Chapter 5

Tears in my Ears

Depression can be 100% cured.

I am living proof.

To generalize depression, it is nothing more than a series of repetitive negative thoughts and practiced sadness.

This is why a person can't "snap out of it" and why some days are good, and some are bad.

It has to do with the thoughts that you allow to run through your mind each day.

Working as a Lead Quality Assurance Laboratory Technician in a food ingredient plant taught me a lot about food. Binge eating became a secret past time.

A half hearted smile was all I could ever muster. I never felt good about myself.

I made attempts to eat healthily, but I had no education on nutrition and how the body works. I had no idea the organic juice I was chugging for my health was jam-packed full of addictive sugars, full of empty calories (high energy and no nutrition). Sugar told my brain I needed more nutrients, which would lead to binge eating. (Usually, more items with high sugar content.) Creating an endless cycle of overeating.

Sugar was making my situation worse and unknowingly fueling depression and illnesses.

A fake smile to hide my feelings. At my top weight of 290+, I stopped getting on the scale.

I became so out of shape I had to nap after showers. Often, I didn't have the energy to fold laundry, and it would pile up sky high.

Being heavily addicted to drugs took a more considerable toll on my health. Cocaine, LSD, marijuana, alcohol, and methamphetamine replaced the grocery bill, and I lost some weight. I did everything I could to try to escape my reality.

Weight loss didn't help my appearance, depression, or attitude any.

I gave up on life and slept. I didn't care that the utilities were being shut off. I don't even know who took this photo.

I wasn't raised to sleep in a bed without pillowcases on the pillows.

After the second surgery, I had to stay in the hospital for a few days for physical therapy. I enjoyed the attention for the first few hours, and then it became hard to deal with the constant string of nurses in the room.

I did my hair one last time before cutting it all off.

My hair had some time to grow back during the first few chemotherapy treatments. Patches would fall out while I slept at night—each morning, my pillow had hair all over it.

Somebody took this photo the afternoon after I thought I was going to die from heart failure. It was all I could do to sit up.

I was so happy! For the first time in my life I didn't feel like I wanted to die. More than anything I knew I wanted to live!

The day after I got out of the hospital, I attended my best and only friend's wedding as the Maid of Honor.

Mom fussed over me for an hour, crowning me with a tiara and taking photos. It was as if I had returned from the dead. All I wanted to do was to take the uncomfortable and itchy clothes off. Radiation had made my skin abnormally dry and sensitive.

There was a harsh reality I had to face on the road to recovery. I knew I was the only one who could fix the downward spiral I had created.

Without wigs and make-up that I couldn't stand to wear, I felt no feminity, which was very hard for me. I had to go to the gym and start from rock bottom.