Until yesterday, I’d never cried on an airplane. In fact, I try to keep crying, particularly crying in public, to a minimum. It embarrasses me and the shame and awkwardness I feel is just unnecessary when I already feel shame and awkwardness due to my weight. I went through a phase where nothing reached me and I simply did not feel that burning leap that comes with the rush of whatever happy or sad emotion generates the crying response. And then it was back. And it was really back. So back that very small things would bubble up. In fact, I can’t card shop at Hallmark these days without welling up (I’m not kidding here, just so you know.)
On that flight I came to realize that I’m depressed. Officially and completely, depressed. The signs and symptoms have been around for months, but I’ve been trying to slog through them and for whatever reason, I am simply no longer able to “slog.” If I’m not sad, I’m angry. If I’m not angry, I’m anxious. I have no motivation to keep a clean house or make myself presentable. It’s some sort of miracle that I’ve kept any momentum on eating healthier and exercising given my motivation issues. I can only hope this means that the worst has come and I’m pulling out of the trance because I’m doing something to save myself.
So now, I look to my family, friends, God, and I turn inward…and I take Xanax.
