...OTHER PEOPLE EAT PIZZA.

I wanted to write this update much sooner, and I kept putting it off for reasons I haven’t yet figured out. The week following the publication of “It’s All Yellow,” life started to taste really sweet really quickly, and every time I tried to write something about all of the changes that were happening in my life, I couldn’t get myself to do it. I think I felt like I was bragging, or, I was listening to the very real, and terrifyingly consistent, subconscious fear I have that if I get too excited about the good things happening in my life they will ultimately either be taken away from me, or something bad will happen to balance it all back out. So, here we are, a few weeks later, with a 2nd update about all of the good things that happened that week, and all of the seemingly bad things that happened this week, that I’m telling myself is not the universe’s balancing act attacking my life (even though it really feels like it).

After I wrote “It’s All Yellow,” I made a handful of doctor’s appointments that I had been putting off scheduling. I hate going to the doctor, because I’ve worked in the medical field and I know that Karen in the back cubicle is making fun of me for having fatigue: “You and everyone else, sweetie!” Myself and everyone else who has an invisible illness probably has similar sentiments of fearing not being taken seriously when describing their symptoms, and trying to articulate them in a way that portrays just how life-altering they are. I’m not just tired, and I’m not just sad; you can write that down if you want. So, I’ve been fighting with doctors for years over the fact that I have every single symptom of Hypothyroidism. I know, Karen, me and everyone else. It was never that I was trying to convince the doctor of this diagnosis, but rather to say "these are the symptoms I have, and I can't function with them, so I need help." I never got help. This doctor’s appointment was just an annual check-up; I needed scripts filled and blood work ordered. I didn’t mention the Hypothyroid symptoms, because this was my first time at this doctor, and it’s not even worth bringing up anymore: I figured I’d let the blood work speak for itself. I am thrilled to admit that I loved my new doctor, and she handled all of my prescription transfers and all that fun, super interesting, stuff efficiently and politely. Boom. One appointment down.

The next appointment I had that day was with a nutritionist. I’ve dreamed of going to a nutritionist for years, because, as previously mentioned, one of the great symptoms of hypothyroidism that I’ve experienced is excessive weight gain and inability to lose weight. Throughout the lovely journey of gaining thirty pounds in six months, I assumed I was doing everything wrong. At the end of the day, the Instagram trainers will tell you IIFYM, calories in vs. calories out, you don’t have to count calories if you’re eating whole foods, just cut out dairy, gluten, sugar, carbs, food, etc. Well, I tried all of those things, and even when I was going to a gym twice a day, eating a green smoothie every morning, and doing every god damn thing I was supposed to be doing, I didn’t lose weight, and instead I just felt isolated and self-loathing. Many years ago, when I brought up excessive weight gain and not being able to lose weight to my doctor, he told me I’m probably carb-sensitive and to stop eating them. If you ever want to see me foam at the mouth, ask me about this experience in person. Come back to present day, I was nervous to sit down with a nutritionist, and when he asked me what I was expecting from working with him, my response was quite literally “I really don’t know.” I told him I needed to be a healthy weight because I have an extensive family history of weight-dependent illness. We went through my diet in detail, and ultimately he asked me why I made an appointment with him because my nutrition was more than satisfactory. I told him I needed reassurance that I was doing the right things, eating the right things, and doing “enough:” Just tell me I’m not crazy and that I’m allowed to eat carbs. I left that day feeling pretty damn good about myself, my health, and my direction in life. This might be it. This might be the time all of this works, and I feel GOOD?

To top all these good vibes off, I got a call the next day for a job offer with a salary that I had successfully negotiated. I’m going to be working for a company making a wage I can comfortably live off of, with bonuses, vacation time, paid holidays, tuition reimbursement, and a good 401k. Husband and I went out for sushi that night, and somehow managed to find the best sushi restaurant in the state of Alabama that is near our house and also cheap? I should have known the world was about to explode, right? Right.

As everyone is aware, the world is exploding. I have nothing to say about that other than the extremely selfish fact that it is messing with my mojo and I hate it. I’m still in the waiting phase to start my new job (official start date is March 30th, so long as we’re still a first world country by then), and my husband is working from home. We are “practicing social distancing,” aka staying the fuck away from everyone else while still spending as much time outside as humanly possible. We have taken up wood-working, and planted an herb garden; it’s going about as well as it could be. On the first day of us both being home I got the news that my thyroid blood work was elevated, indicating Hypothyroidism. My glucose, and LDL cholesterol were also slightly elevated, which my doctor wasn’t worried about due to the thyroid levels. This is what I’ve been saying all along, yet for some reason, in the peak of being the healthiest, most active, most mindful, and happiest I’ve been in YEARS, this sent me into an absolute spiral. I shut down. I stopped caring. I started putting entirely too much weight into everyone else’s quarantine posts about food and booze. I started getting jealous and self-loathing, again. I went to the grocery store and they were out of chicken and turkey, so I used that as an excuse to eat pizza. Then I gained three pounds, and those three pounds have convinced me none of this matters or is worth it. Then I hated myself for eating the pizza. Then I hated my body because it gained three pounds from pizza...OTHER PEOPLE EAT PIZZA. Then I convinced myself I’ve already messed up, so I might as well eat more pizza. Guess what? This morning, I woke up, I felt terrible and I was pissed from the second my feet hit the floor.

So, this is me saying I’m officially done with the spiral. I’m done with the vicious cycle of feeling terrible, eating stuff that doesn’t make me feel good to try to feel better, and then feeling worse. I realize what I’m doing, and I can stop it: so, I’m going to. While I’m writing this, I’m sitting in the middle of my yard trying to get vitamin-D drunk in the sun, because that was all I could think to do to take a step away from this mood. I’m sad, I’m self-loathing, and it’s just one of those days, but tomorrow, I’ll be hopeful, productive, maybe a little bit more tan, and a little bit less bloated. I think that’s really all I can ask for these days.