I have been trying to look back to the first onset of my depression which has led mostly to my emotional eating. I think it happened in the womb. While my mom was pregnant with me, her marriage was falling apart and her father whom she loved deeply passed away. I am pretty sure this all made a lovely hormonal cocktail for unborn me.
I’ve been told that I was sickly and skinny for my first couple of years. Oh, the good old days. My mom’s mom kept scolding her for not feeding me enough. I’m pretty sure that led to the lack of connection between Grandma and me. Luckily I had an older sister who cared for me and did all she could under my mom’s belief that not disciplining me would make up for my not having a father. I was spoiled and demanding and after my tonsils came out, I started gaining weight.
I encountered three separate child molesters in my early years. I told my mom about the first one, a family friend’s son who had gone to jail for child molesting. She got very upset with me. Instead of encouraging me to tell her the next time, I kept quiet about it. The third time, as a teenager, I was so scared and shook up that I almost became sick. If not before then, I’m sure that was the date I started being afraid of men. And putting on more weight.
By some miracle, I met the only man in the world who could love me as I am soon after my 40th birthday. Yeah, the years in-between teenage and middle age were lonely and rough. For a few years after we first got together, I did pretty well with handling my depression. Then we got custody of two wonderful children and I promoted to Supervisor. Stress came with a double-barrel. That was when I talked to my doctor about antidepressants, and life became easier.
Until it became crazy. My best friend was murdered, another friend had gone into the hospital and died there unexpectedly, another friend lost her husband, then that started a trend. And my first dog in 15 years, my beloved Tilda, was diagnosed with cancer and we let her go. I’m still easily moved to tears when I think about her, or Becky, or Millie, or my friends who didn’t expect to be widows.
All of this downslide in emotions hit me in a way that I didn’t care anymore if I lived or died. I wasn’t suicidal. I simply gave up. I put on 20 pounds in the wake of those events. I stopped my nightly brushing of my teeth. Yes, even something that important and that simply became too much effort. So I have developed a sore tooth, kind of.
My teeth have never been anything to boast about. I have lost most of my molars to decay. I have a crown that dates back to my college days. I’ve been keeping up with my cleanings but that hasn’t prevented the tooth under the crown from deteriorating and bacteria from getting under there. The gums around the tooth are sore but not all the time. I can chew just fine with the thing as it is. But I know I need to get it fixed soon. Like everything else in life, it’s one more hassle to handle.
On my last birthday, I enrolled in Medicare. I began collecting Social Security. I am a Senior Citizen now. Nothing much has changed. My medications are expensive but that’s life. I hope to get back on track and lose the weight so I can downsize the meds. But for the last 4 months, I had no idea if my supplemental Medicare was working or not. My pharmacy could not find me in any database and had to use a discount card to make the drugs affordable. I couldn’t get a flu shot because the discount card didn’t cover it.
Now I have my shots, I will be making a dental appointment to look at the tooth, and I will be calling my psychiatrist and apologize for ghosting him for a year. And then life will be wonderful again, right? Who knows. Back to writing. Thanks for reading, I’ll be back on Thursday.
PS — Shout out to my besties in the Blue Crue Review for keeping me sane for the last couple of years. I wouldn’t know what to do without you ladies.