Reflecting & Course Correcting

Today is July 21, 2025. I’ve been working on becoming more consistent with writing daily. This morning, I was looking through some ‘bits and bites’ that I have laying around and I came across this journal piece that I wrote roughly a week before my first kidney surgery in January 2024. I was in an insane amount of pain at the time, and I remember thinking that I needed to distract myself, so I decided to write. For whatever reason, I didn’t share it at the time. I’m sharing it now. It brings up a lot of points that I should probably address, and I will do so, at the end of this blog.

Written early January 2024:

I’m in a lot of pain. Physical pain. Somehow, I managed to gain 25 pounds last fall and it’s wreaking havoc on my back and upper thighs. In addition to that, my right kidney is swollen and chock-full of abnormally large kidney stones. I’m waiting for surgery to have them removed but this isn’t set to happen until a week from now, so I’m trying to manage the pain and wait for the surgery, as I prefer that to the idea of going to the local emergency room.

In addition to the pain, I’m battling my annual seasonal depression, which luckily is here all by itself this year. Last year and possibly the year before, the seasonal depression was like a whipped cream topping for the actual depression. No rhyme or reason, just complete disconnection, despondency, and when I feel anything, it’s usually despair, if not apathy. So, yes, I’m grateful that this year, I’ve only the seasonal shit to deal with because it’s heavy enough.

On that note, if you’ve read my past blogs, you already know that I was taking the highest doses of both Prozac and Wellbutrin. Well, I stopped both last Spring, in April to be exact, so beginning in May, there were no more drugs. It took a while for them to leave my system and, yes, there were lots of unwelcome side effects, but I stayed true to my decision and lived through them. This decision goes against what I said a couple of years ago in one of my blogs. I had said that I would never again stop taking my medication. At the time, I truly believed this, and I was determined not to fall into a situation that would leave me susceptible to experiencing any new trauma full-on. Since then, I’ve changed a lot, and for the better, and this led to the decision to discontinue all medications.

At this point, not quite a year later, but getting close, I can say that it was probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. This does NOT mean that you should discontinue your medications. This was the right decision for me personally. At the time, I was taking the drugs, as well as Ozempic AND another drug to ensure I could live without vomiting because of the side effects of Ozempic. (There were a lot of prescription drugs.)

For those who don’t know, I have a history of eating disorders, including anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorder. The last one has been the devil I’ve been fighting with for the longest. It’s persistent and refuses to leave me alone no matter what I do.

My weight had reached roughly 275 pounds, and it was continuing to rise. Moving wasn’t easy and I was in constant pain. Honestly, I was also in the middle of a bout of severe depression where I prayed most nights not to wake up. I was literally disappointed when I woke up each morning, but not enough to actively choose to kill myself. Well, not other than eating myself to death, anyway.

My doctor thought Ozempic would help. It did help me lose 50 pounds, but that took more than six months, and it cost me both financially and physically. We’re talking $500 per month! Plus, I received the bonus of being heavily fatigued, dizzy, and both nauseous and sick to my stomach most of the time, as in 99.9 per cent of the time. It was so bad that I needed another medication so that I could keep some food down. I’m pretty sure it was more the not eating and the vomiting that helped me lose the 50 pounds.

In addition to this, I’d begun to think that the constant shaking of my hands was NOT normal and NOT nothing to be concerned about despite what I was told by my doctor. In retrospect, having come almost 10 months past quitting my meds, I can say that the shaking was absolutely caused by the medications. I have zero shakes now. I had them for YEARS. Seriously. Fuck, anyway, this is not about medications or the fact that we, as a society, are being overmedicated and treated like guinea pigs. That’s a rant I’ll leave for another day or for someone else.

Back to today. I’m not okay. I’m better than I was yesterday and better than I was a year ago, but I’m still not okay. I’m not asking for anyone to do anything, as there’s not much anyone can do; this is more about me sharing where I am because I need to get it out and off my chest, so to speak.

I’ve spent my life not being okay, and yes, I can say that’s true for me right from the start. I remember being a baby. I know that not all people do, but I do. Memory is a strange thing – the things we remember versus the things we don’t. I remember many of my traumas but then there are periods of nothing where I’ve either subconsciously deleted shit from my mind or my mind has chosen to protect me from very specific things. Whatever, in the end, I am who I am because of the experiences I’ve had, both good and bad, whether I remember them or not.

Why am I bringing this up? It directly correlates to my depression and anxiety. It’s the reason behind the never-ending depression and anxiety. How many three-year-olds do you know that suffer from depression? You probably think the answer is none, but I doubt that’s true. I didn’t have the language to describe what I was experiencing as a child and anytime I tried, I was shut down because I grew up during a time and in a place where emotions were not welcome. In fact, I would get spanked, hit, or slapped for crying, which only made me cry harder.

Heck, by the time I was a teenager, society – the one surrounding me – had started using words like stress, but the people in my general vicinity still didn’t believe it was a thing. Mental health issues meant I was crazy or “not right in the head.” In retrospect, I’ve probably never been “right in the head,” but I’m pretty sure most people aren’t.

I’ve never not been aware of my humanity or the fragility of my own existence. I’ve watched people around me and wondered what made them who they are, what made them do the things they do, or say the things they say. I’ve often wondered why I’m here. Why, in all the times – and there were many – that I’ve almost died, did I survive? Why am I still here? Why did I come here to this town, to these people, at this time, specifically? If this is what people call an existential crisis, then I’ve been in an existential crisis since the day I was born. That’s a long time to be in crisis, and I’m so freaking tired. Not just physically, but psychically at a soul level.

Why am I still here? Do I have to be? I don’t know. And no, I have no plans on doing myself in. In fact, I’ve gone out of my way for almost the past year to improve my health because I want to be here if my adult children need me. If I have any control over it, I don’t want to leave them until they’re ready for me to not be here. It’s conflicting, this need to be here for them and, at the same time, this desire to return “home,” wherever that might be. Yes, I have considered there might not be a “home” and we may just cease to exist when we die, and I’m surprisingly okay with that option, too.

I’m going to be 54 this year. I’ve been essentially on my own for years now, and I have no plans to enter a relationship with anyone anytime soon or, potentially, ever. My ability to go on adventures is almost zero, so aside from being here for my family, I’m trying to figure out what I have that I can look forward to in the days remaining. I’m only 53 years old. Why do I feel like this? I’m not 73 or 83 or even 93, which means I could, barring unforeseen situations, live for another 20 to 40 years or so. I’m not dead yet. Life has the potential to be awesome, but it doesn’t feel or look that way from where I’m sitting. Is that why I’m struggling? Because I can’t see a future that isn’t bleak? How do I change that?

My former grandfather-in-law was in his 80s when he died of cancer and up until he got sick, he was still taking classes at the local college, tutoring people, and making friends. He would light right up when we had our long chats because he liked socializing, especially with someone who was attentive and interested in what he had to say. Heck, I’m pretty sure, if I remember correctly, he even had a crush on someone, not that it led anywhere, but still. So, what makes me different? Why don’t I have that same whatever that makes a person excited to be alive? I want to be excited to be alive.

July 21, 2025:

So here we are. It’s been a year and a half since I wrote the above journal entry and a lot has changed for me in that time. For starters, I’ve had another kidney surgery and three kidney procedures, as well as a hip replacement. I also found out that I have non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, pre-diabetes, a disintegrating spine, and osteoarthritis in all my joints. The biggest thing? My dad died last May in 2024. I didn’t see it coming and it was a major blow for a lot of reasons, which I’m not going to write about right now. What I want to address here are some of the things that changed in my thinking and in my doing.

I am back on Prozac and Wellbutrin. Roughly a month ago, the Wellbutrin was increased and I’m now taking the highest doses for both medications. I went back on the Prozac after my father died. I started the Wellbutrin – at a low dose – about six months ago, I believe. So, yes, while at the time of writing the above piece, I wasn’t on any medication and I felt better for it, including no more shaking, which is really irritating when trying to eat or write. I can say that it’s the Wellbutrin at the highest dose that causes the shaking. So, should I be taking it? I don’t know.

What I do know is that I was in the darkest of dark places this time last year and I was willing to do almost anything to help me ‘snap out of it.’ So, I agreed to take the Prozac. While I didn’t snap out of it right away – it took MONTHS – I did slowly regain a bit of light or hope, if you will. I guess you could say that the Prozac took the edge off, making the depression and grief somewhat bearable.

At this point, as an aside, I’d like to mention that I did ask my doctor if we could try a different drug because I was sure the shaking was caused by those medications, but she was adamant that I go back to taking the ones I’d been on. She was unhappy with me when she discovered that I’d stopped taking my medication the year before without consulting her. To this day, she hasn’t let me forget it, and I’m wondering if it plays a part in her unwillingness to hear what I’m saying when I have appointments with her. I don’t know. Unfortunately, I can’t read minds. What I do know is that now I’m better for taking the medications, so I will continue until or unless information arises to show me otherwise. Or unless I become unable to afford them, as they’re roughly $200 per month.

As for the Ozempic. I don’t regret stopping it. I do regret taking it. I’m currently at roughly 275 pounds, but up until recently, I couldn’t walk or move without intense pain, so I was immobile for more than a year. I’m still working toward getting past five-to-ten minutes of walking without pain. (I still have pain in my knees and lower back. The lower back pain is the kind that brings you to your knees. As it is, I must do things like the dishes in little bits. I do a bit. I sit. I get up and do a bit more. I sit. Then, I’m tired. Heck, taking a shower is hard, but again, a story for another day.)

On reflection, isn’t it great that we can’t see our own future? When I wrote the above piece, I didn’t know that I was about to have the worst year of my life, barring the one where my ex and I split or the one where I was assaulted in more ways than one. When I wrote this, I was dealing with pain and average-level depression. Yes, depression has levels, or at least it does for me. If I had known what was coming, would I have given up or would I have pushed through, determined to survive and get through it? I’d like to think it would be the latter, but I’m not so sure if that would be true. I’m always on the verge of ‘let’s get to Hell out of here,’ so this could’ve tipped me over the edge despite my promise to never go there, to never take my own life.

I think it’s probably for the best that we don’t know what’s coming. If you know you’re going to have a bad year, I think you’d go into it with a defeatist attitude, and that could make things even worse than they might have been originally. Who knows? That’s the point, I guess, we don’t know anything, so all we can do is wake up each day and try to be better than we were the day before, and learn from our mistakes, course correcting as needed.

Should anyone wish to converse – positive or constructive conversations only, please – feel free to reach out to me at ccwithsandy@gmail.com. We don't have to go through life alone. We can do it together, be each other's support section, even if it's just through emails.