I took off my fitbit today.
This probably means nothing to you. Why would it? You donʻt wonder about my step count or understand the significance of removing the device from my wrist.
The last time I took it off was when we began sheltering in place from Covid in March 2020. It was a particularly difficult time for me, as the uncertainties of the pandemic aggravated my preexisting anxieties. I didnʻt want to leave the house, even for a walk. And I love walking. I didnʻt want to exercise even though I love exercising. I was so scared, so anxious.
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Back toward the end of January, I had a couple of bad days. Iʻd come home from work and land up in bed, sobbing for an hour or so. When I was done, Iʻd be right as rain. I chalked this up to a menstrual cycle that no longer included bleeding (because if thereʻs no bleeding, how do you know where you are in your cycle, especially when that cycle was never regular?). But there didnʻt seem to be any obvious trigger or reason-- I just had to cry.
The last time I experienced something like this was immediately following my hysterectomy in 2018. It was hormonal, my physician said, and she couldnʻt give me hormones to treat it because of the cancer risk, which was increased since, you know, Iʻd had cancer.
But these recent episodes, which are relatively short but potent, followed me into February. By the end of the month, I figured that since I deemed those symptoms worthy of a doctorʻs visit in 2018, I should go see her again now.
Short story, short: she gave me a low-dose anti-depressant to manage my symptoms and told me to come back in two weeks for a follow-up. Iʻve been taking it for a couple of weeks now and donʻt see much improvement.
One of the side effects of the pill Iʻm taking, however, is weight loss. And that might seem a boon to many of you, and youʻd assume it would be for me, too. But I was already losing weight before this pill. I havenʻt told most people, but I actually lost twenty pounds between mid-December and February. That was in addition to the twenty pounds Iʻd already lost before that. And you know what? Iʻm still losing weight. My body feels good and healthy because I changed my diet (out of necessity), exercise often, and am active daily. It makes sense that Iʻm losing weight.
It means, however, that my body also feels foreign to me, and when I look at it, I donʻt really see it as it is now. To be honest, I probably never had an accurate view of my body. Anyway, remember what I said in my other blog? You get used to seeing something through one lens, changing your perspective is hard. I am perhaps the most fit Iʻve been in my adult life. I can feel the muscles in my shoulders, arms, and legs. My core is stronger and tighter. I feel physically awesome. My body is strong and it looks more like how I want it to.
The cruelty, though, is that I feel physically healthy and strong, Iʻve accomplished this huge feat of losing weight and getting fit (and changing unhealthy eating habits into healthy ones to accomplish this feat), Iʻm starting to like the way my body is changing, and yet emotionally, Iʻm a fucking wreck.
I can feel myself slipping, you know, even if I donʻt know when it will hit. It starts as a heaviness in my chest or belly and I feel like it drags down my heart and brain. And when Iʻm in the middle of it, my heart feels like itʻs being ripped apart into a million fucking pieces. Thatʻs not hyperbole, yo. Thatʻs how it feels in the most vivid figurative sense.
Anything can set it off, and nothing at all can set it off. I couldnʻt tell you what triggers it or what Iʻm thinking about as Iʻm sobbing myself silly, curled in the fetal position, my blanket pulled over my head. All I know is that frequently, Iʻm unable to pull myself out of it as I have done since the beginning of my life.
Iʻve never been a depressive person. Dramatic, sometimes, yes, but you know me, right? You know me as cheerful, flexible, easy going, optimistic. I have always had hope. Always. And even when I had tough times to endure, Iʻve been able to self-soothe or use other tools to pull myself up.
This is different. I havenʻt been able to. I do the usual shit and still end up crying. And yes, Iʻve had a lot going on in my life in the last two years, not including Covid, but that doesnʻt feel like the reason I canʻt seem to manage this feeling. Because, brah, I have always been able to deal.
Not dealing has been fucking with my mind, too. Not only am I afraid of being perceived as weak, Iʻm afraid that Iʻm actually weak! Okay, okay, okay, I know Iʻm not, but the thing with mental health is that knowing something cognitively isnʻt the same as feeling or believing it.
So I havenʻt talked about this with most of you. Some of you have seen it, and some of you have experienced my storm. But largely, I havenʻt spoken about it.
It was telling when a few weeks ago a friend Iʻve known for over a decade said, "But Kanani is always happy! I canʻt even imagine you being grumpy." And yes, thatʻs been me historically (though I can be plenty grumpy, believe that). Iʻm the cheerleader, the nurturer-- just ask my siblings. Each and every one of them. Theyʻll tell you. Iʻm the one they come to for emotional support. And I enjoy it! And Iʻm good at it. But it makes asking for help or talking about my issues more difficult for me.
Instead, Iʻve taken off my fitbit because I canʻt bring myself to care about it today. That canʻt be the part of my identity that matters. I like being active, I like love going for walks, and reaching my goals is exciting and rewarding. So, that Iʻve removed the fitbit is significant.
Friends, I believe something is wrong with me physically. I will be 45 years old in a couple months and notice that many of my friends of the same age are also experiencing what seem like hormonal shifts. In 2018, when I was bleeding heavily and constantly, my doctors were sympathetic and compassionate, but I didnʻt get the feeling that any one of them was particularly concerned about my problem. I had to advocate for myself. I had to make humbug for the doctors and their staff. Iʻm going back to the doctor tomorrow, and Iʻm lucky because sheʻs very supportive and responsive, but Iʻm going to make humbug.
Because these crying episodes fucking suck ass. I hate them. And with no obvious catalyst, I lack the mental defenses to prevent and combat the feelings of hopelessness and sadness. It is a deep well. And not only does it suck donkey balls just to feel that way, itʻs fucking with the way I see myself. Is this what Iʻm going to be like for the rest of my life? A weepy mess, unable to care for herself? Weak? Surely not. Iʻve seen myself as strong and capable. Impulsive yet also rational. This crying is not rational.
Iʻm sharing this with you all now for at least two reasons:
1. It feels good to write. Iʻve avoided it for a few weeks, youʻll notice, and mostly because mental health. Ugh. Fucking mental health. It feels right to write about it now. Talking with my sister in law last night was super helpful in this matter. Which leads me to
2. Sharing stories connects us. Iʻve said it so many times and Iʻll continue to say it a million times over. When we share our stories with each other, we build bridges and make connections. We can feel less isolated, less awkward, better supported. Trusting someone with your story can be super difficult, but also super rewarding. Weʻve done that before, havenʻt we? How many of you have I thanked for sharing your bravery with me? How many of you have heard one of my stories and thought, "Holy shit, thatʻs me!"
So, here it is, my story. I sometimes feel very isolated because of this depression? Is that what this is? I donʻt really know. I donʻt really understand whatʻs going on with my body, and understanding shit really helps me deal. And maybe you know what Iʻm talking about. Maybe you have experiences similar to mine. Maybe you know what that slip feels like, what the bottom of that well feels like, and what the sometimes sudden onset of clarity at the end of that desperation feels like. Because-- silver lining alert-- Iʻve always come out of it and I can always smile and laugh again.
You know what Iʻm going to end with, donʻt you? Iʻm totally predictable.
We can support each other and build community, simply by sharing stories. Just by trusting each other just a little bit. I know itʻs hard because itʻs hard for me, too. Itʻs super hard for me. Even this blog is an exercise in trust, and not everyone is worthy of your trust. But I hope you find someone that is, just as I have decided to trust all of you.
