And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Ok. I admit it. I am intensely depressed and I don't know what to do about it.

I suppose I probably was depressed even before yesterday, but receiving that phone call from Dr. Bluestone who said that my thyroid was still borderline but not severe enough to treat threw me over the edge. I went from a week giving myself a break because it was possible that perhaps-maybe my gain was not my fault right back to having to accept total responsibility for my predicament. That felt worse than if I had just maintained a level of responsibility in the first place.

The Fucking Agreement. To do the best I can. I don't know what my best is, but any way I slice it, it's not at an acceptable level.

I'm intensely tired all the time. My muscles are shot, and in a way that I've never experienced before. In previous illnesses, I've come back to Slimmons intensely debilitated, but it was only after a few months of being sick. There was some muscle memory left. I just had to deal with systemic issues and in a few months, I was back to a semblence of normal. This time, I'm coming off of a year of not doing anything and my muscles are not gone just in the realm of exercise. They're insufficient for day-to-day activities too. Things like cooking and making my bed and whatnot are so hard to do, and I'm exhausted after doing them.

I've been going to Slimmons six days a week finishing up my third week tomorrow. I don't feel like I'm improving at all, but am left even more tired than before. I'm barely walking through classes and feel like the odd man out. I'd like to quit but don't have permission to do so from anybody.

I hurt all over - fibromyalgia - and am told to "work through the pain." I am inflexible. I am weak. My knees are really bad. My left foot hurts at the surgical zone (almost a whole year after the proceedure!) and have I mentioned to any of you that I broke the big toe on my right foot?

Then there's the issue of sleep. I"m not getting a reasonable night's sleep, even on the new medication. I'm up to the bathroom a minimum of once an hour, even all night long. And nighttime is actually worse. I go, I stumble back to bed, and as soon as I lay prone, something in my colon must shift and allow more to descend because I have to get right back up and run to the bathroom again. I repeat this process at least twice after the initial visit. And yes, we're re-testing for C Diff. I just donated to it. I'm relatively sure it's still very active.

We've made a lot of changes to my medications this week. I can feel them.

My phone won't stop ringing at night. One person calls and I finally divest myself of that one just because call waiting signaled another calling through, and over and over again. I'm so tired of the fucking phone! Why can't anyone call in the daytime?

My car had an expensive repair at the beginning of the week, and I desperately need to get the current necklace for S.N. completed to offset the cost. But I repeat, my phone keeps ringing. My best time to work on that jewelry is in the evening, but nobody leaves me alone.

Eric thinks that I am better now and that I should be functioning at full capacity. Even though I keep telling him that I'm not. Just because I'm greatly improved doesn't mean that I'm there by a long shot.

I could go on and on and on, but to what end? This is turning into a bitch-fest.

The point is that I think I need antidepressants again. But I'm afraid of them. My weight is back to 159, less than 200 pounds lost, and Richard keeps talking about me on his TV appearances. What if I don't measure up to what he's talking about? My only value to him and Slimmons is as a weight loss success story. Without that, I serve no purpose. SSRI's are well known for promoting weight gain.

I feel like I need to be rehydrated via IV again. But there's the weight component. Add more fluid into my body and who knows where my weight will land? It's like playing a slot machine. Sometimes I'm lucky and it goes down. Sometimes I'm not lucky and it goes up. Sometimes the change is permanent and I'm afraid of it.

When I"m this tired, I want to eat more. A lot more. Am I violating the F*ing Agreement when I succumb? And of the bread challenge, I was doing fine not bringing bread into my home. Then Eric showed up with two bags of Pita yesterday, a thoughtful gift responding to a comment I made to him before I stopped with the bread. I had two pieces yesterday. Oy.

I keep forcing myself to cook. I keep forcing myself to eat salads and other healthy foods. They are hell on my colon. I have not had one trip to Slimmons in a week where I didn't soil myself either on the way down or the way home. The skill that I've developed lately in dealing with that is alarming. I shouldn't be so practiced at it that I know what to do that I can keep up with my plans even after disaster. I can't stand it.

Sorry about the long lament. IT's early here, and I'm awake and tired. I'm going to try and ge a little more sleep, but I don't know if that is achievable. But at least I've balanced my checkbook now, come clean on my feelings, and prepared a deposit into my savings account. My savings is small, but I've managed in the last 8 months to actually build a reserve, despite unremitting medical bills. I look at the total and am amazed. It's one bright spot in my life right now. At least I am good at doing something.

Love,

Laura