Circular abdabs

Still feeling a bit doldrum-y. Not the lowest I've ever been by any means, just kind of treading water. I hit the wall with all my wonderful intentions and discipline, and I hate to say it, but this is about the same increment of time it always happens for me...day 55 of the food journal is today, so I'm right on schedule. I'm still eating what I'm supposed to for the most part; I just have to keep the bad stuff (or as they say, "the trigger foods") out of the house. This week my bugaboo was the !@#$%^ Lorna Doone shortbread cookies, which are not only quite delicious, but also have the added bonus of being mild and safe when my stomach does its best Vesuvius impression. I'm trying to stick to the whole-grain Triscuits instead.

Sleep continues to be a challenge. I am sleeping better on Seroquel than I did on Ambien, but I'm still waking up at least twice a night and still eating when I do. The difference is that I am cognizant enough to write it in the g-d food journal, sans weird subconscious commentary, rather than finding crumbs and wrappers later and just feeling ashamed.

Shame sucks; I vote for there being much less of it. In my mind, it's another thing that motivates human beings to do nothing except self-destruct. It reminds me of one of those software programs (like AOL!) that randomly attaches all kinds of stuff you never wanted or needed in the first place in directories you never knew existed on your computer. I know the seeds of my personal shame originated from the behavior and actions of other people, but my battle is not to perpetuate it and let it fester; in short, not to feed it.

Shame is the kissing cousin of depression. (Indeed, could one exist without the other?) Ashamed of what I am *not* doing (ie, exercise the past week) is not that different from shame that I am doing exactly what I should (eating right, exercising on cue like a chubby, pissed-off automaton) and not getting the results I want, need or desire for myself. Even if I was getting the results I wanted, needed or desired for myself (which, for those of you playing at home, has never happened to date), this would not make the medical professionals or indeed the world at large throw out their scorecards and STFU. Shame, self-hatred, anger, and depression are all tied up with the same stupid, gaudy bow, and the line blurs between want, need, and shouldacouldawoulda. Voila! Circular abdabs.

Sleep or lack thereof

My sleep has been really, really bad lately. It has never been good, not since I can remember. I'm a lifetime insomniac, since I was a young teenager anyway; I also have PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder). The PTSD has improved drastically over the years, since I am no longer attacked while sleeping or awakened to the sound of violence and haven't been for decades. I've also been taking medication to help me sleep for the last ten years. My current fears involve possible intrusions from the outside world, and I do have them sometimes to an irrational degree. ("Did you lock the door? Are you sure? Well, I'm going to go look.") Unfortunately, I don't think this will never leave me completely, but I do the best I can. I would feel better with more locks on the doors (like about ten) and a really large, protective dog that loves me best. A razor-wire electric fence around my house and an armed guard might be nice, too. (I wish I was kidding.) A doctor looked at me once and said, "You have sleep apnea AND insomnia?" and I could tell he was thinking, Well, you're screwed.

Part of the problem with waking up often during the night--at least while I've been on Ambien/Ambien CR--is nocturnal eating. I've found wrappers and crumbs in different places in the house the next day and had no memory of eating anything or even being there. I have tried and rejected several sleep drugs over the years, and am about to try a new one. The only one that worked for me was Remeron, which provided the loveliest, most restful sleep of my life. I gained fifty pounds on it (one of the side effects is increased appetite), so I had to discontinue its use. (I managed to lose half of the fifty pounds I gained and keep it off, but at this point, who's counting?)

The other I wrote something weird in my food journal when I had a middle-of-the-night snack. Of course, I didn't remember eating or writing. That assignment was to write down why I was eating, what, what time, whether it was need-based or for some other reason. I wrote was "3:00 AM, 2 cookies. Want or love?" It creeped me out, and, taken literally, probably revealed more than I wanted it to--even to myself.

I have also been having nightmares, which isn't unusual for me, but some are easier to shake off than others. Like any nightmares, it feels as if my subconscious took a laxative and what comes out comes out. Last night's involved having to watch a dog be burned alive as part of some twisted ritual I wasn't part of but couldn't escape. The night before that, it was about being in the hospital with my mind alert, but unable to communicate with anyone, and being wheeled around on a gurney. I could feel the wheels wobbling under me.

These two examples are upsetting to me, but actually quite mild as my nightmares go. My dreams in general tend to be vivid and involved, like movies, with people I don't know taking part and plot twists aplenty. In the past, have had PTSD flashbacks manifest themselves as dreams, and we've all had those anxiety-based "naked in high school" dreams. I know a lot of dreams are symbolic, but I try not to spend a lot of time analyzing them, just chalking them up to the aforementioned laxative of the subconscious processing everyday life.

People are asking me lately if I am scared about having this surgery. The answer is, of course I am. But I've had several surgeries in the past few years, and this one is a lot less invasive than most of them. This one also has the capacity to really be a tool to help me improve my life. Yes, I could die, but anyone can die from any surgery. If my number is up, I have no control over that, so I don't see the point in fussing about that aspect of it. I'm more focused on the ways my life has to change and determined to make the most of what this could do for me.