Better Day

I have a lot of obstacles. I don't know how many of them are what my life has in front of me, or that stem from depression/anxiety.

But - I'm making a choice for a better day today.  Not saying that people can "will themselves" out of depression, or making light of it.  But I want things to change for me.

Especially in my pant-size department.

Yesterday I went for a walk.  Every morning I've been doing  a 3-minute jumpstart.  Walk, walk, walk.

Non-negotiable.

Why?

I don't have much of a desire for anything.

I really hate this cycle.  Probably most people would say that (whatever afflicts them - non-terminally) is "the worst" affliction.

I hate being fat.

Anyone who has been over 300 pounds and gets down to a more manageable weight will say that "their life changed dramatically."

I can't imagine living without arms.  I have arms.

I can't imagine being unable to walk.  I can walk.

I can do most everything.  But my fat truly does prohibit me from living a better life.

I wish it were easy.  I'm so frustrated at being where I am.  AGAIN.  At standing in front of my closet nearly in tears.  AGAIN.  Tight pants.  Shirts too short.  Not wanting to walk through, past, in.  Not really wanting to do much of anything, really.  I don't get it.  I really don't.

My relationship is so strained.  If it weren't for the kids, I think we'd be divorced.

I wish I knew what came first, or why this happens.  I KNOW how happy I am being smaller.  I've been there.  But the will for that was not strong enough to weather the storms of life for me.

WHY?

Anxiety, Crap, Things I Don't Want To Say

I had the strangest thing happen.

I played a card game that I used to play years ago to relax and get my mind off the chaos in my life.  As I played, I sipped a glass of wine and enjoyed the solitude.

Time went on and I finally won the game.  The "triumph music" played.
I started sobbing.

I didn't understand why.  But the music, the wine... it triggered something in me that hadn't been touched, but had been sitting underneath the surface.

The fears, dread, sadness, anger, devastation.  Waiting, waiting for my daughter to come home.  I'd play that card game, often with a glass of wine, at 11pm --her curfew-- knowing she'd miss it, knowing it.  But still dreading it.  I played it to keep my mind off things, to get me through.  To steady the racing thoughts. Over and over.  I remember doing it when I took Zoloft.  I don't even like typing it. It makes me choke on my own throat, makes my eyes itch.

I stuff my feelings, apparently.  Gosh I'm stoic! 

I keep going. I don't quit. I hang in. I press on.

As. I die. Inside. I shrivel and shrink and grasp, and pray, and crawl somewhere in there where even I don't know.  I harden, I forget, I put up boundaries. I don't let in, I blame.  I blame. I project. I obsess.

I do so many things that I hate and wish I didn't on a day-to-day, minute-to-minute basis.

But.

I get by.

I do.

I get by.

I work. I clean. I cook. I function.

And -by God- I'm dying in here!

It really sucks. I'm sure I'm not alone.

But I'm sure there's not a person I can (pay to) go talk to that will get it in a way that puts my soul right again.

This is (maybe) why people commit suicide.  This feeling of isolation, desperation, self-loathing.

I'm not going to kill myself. (Unless it's with food and self-uncare)

And I don't want to talk to friends because let's face it they don't care.  I almost don't care, which is why I hide in a happy face and make everyone's day and "am amazing" and all that wonderful crap.

It'll ride, slide, and be OK. But it's still there, waiting, dormant.  It is still there.