When suffering from depression, or mental illness; it can be very hard to live in domestic partnerships. This is especially true, when the partner of the sufferer, has no interest in gaining coping skills to off set some of the dramatic emotional upheavals that are bound to occur.
We don’t plan our depressions; it can take years and years of self awareness to pin point all the potential triggers, as often times they tend to be more subconscious programs. Dates, places, and phrases can, and often times, will set off a new bout of despair.
When the despair hits, it leads to an overwhelming feeling of being misunderstood, and alienated. These feelings amplify self criticism; making the already annoying self critical response clock in off the charts. A pervasive weight of ” I can do nothing right.” and “It’s all my fault.”
The thoughts and feelings that you may have had on “good days” now are second guessed and reduced to illusion. That voice of illusion, says “No one really loves you. No one ever will.”
It’s hard not to feel crazy when logic and emotion collide in the confusion of depression.
This is a piece I wrote while in a domestic partnership, that led me to spending a night in jail for domestic violence. I started attending drug, alcohol, and domestic abuse classes for court.
Many times through the 7 months that I attended, I asked my partner to come with me; as I felt they were sharing a lot of useful information. I also thought it would put us on the same page, so that we could move forward, together.
However, he was not interested in those classes; which said to me, he didn’t really care about Us. It broke my heart, and inevitably we split up. For years, I wondered, “what if? What if he was invested in my desire to get better? ”
I have since had to move on from that, and accept where I am, and who I am today. I know that not just any one can handle the unforeseen upsets of the future. It will require strength, patience, and cooperation.
When Words Signal the End.
This frustration builds. This love, a lie. And I am burning for more than this disappointment.
I am yearning for more than this fear of abandonment.
Alone with these thoughts and feeling, despite the activity around me; this soul is closed. All the doors are closed.
We can’t communicate. You say my reality isn’t valid.
It really isn’t yours to judge, but you do; constantly.
You blame me for being some fucked up artist.
It isn’t that, at all.
Can’t you see, sometimes we are both wrong.
No. You control. You blame. Nothing changes.
You bribe the master, waiving possibilities in my face. Nothing is ever manifest; it finds itself as watered down truths, dripping lies from your lips.
I am down, because you keep me there.
I am mad, because you show you care, in the most fucked up ways.
Days later, you apologize; so we keep riding the storm.
Love borne Hate. Emancipation is evident. All of this too late.
I am debating my hate; trying to hold my love, but I am drowning.
It’s astounding to watch from the wings, as I take swings at your face.
Wasting time, like it’s easy to buy; when really it’s hard to replace.
I want for you to show me something real; but the wheel of life turns and this heart burns with heartache.
Love is a dish best served cold, old and mouldy upon a paper plate. Swarming with fly larvae,
It isn’t tangible; it causes vertigo as my brain starts to go south.
My mouth a cesspool of verbs and curving words; they slice like a knife, through this paper flesh.
Should I regret this venture?
It’s too late, this path paved with good intentions, gone awry.
The repetitive question; Why, why, why me?
Why this mess? Why?
I confess; I am the mess. I am the beast with talon feet. I am the rage and the endless sadness. The builder of madness and tears that never seem to dry.
I try, but you call me the catalyst… The baddest bitch, you know.
Blow by blow your words knock me down, and add to the scowling.
Sweet inner child caught in the frowning, forgetting recollections; the brief reflections of innocence.
I am just an artist, with nothing to show; but a hole in my head where I’ve let these words go.
I started writing this for Mental Health day in May, however in the depths of my doldrums, words were hard to capture. Recently I have had some conversations with friends of mine, who are also in the midst of depressive episodes in their lives, for various reasons. And in knowing that, I feel less alone; their vulnerability and willingness to talk about it has strengthened our friendships while broadening my perceptions of what it is that we are experiencing.
If you or someone you know is suffering from depression, please feel free to reach out to me. I would like to create a public dialog about these experiences and offer emotional support. Many people going through depression have a hard time talking about it, and often expend much of their energy trying to pretend that they are okay. Some of us are very good at hiding how much internal turmoil we are actually facing. Please feel free to comment and share your story and if you have found any healthy coping mechanisms that have given you some relief. If you are feeling suicidal please find help, or call The National Suicide Prevention Line at 1-800-273-8255, which can connect you to local resources.
It’s lonely on the inside looking out at all the smiling faces, lingering in places of joy. And in this solemn slumber I am left to wonder why it seems so easy for others to get on emotionally in positivity. Wonder what it is about me that feels so lost and out of love, despite the deep set knowing that my life is nothing but good.
See, I am not struggling from hunger, or left out in the cold to wonder where I will sleep; in fact my life feels pretty safe and secure, but this obscure stranger lurks there. This shadow that doesn’t seem to care much for my better welfare. It clouds my good ideas, and glosses over memories, twisting how I perceive the past, present and future. And that is no way to live.
In my darkest hours I have sat in contemplation at the meaningless anticipation that slowly burns inside me, for a day I have yet to see, one where I will be free of this depressive malady. Melancholy has been my mantra for too long, it’s the silently sung anthem of my attitude as of late.
And it doesn’t suit me very well. Some days it’s hell trying to smile and pretend that this mental pressure isn’t there, and that I have no cares in the world. It’s been the discussion at the tip of my tongue for too long, and suppression has started swelling, and it’s going to bust through it’s shell of deception.
Deniable, the Debbie Downer, no one wants to invite her to the party where she will largely bring others down. And despite it all I know my own ability to raise the vibration but lately it’s hard to rise to the occasion as I sit in this procrasterbationary cycle.
There is a roadblock in my view, and it skews my ability to see where my path leads, and what it means to me. I feel that at 34 I should have made more progress instead of this arrested development. There is massive pressure in the potential, and I level myself by staying away from making too many decisions. Each task of the day leaves me in wanting, each choice to make more over baring than the last.
In this depression, I want to be taken care of . I don’t want to care for others, and yet that is an unavoidable reality. There is no one to swaddle me, and hold me silently, for a moment of peace and feeling connection.
And isn’t that exactly what depression is? A feeling of isolation so pervasive that it effects one down to their core. It feels incredibly unreliable. I try to put words to it, but I find it unexplainable. I know it’s a type of depression that drugs will not fix, and therapy is no match for; realizing I just want more connection, but I can’t seem to move forward and make that happen. Feet bound in concrete, frozen from make a move toward any one direction. My synapsis on some sort of delay. Thinking today is the day, still nothing happens and I find myself waiting on tomorrow.
Education is my distraction. Information is my drug. And the more I learn about the world, the more I feel torn between throwing myself headlong into humanity; and hiding out away from reality. The push-me-pull-you of a person with sensitive strength, confused on how to assert her existence within this existence. Missed opportunities because nothing seems to light my fire. The foundation of excuses.
The fuel of my youth; a desire to be seen as acceptably intelligent, bound for successes undreamed of yet, if only I could leave the small perimeter of my home. When I finally left, I felt I was on some sort of path, but with each pursuit I would follow, there was still a hollow in my heart; a dissonance with my purpose.
Materialism didn’t suit me, so some may see me as living life like a vagabond. The only purpose I’ve held onto, is the service of humanity… but where is the service to me? I swim in a sea of information, I drown on all the options, cast out into the depths of indecision.
I can’t seem to find a conclusion, on what actually TO DO. And in this place, I miss experiences of love, laughter and adventure. Three things I adore. Somehow I always answer “no.”
“Yes” is it’s own foreign language, I can’t wrap my mouth around it.
My heart wants to know this foreign language, but my mind won’t record it.
No regrets, but I bet if I knew then, what I know now, maybe I wouldn’t feel this depression like an extremity. An extension of me I can’t seem to detach. Feeling like I know too much; I see too much, I feel too much. Overwhelmed and shut down. Emotionally paralyzed; my body can’t metabolize all this stimulation that bombards me in silence. A personal crisis, I tell myself will not last forever. Nothing lasts forever.
The consistency and energy of our trainers at FBBC Cheyenne, is one of the reasons Fitters truely enjoy, and look forward to the grueling half hour we spend getting our asses in shape. One of the biggest draw backs of going to any old gym, is the lack of personality and connection one feels when going to work out. Out of shape gym newbies, can feel put off by the need to self motivate in a guideless envioronment. There is also a higher risk of injury for newbies who may not be educated on how the equipment should be properly handled.
Fit Body and it’s Trainers are aware of these issues, and when you step through the doors of their gym, you will immediately notice a difference between a “normal” gym, and boot camp. Firstly, FBBC, is primarily women! Yes! Women of all shapes, sizes and ages, socioeconomic back grounds and cultural blending. Secondly, men do boot camp too! Not as many as you see at a “normal” gym, and in fact, most of them are married to another boot camper, so there is never that letcherous feeling you may get at other gyms, with uncomfortable stares, and inappropriate comments.
Today, I was able to sit down and talk with Ashley Richards, one of the fantastic trainers at FBBC Cheyenne.
Ashley is like a contained ball of fire. At first, she can be quite unassuming at how much energy flies out of her when the class get’s going. I talked for a while with her about her fitness journey leading up to being a Fit Body Boot Camp trainer… Let me have the pleasure of introducing her to you; WORLD meet Ashley Richards!
Name : Ashley Richards
Current measurements : Arms- 11 1/2 in.
Chest- 32 in
Waist- 26 1/2 in
Hips- 37 in
Thigh- 22 1/4 in
Total Body Fat- 19.8%
Weight: 140 lbs
Weight at peak of unhealthy lifestyle : approx. 165lbs
Favorite Exercise: Dead Lifts, and Push Ups
Max-Out on Deadlift: 215 lbs (!!!!)
I don’t know about you, but when I look at Ashley, I see a strong, well porportioned woman, a woman who can easily exicute all exercises with a sense of finesse and ease. She makes everything look effortless; and for her, it is funny to think that just 7 or 8 years ago, she never would have dreamed of being a fitness trainer.
Ashley is a Cheyenne, Wyoming native and you may recognize her face from graduating from East High School. As a child, she participated in intermural sports, and she enjoyed the games of basket ball and volley ball. She even gave track a try, only to realize running is the worst sport out there.
When I asked Ashley about her diet growing up, she recollects that is wasn’t healthy; which plays heavily in to her mentality and current life style in tandem with her larger goals as a trainer. By the time Ashley had entered high school, she gave up sports, primarily due to the rather short shorts and revealing uniforms required by female High School sports participants. It would be almost a decade before Ashley’s attention would turn to physical fitness.
Anyone who has grown up in Cheyenne, will profess that there is little to do outside of school activities for the youth. Ashley was no exception, and since she was disinterested in school sponsored sports, she was on her own to find entertainment and fun. She readily admits to standard bored teenage behavior; parties, and lots of alcohol.
Ashley: I am pretty lucky. I probably should have died more than once from bad decisions.
Upon retrospect, she is thankful to be alive today, and fully conscious of some of her youthful, selfish decision making. Ashley realizes that she wouldn’t be where she is today, with out some of those mistakes.
Flash foward to around 2008. Ashley meets the man of her dreams, who happens to also be a former State Wrestler, football player and currently certified gym rat. Billy grew up in Hulett, Wyoming, and didn’t leave his athletesism behind after graduation. So, like any strange new date and the way relationships go, Billy took Ashley to the gym to work out with him.
Me: So what did you think of the gym, when he took you to work out?
Ashley: I was like, “why are you doing this? What is the point?”
This would be the beginning of two love affairs, one that would lead to marriage, and the other, a complete life style over haul.
Ashley: I started taking classes like Zumba, and Hot Yoga, a few times, but I didn’t like them; so I quit, and tried something else. I was going to a women’s gym, and I had the same mentalities as most people who start working out, ” I’m working out, I can eat whatever I want.”
Me: So was there any focus or teaching about nutrition at the women’s gym?
Ashley: No. Not unless you paid for a personal trainer. I later found out that the trainer at (the womens) gym, had only gone through, like an 8 hour weekend training certification in Colorado over a weekend. That disturbed me.
Me: So how did you come to Fit Body?
Ashley: I saw it on Facebook, and I was working for the County, and one of the girls I worked with was also interested in checking it out. We came to a class during lunch, and I the first day I tried it I freakin’ loved it. I freakin’ loved it! So I signed up. But my sincere fitness journey, didn’t start until about a year and a half ago.
Ashley started training part time, while holding down three other jobs. She credits Owner and Operator of Fit Body Boot Camp, Cheyenne, Sara Goossen, to be her biggest inspiration and influence.
Ashely: I learn from Sara, I watch Sara, I grow from Sara. She is the reason I do, what I do. Had it not been for her, I wouldn’t be where I am at.
With Ashley’s new found determination, she jumped head first into getting her certifications to train. She is currently certified through the International Sports Science Association; the Center of Health and Fitness. Ashley has studied nutrition and training, while keeping up with her continuing education credits and is working on becoming versed in Strength Training for Kids.
Me: Where would you like to see this (training) go?
Ashley: I want to see kids get healthier. I hate seeing obese kids. I think kids deserve a chance, ya know? I grew up, eating crap; I grew up not knowing anything about working out. I played sports, but it wasn’t teaching me anything I would take with me.
Me: So what is your vision?
Ashley: I just want more classes. I want it to be something that is “us” at Fitbody. I don’t want to take it out on my own. And why? Because I feel almost like I owe the payback. I want to pay it forward. I feel like, if we can do it through Fit Body, then it’s more like “Fit Families;” Mom’s and Dad’s and kids, you know, that would just be better… becoming something ‘more’ than we already are, and incorporate what we already have into something bigger.
Me: So like a 4:30 kids class upstairs, that would be cool.
Ashley: Yeah, something like that, or just to start out, a summer program. As it grows we would have to grow with it, but to start from there, we (would do the summer program and) see where it goes.
No interview about fitness would be complete with out hearing about the struggles a person faces in making such a drastic life style change; especially when the person is interested in helping others change their lives as well. Empathy and comisseration are part of the job, and Ashley is no stranger to personal struggle.
Me: So what would you say, has been your biggest struggle in this journey?
Ashley: The goddamn eating! (laughter)
Me: Keeping up with your nutrition?
Ashley: Yes! Like I tell everybody, our bodies are our grown up science fair project. And we all work so different. What may work for me, isn’t going to work for everybody. What works for you, may not work for me. That has been my biggest struggle, figuring out how my body wants to be fed, not the way some one else wants to feed my body.
Me: Are you finding balance with that?
Ashley: Yes. I piece together my program from all the things I have tried, and what has worked for me.
Me: Where do you feel your greatest advances have come through this.
Ashley: My biggest advance, is that even on a bad day I love myself more now, than I ever have. I have been through a lot of stuff in my childhood, as has everyone. It’s the love for myself. I couldn’t be happier. Of course there are those things you nit pick about yourself, but I think at some point, it is better to embrace what you have, and love what you have been given. To Love YOURSELF! If you don’t love yourself, how are you going to love anyone else? Another struggle I have is practicing what I preach. We preach so much as trainers, sometimes we forget to practice what we preach. Who are we to give advice if we can’t take our own advice.
Though Ashley has only been a trainer for a relatively short time, she is obviously dedicated to it. She has had to make some comprimises and adjustments to her life, to embody this as not only a life style, but a carreer path; and she isn’t looking back. Her desire to impact families in this community is inspiring, and I wish her well with the task of building interest and participation.
If you attend Fit Body Boot Camp in Cheyenne, and/or you have kids, make sure to express interest in seeing a summer kids program. The more interest shown, the more potential of getting the program up and running, sooner than later.
Rarely do I read such a lengthy article, and agree with the whole thing, while simultaneously changing my beliefs and admitting I have been doing things wrong.
Johann Hari uses this article to explore that “.. the opposite of addiction is not sobriety. It is human connection. ”
Our Culture has a distorted view on what addiction is, and sometimes it can seem that what is “repetitive” or “habitual” is actually classified to be addictive behavior.
In our current culture, addiction is mutually exclusive and associated to “unhealthy behavior.”
As Johann Hari had his own reasons to explore the truths behind addiction, I was enthralled at how he was able to empathetically articulate the single reason which leads to addictive behavior; environmental loneliness. Lack of support.
He mentions a study on rats. Rats that lived in healthy social environments chose not to ingest drug laced water, where as isolated rats chose to spend much of their time intoxicated; however when the sad isolated rat was returned to the healthy social environment, the rats avoided the laced water.
Additionally Hari mentions that 95% of opiate addicted Vietnam vets, were able to return to America and live productive lives, drug free with out rehab.
He poses the hypothesis that when people feel happy, supported and safe, they have no need to externally stimulate their opiate receptors, which inherently block pain… emotional or physical.
The propaganda and programming we have toward addicts, is that they need to be isolated, and cut off, until they can “get their shit in order.” And by the hypothesis of Hari, this leads to counter productive results, and actually enables an addict to continue their use, in order to avoid facing their isolation.
Our outdated views on addiction, do not take into (enough) account how unique each individual is, in their own chemistry and motivating life experience.
This begs to ask the question, is there such a thing as a “healthy” addiction?
Take for instance endorphins. Also known as endogenous morphine, which actually means “morphine like substance, naturally released within the body.” We all have opiate receptors in our brain, and things like sex, running, chocolate and extreme physical exertion can cause a natural flood of endorphins in to the blood and brain.
If you have ever heard of “runners high,” it is the point where the body becomes so infused with endorphins that begins to feel damn near invincible. The habit of running and naturally releasing the “feel good” hormone can become addicting; yet have you ever heard of Runners Anonymous? You never hear about runners needing to go to support groups for running too much.
Groups of runners are actually quite supportive of one another, regardless of level.
Addictions are often micro analyzed from the aspect of external introduction of chemicals, however it appears addiction has more to do with an individuals own chemistry and environment mixed with repetitive behavior, than it does with drugs.
Ask yourself this; Do you pick at your face in the mirror while talking shit to yourself?
Do you constantly self deprecate?
Do you cut yourself?
Do you compulsively gamble?
Do you binge and then purge?
Do you eat to console yourself?
Do you throw up after you eat?
Do you bite your finger nails, or click a pen?
This, along with a bunch of other drugless activities can be seen as addictive, depending on the individual (to others it could just be seen as annoying or burdensome.)
Depending on the individual, each of these activities can be soothing, and depending on how it all came about, can stimulate the brain to release endorphins. Numbing and soothing the “addict.”
Endorphins are not mutually exclusive to positive triggers. Endorphins are also released in when the brain when we take risks or go into “fight or flight mode.”
It can almost be deduced that all of us suffer from one addiction or another; if we do anything repetitively and find it comforting or get high from it. It is the brains response to seeking balance and to avoid pain.
And while, those of us who are struggling to get in shape, may not consider our previous stagnant lifestyles as “addictions;” there is something to say about the levels of our own hormones and chemistry which can mirror addiction which led to being unhappy with the self. This is how couch potatoes become athletes… they find a new way to trigger natural stimulation, that is easily attained. The perception pain shifts, and physical aches become worth the natural chemical rush.
If you find yourself, unhappy with your current state of things, and filling the void or blocking the pain; I encourage you to find a supportive activity to get those healthy triggered endorphins running through you. Start viewing your own body as a natural pharmacy that can be adapt genic.
Realize if you are being drawn to dissociative behaviors, something needs to change in your life, because that behavior is born from a lack of feeling supported and uncomfortable in your environment. Lucky for you, change always comes from within, and this may be just the reminder you needed…You CAN do this
Can you become addicted to hating on yourself? Yes, you can, especially if you live an unsupported lifestyle. Does it have to be permanent? No. You just have to find the courage to take the first step.
I know all the “new age philosophies;” I have even shared them. But no matter how much you think you know; can prepare you for unavoidable sadness.
“Oh Crikey, Madge! Just turn that frown upside down! It’s all perspective! Change your view, and You change YOU!”
Fuck you. Fuck you all and your optimism directly directed at a situation you have NO clue about. Fuck you for telling me that I shouldn’t hate it… or maybe I should work on myself before I try to work on others; or maybe even “everything seems worse when you are in it.”
I am well aware of this temporary situation. And I hate it. I hate that it adds so much pain to my already bucket full of painful life experience.
My life has been an ongoing struggle of appeasing my child self with my adult self. Imagine having that issue of a brain malady that makes you forget on a daily basis; what happened yesterday. And then having to daily settle yourself with an abrupt realization, day in, and day out. Yeah like that Sandler/Barrymore movie.
Only instead, the story is of a broken grandchild, whose best child hood days happened at Gram and Gramps, thirty years ago; and Gramps is gone and Grams is loosing her beans.
I walk away from all kinds of stuff; but I can’t walk away from this.
My Gram WANTS ME, NEEDS ME, RECOGNIZES ME, asks about ME and my welfare.
She has lost so much in the last three years, and her mind is starting to go; but me, despite my lackluster attitude, IS there. And I don’t want to leave someone who is losing their mind and seeks me out (despite all my flaws); I don’t want to erase yet another one of her external hard drives of relation and information.
It feels like she literally survives off the recognition of what she shares with those she has most relation with.
When I was younger, and in my more, “immortal potential” mindset; I wished and hoped my grandma would make it to the point we could de-age her, and then she could be my best friend forever. Now she wonders on a daily basis if I hate her.
I don’t hate her. I love her so much, that I hate everything about her life at the present point in time.
I hate that my uncle and I are the only ones who see her daily. I hate that no one else seems to care, because they have “their own life.” I hate how other family members can pick and choose what to do in their life, because it matters to them; and they say she matters but they never make the time, soa visit here is never on the list of “things to do,” unless things look grim.
I hate that I feel so alone in all this. I hate that I don’t have a partner or a best friends to occassionally laugh with and let sleeping dogs lie when the hour gets late enough.
I hate that I am doing this partly so my uncle can still enjoy his life, because I think he deserves that, and this job is really big, and he spent so much time with my grandpa in a care facility. I just don’t think he should have to do that twice. I also don’t think he should do it alone (because like me, he is unattached and creative.)
I hate that everyone involved has their best memories as a family, together. And that familytogether no longer exists, and is literally in it’s final throws of existence.
I hate that there is nothing I can do, to stop the process; or turn back the clock.
And worst yet. I hate seeing;experiencing and knowing all this, while still feeling completely incapable of remedy.
I hate my life.
I love my grandma.
My stupid “new age subscription” would tell me to leave, because it doesn’t suit me… but that belief would not be asking my grandma what she wants. And fuck all, she wants me here because she has always adored me. And the feeling is mutual.
Maybe I am just doing what my mother would have done have she not died at 26. Who knows.
I do know I haven’t been able to commit to anyone in my life, but for some reason I have commited to this, and it hurts, and I hate it.
Everyday I am on the brink of crying, and I hold it back. And someday, sometime down the road those flood gates aren’t going to be able to take much more. I fuckin hate that too.
I am not a martyr. In fact, I am the biggest bitch of self I have ever seen… because there is no book to read that can fully equip someone for this. And those that do exist, will break “new age” programs right away.
Remember how we were taught to tell the truth? With people who have dementia, it is encourages to NOT tell the truth about certain things. I suck at this because I lost my censor years ago, and like I said, my grandma has been one of my best friends.
I don’t lie, much less to my best friends. In fact, sometimes I really upset them by telling the truth. This is now a daily occurrence with just pone person.
What the fuck? My child self just can’t believe it. Her mantra, is “this can’t even be real right now.”
I feel like I can’t do anything right. And I don’t think it is me, being too hard on myself. I think it is me being REALISTIC about my flaws and attractions. I understand that I do the best I can, but it is never enough; solely based on the fact that this sadness seems irrational because I have learn to justify past experience. And knowing I could do more, but not having the energy is purely self defeating.
All in all, I have not truly learned to “clear it” and move on. But “clearing” is a new age thing too… and maybe there are some things that we CAN NOT clear; we just have to accept as building blocks to our personalities.
I don’t want to “clear this and move on.” I want to face it, reconcile it; and use it for the betterment of my soul. High hopes for a soul that feels so dark.
I don’t talk about this stuff, because IT SUCKS! No one wants to hear this. I want to share some sort of triumph and add inspiration to the world. This feels fruitless; but you! You creative people may find some inspiration for humanity in reading this. You may feel some spark of recognition in the feeling. If you do, follow it. The world can always use positive inspiration even if it comes from the pain of others. We are all artists, and sometimes those who don’t create enough, need to fill space for those who have lost their inspiration to create.
It’s been like that now for 3 years and today is one of those days.
I made a mistake today. I did something that I had purposefully been avoiding, knowing if I did it, it would make my head spin and send me out of control emotionally. But I went ahead and did it anyway.
I weighed myself.
I didn’t really need to do it. I can look at myself with or without a mirror, and tell with certainty, shit ain’t right. But I did it anyway, as some sort of sick confirmation of my misery.
Over the last 3 years I have lived the most stagnant life I have ever had the privilege of living. I take care of my 87 year old grandmother. And though I love her dearly, my chosen obligation has absolutely derailed my previous life styles.
I spend 90 percent of my time at home within easy reach of my grandmother. And the small luxuries of my previous lives that I have maintained are drinking heady beers, and eating amazing home cooked food.
My weight wouldn’t matter as much if those were not the only two little bliss factors in my life.
I am use to being quite social, active, and involved in mentally and physically engaging activities. I am use to working hard, and playing hard, metabolizing both alcohol and experience.
Instead I have become well versed in Netflix, and drinking alone. Not drinking to get drunk, mind you. Drinking because I love beer.
Today is day 5 of not drinking. My body is going through a disgusting skin detox.
I stood naked before my shower, looking in the mirror, muttering to myself, “I really shouldn’t weigh myself. It is a bad idea.”
I responded by pulling the scale out of the cabinet. Stepping up, looking down. Which led to crying.
I know that concepts of beauty are not entirely tied into how much a person weighs. Beauty is a thing from within, that is sometimes evident without. I do not feel beautiful on either side of the coin. I have been strategically hiding behind costumes in order to play a role of comfort and confidence.
I have seen myself be physically content with my body before, and it is the best feeling EVER! Why? Because it becomes one less thing to worry about on a day to day basis. When I am happy with my physical appearance, I feel more capable of handing other aspects of living. No one likes the girl who is constantly worried about how she looks because she doesn’t have the confidence to radiate.
Facing the truth of how my body has morphed over the last 3 years, happened about a month ago. I stood to a challenge and went to an comedy open mic. I recorded my set. The set wasn’t bad at all, but I couldn’t get over how my once toned arms, radiated white like big wings on a bird. They seem huge.
I use to joke that women need great girl friends that will let them know when they start to get back fat. I haven’t had any girl friends around lately to remind me of my appearance. I mean what do I have to look good for when I am at home with an elderly lady 90% of the time?
The hardest part of all of this, is realizing that how I look and feel is a byproduct of me not being in the right place for me. The situation has muddled my once sharp brain, into a reclusive and miserable person. I don’t like it at all. It is hard to radiate beauty when feeling so despondent and under inspired.
I am facing the fact, that the time is drawing near to leave. I have to go.
I love my grandma with all of my heart, and I want to see her be safe and healthy, but at what cost?
I have cost my own health and well being to be with her in some respite.
People treat me like I am doing some sort of martyrdom in this experience. But I do not feel like a martyr. I feel that I haven’t done as well as I could or should have. And that feeling isn’t getting any better. I wouldn’t be surprised if all this gain has something to do with the massive amounts of cortisol I am undoubtedly producing within my stagnant stress barrier.
I have become so stuck, I am not sure what direction to go to get out of it. I just know I need to move, and shift, and stretch, and run far, far away from the anchor I have bound myself to.
I would love to spend a month with raw foodies, with active, patient lives. I would like to take the time to reprogram my neuroplasticity into a vibe more along where my heart sings.
I feel inclined to run back to other versions of my past, while truly desiring to make something new and redefined for myself. But I don’t know where to go, I don’t know who to ask. And maybe I won’t, until I just get out of the parameter I have found myself choosing to be stuck inside.
I want to feel beauty, and beautiful. I want to radiate more than I ever have before. I want to make something happen, or be apart of what is happening. A feeling that would be in juxtaposition of how the last three years have felt like, waiting.
I am too young to be waiting on death, and that is the place I have been.
I know I can’t wait on health and wellness to find me. And I know I can’t wait for myself to just get over what I am feeling.