From the time I had to walk a mile and a half from one end of Terminal C to the completely opposite end of Terminal A at the Detroit Airport last Thursday, my feet started to hurt. During the evening Bee Squad event, I stood for two hours and then finally had to sit down to get the pressure off my feet. At the People’s Party, I finally took off my high heeled sandals and walked barefoot the rest of the night.

Friday I walked, and walked, and walked. And stood around waiting for elevators. And walked some more. I tried to massage my feet before I went to bed but it still took a while to fall asleep due to shooting pains in the bottoms of both feet.

Saturday morning, I got a reflexology foot massage at the Unilever event. My eyes rolled into the back of my head more than once, and I had to force myself not to moan inappropriately. For about two hours after that massage, my feet didn’t hurt at all. But after more hours of walking and standing, and then dancing at the Sparklecorn party, my feet had finally had enough.

I woke myself up crying in the middle of the night. The bottoms of my feet felt like they were being stabbed with hot needles. Nothing I did helped. I tossed and turned, rubbed my feet against the cool parts of the sheets, and somehow was able to fall back asleep.

Sunday morning I looked at myself in the full-length closet mirror in the room and gave myself a stern lecture. I told myself that this was the last straw. I may not have the highest self-esteem in the world, but dammit, I’m important. I am worthy. I deserve to be able to move around comfortably.

I have issues from my past that I believe have led me to be this overweight. I can’t afford therapy and am not even sure it would help. I know exactly what the issues are, exactly what makes me afraid to be thin. I also believe that I have the power to overcome those fears. Because I HAVE to.

I cannot make it through another BlogHer at this weight. I never want to experience the kind of pain I had this past weekend again, ever. I do not care what it takes. If I can’t make myself enough of a priority to get myself in shape by next year, I am not going to BlogHer. Even if I have a sponsor.

I hope that doesn’t scare off prospective sponsors, but it has to be said. I have to set a goal big enough to really want it. It has to be something that I can circle on the calendar and work towards. And the goal has to be something I want badly enough that failure is not an option.

Regular readers know that I’ve been down this road before. I’ve announced my joining of Weight Watchers, my intention to start exercising, so I know what you’re thinking. But I’ve never dangled this big of a carrot in front of my nose before. The only other time I set a goal to lose weight and was successful was for my wedding. And I went from 160 to 125 in 8 months.

I’m purposely not throwing out numbers or dates right now. I don’t want to set a goal weight number and then fail to meet it. I’m thinking in terms of physical comfort goals:

Being able to go down into my basement, throw in a load of laundry, turn around, and climb back up the stairs without my heart pounding and breaking a sweat

Being able to scrub my kitchen floor without developing an ache in my hips and thighs and breaking a sweat

Being able to be on my feet for several hours, walking and standing, without my feet hurting

In order to accurately recreate the physical requirements of BlogHer, I figure I need to go to the mall wearing a 15 pound backpack and then walk a mile, stand still for 30 minutes, walk another mile, and then stand still again. Oh, and pick up a couple of shopping bags along the way, and gradually fill them so they get heavier, and heavier.

So here’s what I am going to do – I’m going to plan to be at BlogHer next year. I assume it will be held the first weekend of August. If I haven’t lost what I consider to be enough weight by say, May of next year, I won’t buy a plane ticket to San Diego.

I’m thinking now though, that it’s too vague. How much weight is “enough”? What about pants sizes instead? Okay, I’m going to tentatively say that I want to be a size 14 by next May. Minimum. I’m an 18 now.

Obviously that isn’t model-thin, but I think it would be a loss of what, 25 or 30 pounds? That would have to make a significant difference in the way I feel on my feet all day, right?

The category for my weight loss posts will be “Blogging My Butt Off”. So if you want to follow along with my progress, make suggestions, send me encouragement, whatever, look for posts in that category.

May 2011. Size 14. 25 or 30 pounds. Whichever comes first. Or no BlogHer next year. That’s the carrot I’m dangling in front of my nose to get myself motivated.

Because I’m worth it.

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Nope.   I got into bed around 11:30 last night, and at 1:30 I was still laying there.  I listened to a 30 minute guided meditation/body scan/relaxation CD, and was awake for the whole thing.  I just could not relax and fall asleep even though I was so tired, I finally fell asleep around 2:00 or so.

I’ve tried taking non-prescription pills like Tylenol PM, and while they do help me fall asleep, I ALWAYS feel really draggy the next day.  I don’t want to take a prescription sleeping pill because I’m afraid I’ll end up driving my car or trying to cook a meal while asleep and hurt myself.

So, what’s the solution?  What’s the cure for my-brain-won’t-stop-this-stupid-THINKING-and-let-me-sleep?  My body might think that 2:00 AM is bedtime, but I need to get to bed earlier so I can get up on time in the morning and be productive. Anybody have a suggestion?

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I want to be someone that other people want to be around.

I want people to be excited at the prospect of meeting me, of spending time with me.

I want to be invited, included.

I was okay right up through college. I had great friends in high school, we did everything together. College was a little trickier for me, but I got invited places, friends wanted to hang out with me.

I didn’t realize I had a problem until I hit my mid-20s and went to work at an office for the first time.

Everyone was nice to me, always, but no one, and I mean NO ONE, ever invited me out to lunch. Or for after work drinks.

Sure, they would chat with me in the elevator or at my desk occasionally, everyone knew about my pregnancies, about buying my first house.

But no one asked me to go on lunchtime walks or hit the mall after work for new shoes.

It bugged me, a lot. I tried to reach out, make the first move myself.

I invited a coworker from another department to lunch. We sat, we ate, we talked. *I* talked. A LOT. As usual.

It was the only time we had lunch together, ever.

After that, I just went down to the break room, found an empty seat, and watched Young and the Restless with everyone else. And tried not to talk. Keyword there being TRIED.

I couldn’t be quiet as a child, either. Every parent-teacher conference, every report card said the same thing. Good student, very bright, advanced reader, but can’t be quiet. Can’t stop talking.

Driving somewhere, my parents up front, me in the back, my sister asleep. Trying, TRYING with every fiber of my being not to talk. To just be quiet with my thoughts. Despite a sisyphean effort, I feel the words bubbling up. Must. Say. SOMETHING.

I have no idea why I am like this. Why it is almost impossible for me to be quiet. I can’t sit through a movie without talking, without making comments to Chris or Ryan or whomever is sitting next to me.

Last night, Nathan had a band concert. I sat next to my friend Patti, mother of Nathan’s friend Mike, whose husband Rick worked with Chris at EDS. Patti and I have always gotten along well, but she works as a nurse so we’ve only chatted briefly as I’ve dropped Nathan off at her house.

I could not stop whispering comments to her during the band concert. I knew I was doing it, I just could not stop.

And what started out as “hi, Elizabeth! How are you?!” turned into “okay, see you later” when the concert was over.

All I could think of on the drive home was why couldn’t I just shut up for 30 minutes?

What’s weird is, if I’m alone, I don’t talk to myself. I go to movies alone, restaurants alone, I sit here alone while Kaitlyn is playing in another room, and I don’t talk.

But put someone anywhere near me, and the words start coming. And coming, and coming. Wordy wordy words.

I think back to blog conferences and events. To the distinct lack of invitations to join anyone for dinner or go back to their room to hang out with a group. And I have to look at it from other people’s point of view – I do not shut up, I’m positive it annoys the crap out of people.

So, what do I do? I certainly don’t want companies to stop inviting me to their events because they think I’m some kind of freak. And I don’t want other bloggers to run the other way when they see me coming…because they think I’m some kind of freak.

I already take Venlafaxine for depression, anxiety, and panic disorder. Geez Louise could I BE more messed up? I can’t take a higher dose than I already do because when I tried, it made me jump out of my skin.

I’m afraid to tell my doctor that hey, I know you already are medicating me for anxiety, but I’m still anxious, HALP.

All I know is, I don’t want to be this way, if there’s anything that will help. I have many fine redeeming qualities, and I hate that they are overshadowed by my incessant blabbing. I think people would like me if I could just shut up long enough!

*sigh*. Sorry to be a bummer on a Friday, but I had to get this off my chest. Comments are open, feel free to throw your two cents at me.

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Sometime last month, around the same time I mustered the courage to call my doctor and say HELP, I’M LOST IN A BLACK FOG, GET ME OUT, I made a decision. All I had to do to convince myself that it was the right decision was think back to Christmas 2008, when I was an anxious, nervous ball of stress every single day. Christmas is always stressful for me anyway, so the last thing I need to do is make it harder for myself.

So I decided this year that after a certain point in December, I would allow myself to stop worrying about my blogs all the time.  I saw how I had been living more of an online life than a real life, and I saw everything I was missing. I decided that I was going to make my husband and kids the number one priority. I began choosing to close my laptop and actually LOOK at my kids when they talked to me, instead of listening halfway while continuing to type. I started actually watching TV with Chris instead of half-watching while continuing to type, then looking up every couple of minutes saying “wait a minute, what did that guy say?” and making Chris rewind, which drives him nuts.

I’m a lot happier this year, my friends. The combination of the Effexor plus turning off the panic switch in my mind has made such a huge difference in my life, I can hardly explain it. I feel like I’m HERE, like I’m really being a wife and mother.

I’m still feeling a little bit of stress, mostly related to the fact that I STILL didn’t get cards sent out before Christmas, or do the baking I had planned to do, or get any presents wrapped yet at all, but I don’t lay awake for hours every night composing lists of posts I have to write. I don’t jump out of bed in the morning in a panic about the state of my email inboxes (which is pretty major since it used to be a daily source of stress for me). I don’t feel overwhelmed, I feel…calm.  I just wanted to share that with all of you. Thanks for reading!

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Instead of re-prescribing Wellbutrin and Lexapro, she prescribed Venlafaxine, a generic form of the antidepressant Effexor.  That way, I would only have to take one pill once a day instead of two in the morning and one in the afternoon.  She handed me a sample pack with seven 37.5 mg.  pills and seven 75 mg. pills, and wrote me a prescription for six months of the 75 mg. dose.

The next morning, I took the first 37.5 mg. dose, and the next day and the next. By that third day, I realized that I felt, well, GOOD. I felt happy, and for me to feel happy for no reason is rare. I felt like getting off the couch and tackling cleaning projects, like taking Kaitlyn shopping, like getting dinner on the table by the time Chris got home. I felt AMAZING on that 37.5 mg. dose.

Then I started the second week at the 75 mg. dose. The first day, I noticed I was tired, yawning a lot. I’ve had an inconsistent sleeping schedule for years, so it’s not unusual for me to be tired during the day. The next day, I was still tired. By the third day, I was tired AND I felt irritated.  I stopped wanting to get off the couch.  It was like the cloud came back, and there was nothing I could do.

Last night, we took Kaitlyn out to eat for her birthday, then stopped at Macy’s to buy Chris a pair of pants. I had what I thought was a $50 gift card sent to me for hosting a giveaway. Kaitlyn would not behave in the store, she was running behind racks of clothes and then jumping out and yelling  BOO! for some reason.  Near where Chris was looking at pants, a lady was putting security tags on a rack of leather coats, and each tag had an alarm that she apparently had to test to make sure it worked. So, over and over, I was hearing this high-pitched screeching.  Kaitlyn wasn’t behaving, high-pitched screeching, Ryan was whining because he had homework to finish which he should have done after school instead of waiting until after dinner, oh, and at dinner, I was trying to take pictures but Nathan kept making faces and it was pissing me off.

Then I got to the register with Chris’ pants and a package of white tube socks for Ryan, well within the $50 limit of the gift card. The lady rings everything up and I hear her say something about $14.22.  I thought she was telling me that’s how much was left on the gift card, so I just stood there, waiting for her to hand me back the card. She said it again, $14.22.  I said great, I can buy a little something for myself- wait a minute, what?

What she was saying was that I OWED $14.22.  And in a flash I realized what had happened. The giveaway sponsor had sent me two gift cards- a $50 one for me, and a $25 one for the giveaway winner. There was nothing written on the outside of either card to indicate which was which. When I went to mail the card to the winner, I just grabbed one without remembering to check the balance.

I sent the giveaway winner the $50 card.  Which meant that not only did I pay out of pocket to mail her the card (I stuck it in a little box and paid for package tracking so I could be sure it would get there, $20.00), but it cost me $14.00 for a package of freaking SOCKS (what is up with that, Macy’s?).  That was pretty much the last straw for me.

Out in the parking lot, I started griping about messing up the gift cards, and how we had just spent $56.00 on dinner out, and now there went another $14.00, and Chris had just been paid that morning and we hadn’t even paid bills yet, and I was just stuck in this emotional place I couldn’t get out of.  Chris gave me a hug, and then said “maybe you should go back to that 37.5 mg. dose of that medication, it was working a lot better for you”. And I LOST IT.  We got into a stupid fight right there in the car, right in front of the kids.

When we got home, Chris let the kids into the house while I sat in the car, then he came back out and we sat in the car to talk. He told me that I wasn’t seeing how I was acting, but that my moods were swinging all over the place and that it was affecting everyone. There was more talking, and long story short, this morning I called the doctor’s office and left her a message that 75 mg. of this medication is making me WORSE than I was before it, and that I needed some help. I’m waiting to hear back on what she wants me to do.

I just want to feel happy again. I liked who I was when I was happy.

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