Down to the nitty gritty

I'm losing it. It. Everything. After seeing Simone's video tonight I nearly broke down in tears thinking...fuck man...that's me right there. Only she's worked harder than I have. She works her ass off at the gym and making sure she gets her steps in, etc. I don't. I don't make it a point to exercise because every time I do I see a gain. And that shit is going the wrong way. I keep hearing that I need to do it but I know my body, I know what's worked for me, exercise has not been it. For the time being I need to just control my diet. If I can get a handle on that shit and get closer to where I want to be, not AT goal, but more than halfway, then I'll take up exercising again. That way a gain isn't going to destroy me as much.

I don't know why I wrote that. It's an excuse. Completely valid in my mind but still an excuse. I'm angry that I work out and see a gain. So I boycott. Does it do me any good? Probably not. But you know what? I don't fucking care anymore.

I got a comment on my last post, that I haven't yet approved because I really don't know how to take it. When I first read it I felt tears pricking my eyes...I was hurt. But this person is a pretty shoot from the hip kind of person, straight up, straight out, blunt. I appreciate that, I really do, but since I didn't know how to take it, I didn't want to feel completely humiliated either by posting it. For all to see this person calling me out on some things I can control, others I simply can not.

I am a woman. I'm not clinically bipolar, but I've never gone to a doctor either. I have this thing about asking for help. It took me imagining myself pushing my crying infant in his stroller into the river before I went into my doctor's office begging for drugs because I couldn't deal with the post partum depression on my own, and if I didn't get some kind of help, I was going to kill myself. Because though I visualized that shit...I knew I'd kill myself before hurting him. My angel. To this day I still want to plunge a knife into my heart for ever having those thoughts cross my mind. I hate myself still. It wasn't something I could control...but I feel I should have been able to.

Where was I going with this? Oh...right. I am a woman. I am hormonal. That is something I can not control. I wish I could, but I just can't. There are days that you can catch me smiling and happy and joking around...but they've become few and far between. One of my favorite readers, that quickly became a very good friend, calls me his Wednesday. Because mostly I'm cynical and dark, bitter. Like an expensive chocolate. Go figure.

I read all these blogs out there. Happy and excited and oh so positive...and I smile and feel great for them. But that isn't me. I find it hard to find anything positive to write about these days. Hell even the freak stories have disappeared. There's no excitement. Nothing changes. Nothing notable happens. My life has become stagnant. And I just don't know how to put a positive spin on that.

All anyone hears about anymore from me is blah blah roller coaster, blah blah up and down, blah blah blah. I'm surprised I have any readers left really. Who wants to read about nothing? About negative nothings no less? And like Simone...I feel like a fraud. Who am I to encourage or give advice when all I can do is hate on myself for the shit job I'm doing. Cuz that's what it is. A shit job.

For days now all I've wanted to do is curl into a ball and hide under a rock. I don't know whether to attribute that to the hormones or to life in general. I'm not happy, I haven't been happy for some time, I think a lot of it is the toxicity that is the city I live in. I need out. Like yesterday. And I get a lot of people telling me "oh you'll feel better when you get back to Wisconsin in October, it's not much longer". Dude, yeah, that'll help...for a couple days. Then I'll start missing my husband because I'll be there for three weeks and he won't. Then I'll have to say goodbye...again. I've been saying goodbye for eight years. I don't want to do it anymore. My nephew doesn't know me, my brother's baby is due on my son's birthday, he or she won't know me either...my son isn't nearly as close to my family as I feel he could and would be if we were home.

Would I have started this journey or stuck with it if I had stayed in Wisconsin to begin with? I don't know. I can't honestly say that I would have. I'm happy to be going home weighing less than I did when I left it right after high school...but does that change anything? I don't know.

I just don't know. I'm so lost. And as un-alone as I know I am...I feel so so utterly alone. We need a freaking helpline guys. Because blogs do it...just sometimes it's not enough. Now please understand that I'm not saying the comments of encouragement and support aren't so unbelievably wonderful, they are, really, but I feel like a little duck lost at sea. I know there are others like me....but there are miles between us....and sometimes the words are more than enough...and sometimes not.

I'm sorry. This post is all over the place. Scattered everywhere. But that's me right now. Completely scattered.