I have been so busy today. I really didn’t want to get up this morning. At the gym right now. I’m still exercising but also multi tasking. I am going to try to go the gym every day nearly. Well, I’m in Hinckley a lot so may as well go on the way back home. I may just be overly bloated right now. But, I simply cannot stand my weight creeping up. I’ve not been this size since I had my son. I was 10 stone after I gave birth to him in 2012.
I was my biggest (14 and a half stone) when I was 21 years old. I’ve worked so hard today that I can literally feel the sweat dripping off of me. I’m making up for injury time out. I have never been able to run on the treadmill before. I ran for two minutes. I had to stop and start (walk in between) because I’m no athlete haha.
I’m 30 now and I do not intend on going back up to 14 stone. Weight creeps up and before you know it you’ve had to buy all new clothes and your face has gone chubby. I can see my weight gain in my latest photos. I start to look like a pig and I refuse to look like that.
I look so tired. I need to do something about that because even when I do sleep I wake up exhausted. I’ve gone back down on the antidepressant dosage. It can be altered after 3 consecutive days of the same dose. I can’t go down too much because I need to balance out a dosage that stops my knee flaring up again.
I’m at 30mg (3 tablets), but I want to try to keep at 20mg (2 tablets) because medication also causes weight gain if not balanced right with body weight. This is the underlying problem with psychiatric medication (amongst others used for long term illnesses). If someone is taking too many chemicals which doesn’t equate to their body weight and height, they will gain weight.
I was a chubby child because of the medication I took for epilepsy. I was a chubby early 20s because I was given a lot of medication. I literally begged for it too because I didn’t like living in care. I can only switch off from my surroundings and things that are bugging me being on medication. I still think about things when I’m on them, but not in ocd mode constantly to the point where I get pissed off and try to fix things. I normally don’t fix things, I know this medicated. I don’t believe in leaving things for time to heal it. But, like I said the other day, time never has been a healer for me. I hold onto things to the extreme and it doesn’t help when you remember things exactly as they were in your head so clearly that you can replay it like a tape. I do get ptsd symptoms because I have nightmares of horrendous experiences I’ve had (another potential thing to wake me up at night). I’m not diagnosed with ptsd but I’m not open about the complete details of what I have to deal with behind closed doors. I refuse to do so because I now have a belief that everyone is untrustworthy and will effectively push you into a road full of incoming cars given half the chance.
The social worker that came to see me said she thinks I’m very independent and that I do not need support anymore. She assumes that my mother helps me with my finances but this isn’t the case. I’ve paid nearly £300 (well I will by next week) of my paypal credit bill in chunks this month and she isn’t aware of this fact.
The only time I see my mother is during the weekend because she cooks food and I take a pizza over for us to share on Saturday evening. And even this feels too mix for me. I don’t want to be mean but she really doesn’t see how controlling she can be and the more I am exposed to the outside world, the more I can see that. I don’t want to completely cut contact with her but she isn’t going to change ever. I had no chance growing up with her influence. I’m not being cruel. I’m being honest and I make a lot of enemies through my inability to lie. It’s like that film liar liar, if I see a red pen in front of me, I just cannot say that it is blue. People also take advantage that I can’t lie, if I know something and someone asks me right out an exact question… I’m going to blurt our every single detail. If someone tells me not to say anything then I can programme myself to say I don’t know.
Diary of a Painfully Shy Introvert Blog 