Zilla asked some good questions in response to my previous post, which made me realize that during my writing around one particular theme (weight) I neglected other poignant themes in my life that had an undeniable influence as well.
One question was: Are you resisting the idea of running more than two miles per day because of the illness you suffered when you were running ten?
To which the simple answer is, No.
The truth is I had struggled with something since late in my eleventh year of life, which had gotten even worse by the time I was fourteen. Something wasn't right with me. And it continued to persist and take its toll on me and my family all through high school. In spite of being taken to several professionals, at a great expense of my parents (we had no health insurance), no diagnosis was ever successfully made.
I remember being dragged to the community center in the center of town to see a counselor weekly. I remember seeing someone I knew from school there, too, who's mom and boyfriend had murdered his biological father. I remember always thinking to myself, "What am I doing here? He has a reason to be here." Obviously everyone thought something was wrong enough to keep bringing me places searching for an answer. The school. My parents. The rest of my family.
I knew something was wrong. But I didnt' know what or how to fix it. I started running in 1995 and realized it helped a little. A little running, a little help, a lot of running, a lot of help. That was the equation I manifested in my mind. I ran to help myself feel better.
But it never corrected things entirely.
In 1996 I had my first serious relationship with a boy, one year my senior, from the same high school. It didn't take him long to see something was off with me. He didn't get it.
Neither did I.
No one did.
God only knows why he stayed with me as long as he did, and put up with my lows. I even got him to buy me St. John's Wort from the local health food store - regularly. I had heard it could help. So I took it, religiously. Then I doubled the recommended dose. I kept this up for about six months, and eventually gave up. It was an expensive habit. Expensive self-medication. Running was cheaper.
It wasn't until I had graduated high shcool by the skin of my teeth that my mother finally took me to an adult physician. In five minutes she prescribed me this stuff called Paxil which would change my life drastically.
My parents and myself had not been on the best of terms for many years. They were intolerant, misunderstanding, and felt hopeless about me. I was hopeless. Felt hopeless. I was kicked out two times officially in the four years I was in high school. One time they caught me breaking back into the house for more clothes (I was freezing). The other time I actually knew someone who's house I could stay at in the basement. The truancy officer came after me that time.
Slowly, as the months passed, and I continued to take that little pill, once a day, every day, not only I healed, but the relationships in my life healed. My life healed. And I had a life like other people had. I got up. Did things. Felt okay. I talked to people. Had a friend or two. Held a job. Went out. Enjoyed things. Was more consistent energy- and mood-wise.That kind of stuff.
Ironically, after being non-self-medicated, or, rather, other-medicated (as in medicated by another), the self-medication (which I had never considered it being, but, in retrospect, totally was), continued on and off to a degree.
Self-medication.
It used to be running. When I was prescribed the pill and felt better, it was eating. Drinking was an indulgence here and there in previous years (I'd been having mimosas on the weekend with my parents since I was six), but not form of self-medication until I hit twenty. When I was twenty-one its accessibility made it more of an option.
I don't know why I was seeking all these means of feeling good after I had seen someone who had aided me in obtaining a prescriptive means of getting better. I still can't figure it out. Perhaps I was just still so hurt and carrying around so much pain that .... oh, who knows.
I realize my weaknesses now, though. And I still indulge in running, the occassional glass of wine, and chocolate brownies, but I know better than to go crazy.
And that's why I'm afraid to run too much.
5 comments:
Wow - I'm not visiting here nearly enough these days - and this is some realy heavy stuff. Self-medication is my middle name, as I've written about it in my blog many times, and as a concidence I spent most of this past weekend very drunk (first time in a long time) and I remembered how good it feels. Very scary. I don't think I'll ever be athletic enough to obsess with running, but I struggle with this exact same thing on a daily basis. I promise to visit more!
Of all the meds I've been on in the past Paxil was the least obnoxious by far.
I hear ya on the self medicating, um yeah, me too.
I appreciate your honesty here, maybe some day I'll be as forthright as you have been. Things were thought to be wrong with me too...that was the general consensus anyway.
Like you've said here, we learn to live as best we can within our own situation.
love you Sarah,
Lori
Did you ever read Dr William Glasser's "Positive Addiction" (Harper Collins 1976, I believe)? I read it in 1979 for a psych class. I've since read his books "Reality Therapy" and "Choice Theory," and recommend both.
Glasser is a psychiatrist who doesn't happen to believe in "brain drugs," like Paxil or Ritilin, just so you know that going in if you decide to check him out. He believes in healing through repairing damaged primary relationships and by making better choices, in a teeny-tiny nutshell. He is also the founder of "Quality Schools," which is the type of charter school the Eenas attend.
But back to the question about "Positive Addiction." Glasser writes that there is a difference between "positive addiction" and "exercise addiction," positive addictions being anything, including some form of exercise, that serves a person well. Sometimes exercise addiction doesn't serve a person -- say for example when the exercising is a compulsion associated with an eating disorder.
So, if you've read the book, did you or do you see your past running behavior as an addiction at all, and if so, did you/do you believe it was an addiction that served you well, or served you poorly?
Do you think any addictions could be good addictions, or do you think Glasser's ideas on the subject were errant or have become outdated?
(Zilla is addicted to asking questions, it seems.)
Great post, Sarah. I love your openness. And I love the rest of you, too.
I like Glasser's methods of discipline...cool guy.
There is so much here I totally feel you on Sarah -thanks for the recs Z- the depression or "lows" mainly. The Rx vs libation vs mindfulness vs herbs/dietary 'solution' it is maddening. It has been a real 'burden' since I was in high school as well and is creating havoc on my grad school experience. I am a major 'sabotager' I think. Ick. I have this pattern when I am in the midst of major changes in my life - hey, now is a good time to come off meds!...I just wonder what things would be like if I dealt with the underlying issue...that's tricky isn't it? Cause maybe it simply is "chemistry" but I am too holistic for that...I ramble in your comment box, sorry, I need to post on it when I get the clear notion. For now I will walk into my own fog, at present, and hope it clears soon with a swift confrontation with my true intentions in the present. Thank you for your sharing. Thank you for you being beautiful you. Here's to your strength of heart and mental prowess. And a HAPPY BIRTHDAY too.
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