Had my somewhat-quarterly fat doctor visit Monday. I’ve gained 15 pounds since my last visit in June. Not surprising, as I’ve neither logged my food intake nor have I religiously counted my carbs in the past three months. Also, averaging about 5 hours of sleep a night doesn’t help.
I don’t do nearly as much stress eating as I used to, but I do casually reach for the periodic piece of bread, tortilla chips, popcorn, and sweets a lot more these days. And I made it clear to the doctor that the past several months have been tough, between work and other demands, sleep deprivation, and unresolved struggles with grief (plus internalized anger and sometimes severe anxiety, which I didn’t mention).
He took me off topiramate after I noted the hit that my already-suffering mood seem to take after I began to use it; now I’m back on escitalopram (the generic version of Lexapro), at least through the end of the year to carry me through the holidays and winter months. Hopefully it can get me through the wait for a new therapist, too. One side benefit: It also curbs appetite and food cravings, so there’s that.
(It helps that I do have a history with Lexapro, as I mentioned to the doctor; I only went off it when I got pregnant. I neglected to mention that I went back on it once or twice after F was born, but I don’t think I was on it long enough for it to help. But before the pregnancy, it was by far the most effective antidepressant I had ever been on.)
Got a salad from Chick fil A on the way back from the doctor; it probably had more carbs than I needed, but at least it was healthier than the open-faced Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese I had for dinner.
Clearly, I’ve got a lot of work to do.