Tag Archives: seroquel

2010 in 700 words

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Mike and me, New Year's Eve (taken by Sandy)

Mike and me, New Year's Eve (taken by Sandy)

Last year was a lot of things. I’m not naive enough to believe that the year itself was evil, and that this year will make all of the bad of last year go away. I can, however, look back at the ups and downs, and try to take something from it. I can also admit that this was totally not my idea, and that I stole it from Jess.

I started off the year a university dropout, working two jobs, trying to figure out what I wanted in life and what was going on with my body, worried about my grandfather, and minus a good friend. I ended the year with a good idea of who I am and what I want for my career, a better picture of what might be going on with me, working one job, minus a grandfather, and plus a good friend. Life is very strange.

At the beginning of the year, I started rebuilding one of the most important relationships in my life. I am so grateful that Sandy and I were able to fix things.

Sandy and me, New Year's Eve (taken by Sandy)

Sandy and me, New Year's Eve (taken by Sandy)

I also gained about twenty pounds, thanks to a depression medication called Seroquel. As soon as I realized that was why I gained so much weight, I stopped taking it. I haven’t — knock on wood — felt the need to take medication for my depression since. I started working out, and also rediscovered softball.

In April, I got my second tattoo, to represent my family.

Because we didn’t know how much time Popi had left, we started seeing my two cousins, Mindy and Vinny, more often, even though we hadn’t seen either of them in a long time (both from different circumstances). It sucked that it took Popi being really sick to get everyone together again, but it made me so happy to have all of us together. I know it made him really happy, too.

Lauren, me, Mindy, and Vinny, July 2010

Lauren, me, Mindy, and Vinny, July 2010

Just a couple of weeks after we were all together, Popi took a turn for the worst… and we lost him on July 9th, 2010, early in the morning. I was dreaming that he was gone as my parents woke me up to tell my sister and me that he had passed. It still hurts, especially since my birthday and Christmas card from Noni were signed just from her. I would give anything for his name to be on those cards, too, for him to be here with us now, healthy.

Not long after Popi’s memorial service, Mike’s family lost their house, his mom and stepfather separated, and he had nowhere to go. So, he moved in with me, my parents, my sister, and our two cats. Our relationship has strengthened since he moved in, even though I had been afraid living together might be a bad thing.

In October, at New York Comic Con, I learned that my mystery autoimmune disease has severe physical limitations. Because I’d spent a day walking, I spent the next three or four days unable to walk without being in pain.

November was probably the weirdest month of all. My worst flareup ever began with weird itchiness all over and an even weirder rash on my face, I got my first rejection letter for a short story, my blood work came back all kinds of positive and my doctor referred me to a (third) rheumatologist because he thinks I have Lupus, and I wrote and finished the first draft of a 50,000+ word novel.

In December, I found out that I inherited migraines from my mom’s side of the family. It was only the third or fourth I’ve ever had, but it was by far the worst. I hope it’s a long, long time before I get another one.

December 2010

December 2010

I definitely went through a lot this past year. I’d like to say that I wouldn’t change any of it, that I wouldn’t be who I am without all that happened, and that I’m grateful for that kind of shaping, but I would give anything to have my Popi back. I also wouldn’t mind living without chronic illness and pain. I am, however, grateful for the good things that happened, because if there hadn’t been so much good, I wouldn’t have been able to cope with the bad.

Dear Mr. Scale: Fuck you

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Clink.

Clink.

CLINK.

Today — er, yesterday; it’s after midnight — I got back on track and went to the gym. I hadn’t been since Thursday, so I had to force myself to go, despite feeling nauseous and wanting to just go home, eat dinner, and pass out. I was on the abdominal rotator — torso rotator? twisty thingy? — wondering why it seemed that the weights kept clinking together LOUDLY and I was able to “work” my abs without so much as breaking a sweat when one of the personal trainers came over to me.

“Can I show you something?” She asked.

“Sure,” I said, pretty sure I was doing it wrong anyway.

She adjusted the seat and moved it, demonstrating how I should use it. Instead of starting in the middle, I should be starting on the left or right, she explained, working each side.

“Ah,” I said. “I had no idea how to use this. Thanks!”

“No problem,” she said, smiling kindly and walking back to the young woman she had been working with.

I really like my gym. No one makes me feel stupid, even though I have no idea what I’m doing, and am lucky I can operate the cardio bike and treadmill. Hell, I even tried the situp machine today — the one you lay on, put your feet in the stirrups, and, using the handles next to your head, do a situp — and couldn’t sit up. At all. Then again, I never could — not even in elementary school. I remember the gym teachers yelling at and getting frustrated with me because I just couldn’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t try hard enough. I must have weak ass stomach muscles.

I’ve decided that the torso rotator will be a good precursor; if I can use it for a few weeks and build up some muscle, I’ll be able to actually do situps outside of my bed*.

I weighed myself before heading out of the locker room and I’m kind of disappointed. I’m at an even 138lbs, even though I’ve been eating less fast food and have been trying to go to the gym every day. Still, I ran into someone I haven’t seen in four years today at the gym and she said I looked good, so I’ve got to be doing something right. I guess I should stop obsessing with the number on the scale and just concentrate on turning my cheeseburger/Seroquel baby into a two-pack, eh?

I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to put my weight in every week for the Super by September challenge, but you know what? I’m not going to worry about the weight (too much) anymore. It’s only going to stress me out. Weighing myself every day and making a sad face next to the number is not going to make me feel any better**. I went so long without caring about that stupid number, yet ever since I gained all this weight I’ve been really insecure about it.

*Yes, I do situps in bed before going to sleep sometimes. Feel free to laugh. I do.

**I feel like such a cliché right now; aren’t 90% of women concerned about their weight?

Why my life is better than BlogHer… except not

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The people have asked for a blog update, so who am I to deny her them?

I have officially survived my first two weeks of being full-time self-employed. The reason I have completely forgotten about abstained from updating my blog is that I’ve been leaving my laptop at my aunt’s, and during the day I don’t have enough time to write anything. I actually like this. The days go by fast, and I always feel good and productive when I leave.

There’s also a lot of drama going on, none of which I can write about, because as much as it pisses me off, it’s not my drama to tell. I would move the world for Mike, but when I can’t, it makes me crazy.

Thursday night I went to see Ramona and Beezus with my mom and sister. It was really, really, really cute. When I was in elementary school, I read most of the Beverly Cleary books about Ramona. She is one of my all-time favorite children’s book characters. I can’t wait until I have a little girl — or until my goddaughter Kaylene is old enough — so that I can read her the Ramona books. It was a nice night out with Mom and Lauren, and one of very few left, since Lauren is going away to school… on my birthday. I’m honestly really sad about my little sister leaving the nest, even if it’s not really permanent. I’ve spent the last eighteen years seeing her almost every day. She’s my best friend*.

But you can’t change anything**. You can only adapt.

It’s weird when life is half good and half crazy-in-a-bad-way. You spend all of your time alternating between grinning like the Joker and feeling ready to hire a hit man on someone, so you end up looking completely insane.

I did, however, manage to get away from it all for a few hours last night. I went to my watering hole with my cousin Kate, and we drank vodka collinses and sang karaoke until last call. Our karaoke guy called me “badass” after my last song, and this guy kept hitting on me, even though I kept reminding him that he’d met my boyfriend, and all of my friends at the bar kept talking about my boyfriend in front of him. Like Kate said, some guys never give up, even when it’s hopeless. It wouldn’t have been so annoying if the guy hadn’t inserted himself into every conversation and smoke break (even though he doesn’t smoke). Poor Mike’s little hottie is in high demand; a couple of weeks ago, a guy asked me out for coffee as I was leaving Barnes and Noble. It always amuses me when guys hit on me. I like the way I look, but I’m so used to ignoring the male species with my gaga eyes on Mike, that when I get hit on, I am always surprised.

Anyway, to make this post even longer and more ADHD, I’m going to be participating in #superbyseptember, a weight loss challenge started by Karen and brought to my attention by my friend Brooke. I just have to find a scale in my house and weigh myself, something I’m not exactly excited about doing. At this point, the cheeseburger baby now looks like I am carrying a real human baby and am somewhere in my second trimester. Since I have my mom’s side of the family’s curse — wherein all extra weight goes to our stomachs and asses — the extra twenty or so pounds I’ve gained from Seroquel and have continued to gain after quitting it from a massive intake of fast food and little to no exercise has indeed made me look like I’m now picking out clothes for a baby whom I now know the sex of. My mom is the only person who insists that I don’t look pregnant. Thank you for your dishonesty, Mom, but the mirror tells the truth, and so does everyone else who comes into contact with me and my baby bump.

Basically, I just have to weigh myself sometime this weekend — and fuck am I afraid to see; last time I weighed myself, I was 17lbs over my normal weight, which I’m sure has increased — and start getting fit. I’ve been saving money for a bike for some time now, so I think I’ll be buying it and a bike rack maybe this week. I’ll also need a scale in my house, since we don’t have one (though Noni has one downstairs). I want to stop ignoring the fact that I’ve gained so much weight and put it right in front of my face, where I can’t ignore it. A quick BMI check says that I’m just on the verge of being overweight — and that’s only using the weight I was last weighed at. I used to wonder how anyone overweight could let it happen, and now I see that it just happens. There are so many factors, that you can’t just pinpoint one thing. Seroquel is the biggest factor, but so is the fact that I stopped walking around so much and spend most of my time in front of the computer these days***.

So I am determined to lose some kind of weight this month using this challenge. Since I have a track record of losing weight unnecessarily, I’m not even sure what a healthy goal is for the month. I’m just going to stop eating fast food so much, ride my bike around some trails a few times a week, and go for a twenty minute walk every day, even if I just walk around the mall.

I know I’ve attempted to give up fast food before, and I failed horribly at it, but I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to give it up completely, though, because that’s apparently how I cave. I’m going to try to eat it only once a week, and try to make healthier choices (like Taco Bell instead of Burger King****).

I’m feeling kind of dubious about this, but I want to at least try it. If I fail, at least I tried, right?

PS: I severely need to go get my eye prescription updated. Someone please remind me to call the Walmart eye center place thingy on Monday so that I can start seeing the computer screen — and everything on the road — again.

*Yeah, Mike and Sandy and my cat count, but Lauren and I have tons of history and inside jokes that can’t be beat by some hot guy, funny girl, and pretty cat.

**Unless we’re talking underwear.

***Still, I mostly blame Seroquel, because I was pretty lazy before I started taking it and would probably still weigh around 118lbs if I hadn’t started.

****Is Taco Bell healthier? It seems healthier. I must research this.

From weight loss to gender differences

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So, Seroquel made me gain something between 15 and 20lbs, all of which went directly to my belly, ass, and thighs. I don’t care so much about my thighs and ass, believe it or not. What bothers me the most is my belly. I’ve tried to make light of it and I try not to let it bother me, but when it’s physically painful to wear certain pants or to sit a certain way because of that belly, or when your panties dig into your belly… Well, it gets to me.

Everyone keeps saying, “You look fine,” and, “You don’t need to lose weight,” but those people aren’t the ones who suddenly have hardly any clothing to wear because nothing fits. Things that used to be really loose on me are now too tight.

It especially gets to me when other people say, “You’re not pregnant… Are you?” or, “You look thinner on Facebook,” or, “You’re getting a little pudgy there.” The best was, “You’re fat,” and the giggling that followed because the person thought it was hilarious to say something like that. Seriously? Shut the fuck up! It’s hard enough telling my mind to shut up without having to hear it from you.

And yet, as much as I want my tummy to go back to the way it used to be — it never was flat or anything, but I liked the way it looked — I can’t seem to go buy that bike, take that 20 minute daily walk, or do those sit-ups. I drink Slim Fast to try to curb those, “I’m working at my computer, so clearly I need some chips!” cravings. I promise myself, “I’ll walk today when I get home,” but then I get home and I say, “Fuck it, it’s too hot.”

My bloggy friend Hilly has taken up mall walking recently, which does not at all sound like a bad idea. I’ve actually thought about it several times before reading her post about the girl she met at the mall. (You should all read it. It’s very moving.) And yet I haven’t bothered, not once. (But I have walked in the nearly 100° heat to go to my cousin’s for the pool. Go figure.)

I really, really want a bike, but I keep thinking, Where am I going to ride it? My 8th grade English teacher has suggested I go to the one in Middlebury, and someone else told me that I can easily take the front wheel off of the bike to transport in my car… but I still haven’t bought that bike. I even have the money — more than enough money — for it, but have yet to go buy one. Why? I don’t know.

Maybe I should really start getting myself psyched up about biking, and then I’ll want one so bad that I’ll just go buy it and I will ride it every day. Or maybe I’ll end up buying it, will never use it, and it will just go to waste. Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of.

Now I understand why men don’t understand women. We’re fucking weird.

Pain, rain, go away, come again another day

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I’m really sore from softball yesterday. How is this possible when I’ve been playing for a couple of months now and have never been sore? The only difference between yesterday’s scrimmage and the games on Thursdays past is that we won last night. I don’t see how winning makes you more sore.

Around eleven or so last night while I was working on a client’s website — it’s gorgeous, but I can’t take credit for the design; I only coded it — my hip started aching, and soon after that my shoulder and elbow played catch. By the time I gave up on my nonexistent internet connection and went to bed, my lower back was aching, too. Guess I spoke too soon, huh?

The last few days, I’ve been waking up super tired. I’ll wake up to my alarm, reset it for another fifteen, twenty, or thirty minutes, and then sometimes I’ll reset it again and again until I’m running late and have no choice but to get up. The rain today isn’t helping.

I wanted to blame this fatigue on Seroquel, since I just started my regular dose of 400mg again. (Before, I was taking 400mg of samples, which seemed to be stronger. I then switched to 300mg when my supply started getting low. Throughout this time, I kept missing doses, so it would make me really lethargic the morning and day after I took it. I finally had enough money for my regular prescription and have been back on it for a couple of weeks now.) Since I’ve been on it for a couple of weeks, I really don’t think I can blame the medication. I’m starting to think it has something to do with my Mystery Autoimmune Disease (which, by the way, needs a cooler name — like maybe a diagnosis).

Speaking of sleep, I had a dream last night that I was up at the campground my grandparents have a seasonal site at. I dreamed I was sitting on our site doing something — can’t remember what — when three of my old camp friends came over and sat down with me. We were all older than when we last saw each other. David had long hair, but was still super geeky and still got his balls busted nonstop by his cousins. Nate was still tall and thin, blond and blue eyed, but was taller than I remembered him. Phil didn’t look like himself at all. In fact, in the dream I could barely see him. We used to all play Manhunt* together with Phil’s little sister Sarah, their other cousins, and lots of the other campground kids.

It was an interesting dream, because I haven’t thought of these three guys since I was younger. I remember I had a super crush on Phil, who pretty much ignored me (even though we played video games together a lot of the time I came to his and Sarah’s site). Then for a while I had a crush on David, but he was way too geeky for me (although very cute). My younger sister Lauren and Sarah — who was about Lauren’s age — were really cool, and the three of us hung out a lot together more often than we hung out with the boys. We always had fun together, though. I’m not sure exactly when, but Sarah and Phil’s parents stopped camping, and so did Nate’s and David’s. The only cousins left — two brothers about Lauren’s age — we hadn’t really hung out with in the first place.

We stopped playing Manhunt. I’m sure the game went on without us with some other kids, but we never heard any games going and never bothered to start our own.

Maybe I’m thinking of this more now that my cousin Mindy is coming to visit in June. Lauren and I haven’t seen her in about six years. She’s my uncle Lonny’s daughter, and lives in Pennsylvania with her mom. She used to come up to Connecticut almost every summer. We played Manhunt (when we were allowed; for a long time our parents wouldn’t let us), slept in tents, wrote fan fiction, went swimming, hiked up to the “cave” (which is really just an old root cellar, but the view from the natural beach there is gorgeous), played Native Americans (after visiting the Pequot museum), did each other’s hair, and tons of other stuff.

Man, I’m getting nostalgic in my old age. At least this all got my mind off of the cramps I’ve got this morning. (Yeah, lucky me right now!)

*It was sort of like a big hide and seek game, except you split into two teams. The members of one team hid while the members of the other team hunted. You have to play at night, and bring a flashlight if you’re afraid of the dark. (;