Why I will l not watch the Hunger Games

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Hunger is life changing. When you have felt true hunger in your life it never leaves you. It clings to you like a bad memory of food poisoning that repels you from the food culprit that led to your illness. However, in this case, the reverse happens: you are instead drawn to food because of your past experience with hunger.

Hunger haunts you even in those innocuous moments when you don’t have time to eat breakfast, and your mind starts to freak out on you simply because you are hungry. Your freak out is not due to low blood sugar. The feeling of hunger takes you back to that time when you and your two sisters had to share a small frozen pizza between the three of you, and there was nothing else to eat. Hunger takes you back to searching in vain for something to eat while your mother holed up in her room with the blinds drawn, the lights out, and the door closed. At 6 years old your resourcefulness could only take you so far.

But, in fact, you were resourceful. You learned that watermelon was served during the summer lunch program, but, your understanding was that you needed to be in summer school in order to get a free lunch. So, you showed up to school one day, and declared that you needed summer school. You were so persistent they didn’t know what to do with you so they let you read books all day and play with the felt board. You were fine with that arrangement.

Then there was the time you learned how to make deviled eggs on the television show 3-2-1 Contact. You were thrilled beyond belief because this was something you and your sister could make on the nights your mother holed up in her room, which was most nights.

Your reactions around food are not muted, nor are they discreet. God help the person that tries to start a conversation with you while you are holding your tuna melt that you just purchased. You have a short capacity for waiting to eat something once it’s in your hands ready for consumption. Your brain cannot fathom ignoring a hot tuna melt in your hand for a two minute conversation.

You do know that you are no longer in danger of going hungry, but your brain is mixed up on this issue. Part of your brain knows that you have a good job, and you can feed yourself now as an adult, but another part of your brain still lives in that scary place called hunger. So, why would you want to see a movie depicting this feeling … this horrifying feeling likely not intimately known by most movie goers of The Hunger Games?

DID is leaking into my favorite coffee shop

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According to Doc, I am in the midst of integration,and with that comes all sorts of weirdness, confusion and chaos.

Today I walked into my favorite coffee shop to get my trusty and reliable Zen and Now green tea, which is just green tea with mint and lemongrass. The owner of the shop is this sweet tall guy that talks me up every now and again. The shop is the size of a shoe box, and he is forever rearranging the place trying to find the right feng shui. It’s really kind of cute how he’s optimistic that he can find just the right layout with enough effort.

His latest configuration has it set up where the baking area is open so that anyone walking in can see the owner baking. It’s actually his best configuration yet. I hope he keeps it. I walked in, and saw him furiously mixing, and I asked him what he was making. When he answered me the world became fuzzy on me. As he was speaking to me I became aware that I was not hearing all of what he was saying. It was akin to a cell phone call that was breaking up. After he repeated what he was making I gathered that he was making “Kitchen Sink Oatmeal Cookies,”never knew that’s what he called them. But then he said something about coming me around to where he was baking, or perhaps he said people want to come around and see what he’s doing … Oh! I don’t know what he said because his words became broken up again, like the breaking up cell phone call except that it’s live and in person. Very weird. I finally just said I would see him later. I think I missed a critical part of the conversation because he had this confused look on his face. Arrrggh! It vexes me that my own internal chaos is leaking into my places of comfort.

I don’t know why I had trouble being fully present when people were speaking to me today. Thankfully, I didn’t have a lot of interaction with people at work today. At least my weirdness didn’t leak there.

The next day

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Today I headed out to Doc’s for a very unusual Sunday appointment because of yesterday’s events. I could hardly speak when I arrived, and I thought he just started the neurofeedback right away. Later, I learned that we actually had a bit of a session before neurofeedback, but I don’t recall it.

After the neurofeedback session was done he said this to me, “We need to talk about getting you on some meds.”

My brain just shut down when he said this as this is a rare psychiatrist who is very cautious about meds, and his eternal preference is to try a number of alternatives before turning to meds. In fact, when I originally came to him over a year ago I was on a mega dose of Lexapro, 40mg, with Xanax .25 as a PRN. There had been attempts by other clinicians to add Seroquel, Abilify, and Minipress, but those attempts were met with side effects that made all of those ventures short-lived. With Doc, I eventually got off of Lexapro, and I only have the Xanax as a PRN. I’ve considered this a victory, especially since I attribute part of my weight gain to this massive dose of Lexapro that I was on for 4 years.

But there we were with real talk of meds that I needed to consider. He prescribed Inderal for management of my PTSD symptoms and panic. I didn’t argue since he does not prescribe meds lightly. He also asked me to start taking the homeopathic stuff he recommended to me months ago.

At the end of the session he said this to me, “Honestly, I was frightened for you last night because it was Belle that was speaking to me on the phone. She’s never called me, and that really had me concerned for you.”

I became acutely aware that Doc’s actions yesterday and today kept me out of the hospital. Not only that, but they were far more helpful than any acute psychiatric hospital stay would be for me. The proof is in the pudding in that I was able to go grocery shopping after breakfast for the Thanksgiving pie I have to make on Wednesday night. I was even able to clean out my pantry, and make a simple dinner this evening. It was ass expensive to see him today, and I see my savings dwindling with neurofeedback sessions that insurance does not cover, but I am not complaining. No, sirreee, I am not. I may wind up broke after all of this, but it’s better than dead, and it’s better than completely undone.

Doc asked me to go eat something before I drove the 27 miles back home. He recommended a lovely restaurant in town, and they had this unique dish on the menu called shakshuka, basically baked eggs in a spicy tomato sauce.
eggs

That dish was just what the soul needed. There was also a chocolate croissant at the end of the meal that was unnecessary, but I let myself be indulgent with Letty. She likes sweets, and I still wanted to linger. Last night, I never would have guessed that I would be happily eating baked eggs with english breakfast tea and challah bread a mere 12 hours after I felt like the bottom of my world fell out from under me.