This *HAS* to Be the Year!

So I've been a member here since 2011. Before that was SparkPeople and before that was just me wishing desperately I could go back in time to the first year of my life that I thought I was fat. (Pro tip: I was 13, and I wasn't fat.)

{It just occurred to me: I hope no one is truly upset by my use of the word "fat". I started saying that word instead of all the nicer terms like "overweight" or whatever, because when I said fat, I felt the shock of it and it helped me start to face fats- er- facts. Also, strangely, it helps with my body positivity philosophy. Just accepting it and saying, yes... This is my body. Nothing's wrong with it that taking better care of it won't fix. It's a good body. Anyway, I just wanted to explain it because some people I've met are really shocked when they first hear me say it.}

A little background: I was not at all a fat kid, but I went through puberty early and the curves next to the lean, coltish bodies of my friends made me feel so uncomfortable. I didn't really understand the finer nuances of developing, and what should have been just a natural acceptance - even enjoyment - of my widening hips and new breasts instead became a great source of shame and embarrassment because in my early-teen logic, I had just gotten fat.

The tug of war started at 14, when I determinedly began an exercise routine in private and severely restricted my food intake. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't even know what a calorie was back then. I ended up losing a lot of weight, probably more than was healthy for my height. But I was proud of my body and didn't think I was overweight anymore.

Fast forward to 16, we moved overseas and I entered a very dark depressive episode. I didn't know it, and wouldn't know for many, many more years, that I had Bipolar I and that was the first year I lost to bipolar depression. Halfway through the next year, I was manic and I had an insane schedule that literally allowed for about 3 hours of sleep a night. I graduated a year early. But I stayed in high school for another year because I wanted to be a paramedic and I had to be 18 to begin training. I ended up being convinced to go to university for a degree instead. Eighteen was even better than 17, and only slightly less insane.

But by 19, I was floored by the second depressive episode in my life. This time I sought help, but I was treated for unipolar depression and wow, that is really not good for bipolar disorder. I ended up back and forth between increasingly unstable behaviour on both ends. I was on a lot of medication, and was self-medicating in that I kept increasing my antidepressant doses because I was so desperate to feel better, but then I'd trigger a manic episode... It was a mess. The unhealthy habits and behaviours combined with medications that contribute to weight gain helped me gain 100 pounds the first year I was in my own home (living with a boyfriend I met on the internet about three months earlier. Pro tip: don't do that).

Yeah! So I was a mess. I was diagnosed, finally, after a trip to the ER for doing the kinds of things one does when manic. Went on my first "bipolar" medication. It worked? I think? It did more harm than good. But I was able to maintain a regular lifestyle for the first time ever. Slept at regular times, and no longer lived at one extreme or the other.

But thanks to moronic healthcare policies, I went off it about nine months later, and had ballooned to 325 lbs. I was beside myself, but still had no idea what to do. I vaguely knew sugar had something to do with it but d*mned if I could make myself stop!

During this time and for 10 more years, I tried to get pregnant. I wanted a family more than anything.

Fast forward to 12 years after I got married and skipping the miscarriages (because I just can't cry right now), I had a baby girl, and two years and two weeks later, a boy, and holy *kitten*, I fell apart.

During my first pregnancy, I started out weighing 390 lbs. I LOST 65 lbs. How? I was under strict medical supervision for having "advanced maternal age" and gestational diabetes. The doctors and clinicians I met with looked at me and talked to me like they saw me as a complete train wreck waiting to happen. That affected me deeply. They truly had low expectations for a positive outcome for my baby girl that I had tried so hard for!

I was put on a very strict diabetic diet - every gram of carbs and protein was measured. Every meal had specific portions - in grams - that I had to follow. It added up to about 2500 calories a day, and exceptionally high in nutrients - no empty calories.

I followed that puppy to the gram. And when you take a 390 pound woman and put her on a nutrient rich, 2500 calorie per day diet, that woman is going to lose weight, no matter how pregnant she gets.

Let me reiterate, I was monitored weekly for the entire time. During the last four weeks, my five-times-daily blood glucose readings started to wobble no matter what I ate, so I was on insulin and in those weeks, I saw the doctors twice a week. I'm not kidding when i say I was monitored.

My sweet baby girl was born weighing 7 pounds and 14 ounces and she was perfect and five years later, I still can't believe it.

I had much the same situation with my son, except that I reduced the blood glucose testing because it was never out of range. I cheated a lot more, but it was hardly ever too high. And I was BUSY with a two year old. I only gained 12 pounds, so I thought I did okay. But my son was born three weeks early via emergency c-section, was 5.5 pounds, and stayed in the NICU for four days because his blood glucose levels would not stabilize. Moral of the story? Diet is incredibly important and if you have gestational diabetes, test five times a day, damn it. I don't care how normal it seems some of the time.

By now, anyone who is still reading this has realized I talk a lot. This is important to know about me.

Fast forward again to about four months later and I start to realize I'm in trouble. I'm depressed again, but nothing like I'd ever experienced. Inexplicable rage and weeping, intrusive thoughts (which I thought was me becoming a monster because who thinks these things ever?!) and more. I went to my doctor and begged her for help. I remember standing there, too agitated to even sit down, holding the tiny body of a human I loved more than any thing in the world, begging her for help. "I am not okay and I am scared to *expletive* death." It was severe post-partum depression, coupled with uncontrolled mania. Baaad.

I got the help I needed. I got excellent care. I finally got appropriate, effective treatment for bipolar I. My babies grew, and I got my EMR training, anticipating paramedic training soon, and all of a sudden it's five years later and I weigh 395 pounds.

Again.

My highest weight ever was 407. I'm panicking. I'd been sorta kinda trying to lose it but then again not really because I didn't DO anything. I just fretted about it.

But things have changed. I met someone four years ago. My best friend ever? The love of my life? It's hard to find the right phrase to describe him. In four years, we have never let more than 24 hours go by without at least one message from each other. And the days it has been just one, I could count on one hand. We spent literally five to six hours on the phone seven nights a week for the first three months we knew each other. The second my daughter was in bed, we were on the phone. Even now we're in constant touch with each other. We watch movies together and game together and talk for hours and there's never been anyone I've loved this much or felt this close to. He's also 15 years younger than I am, and lives in the US. I'm in Canada. (Yes, I'm still married. It's all very complicated.)

We've talked for four years about meeting in person. He needed to get through school (he's a paramedic now) and I had a new baby and was also training in EMS and we both needed to save the money. We've exchanged dozens and dozens of photos, but I've never sent a full body photo and he's never asked. Parts of it... but not the whole package.

Well. 2018 is the year. Fall. And I cannot go like this.

There is so much more to it than this meeting. I am doing this mainly for my kids. I need to be able to play with them, volunteer for their field trips and go on outings and camping trips and I can't at this weight. I'm also older - 42 - and I can't carry it like I used to! I'm struggling to do the basics that I've never struggled with!

I need to get my driver's license. I need to be healthy for so. many. things.

It HAS TO BE THIS YEAR. I'm done wasting my life and watching it from the sidelines. I'm done feeling scared and guilty because my little girl wants to be exactly like me when she grows up and I DO. NOT. WANT. this life for her. The pain and the discomfort and being sidelined and left out of things she can't keep up with! No! And my son, who is still little enough to want to eat everything I'm eating... I've tried so hard to keep my junk stashed away but they've found wrappers and they're going to develop the same habits if I don't stop these habits NOW.

This has to be the year. I bought a Fitbit. I reactivated my account here. I'm even considering premium even though I'm philosophically opposed to subscription services.

I am baring all here because I'm hoping for a community of likeminded individuals who can keep me accountable and who can support me when things get rough, because they are going to get rough.

I have to shut up now, mostly because my thumbs have gone numb and I don't think that's good. But I look forward to getting to know you all!