what I look like, I regret what I chose to wear, I regret my taste in clothes. But this is only ever out in public. Because it’s another thing that can be judged. It’s also another costume. Because for me, clothes shopping is a chore, it always has been. I guess it’s because the weight I keep drastically putting on then losing, every piece of clothing I ever buy doesn’t fit in both directions fairly quickly. Because of this my current clothes cling to my body and show off all my bulges, because I can’t afford to buy new clothes at the moment! So all I feel is shame when I walk down the street now, due to this fat shaming trend that seems to be happening in Australia at the moment. Shame that I’m offending people with my fat.
At the moment I am at one of the biggest stages I have been. This is the problem with having PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) it’s so easy to stack on weight. It takes only a matter of months to stack on nearly half of my body weight, and it almost seems impossible to lose. It doesn’t help that I’m on medication that causes people to gain weight but with me that almost triples in effect. But according to the gym junkies, this is an excuse, and there’s no such thing as a health problem that makes you fat…
The other thing that stacks on the weight is every time I quit smoking weed. Because when I smoke weed my hunger disappears, I stopped getting the munchies in the first few months of me having a real habit back when I was 15. It had this weird speed up metabolism effect on me too because when I did eat, it was pure shit food that I was eating, but it never seemed to put any weight on. The first time I properly quit after I got dumped by a guy I stayed with for 4 years and thought I was going to marry, I ate away my pain. I went from 45kg to 95kg in 4 months. I was on a combination of olanzapine and mirtazipine and all I did was sleep, I’d spend only about 5 hours awake, and in that 5 hours I’d eat, I was depressed sure but olanzapine is an anti psychotic that makes you feel like you have a hole in your stomach so no matter how much food you eat, you’re always hungry.
I spent 3 years at that weight, till my medication got stopped abruptly, and I went hypomanic for a couple of months and ended up starving myself as well as shitting out (chronic watery diorreah for 2 months) all the weight. I ended up in hospital after those 2 months, I also got a Bipolar diagnosis because of the severe reaction I had to Effexor Xr. I was in hospital because I got severe chest pains to the point I couldn’t breath, they thought my lung was collapsing, turns out I had inflammation of the cartilage in my sternum, usually caused by bronchitis but I wasn’t sick, mine was caused by my heart pounding so hard against my rib cage.
In those 3 years of fat, don’t think for a second I didn’t try proper methods to get rid of the weight. I dieted like you wouldn’t believe, I went to a dietician, I walked about 5kms a day, I spent 2 hours a day on the wii fit. It got so dire at one point the dietician said do the diet shakes 2 meals out of 3. I lost 15kg up front doing the right thing. But after that, no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t lose anymore, maybe 1kg every 2 weeks. I couldn’t eat chocolate and I have a big thing for chocolate. The diet was so bland because I had to stay away from carbs which pretty well all my favourite foods are full off, it made me more depressed. I’d cry a lot, because I tried so hard and saw fuck all results. Id cry a lot because I was always starving from the medication. Id cry a lot because I missed my comfort foods, what the fuck was the point of living like this, I’d ask myself on a constant, I’d rather just die of heart failure eating what I loved, it’s not like I was happy anyway, far from it.
When I lost all the weight from the medication change, because the next year would be the lithium, epilim years, I kept it off for the most part. That’s only because my appetite had been drastically cut because of 2 months of starving myself plus not being on a medication that made me want to eat. The lithium made me indifferent to eating. I ate when I got pain, completely different to not feeling any pain from not eating for 2 months. I was still also hormonal as shit because the implanon was still in my arm (only realised early last year that the contraceptive I choose to be on is a vital part of what keeps me calm). I also started smoking heavily again for a year, quit again early last year.
When I got the implanon cut out of my arm for the final time last year (if you don’t know what implanon is, it’s a tiny rod that sits under your skin in your upper arm pumping out contraceptive for 3 years until it needs to be changed, to get it out they stick some local in your arm and literally cut it out while you’re still awake) and put on a high dose of the pill which I’ve never been on before, it was like this curtain of aggression got lifted, I felt calm. Because of the fact of stacking on and dropping weight, it was always a chore for the doctors to get the implanon out of my arm, the 2 times it had to happen, they spent over an hour digging deeper into my arm, my arm is now a disgusting scar reminder of the 6 years spent in utter misery when I could’ve been less lazy and just taken the pill everyday.
Being on the pill I almost needed to be taught again how the menstruation cycle works, because it’s regular now. It has never been like that since I first started at 11. I was pretty well the only girl with her period when we first learned sex Ed, I sat there feeling like a freak because it wasn’t the way I was running, but I always felt too much shame to question. Shame that I got it entirely because of the way boys are so dismissive of it. Shame at going into the shops and picking out what I needed. Shame that I feel like I’m the only girl that doesn’t wear tampons because they hurt, because they don’t fit, or because I was too stupid to learn how to insert them properly! Shame I left messes. Shame I’m even openly talking about it now…
The fat has well and truly stacked back on again. Even my doctor said life was unfair to me. Because even though I’m usually stable and I feel ok, this medication gave me a rash, and it stacks on weight. I don’t want to go through the diet again! I know the only way to lose the weight is to quit the medication. And then I’ll be back at the beginning again. Sometimes I question whether I’m truly ok or not. Because I have completely stopped caring about my appearance, stopped caring about trying to look good because I know I don’t. Is this a random bad day, or are my normal days just delusions of stable that I desperately want to hold on to for my own sanity?
Am I really ok? Because I tell you right now if you’re searching for a perfect medication you won’t find it, and you will forever be let down by it. You need to weigh up the good and the bad side effects and make the decision about whether it’s worth it or not. Then you deal with it, then you try to see the positives in the choice you made. I try this every day to the very fucking extent of my being! But if you think that it’s ever going to be perfect, you will always be disappointed. Just some days it feels like the disappointment outweighs all the trying and achievements I’ve made…