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depression blog

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My Body, Myself

by Heather Loeb

I love the bird tattoo just below my shoulder on my chest.

The tattoo I have on my left arm, a bird on a typewriter, makes me feel so sexy. And strong.

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I love the Phoenix on my back that reminds me that I will always rise.

The Hebrew on my side tells the story of Ruth, the first convert, and reminds me why I’m Jewish.

I love the color of my eyes, green with a bit of brown circling my pupils. Green eyes are rare, and I enjoy being rare.

I love my curly, wild hair, because it never looks the same from one day to another.

I love my boobs, which I had surgically reduced and that’s OK. I acknowledge and appreciate that they fed and nourished both my babies.

I love my legs, which are shapely and sexy.

Sadly, I don’t love all of me. I look at my stomach in the mirror and frown. It’s swollen and puffy from weight gain and eating poorly since the pandemic started. I tell myself that I’ve carried two babies and try to appreciate my womb as much as I appreciate other parts of my body.

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I ignore the guilty feeling that’s spurred when my thighs uncomfortably touch when I walk.

I also try to ignore my chins when I take a selfie and the fact that I probably “need” Botox.

I avoid jeans and opt for leggings or sweats. I pick sweatshirts and baggy shirts to hide my insecurities, but I’m pretty sure my uncertain gait gives me away.

I try to give myself some grace. Be kind and do my best but I’ve been in autopilot for months, attempting to fill whatever void I feel at the moment. It never works. It’s always there and unless I do some real, hard work it will continue to be there.

My progress is not linear; some days are better than others. But I want to love all of me.

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I think I’m pretty amazing (most of the time). I fight depression, anxiety, an eating disorder and a personality disorder every single day. I’ve suffered a mental break, having to go to a psychiatric hospital for six weeks. I do ECT treatments, shock therapy, every six to eight weeks just so I can feel OK and get by. And I do it all for my family. And me, of course. I am a fighter, a survivor and advocate.

My heart, my strong yet tender heart, swells with pride when I think about it all. And how I’m setting an example to my kids by taking care of my mental health and making myself a priority. They’ll see my perseverance and resilience. They’ll also see my flaws and I’m OK with that. They need to see them, see me.

I want them to see how much I love and appreciate my body and self and I’ll continue to work on that. Even though I’m almost 40. It’s never too late to try. To love yourself.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

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Everybody has anxiety, but there are those who experience anxiety for prolonged periods of time and every day. Unfortunately, I fall into that category.

For the most part, my anxiety is controlled through medication and relaxation techniques. Mostly medication, though. Therapy also helps.

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Some days I’m completely fine, but others are marred by anxiety and panic. When I start to experience anxiety, it starts small, like with a feeling that I forgot something or that something bad is going to happen. Then comes the obsessive thoughts, “What am I forgetting? What if a loved one is mad at me? Why did I say that stupid thing yesterday?” I might start to catastrophize or have intrusive thoughts that I’m going to die or my loved ones are going to die. My heart races and pounds. There are butterflies in my chest. If I can’t quell these thoughts, I have a panic attack where it’s hard to breathe. Thankfully, I haven’t had a panic attack in awhile, but the obsessive and intrusive thoughts are still there and can be difficult to manage. The thoughts are constant and almost every day.

I know anxiety affects people differently; this is only my experience, but I wanted to share a list of what gives me anxiety on a daily basis. Also, I wanted to point out that anxiety disorders are the most common mental disorder in the U.S., affecting up to 40 million people. That’s huge.

OK, here’s my list:

  1. Loud noises — It doesn’t matter what it is — my kids being loud, a pan being dropped, the TV volume — loud noises always put me on edge. So do repetitive noises. My anxiety not only manifests with obsessive thinking and physical symptoms, but also it makes me very irritable. I start to raise my voice when I shouldn’t or I snap at my husband or the kids. Sometimes I feel the urge to chunk something against the wall.
  2. I’m out of routine — I thrive in routine. Nothing makes me happier than doing the same thing everyday and doing it the same way. It helps prevent my anxiety, because I know exactly what’s coming up and what I need to do. Of course, it’s not very realistic to do the same thing the same way every single day. There are always kinks, and I deal with those but they usually put me on edge.
  3. Stress — This is kind of a no-brainer, but if something stressful is going on (like moving to a new house or the holidays ), I start to get irritable and panic.
  4. Interrupted or not enough sleep — I’m one of those people who just needs nine to 10 hours of sleep a night. Of course, I don’t get that, but it feels like I’m running on empty if I’m operating on fewer than seven hours. When I’m interrupted (which I often am), my anxiety flares up because then I start to think about not getting back to sleep or not getting enough sleep.
  5. Too much caffeine — I’m really bad about drinking too many Diet Cokes, as I often do when I don’t get enough sleep (Eli is on a 5 a.m. wake up call these days). I chug and chug until I feel some energy, but then my anxiety goes into overdrive.
  6. Conflict — I do not like conflict. I guess most people don’t, but I stress out so badly if I have to confront someone or if there’s any discord. The obsessive thoughts start to cycle and my thoughts race. Thoughts like, “Maybe I should say this? I wonder if they don’t like me now. Am I being mean?” I’ll play conversations over and over in my head, and the stress just mounts up.
  7. Not enough alone time — I need alone time. When I have quality alone time, I feel recharged. During this sacred time, I don’t want anyone touching me, because I’m touched out usually by the kids. I don’t even let the cats on me during alone time. I do things that I enjoy, whether it’s take a hot shower or bath, watch TV, read, etc. When I don’t get alone time, I get so short-fused. See a theme?
  8. Uncertainty — I’m sure this is a trigger for many, many people. Because I thrive on routine and structure, I’m not good with uncertainty. Take the pandemic, for example. When we were doing the quarantine at home, I was so stressed. I worried about the kids falling behind in school, our financial situation, whether we were going to get sick, when I was ever going to be alone again, among many other things. I know I’m not alone in this. The pandemic has wreaked havoc on our collective mental health, but thankfully, there’s light at the end of the tunnel with the vaccines becoming available.

This is not an exhaustive list, but these are the most common triggers I have. I hope that if you have a loved one who suffers with an anxiety disorder, you have a little more insight with this blog. Please treat anyone who has an anxiety disorder with respect and never downplay their symptoms and feelings.

If you have anxiety, I recommend getting a weighted blanket. When I’m starting to panic, I get my blanket and put most of the weight on my chest. It instantly makes me feel a bit better and I feel safe. I prefer this to meditating or breathing exercises.

Any questions? Drop them in the comments.

Stay in the light, my friends.

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Emotional Pain

by Heather Loeb

Hanukkah, Christmas and New Years are over. And we’ve moved into our house. There are no big events looming, nothing I need to focus on at the moment. I’ve been so busy packing up the house and getting ready for the holidays, I haven’t had time to think about much else.

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Now that I’m not in overdrive (as much as a girl with no serotonin can be in), my brain idles and I feel it — old, familiar pain. It’s like a TV show on repeat, constantly playing in the background, grating my nerves and triggering bad habits. I can’t turn it off, I don’t even know how.

Emotional pain is more painful than anything I’ve ever felt, and in my case, I don’t even know how it got there. I don’t know if that even matters.

For all I know, it’s been lodged deep inside me for decades, manifesting as anxiety, depression, irritability and loneliness. Just to name a few.

I’ve tried a number of ways to distract myself — piercings, tattoos, binge eating, dieting, writing and compulsive shopping. Just a name a few. You would think that I would turn to other methods, as those have clearly not worked. But I don’t.

It’s like my brain shouts, “This is painful! I must feel something else!” Then remembers that one time two years ago that eating a package of candy tasted so good and made me feel better. Then I proceed to binge on that candy, hoping to recreate that happy feeling but I don’t ever find it.

And I will keep eating it until I am literally sick. It’s no different with pills. If I take a pill and feel sedated or loopy, I’ll continue taking the pill. I’ll abuse that medication, taking more to chase that initial feeling to the point where I’m dangerously close to taking too much.

That’s the thing about compulsions — you just can’t stop. My therapist constantly tells me I’d be a fantastic drug addict. And she’s not wrong.

I wonder if I squandered my time at The Menninger Clinic. Shouldn’t I have learned to curtail these bad habits and compulsions? I am much better than I was, so I’m not sure. I bought three books on dealing with emotional pain today. Will they work? Can I afford not to read them?

At my last therapy appointment, my therapist read me her notes from our very first session eight years ago. In it she quoted me saying, “I have everything I’ve ever wanted. And have it so good. Why am I so sad?”

Today I asked myself the same question, and it makes me feel worse that I’m no closer to the answer than I was almost a decade earlier.

I’m grateful for what I am. I appreciate both the big and small in my life. I thank God everyday. It’s almost like I’m embarrassed for feeling depression and anxiety because I have so much. But being grateful won’t prevent me from being depressed and anxious. Not much does.

Tears are threatening because I just can’t stand the thought of being stuck with my defective, asshole brain for the rest of my life. I don’t want to binge or abuse medication. I just want to feel good because I feel good, not because I’m chasing a high.

I’m hopeful that I’ll find the answers, eventually. That’s one thing my brain can’t take from me — my hope.

Edit: Please note that this blog was written at an earlier date, while I was feeling blue. Even though I’m feeling better, I think it’s important to document all the moods and feelings that go along with major depression and anxiety — because there are a lot.

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The new year is approaching, and in the past I’ve always attempted to make new year’s resolutions, usually related to weight loss. And while that’s all fine and good for some, I will not be making any resolutions, weight-related or otherwise.

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Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to bidding this year adieu (because of COVID-19), but this year was transforming for me. I no longer feel the need to place restrictions or punish myself because I don’t look certain way. It’s good to have goals and I will always strive to improve and challenge myself, but I just can’t continue my obsession with my weight.

This year was so shitty in so many ways, and I’m surprised I haven’t suffered a mental break, to be honest. Instead I have risen to the occasion and been strong mentally, because damn, I had to. The added stress and uncertainty pushed me to my limits, and I started writing more as a release. I’ve had this blog for two years, and I’ve always tried to be candid, but the pandemic made me show my ass, about everything.

And I have loved every minute, even when I’ve been embarrassed or shamed. Writing about my eating disorder, depression, anxiety and a hospital stay has liberated me.

I’m free now.

I’ve pushed past the shame and have started to love myself. And I’ve also discovered that I’m kind of a bad ass. I’m proud of myself, which includes my mental disorders. I’ve even written articles for the local paper admitting my depression and my stay at a psychiatric hospital. The whole city knows, and that’s OK with me.

I’m free from the bondage of other people’s opinions I’m starting to free myself from obsessing about my weight and my appearance. It’s so damn hard, but I’m trying.

The goals I will make for myself in the coming days will focused on self-care. To be healthy, physically and mentally, you must practice self-care and make yourself a priority. Like everyone says, you can’t fill from an empty cup. And it’s not selfish to put yourself first. It’s actually really hard work to do so, but it’s rewarding — not just for you but those around you.

I wear a bracelet at all times that says, “GRIT,” as a reminder to do the necessary hard work, that I have what it takes and not to give up.

2020 was a terrible year for so many, but I’m so grateful that this different self of mine emerged and helped liberate me from all the bullshit.

I’ve called myself a black sheep all my life because of my differences among family, and even friends, but the black wool suits me now instead of reminds me that I’m an outcast.

Edit: I don’t mean this post to sound like a brag about how much I’ve achieved this year. Surviving this pandemic (no matter what coping mechanisms you used) is achievement alone.

Happy New Year. I wish y’all well

Stay in the light.

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My family and I had a wonderful Christmas, despite not being up in Dallas with my family like we usually are. But it was kind of a blessing in disguise. I usually don’t decorate for Christmas, get a real tree, or bake cookies with the kids but this year I did and I absolutely loved it. I’m grateful that I was feeling OK and able to keep up with the kids.

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Christmas morning was my favorite. I awoke before the kids and went to check on my daughter first. She was stirring until I said that Santa had come then she hightailed it to her brother’s room and they came bounding into the great room. I grabbed my husband and the kids started opening their gifts and looking at everything Santa left. They were so giddy, so excited. There wasn’t a trace of disappointment or discouragement that this year had seemed to bring out in all of us.

I made breakfast while the kids continued to play and counted my blessings. For I have many.

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While I am exhausted from planning and executing Christmas plans, I don’t feel depressed or in a bad head space whatsoever. Again, I’m so grateful.

I hope you all had good holidays and I wish you a happy New Year.

Stay in the light.

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One day I went to urgent care for an intractable migraine that just wouldn’t let up. Sometimes it can be tricky to treat them because I can’t have NSAIDS (due to gastric sleeve and taking Lithium). I was going over the meds I take and the nurse said, “Wow, you are on too much medication.”

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Immediately my body went hot, I started to sweat and tears came to my eyes. I waiting until he left the room and then I cried. It was bad enough I had a severe migraine, I didn’t need to hear that. There was so much judgement there. And I went to one of the best psychiatric hospitals in the country, so I was confident that I was taking the right amount of meds. When the doctor came in later I was still crying but managed to pull it together to tell him that it was inappropriate for that nurse to say something about how many meds I was on. That I felt attacked because I am on a number of psychiatric drugs. In between tears and hiccups, I continued. I told him that judgement just adds to the stigma of depression and keeps people from seeking treatment because of it. 

The doctor assured me that’s not what he meant. That the nurse was not being judgmental, blah blah blah. But the damage had been done. How is there no judgement when a man says, “Wow, you’re on too much medication.” What was the point in that comment? How is that helpful?

I wanted to leave, but I needed pain relief badly. As soon as the meds they gave me for the migraine started to work, I told them I was better (which I sort of was) and left. 

I was embarrassed that I cried and made a big deal out of things. And the doctor, of course, told that man that I was upset. He did apologize but I just didn’t feel better about it. 

Looking back, I can’t believe I was embarrassed, because the truth is that I NEED those meds to fight depression. They help me function, be productive and help me be a better wife, mom and friend. Those medications (along with ECT and therapy) changed and saved my life. So fuck that guy. 

I’m proud that I sought help for my depression and that I take meds. And because I’m proud, I’m going to list my meds with no fear or shame. 

Synthroid- hypothyroidism
Rexulti – antipsychotic 
Lithium – mood stabilizer 
Nortriptyline- antidepressant 
Emgality – preventative med for migraines 
Trazodone – helps with sleep
Gabapentin – anti-anxiety 
Imitrex – abortive migraine med

I hope that none of you ever faces that kind of judgement and shame. There is absolutely no shame in seeking help to fight such a debilitating illness. One that steals your joy, makes you so fatigued you can’t get out of bed and one that causes so much mental anguish that sometimes you feel you’d rather die. 

Not a damn thing wrong with that. 

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I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and enjoy your family. I’m going to because my meds help me to do so. 

Stay in the light, friends. 

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The Camera Adds 10 Pounds

by Heather Loeb

This weekend I’ve eagerly awaited the arrival of our annual family photos. This year we opted to do them inside our new home, so I’ve been dying to see how they turn out.

I’ve also been dreading the new photos. It’s no secret that I’ve gained almost 20 pounds since the onset of the pandemic, but that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to see, especially in our family photos.

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I know it’s been hard on everyone, and a lot of people have gained weight. I know that I should love myself no matter what. I hear others say that I’m beautiful no matter what, but my anxiety and eating disorders speak louder. They always have.

Because we just moved in, a couple of our bathrooms don’t have mirrors hung yet. At first it was annoying but now I’m relieved I don’t have to look in the mirror. It doesn’t matter how much positive self talk I spew — I just don’t like what I see. My weight is tied to my confidence, and sadly, my self worth. Right now, it feels like I’m worth nothing.

The family photos will just confirm what I’ve already been telling myself: I’m ugly, fat and unworthy.

Except, here’s the thing — my daughter is watching. And listening. If I admit these truths aloud, she will for sure hear them. And my voice will become her inner voice. My actions will becomes hers as well, and I’ll be damned if she cultivates this ugly self-hate that’s just rotting my worth and self-esteem.

I’ve talked about this before, many times. I have to change the way I talk to myself, treat myself. I’m raising kids, but really my goal— and what all our goals should be — is to raise healthy adults. I don’t know much about that, but I have my missteps to guide me.

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The first thing I’m going to do is post the family photos — no matter what they look like. I’ll frame a couple in my house, not just because I’m trying to set a good example, but because damn, that’s what I look like now. This is what my family looks like after nine months of a deadly pandemic. We have survived, and even if I survived in a way that led to tighter clothes and an expanding waistline, I’ve survived. And that’s all that matters.

I want to thank Jennifer Stewart for capturing out family in our new loving home. I want to thank my body for supporting me during this time. I want to say that I do love myself and I’ll try harder to love it no matter my size. They say the camera adds 10 pounds, but maybe it’s time I stopped buying into that.

That I stop buying into diet culture and equating being then to being happy. I need to be happy now, instead of waiting until I’m a certain weight. Fuck that.

I’m going to be happy now, because both my daughter and son are watching. And that’s OK that they’re watching — it’s OK that they see me struggle, and even when I’m sad, but they’ll also see the fight in me, the determination and my grit. I’m all for them seeing me as human, because I am — just a perfectly imperfect human. That’s all we can be.

Edit: Our family photos were not available at the time of publication. I will add them in once I receive them.

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Painting Memories

by Heather Loeb

We just moved into our dream house about a week and a half ago, a year after the contractor said it would be ready. We started packing more than a year ago, so honestly I had forgotten the contents of many, many boxes.

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Once we started opening boxes in our new home, I found a box of ceramic figures our family painted at the mall. There was this cute store where you could pick out a figurine then paint it, and the kids loved it. We would have to go to that store every time we went to the mall, which was a lot.

I loved going myself, too. Painting the little figurines was calming and it was a great way to spend time as a family outside the house. Last year, when we started packing some non-essential items, my housekeeper started to pack those and I had forgotten just how many we had. I opened box after box after box of ceramics, colorfully and messily painted by my kids (and a few David and I had done). It made me smile, and I was quick to include them as decor in my sunroom. My husband didn’t want them in the Great Room (he’s more formal than I), so I placed a few here and there, just as a reminder of my kids’ whimsy.

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I’m so glad I did, because I recently learned that the store, Paint It, had closed. Another victim of COVID-19. When I found out, I was crushed — I’d never see my kids concentrating so hard, with their tongues stuck out, painting a princess or some type of vehicle. Another place could open up, sure, but I’ve so missed seeing them channel their artistic ability and proudly give it to me, a cherished token.

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So many things have changed because of the virus, and I’m so mad that it has affected my kids’ childhood so much. I know I shouldn’t worry — kids are far more resilient than adults — but I do worry and fret over the changes and obstacles we’ve faced this year. The closing of that beloved store is just a reminder that we’re still in the thick of it, and there will be long term affects of this pandemic. We’ve lost so many people and so much time with family and friends — when does it end?

It may sound silly to be waxing poetic about some ceramic figures, but they were a part of my children’s childhood. We weren’t just painting figurines, we were painting memories, and I will forever have a place for them in my home.

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A Great Miracle Happened There

by Heather Loeb

So tonight is the sixth night of Hanukkah, and because my family is Jewish, I feel the need to talk about miracles. That’s what Hanukkah is all about, celebrating miracles, and I have a lot to celebrate. They may not seem like grand miracles to others, but it doesn’t really matter what other people think, right?

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First, and most important, is that my family has stayed healthy and safe this year, which I’m so grateful for. 

It’s also a great feat that I haven’t had a “breakdown.” I’ve stayed strong this year, despite the pitfalls and obstacles this dreadful year has created. It wasn’t easy for me — or anyone — to have two young kids at home for three months. It was really hard not going to therapy for awhile. Hell, it’s been hard for me not to go anywhere at all. I know that I’m not alone in this;  every one of my nerves has been frayed. Every limitation has been reached, and I’ll be honest, I have a lot of limitations. I have to rest more, take breaks. I have to practice self care every day and get a lot of sleep. I have to verbalize when I’m struggling, so I can get the help I need. I have fought my depression and I’ve fought suicidal thoughts. I fight my own brain on a daily basis. It’s exhausting and my depression is relentless. 

I have to constantly monitor it so I can prevent a depressive episode. It’s annoying and even though I know what to do to make myself feel better, my brain tells me not to take care of myself. 

It’s also hard when you have to prioritize your health over others, especially your children. As a mom you want to make sure your kids have everything they need and I don’t mean this in a bad way, but they suck the life out of you. So much of me goes to them and there’s not much left for me. 

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It’s a balancing act and it’s tricky as hell. It’s one that I haven’t mastered, even six years in as a mom. 

I’ve lost my cool and expelled many a curse word. But I’ve survived. My children have survived. I haven’t done much else this year but survive and that’s OK. Yes, I’ve gained 20 pounds and I probably have gray hairs sprouting — also OK. Obviously, I’m utilizing some not-so-helpful coping skills but damn, I’m coping and that’s what counts. In my book, anyway.

So, surviving is my miracle. Avoiding a depressive episode is my miracle. Keeping my children and husband happy and healthy is my miracle. 

As I light the Hanukkah candles tonight I will remember my miracles, God’s miracles. 

There is great divinity in finding light when it is dark. 

Happy Hanukkah, my friends. 

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Me getting ready for family pictures.

This past week I have done nothing but unpack boxes in the new house. We’ve gotten a lot accomplished for having just been here a week. And I truly love it. Everything in this house makes me happy, and I’m so glad we decided to build.

The kids are getting more used to their new rooms and they’re sleeping through the night again, without much interruption.

I still have some work to do on the playroom, but for the most part, everything’s done. My sun room is the most beautiful room in the house — it’s where I’ll do all my writing and reading. We had a photographer here earlier doing our annual family photos and she took some of me in the sun room because she loved it so much. I can’t wait to get those pictures back.

There’s not much else to tell. I did get some bad news this weekend, but all I can do is take it in stride and keep going. If I think too much about it, I just get sad. But oh well, there are good things to concentrate on.

I hope y’all have a wonderful week. Stay in the light!

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