Thursday, November 15, 2012

Gaining Again

I gained 8 pounds in the last three weeks. From 155 to 163. That puts me back in the obese category. I feel like a failure. I succeed in school but fail in my personal life....or else it is the other way around.

My boyfriend is an amazing cook. He cooks delicious, aromatic food and then serves me as much as he eats. He then offers me seconds...dessert...full sugar soda. I am having difficulty saying no. I see it and know it is too much. I tell him I can't finish but he insists. I have this obsession with really tasty food. If it is veggies or even Panda Express I can control myself. I just stop when I am full and throw the rest away. But with home-made, spicy food I fall into this vortex of consumption. I love to eat good, home-made food. It makes me feel loved and nurtured. Then, at the end of the night, I see my belly and I am ashamed.

I lost one pound last night, so I'm 162 at the moment, but that is still 25 pounds more than my goal weight. I want to be 135 again. I was under 115 until the age of 22 or 23, when the psychiatrist put me on Zyprexa, an anti-psychotic that is notorious for massive weight gain. At the age of 24-ish or 25, I lost a lot of weight and weighed in at 133. Of course, I was floridly psychotic and malnourished from my once-a-day meal diet and I was quickly institutionalized, but I still want to be that weight again. I don't want to be 115 or below. I just want to be 135. I like having curves, but I must be in the normal BMI range. I must.

It is sad that I am content not seeing my boyfriend for the next two days because I get to go back on a low cal veggie and yogurt diet. I like his company, but I fear his two entree dinners. There must be some middle ground?

Classes are going very well. It was difficult to adjust to the new standards at first. It took a good two months to get accustomed to the daily readings of academic journals, but it was worth it. I studied hard, I read a lot, and now I have excellent grades. Term papers are coming up, and then that is the end of my first semester as a graduate student. I just have to work my butt off coming up with a good analysis of the data I accumulated.

I am feeling better about being a person who has bipolar-disorder with psychotic manias. I am beginning to see that there is a life outside of drama and madness. There is a life of productivity, moderate amounts of energy, and success. Now, if only I could lose the 25 pounds....

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Notes on my Personal Life

I am up late, thinking about how unjust the world can be. But why gripe? I have more than many other people do. I have my college degree, I am doing well in the master's program, I am not mentally ill at the moment. I have no criminal record. I don't even have any speeding tickets to my name.

I  have a boyfriend. He is an international student. He cooks for me. I am very lucky.


I got an A on a tough midterm. I now have to write excellent term papers. Then, I can celebrate Christmas.

I need. I need money. I need love. I need hugs and kisses and hundred dollar bills. When I am in my boyfriend's arms it is as though he can never hold me tightly enough. I need too much. Even with my major illness gone, I am still a bit neurotic.

Look at me, typing my private details onto the cyberspace. What is the matter with me? I am ashamed, yet my fingers keep typing. I must need attention. I must need your attention. Thank you, by the way, for your attention. Without it, my life would be a solitary existence, living alone with the secret of my damaged mind, hiding behind a wall of fun-house mirrors, unsure as to which reflection is mine.

Here, I know who I am. Yes, I omit certain details of my life from you, reader. Important things? Not really. Trivial things I do not really bother to type into cyberspace. You know my bare soul. You know the secrets that I can not share, not even with the man whom I share a bed with. He doesn't know the secret of my mental illness.

He doesn't know that I learned how to sleep under bright lights in the psychiatric holding cells. What it was like---the horrible sting of light, the sporadic moments of sleep, the ever-present security guards with attitude problems and billy clubs as extensions of their manhood. He doesn't know what it's like to wake up shattered, literally bruised, with no memory.  I curl up with him and pretend like I have no past. Like nothing existed before him. The silence between our conversations like tiny rain drops that threaten to become a rainstorm. I can never tell anyone the horrible existence that American society puts mental patients through. The physical restraints, the invasive psycho-therapy, the guinea-pig drug regimens, the stigma.....it is all so middle ages.

But enough remembering about my ugly past. I must think about a future where I am not tied to a gurney, not misunderstood, not perceived as contagiously mentally ill or dangerous. I will apply to doctorate programs this semester. If I am accepted, I will request a deferment of my admission in order to complete the Master's degree. I will complete my Master's degree in two years, possibly earlier. I will take my medicine as prescribed. I will exercise and lose weight. I will apply to PhD programs in my field. I will not break the law. I will not give up the hope of a normal existence, or of a productive career. Maybe I will even have a child. But that would be after I am gainfully employed. I want my child to have a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Moot point, though, I need to earn my degrees first. Wish me luck. I wish you luck.