Author

Heather Loeb

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Up until a couple years ago I thought that if you were depressed it meant being sad all the time. Now, I know that if you have major depressive disorder, your depression comes in waves or depressive episodes. Like right now, I’m not experiencing one but I’m still depressed because it’s a chronic condition. It can be confusing but below you’ll find out what it’s like (for me) to experience a depressive episode.

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  1. My anxiety manifests as anger — I recently discovered that anxiety can be masked by anger, or in some cases, rage. Sometimes, it’s not apparent that I’m anxious, even to me, but I realize my “check engine light” is coming on when I snap at the kids or my husband. Other times, I see red and want to throw or kick something. Regardless, I now know that anxiety is most likely the culprit and I need to resolve whatever it is I’m feeling. When this happens repeatedly, I know a depressive episode could be on the horizon.
  2. I overeat and binge — When I’m upset, I purposely overeat or binge. Unfortunately, this is my go-to coping mechanism and not a very good one. I think that by overeating I’ll forget whatever pain I’m experience, but the relief is only temporary (the weight gain often is not). It takes a lot of strength for me to bypass this behavior and choose something healthier, something that will actually be helpful.
  3. I sleep more — Usually, I wake up from 5 to 6 a.m. and go to sleep between 9 and 10 p.m. If I’m adding a nap during the day or going to bed before 9 p.m., that usually means something is up. Sometimes I have to force myself to go to bed on time because I’ll want to stay up in the name of alone time. I know I’m headed for trouble when I’m in so much pain that I can’t stay awake any longer than necessary.
  4. My temper is shorter — I have two small children, so patience is critical for my mental health. But there are times, when I lost it easily over seemingly innocuous things, such as the kids being too loud. See no. 5 below, lol.
  5. Loud noises freak me out — When I’m in the “danger zone” of a panic attack or depressive episode, loud and unexpected sounds (such as the kids dropping something) make me angry, scared and out of control. Going somewhere that’s usually loud is out of the question, too. I suspect that I have Misophonia, a disorder in which certain sounds trigger emotional or physiological responses that some might perceive as unreasonable given the circumstance. But I already have enough diagnoses, so I haven’t checked into it.
  6. I want to crawl into bed after I take the kids to school — Sometimes I need a nap during the day, and that’s OK, but I try not to make it a habit anymore; it just reminds me of when I was super depressed before going to psychiatric hospital. If I’m crawling into bed more than usual during the day, say more than once a week, I know to assess what’s going on.
  7. I cry more — This is pretty straight forward. I’m a crier anyway, but I start to cry like every day, then something’s up.
  8. I don’t do my favorite activities and hobbies — This is one of the most annoying part of depression but a good barometer on what’s going on in my head. Typically, I like to write, sing, read, sew, etc. but when I’m depressed I watch more TV than usual and all my other hobbies fall to the wayside.
  9. My anxiety is through the roof — Also straight forward. When I’m anxious there’s an uptick in my anxiety medication, and I tend to be very jumpy and short tempered.
  10. I stop wearing “real” clothes — I”m started to waver on this one. By real clothes, I mean a nice bra, jeans, a blouse, etc. — anything that’s not leggings, basically. BUT we are in a pandemic and I just don’t see that many people so I’ve been wearing more loungewear than normal. But usually when I’m depressed, I’m in oversized sweats and my hair is dirty.

If you have some tell-tale signs of entering into a depressive episode, I’d like to hear them. Drop them in the comments.

Thanks for reading. Stay in the light.

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Isla was two when she started preschool at JCC. I have a photo on our doorstep before our, I mean her, first day with her “packpack” and lunch. At the time I was unsure about starting a new preschool, but David told me how much he loved the J when he was a kid and what a great school it was. I was so nervous that first day and just counted down until I could pick her up.

But I didn’t have anything to be nervous about. The teachers were (and are) amazing. In the almost five years I’ve had a kid there, I’ve never met a teacher or staff member I didn’t like. I remember getting pictures of Isla “hiding” under her nap mat, trying to trick the teachers and making Challah with her, which I had never done before. I loved that she was learning the culture and traditions of our “tribe.” And how each summer she’d learn to swim every day at summer camp. There’s not a whole lot I didn’t (and don’t) love.

The JCC parents are great, too. I find them to be very friendly, helpful and inclusive. I guess that’s why I was talked into running the book fair two years in a row. I remember being so anxious that I wouldn’t do it right or make any money for the school, but I guess both Isla and I have grown. I even liked being part of the parent/teacher organization (PTO). Just like Isla, I’ve made great friends.

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All that — and more — is why I have a lump in my throat about Isla’s last week of school and subsequent graduation. Our experience has been so good at JCC, and I know Isla will miss it so much. She’s already said she doesn’t want to leave. I’m sure, like me, she feels she’s leaving behind her second family. One that has shaped who she is, and let me tell you, she’s amazing. And now the tears are falling.

I know Isla will do great at Windsor Park because JCC has prepared her better than anyone else could have. She’ll make new friends, and I’m sure I’ll like the teachers, but I’ll always have a soft spot for the J.

I’m so thankful that my youngest still has two more years at JCC……that I have two more years, too.

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I’ll start by saying this blog isn’t about anyone in particular, it’s only an acknowledgement that sometimes families fall apart. Family members become toxic and estranged, even when you thought you were close. It pains me to write about this because I always had this idea that families are forever — the whole idea that blood’s thicker than water.

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But sometimes it’s necessary to cut a loved one(s) out of your life if they are abusive and/or affecting your mental health. A couple of my friends have talked to me about this — how a family member oversteps their bounds and constantly berates or belittles their existence. Teasing is one thing, but it should never go as far as repeatedly hurting someone’s feelings.

My immediate family is not perfect, and sometimes I feel like the black sheep, but I know they support me and have my back. Honestly, I used to feel so left out and admired other families. But then I was witness to an “ideal family” coming undone and my opinion changed. I’m very grateful for what I have in my own family.

No matter what, your boundaries should be respected. They are so important and needed in every relationship. These guidelines establish how you want to be treated and it’s critical to create and maintain healthy relationships. If you have someone in your family disrespecting your boundaries, you should talk to them, tell them they’re hurting your feelings and address how you want to be treated. I realize this is easier said than done. Sometimes, you feel indebted to a loved one or feel like you’re obligated to keep them in your life. But love, support and understanding are not guaranteed in a family member. And if you’re not getting any of that and are constantly ignored and hurt, feel free to cut that person out of your life. Again, I realize that’s easier said than done.

Life is too short to deal with a toxic person. Even if you don’t think their antics affect you, it does. Being manipulated and exposed to emotionally violent behaviors causes depression, anxiety and low self-esteem. Plus it’s stressful. If you’re dealing with this, I’m so sorry. If you’re still being bullied and ignored, try talking to a trusted family member or therapist. They might have an idea on how to approach that family member. Remember, you are not responsible for their behavior nor the job of maintaining the unhealthy relationship.

If you do cut someone out of your life, don’t feel guilty. Make your mental health and wellbeing a priority because you matter, your feelings are valid and there’s no reason you should deal with toxic family members (or friends). Putting yourself first doesn’t make you selfish, it makes you smart and healthy.

Stay in the light.

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Choke.

by Heather Loeb

My best friend called me out today, and as much as I hate to admit it, she was right. As usual.

I was complaining about my weight gain and how I felt fat and ugly. My BFF was sympathetic then said, “You can’t preach self acceptance and hate yourself.”

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I blog so much about body positivity and loving yourself and here I am cringing every time I pass a mirror — that’s mirror avoidance, by the way. Why is it so hard to practice what I preach?

Because there’s a deep-seated belief in me that fat equals ugly and unworthy. I’ve been trained to criticize every inch of my body, to think of fat as disgusting. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to overcome these thoughts, that I’ll always hate myself, and that’s just sad.

Weeks ago I contacted my favorite photographer and booked a photo shoot that was just for me. I wanted to celebrate how free I feel now that I’m so open with my mental disorders. I feel free from others’ opinions, too. Or I did. Now I want to cancel the photo shoot. I tried on outfit after outfit and nothing fit and if it did, it didn’t feel like me. I ended up crying about the ordeal, realizing that I’m not free at all — I’m a slave to my eating disorder and to the idea that being thin means you’re beautiful, loved and successful. I am tethered to dangerous societal norms, even though I talk about bucking them all the time.

I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I don’t want to look at myself in disgust. I want to love my body and soul. I want to be free. And in some ways, I am.

It was brave to admit to depression, anxiety, an eating disorder and a personality disorder. I didn’t bat an eye when I talked about my suicidal thoughts and subsequent hospitalizations. I don’t give a fuck what others think because I help people by talking about these issues. Friends, family and even strangers have reached out to me saying I’ve helped in some way, and that fuels me to keep writing. There was nobody to help me navigate depression and anxiety when I was at my worst, and I don’t want anyone feeling the same way. It was a terrible, dark time. And hopefully, I can shine light on other people’s journey because I know what they’re going through. That’s my goal.

But I’m not truly free until I break these tired old chains.

A friend had a shirt on today that said, “I will no longer be shrinking myself to be more digestible.You can choke.” That’s the attitude I want to have. I’d be healthier if I lost some weight, sure, but being overweight doesn’t mean I’m ugly or less than. It doesn’t change anything — I’m amazing for so many reasons and none of those reasons has to do with weight.

My kids are watching. Their ideas of self-worth come from me (and my husband), so I’d better get it together. There’s no way I want either of them to deal with low self-esteem and self-hate. I want them to celebrate who they are outside of their appearance. And if I want them to do that, why can’t I want that for myself? I’m almost 40, and it’s hard to reverse some thoughts, but I can do it. I’ve battled depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember — I’ve come so far. I’m not going to let a few pounds (or 26) take me down. No, I’m stronger than that.

From now on, I’m celebrating who I am despite my appearance. If people don’t like it, they can choke. I refuse to shrink any more than I have.

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Freedom

by Heather Loeb

When I started this blog, I was not free. I hid my depression, anxiety and binge eating disorder from the world, mostly because I was embarrassed. I also have a personality disorder, but I didn’t know it when I started writing.

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I felt weak because of the depression. That’s not uncommon, mostly because society still buys into the stigma surrounding depression and other mental disorders.

It took going to a mental hospital for me to finally “come clean” about my disorders. Before I left for The Menninger Clinic, I was abusing my anxiety medication, suicidal and it was hard to get out of bed. I was at my lowest.

Then, surrounded by people just like me, I realized that I wasn’t weak — it takes a strong person to fight their own brain in order to stay alive. And that’s what I was doing. My brain was telling me I needed to kill myself and that nobody wanted me around. That I was a burden. But I resisted.

Depression not only made it hard to get out bed but also it was difficult to brush my teeth and shower. I also started isolating, not answering texts from my friends and wanting to spent more time by myself. That’s depression’s game — to isolate you and make you think you’re not worthy. And what helped me while hospitalized was discovering that it wasn’t my fault. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s situational and genetics. Anyone can become depressed — just think about what the pandemic has done: people have lost loved ones, they’ve gotten sick themselves, they’ve lost jobs and people are isolated from family and friends. It’s just a hop, skip and a jump over to depression right now, for anyone.

And it’s so lonely. So, so lonely.

My goal starting this blog was to help others not feel so lonely. So ostracized. To fight the weariness that you feel in your bones when struggling with depression. I want those suffering to know that you are worthy and not alone in this fight. There is light at the end of the tunnel, at least I think so. I’m still trying to get there.

What I’ve come to know is this: It’s OK to have depression. It’s OK to admit it and talk about it freely. There’s nothing wrong with having a mental disorder. People who suffer with mental illness are survivors, warriors. I am a warrior.

Every single day I wake up and fight depression and anxiety. I fight body image issues and experience terrible, hateful intrusive thoughts telling me I’m ugly, fat and a loser. Or that I’m going to die. Sometimes, it’s no picnic. But again, I’m a warrior.

I’ve learned that I can run on hate, so I’m learning to love myself. On a good day, I see a beautiful, wild-haired woman who loves her friends and family fiercely. Who has awesome tattoos and is not afraid of speaking her mind about anything. An advocate who desperately wants to help others.

I’ve come a long way, and this blog has helped me navigate my journey, which is just beginning.

What I am now is free — free from the shackles of other people’s opinions and the stigma surrounding mental disorders. I have major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, avoidance personality disorder, binge eating disorder and I have problems abusing prescription medication. I’m still amazing. I’m brave. I’m a fighter.

I’m unapologetically me and so fucking free. Join me.

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Don’t let the title of this blog fool you — depression definitely sucks. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone; however, there are some things that having severe depression (and anxiety) have taught me. If I’m going to deal with these disorder for the rest of my life, I better make hay when the sun shines.

1. I’m empathetic – Depression is a chronic disease, an invisible one, and so many people misunderstand just how bad it can be. A lot of people put on a happy face while they go to work and in front of their friends even when inside they feel like they are slowly dying a painful death. I have learned not to judge others as much, because we truly don’t know what’s going on with someone unless they confide in us. And those who are suffering from a chronic or invisible illness, I have so much more empathy toward. I know what it’s like — the pain, the judgement from others, etc. Having depression has taught me to respect other people’s health journey, no matter what that may be.

2. I’m also resilient – I’ve been through a lot, and even though it’s still painful at times, I fight. I bounce back. I shake it off.

3. I’m able to help others – I’ve had depression and anxiety since I was about 12 years old. I’ve taken tons of different medications, I’ve been hospitalized at a psychiatric facility, I’ve abused my anxiety meds, I’ve self harmed and I have an eating disorder. These experiences help me relate to others and I can share what I’ve gone through, hopefully so they don’t repeat my mistakes.

4. I have lots of patience – During a depressive episode, I can get so frustrated with my brain for not working correctly, but I’ve learned that if I just stick it out, the sun will shine again and my pain will fade. I just have to be patient — with my brain, with my medications, the ECTs (electroconvulsive therapy), etc. With the right combination of therapy, medication and coping skills, life gets better. It will always get better.

5. I appreciate the little things in life – This is hard to do during a depressive episode, because everything feels like hard work. (See my spoons blog). It’s hard to shower, eat, sleep and take care of my family, etc. That’s why I have to force myself to appreciate the little things — a cold Diet Coke, fresh flowers, painting my nails, playing with my kids and binge watching TV shows with David. “Indulging” in these things helps me to remember that life is good, despite what my brain is telling me and that I have to continue to take care of myself to experience the good.

6. I’m confident I can handle anything – I’ve battled severe postpartum depression, I’ve fought off suicidal thoughts more times than I can count, I’ve been hospitalized for six weeks and I continue to fight my major depression on a daily basis. These are not easy feats. It’s especially hard when you’re fighting a disease in which your own brain tells you to kill yourself or you’re not worthy. Yet, here I am despite it all. I’m strong, and I know I can handle anything that comes my way.

7. It’s taught me who I am – I kept quiet about my depression, anxiety and eating disorder because I learned somewhere along the way that these things were character flaws. I thought I was broken and flawed and didn’t get the help I needed. That’s the stigma of mental health talking. Depression is just a disease I fight — it’s not who I am. I’m the strong, resilient, loving woman who kicks depression’s ass everyday. Everything I went through was a major gut check, and even though I hate what depression has done to me, it’s made me a better, stronger version of myself and I can’t hate that. I’m proud of my journey and I’m proud that I can be so open about it. My hope is that others will read my blogs and feel free to share their journey as well.

8. I’m brave – It wasn’t easy being honest about my mental disorders and sharing that I’ve been hospitalized and suicidal. Although it was freeing later in the process, it was really painful when I initially shared everything because so many people don’t understand mental health. But that just means we have to work harder at normalizing it and sharing factual information about it. I’m brave for putting it all out there, I’m brave for doing ECTs every eight weeks and I’m brave for getting up every morning and fighting for my life.

9. It’s shown me who my real friends are – Being depressed is a real drag. I cancel plans with my friends quite a bit, and I know that gets annoying hearing that I’m depressed every. single. day. I get it. When you’re dealing with such a debilitating illness, you find out real quick who will stick by you and support you. It ain’t for sissies. I’m thankful for my girlfriends who continue to stick by me and give me unlimited support, no matter what’s going on with me.

10. It’s forced me to be more mindful – I have to keep very close tabs on my emotions and actions so I don’t slip into a depressive episode. I have to make sure I’m getting enough sleep, water, alone time, vitamins and more so I can be as healthy as possible. Monitoring my emotions is no different — I have to make sure that I’m processing and dealing with my feelings, especially if it’s a negative emotion. For example, if I’m feeling uncertainty or fear, I have to cope with that in a positive way and not a negative way, such as binge eating. It’s very easy to turn the feelings monitor off and try to fill that void with food or other unhealthy coping skills. So, I’m mindful of how I feel and in dealing with how I feel.

Any benefits I missed? Drop ’em in the comments. Thanks for reading. Stay in the light.

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Sentenced to Life

by Heather Loeb

Please note that this was written two weeks ago and I feel better.

Last week I had a much needed ECT. When I awoke from the short procedure, I felt strange. Usually, I have a terrible migraine, I’m confused and fatigued, but this time I was alert, I knew what had just happened and there was no sign of a migraine. Good, right?

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During the two-hour drive home, I kept thinking that it was amazing that I didn’t feel like crap. I looked over the papers the hospital gave me and saw that I had a short, 42-second seizure, which is good — the shorter, the better. But something was bothering me.

It’s now been several days since the ECT. I don’t feel as different as I’d like. I don’t have much energy, I’m not as optimistic as usual and at times I’m just sad. I hate to say it, but I don’t think this treatment worked. It’s happened before — the ECT leaves me feeling no different or actually worse, but it’s rare. It scares me, because getting treatments is the main part of my treatment plan. I rely on them to feel better.

This is just a very sad reminder that I’ve been sentenced to life with major depression/anxiety, and there is no cure. I’m treatment resistant, meaning most medications won’t help. Therapy, ECTs and behavioral modification are the only things keeping me from slipping back into a depressive episode. And I’ve worked too hard to go back.

I don’t mean to be gloomy. Maybe it’ll take a week before I feel better. Maybe I’ll have to work harder on self-care and turning to healthy coping mechanisms. I hope to hell I don’t, but maybe I’ll need another ECT before the next one scheduled in eight weeks. Maybe that one will work.

It’s just hard not to feel betrayed right now. I hate getting ECTs, but I continue to get them because I know they help make me a better mom, wife and friend…they usually help, anyway. But this time was different — I feel bamboozled. I went to all that trouble for what? To still feel out of gas and like there’s nothing to look forward to? I hate my brain! Even if I do (most) everything right, my efforts are thwarted. It just doesn’t matter, my brain’s gonna do what my brain’s gonna do. And that, my friends, is depressing in itself.

I’ll give it a few more days. I’ll do my best, practice self-care, go to therapy. I’ll drudge on, but I have a feeling I’ll be making another trip to San Antonio sooner than expected. And that’s OK, if the next time works.

But what in the hell will I do if it doesn’t?

I can’t really entertain that thought, because it’s so suffocating. I feel the urge to stomp my foot like a child and scream, “It’s not fair!” Because it sure the fuck isn’t.

It’s just not fair.

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I remember when I was much, much younger and was dating an older boy. We were picnicking at the park, and it was a beautiful day. It was one of those moments I thought that I would remember forever; however, now I remember it for the wrong reasons.

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As I was enjoying the day and our time together, my boyfriend asked, “Do you know what would make this better?” Fully expecting him to say, “Nothing!” I asked what. Then he said, “Alcohol!”

Now, I don’t drink and am not against it at all, but I was so annoyed. We didn’t need alcohol to make anything better — it was perfect as it was. He then said, “Or maybe smoking a joint.” I was really pissed after that, even though I’m not against marijuana either.

I didn’t understand my boyfriend. He was always trying to drink or smoke, and I didn’t realize why until I began abusing my anxiety pills several years ago — he was trying to escape pain. He had many problems that he never dealt with and unfortunately never really got a chance to because he died in a suspected drunk driving accident. He was in his 20s, a kid almost.

When I was severely depressed and suicidal, I started abusing benzodiazepines, which are highly addictive. I was still dealing with postpartum depression, although I didn’t realize it until things got dire for me. I remember thinking to myself that the pills made everything better, and I’d take them every chance I got, eventually working my way up on the dosage. Even when I wasn’t anxious, I’d take them. I too was trying to escape. And even though I thought the pills were helping me and making me happier, they weren’t. They were just numbing me to the pain. Whatever relief I got from those tiny little pills was temporary, and I was doing much more harm than good.

I was lucky; I could’ve easily overdosed on those pills and died. So many people do but when I went to the psychiatric hospital for my depression, I was encouraged to take the addiction classes and deal with my demons there, too. Even though I don’t miss the pills, I still get the desire to escape in some form. That has never gone away and because of that it’s wise that I avoid drinking, benzodiazepines and other mood altering substances.

This is such an important topic. I have everything I’ve ever wanted — great family/friends, a wonderful husband, great kids, beautiful home — so why do I need to escape? My therapist asks me that all the time and for the life of me, I just can’t think of an answer.

That’s the thing about depression, even when you’re happy with your life it still drags you down like a ball and chain. I can fight it with positivity all I want, but it will still be there, lurking in the dark corners of my fragile mind. So I embrace it — the good days and the bad. I know that when things get gloomy, it’s only temporary, and it will always get better. I’ll keep fighting the good fight and when someone asks me, “What could make this better?” my answer will be, “Nothing.”

Nothing at all.

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I’ve had a lot of questions about ECT (electroconvulsive therapy) lately, so I thought I’d talk about it more today.

I’ve been doing ECT treatments since 2019, after I stayed at the Menninger Clinic for six weeks. My doctors all agreed that I was treatment-resistant, meaning most depression medications would be ineffective in helping me, and ECT has a high success rate.

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I’ve had about 30 treatments, and I can honestly say they have changed my life for the better. I have more energy, more patience, I’m not sad as often, and I’m able to function pretty well for a girl with no serotonin, lol.

I now do my treatments at the Laurel Ridge Treatment Center in San Antonio; there are no doctors who do them in Corpus Christi where I live.

When I arrive at the treatment center, I fill out paperwork on how I’ve been feeling and whether I’ve been suicidal. I talik to the nurses and PA, discuss the depression symptoms I’ve experiencing then they move me to a bed. A nurse then puts in an IV and they give me medication for nausea, just in case. Next, they wheel my bed into the treatment room where an anesthesiologist, a doctor and nurse are waiting. They attach electrodes to my forehead and temple, then add a blood pressure cuff and pulse oximeter. Usually at this time, my blood pressure gets higher and my pulse races because I’m scared, even though I have no reason to be.

The docs chat with me for a bit and then they put me under anesthesia. After I’m out, they put a bite guard in my mouth and give me the oxygen mask. The nurse starts up the ECT machine which will send electric pulses to my brain, triggering a brief seizure. They also give me a muscle relaxant, so I’m not moving a whole lot. Once the seizure is started, they wait for my brain to stop it. My brain works hard to stop it as fast as it can, but sometimes the docs have to administer medication to stop it. The shorter the seizure, the better the outcome I usually have. This past ECT I had a 42-second seizure but I’ve also had ones that last up to a minute or longer.

After the seizure, I’m sent to a recovery area. It usually takes about 20 to 30 minutes for me to wake up. After I’m looked over by the nurses, I’m free to go home. I usually have a killer headache, so I get something to eat, take my migraine meds and sleep on the way back to Corpus Christi.

I can see how reading this would surprise some people — one person described it as barbaric after I explained the treatments, but it is not barbaric. For someone like me, it’s life-saving, and even though I don’t like getting them done, I’m grateful for treatments.

ECT helps as many as 80-85 percent of patients who receive it and is the most effective treatment option for those who are treatment-resistant.

Most people have an initial course of ECT then do maintenance treatments every now and then. I haven’t gotten to the point where I don’t need them, so I go every four to eight weeks. I’m working on stretching out the treatments, and maybe one day I won’t need as many.

I hope I haven’t shocked you — haha, get it? If you’d like to know more, please leave a comment on email me heatherannloeb@gmail.com

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Low Battery Mode

by Heather Loeb

Note: I wrote this blog a couple weeks ago and have since had an ECT treatment.

It started yesterday — irritability, moodiness and the urge to overeat. I attributed it to lack of sleep; Eli had woken up at 3 a.m. and hadn’t gone back to bed, which meant I didn’t go back to bed. I thought if I just get some good sleep I’d be fine, but this morning, I could feel it — thick fog around my brain, heavy weight on my shoulders, more irritability and wanting to just go back to bed.

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I thought, “Great, I’ll have to get another ECT before I’m ready.” I’m trying to go at least eight weeks without one. I was totally preparing to power down to my Low Battery Mode when I thought to myself that I should get on the treadmill and spur some endorphins. It was the first time I’d ever worked out for my mental health and not to lose weight. I didn’t stay on the treadmill long (my kids drained my Air Pod batteries) but I instantly felt better, not all the way better but better. Not bad for a girl with no serotonin.

I still have the urge to binge and to get in bed for the better part of the day. That’s where my Low Battery Mode comes in, like I talked about on my Spoon Theory post. I only have so much energy, even when I’m not feeling depressed. Unfortunately, that means I’ll have to depend on my husband more and housekeeper. I say unfortunately because my husband already has a lot on his plate and I never want to be a burden. So, I’ll ask for help when I need it. I’ll take more breaks than usual. I’ll force myself to drink more water and back off the Diet Cokes. I’ll get a pedicure. I might even take a (short) nap. I’ll do what I have to do to feel better, because I HATE getting ECTs. It should be a last resort on my treatment plan, not just a quick fix. I hate feeling like I’m waving a white flag in defeat to my depression. I want to fight, I have to fight it. I just can’t let it win. And if it turns out that I do really need an ECT, I’ll concede because that’s what’s best for my family and me. But I still want to fight. I’ll have to fight my brain and not give into unhealthy coping mechanisms that seem so much easier to do than healthy ones.

Last night, I wanted pizza for dinner. We don’t usually eat pizza, we usually cook or get takeout from Asian restaurants. But I wanted pizza. I thought that it would just be a treat because I had a bad day and sometimes you just have to treat yourself. But when you’re dealing with an eating disorder, it’s a slippery slope. And I sure did slip. I purposely ate too much and then binged on my kids’ candy stash. I felt so sick, and despite feeling so badly, I still planned on getting donuts in the morning before dropping off the kids at school.

It’s the instant gratification that I’m always seeking. I hate being uncomfortable, so I turn to my bad habits for that temporary release.

But today is a new day. Instead of feeling overwhelmed and anxious about my mood, I actually feel optimistic. I didn’t just say, “Fuck this day!” and give myself carte blanche to binge, etc. I made myself get on the treadmill. I made myself sweat and think about how much better I would feel afterward. And that, my friends, is progress. It’s a huge step for me. I KNOW what to do to stay healthy, I blog about it all the time, but honestly this is one of the first times I’ve actually taken my own advice. It’s hard when your brain is telling you to do the opposite, but I did it. I won a battle against my obstinate brain.

I might still have to power down a bit, but that’s OK. It’s self-care. It’s a survival mechanism, a healthy one.

So, I’ll keep on fighting and surviving — it’s what I do best.

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