Progress!

So it turns out that I lost 10lbs in the last 3 months. I’m happy because the numbers keep going down and with it my health improves. I try to control my portion sizes even when eating fast food and it seems like its working. I still dislike having to eat empty calories and I’m working on my negative self talk.

So instead of “Godamnit! I can’t remember!” I tell myself that I’ll probably remember later. Works for the self loathing I feel whenever I eat unhealthy foods as well.

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The high end of low.

I spent the last month or so sleeping and as you would expect my muscles atrophied something fierce. I didn’t realize how badly off I was until I went to NACCTT’s monthly meeting last Saturday. The last time I was this sore I’d been doing couch25k and HIIT training which is ridiculous because all I did was walk around and sit down.

As for why I was sleeping, well lets just say that the side effects of my medication are hitting hard. Especially Glucophage. I’ve been getting most of the symptoms associated with Diabetes even with the medication. Confusion, fatigue, hypoglycaemia, headaches, muscle aches and nausea are my constant companions.

I have decided that I’m not afraid of dying after giving it some thought. To be honest I’ve been near death so much that it would be a relief. No more pain, no more depression and no more disappointing myself and others. Now don’t mistake that as a suicidal thought, it’s merely an observation. I am afraid of my Insulin Resistance becoming full blown Diabetes though. I’ve watched enough of my family die from it. It’s a truly miserable disease.

My own efforts are being frustrated by my other medical issues. My body is in such a state that my husband is perturbed. He says he doesn’t know if he should be more worried about the sleeping or the weird things happening with my muscles.

To be honest, I’m at a pretty low point right now. I don’t seem to be capable of positive self talk right now. Most things require too much effort and I hate myself for not being able to do simple things like get out of bed without falling down. I figure this is a remnant of my training as a child. My parents wouldn’t let me rest even if I had gastroenteritis or influenza. It was always work, work, work. I could rest when I collapsed, anything less was faking. I realise how unhealthy that was. It’s making it very hard for me now. I am a pale version of my younger self. My body is weak, my mind clouded and I spend my days cooped up in my room. I also eat a lot of rubbish because I’ve run out of patience with the trial and error process involved in narrowing down my food choices.

I thought that seeing a nutritionist would help but I’ve been to 2 separate RD’s and I’m not seeing much of an improvement. I don’t think it’s their fault though. I’m burnt out. Too many failures I think.

The one bright spot is that the nutritionists haven’t told me anything that I wasn’t already aware of. With 2 exceptions. That I could use 3/4 c. of coconut water as a fruit serving and that intermittent fasting is useful for controlling insulin levels.

I know what my real problem is now though. It’s coming up with menu plans. I know what to eat but I get confused when I try to put it together. That in turn frustrates me into a migraine that’s worsened by the insulin spikes. It’s a pretty vicious cycle. Add that to the trial and error process and side effects and it’s a wonder that I still have hair.

I’ve decided that I’ll try taking things one day at a time. I’ve been ill for over a decade, you’d think I’d be accustomed to my body’s limitations by now. Instead I act like I’m still more or less healthy. I hold myself up to an ideal that I can never achieve. It took me years to get that fit and competent in my interests. I guess I just don’t like the feeling of wasted effort. Hell, I just finished my high school math text book a 4th time and the information is gone already. I wish my health would just go in one direction already. Then maybe I could get something done or I’d get closure.

At this point, closure would be welcome.

On Doctor Who.

I haven’t delved much into the Doctor Who universe. But what little I have encountered has left me with mixed feelings. I started with the 9th doctor’s TV series. While I did like the doctor himself, his companion at that time Rose was terribly annoying. As was her mother.

Now I quit watching the TV series after the 9th died mostly because it’s such a depressing series. I get that it sparks interesting conversations about the cost of living and circumstantial morality.

In my opinion, the show could be greatly improved if the companions were real characters as opposed to a plot device. I’ve started the 8th Doctor’s books and Sam is just as unappealing as Rose.

If they have to be plot devices why couldn’t they be more like Watson who serves the same purpose in the Sherlock Holmes books. He is much more entertaining.

Rose and Sam are extremely full of themselves. Perpetually throwing themselves and others into danger to feed their egos. I cannot empathise with them much since everytime I think they’re getting better they run off into another tirade about him making decisions for them because they female or inexperienced etc.

Sure some of this stems from the fact that he teaches them precious little about the TARDIS. Yet, is it really approiate to be going off on a snit while someone is trying to prevent armageddon?

I have vaguely fond memories of this series as a child but the reality has yet to live up to them.

IR: Jori’s story | Wine & Marble

Jori’s story filled me with rage. I do not think that growing up under similar circumstances is necessary to empathise with her.

Reading her story brought to mind my own childhood of abuse due to similar beliefs.

This type of environment can be found in any religion that believes that women are inferior to men. I had many similar experiences with reporting my molestation to my parents. They didn’t believe me for years until they caught the person abusing me. To this day it irks me that my gender meant that any complaints against a male meant punishment for me. Usually by the hands of the male I was trying to escape from.

I have grown up to be almost incapable of functioning properly in society as a direct result of my upbringing. Sure, just like Jori I don masks that I was taught were acceptable and for the most part they work. The net effect of a lifetime of doing this is that I don’t know which personality is mine. I also have a lot of trust issues. Mostly, I can’t trust strangers. I am utterly terrified of them. So terrified in fact, that I often get panic attacks in public places.

Many years ago my father took me to see a psychiatrist, that was probably one of the worse experiences of my life. The man who was supposed to help me come to terms which my mental anguish, instead tried to further cement the programming that had been hammered into me for as long as I can remember. That I was female and flawed, that it was somehow my fault I had suffered years of abuse and that the myriad health problems that were piling up on me due to parental neglect was my lot in life because God would never give me more than I could bear. I begged to differ, one does not see a psychiatrist because one is well adjusted. One sees a psychiatrist because one is either broken or very close to breaking.

Granted, I should probably see a psychiatrist to see if I can get rid of the mental baggage that’s plaguing my life but I really don’t need another charlatan playing around in there. Besides I think I’ve done an okay job dealing with it on my own. The depression I deal with on a daily basis has more to do with being chronically ill than my upbringing.

I wouldn’t call that article a rape trigger even though it made me remember my childhood. If anything it’s a mental woe is me flag. One that reminds me that rape culture really is a thing, one that needs to be done away with.

So today was a bit bad, I didn’t get any sleep last night and man my diet has been utter rubbish this last week.

I’ve been trying to make my smoothies balanced but my dietary constraints mean that the experimentation can be rather nauseating.

One of my friends is pregnant and since hers is a high risk pregnancy I’m terribly worried about her. I’m sure that I will love my little niece or nephew when it arrives but right now I feel very conflicted. I also have a new appreciation for how over protective my dad was. I would dearly love to find her a gastroenterologist that cares about her wellbeing.

The Trinidadian health care system is terrifying. Even if you can afford private health care it’s like playing Russian roulette. I have gone through so many doctors in the course of my illness and many of them couldn’t be bothered to actually pay attention to my symptoms. Instead they opted to go for the simplest solution even when it didn’t work. The gastroenterologists in the public hospital seem to be going the same route and at the rate she’s wasting away I’m frantic to do something.

She recently applied for disability and I hope she gets through. I wonder if there’s anyway that I can apply. I still hope that someday I won’t be disabled and I know that prospective employers won’t want to take a risk on me with such a long period of inactivity.

Tomorrow it’s back to logging my meals, symptoms and medicine. For now, I’m going to try and come up with a meal plan that I can stomach. For some reason I always manage to include something that lands me in the bathroom, or just curled up in a ball crying or trying to breathe the pain away.

On days like that I fall into melancholia. The worst thing about being chronically ill, is the feeling of being useless, of being a burden to the ones you love. I had a talk with my hubby about this once and I often remember it when I feel this way. He said that while it might be a burden, it’s one that he chooses to bear because he loves me. This makes me both happy and sad because I want to be able to do the same for him if need be.

So this happened.

Tonight I got into a taxi driven by the most racist person I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. He has rewritten Trinidadian history to exclude those of East Indian descent and has a very selective memory when it comes to the wanton discrimination that was faced by East Indians while the PNM were in power. 

I’ll say this for the PPP though, they aren’t doing anything that previous governments haven’t done. They just have the misfortune to be doing it now, when the spread of information is super fast thanks to the advent of social media.

I am also tired of encountering people who vote based on race. This man thinks that East Indians should not be allowed positions of power, that we are the only ones in the country that are corrupt and that our religion specifically singles out those of African descent. Ironic that he knows so little of that which he hates. Our caste system labels those with dark skin to be slaves. In other words every single East Indian that made it to Trinidad was a slave.

Democracy is a sham if you allow politicians to manipulate your choices based on fear mongering due to racism. But then again, when has it ever not been?

I’m glad that my Carib ancestry means that I don’t have the pin straight hair that the rest of my family has but I’m obviously more Indian than not. This is the first time that I was terrified of someone based on their race. This man was advocating to have us all killed and to encounter someone like that nowadays is utterly terrifying. Not only that, the other passengers were egging him on and if you’ve ever been abused by a group of children you know exactly the type of terror this behavior breeds.