I weigh 155 pounds. I'm 5'4" and weigh 155 pounds, and that gives me an unhealthy BMI and means I'm overweight leaning towards obese.
I know this because I hopped on a scale a week ago, entered my numbers into my computer, and... I'm fat. My computer said so.
This led down the slippery slope of depression. Every single meal becomes a battle between the rationale side of me which points out that I'm still nursing, that I have lost weight in the past year, and that I'm eating healthy and going to the gym. This is a transient weight, not a reason for panic. Another part of me gags at the thought of food and wants to curl into a miserable ball and cry for a week straight because I've failed myself.
I've blogged about my depression before. About my self-esteem built on shifting sand, and about my fear of ramen. I hit these points and I stumble, I fall, I get depressed, and the only thing I do for days is keep going.
Getting out of bed is hard.
Getting dressed drives me to tears.
Writing, cooking, gardening... anything that requires focus or emotion is an Everest I can't climb.
And I realized as I was struggling to do anything that I was doing something. Sometimes battling depression is a true battle. I am fighting to stay calm, keep it together, and keep moving. Moment by moment I am choosing to find something good, to find something I love, to just hold on and take that next step.
No one can see this fight.
If anyone stopped by right now I'm sure they'd think I was being lazy. My house is a mess. There are dirty dishes in the sink. I haven't prepped the garden for spring planting. I have a long list of things I haven't done this week.
But I haven't had a nervous breakdown. I haven't stopped eating or worked out six hours a day in an unhealthy drive for unreal perfection. I haven't let the depression win.
Some days that is as good as it's going to get.
Why am I telling you this? I don't really know. It seems fair, in a way. I've blogged about everything else. You know about my kids, my books, my dreams. I've talked about my depression and my struggles with it. You've been wonderful and supportive. And a part of me believes that talking about depression out in the open might help. Maybe (hopefully) you'll never experience depression. But maybe someone you know will, and maybe this will help you understand the hell our own minds can drive us to. This misery of self-doubt and constantly second guessing every choice and never having the strength to believe in yourself.
So when you ask how I'm doing, I'm fine. I'm not losing the fight. I'm not gaining as much ground as I'd like, but I'm still fighting. Some days that's all I do, but it needs to be done.
And one day, hopefully soon, the seasons will change and my stresses will fall off to some degree and I will win the fight and get my life back. Between now and then, thank you for being there.