So, this is me. The left side is me end of October, 2011. The right side is me, late September, 2012.
I have so many moments of thinking I “should” be further along than I am. And then, I look at this side by side photo.
When the first photo was taken, I was at my worst. I know, to some, I may not look so bad. But you know..I was eating nothing but crap. I wasn’t getting any exercise. I started drinking pop/soda again for the first time in 10 years or so, I was eating processed foods. Easy things to make, because I had a quad injury and that made it hard to stand and cook or do much of anything. Getting up off the couch was hard.
My clothes no longer fit. I didn’t feel good in anything. I was struggling to keep my underwear on most days. It was always rolling and bunching because my belly was growing by the minute. I felt myself expanding. I would lay in bed and poke my belly, (I know I’m not the only one who’s ever done that). I would think things like “I am going to die in bed one day…” as my last thought before I’d fall asleep. I started snoring. I don’t snore. I have never snored. But I started snoring. And I’d wake myself up because I’d hear myself snoring. I was mortified the first time it happened. I don’t snore. How on earth was I now suddenly snoring. And then one night when it happened, when I woke up coughing because clearly I wasn’t breathing for a second, I realized, I was developing sleep apnea. I know it happens to a lot of overweight people. But I guess I figured as long as it never happened to me, things weren’t too bad.
There’s something very disconcerting about waking up with that realization. That I now had developed sleep apnea. I’d lay in bed for a time, just thinking about dying in my sleep. And because I live alone, no one would know. Not for a few days anyway. Then, it would be like one of those horrible reality tv shows, where they’d have to take my bedroom window out so they could get me out of the house. And I’d be naked. Because of course, none of my sexy night time lingerie fit me anymore. So I’d be naked, and they’d have to get me out of my house using my bedroom window. And the neighbours would all be watching. I was horrified at the thought. And I had it often. I went out and bought myself a nighty to sleep in. One that fit. So at least when the firemen came to take me out of the house, I wouldn’t be naked.
On the surface, you’d never know I was having those thoughts. I was trying to be as normal as possible with friends and such. I never wanted them to know how bad things were. Not like they couldn’t see it for themselves, but I really thought I’d be able to pretend. Pretend like everything was okay. I never wanted them to know how much I was suffering from this injury. How I just kept hoping I would wake up one morning and both my legs would work again. But that didn’t happen. Not for 10 long months. I knew my friends were worried about me. For being the social animal that I am, I started going out less. Given I am generally a “hell yes” to live, I started becoming a “hell no”. I started to think of outings in terms of “will there be stairs? will i have to sit on a stool? will i look stupid when trying to stand?” The injury I had sustained was in both of my quads. I could barely get up off my own couch, never mind sit down on the toilet to pee. So the idea of going out, in public, where people would see how pathetic and giant I was..No way Jose.
I think I was depressed. I’m never one to self diagnose, but if I had to guess. It’s likely. No longer was I thinking in terms of what I could do…my life had become about what I couldn’t do. That was the worst part. I was now someone I didn’t recognize.
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. And even spiritually.
…to be continued