My sister is awesome

For many reasons, but the subject of awesomeness today is that she inspired me to be OK about taking fat-girl sizes in clothes. A year ago, I didn't fit into fat girl sizes (I was a size 10, so, no Lane Bryant for me) and I was all smug whenever we went into the fat girl stores and I would see a nice shirt or dress - "gee, I WISH I could have this shirt! But I CAN'T! It won't fit me! They don't carry my size here I'M TOO THIN HA HA HA HA HA!" (Well, not in so many words -what I actually said tended to be a little more condescending and a little less. . . loud) Even the jewelry was too big (which really did sting - Lane Bryant has some sweet jewelry).
That was about 20 pounds ago, and now even my fat jeans are a bit binding. My usual tendency when I get this fat (actually, I've never been THIS fat before) is to continue wearing the clothes that are too tight for me until I shrink back into them again - because buying new clothes to fit my bigger body would be giving in, right?
Yeah. That theory doesn't really fit in with my new self-acceptance project. The only way I know for sure to shrink back into my "thin" clothes is to count calories. The very thought of counting calories makes me want to puke, then eat a chocolate cake. I swore off counting calories knowing that I would probably gain weight, and I decided that being fat and happy was better than being thin(ner) and fearful and controlling. So. . . now I'm fat(ter). I knew this would happen. Time to suck it up (. . . but not in) and deal with the consequences.
So my sister is better at this than I am because a) she's fatter than me and always has been and b) she swore off counting calories before I did, so she's had longer to sort of get over it. When she first started shopping at fat girl stores, I told her that it was like giving in, that she wasn't THAT fat, and that she should just take the largest size at the regular store.
Then, seriously, I saw how awesome she looked in her new clothes that fit her body. And she knew she looked awesome, and as a result would just sort of glow while she was wearing them, and that made her look even awesomer.
So then I started to think, hey, maybe I should try finding clothes that fit my body. Up until now I was using the excuse that I don't have money for a new wardrobe, since my body's changing, and in theory after I get over the binging stage of my after-diet-body-image-rehab I'll lose this weight again anyway, so what's the point of investing in new clothes?
But that? Is bullshit. The truth is that I was so afraid to settle into this body for long enough to clothe it, like to do so would be to doom myself to stay at this weight. No, I don't have a ton of money, but that's what after-Christmas sales are for. No, I don't know how long my body will be at this weight, and I hope that I won't be eating like this - frantically - forever. But squinting my eyes, refusing to look at it, and hoping that it will go away soon is no less destructive, no less hurtful towards my body and myself, than dieting was.
So I'm going shopping, and I'm going to look as awesome as my sister. It's a role reversal for us. For our whole lives, there was a tacit understanding that, well, of course she would rather look like me (at least in terms of our bodies) - I was thinner. This is the first time that I'll be emulating her, and I just want to say, she makes a kick-ass role model.

Get out your tickets and get ready to board the roller coaster of crazy, because I'm officially phasing out the zoloft, starting yesterday!

A few months ago, my company announced that they're changing their health plan to a high deductible plan with an HSA (which basically means that if you're healthy, you save money, and if you're not healthy, you get screwed. But physical illness is just moral weakness, right? Right! Buck up, sick people!) and I was thinking about how much my zoloft would cost over the course of the year. I've gone generic, so the cost wouldn't be nearly as bad as it would have been a year ago, and it wasn't really about the money, anyway. If I had to pay every red cent of a brand-name zoloft prescription out of my own pocket, I would, if that were the only way to ward off the depression. If someone told me that, in order to avoid falling into a depressive pit, I had to behead a live chicken and bathe in the blood every morning, I'd do that too. Anything, anything, to build a big, strong wall between me and the depression.

I'd thought before about going off of the zoloft, and each time, the thought caused a panic reaction - my body got tense, my stomach flip flopped, and I could feel myself getting angry at the world - as though someone were actually standing there, trying to take my zoloft away from me. "Go ahead," I would think. "Just try to pry it out of my cold, dead hands."

This time, it was different. I didn't feel angry or defensive. Instead, I felt curious. I wanted to see what I'm like without zoloft - what my life as a grown-up would be like without zoloft. For me, going on anti-depressants was a stage of maturing - I did it as one aspect of the process of learning to take care of myself. Taking anti-depressants is, to me, part of being an adult.

Now, I want to find out what it means to be an adult without them - whether I have the ability to manage my depression by managing my life, without the medication. I want to try to be sane by cultivating habits of sanity - good nutrition, good exercise, good choices like time for meditation and plenty of sleep.

It's been about five years since zoloft marked a new chapter in my life - a chapter where I'm capable of getting up in the morning and looking forward to simple things like a cup of coffee. A chapter where I can look back and see how overwhelmingly unhappy I was. A chapter where I don't have to struggle up a mountain of effort just to make a convincing appearance of being like everyone else.

I love zoloft - that sounds silly, but it's true. It's representative of so much in my life - freedom, independence, hope, strength. The ability to help myself. Now I want to see if I can take those things in, from all of the tools that I've learned to use in my daily life, without taking the pill anymore.

In a way, phasing out the zoloft is a technique for forcing myself to be more disciplined about creating my life. If I have a reason for eating, sleeping, working, and living well - avoiding depression - I'll be better about sticking to the habits that reflect what I want out of life. I'll have to be. There won't be as much room for error.

I came to terms a long time ago with the fact that my depression isn't like a disease that can be cured. It's more like cancer - you go into remission, prepared to deal with it if and when it presents itself in a familiar or new form. It's a part of me, and not always a completely negative part - but that's a whole other post in itself. So I'm not looking to eradicate depression, and I don't expect that I've been cured. That's not why I'm going off. Actually, I'm not sure why I am going off, except that a little voice inside me said that it's time to try.

So here goes - Day One of spring cleaning my life, aligning my habits with my desires, and making a conscious effort to buffer my head, heart and soul against The Crazy. Brought to you in part by my new, shiny, lower zoloft dose.

Wish me luck!