September 25, 2016

I’m so fucking fat. How could I have possibly let myself get like this? I wasn’t even this fat when I was pregnant. I have no willpower anymore. I can’t pass up anything with sugar in it. I eat like a pig. I’m hungry all the time and I just give in. I hate how I look and feel. I have no clothes that fit. I look like a slob all the time. I hate seeing pictures of myself. I have a fat, flat bum. Even my face and neck are fat. No wonder my husband doesn’t want me. I wouldn’t want me either. 

I don’t want me. Any of me. 

There’s too much noise in my house. Everyone seems to yell all the time. I just want to escape from everything. I want to leave for a bit, take a break from my body and my life. Live in the clouds and treetops. I’m stressed. I’m anxious. I’m sad. 

I’m done. What do I even have to keep trying for anyway? What quality of life can I even strive for? What the fuck is the point? I’m in such a bad mood. It’s gone on for 3 days now. I’ve been really good about not taking it out on my family, but today I’m just done with that. My husband does some pretty stupid shit sometimes and I feel like I can get mad about it today. Until he cleans the bathroom (his job, which I’ve done for him for the last 3 weeks), I have no desire to not take my grumpiness out on him. 

We had my sons 5th birthday party this morning. I’m too grumpy to say what a great time it was, instead I’m just glad it’s over. It seemed like so much work. Everything seems like so much fucking work when you feel like shit all the time. I’m so done. 

Yesterday I was actually thankful for being mad, if thats believable at all. I was happy that I had the energy to feel angry. Usually I’m too tired to feel angry, and settle somewhere more on melancholy or disappointment. I’m not thankful today. I’m just back to being downright pissed off. 

And very, very fat. 


Old Habits Die Hard

Sept 13, 3016

I’m sitting outside Rona, gulping a large Tim Hortons coffee and trying to convince myself that I have the strength and energy to go inside and pick paint colours. How much of my life is now spent prepping for the expenditure of energy to do mundane daily tasks? Whenever I try to think back to when I didn’t have to consider these things I want to cry. 
Yesterday was a bad day. I took my son to the hospital to get his cast changed. He had a wonderful time, talking with anyone and everyone who would listen to him. He could practically have gone without me, I really only confirmed my phone number to the receptionist and asked the doctor two questions. It’s healing well and will be as good as if it never happened, but he still does need a new cast for three more weeks.
On the way to the elevator we ran into Dr. P, the neurologist who unceremoniously dumped me, without giving me a chance to ask where to turn for answers, or what to do next. We recognized each other of course, and I said a short, court “Hi” before he could address me. I wanted control. I wanted to show he held no power over me. He smiled and looked down at his feet and my son and I stepped into the elevator. I hope he spent the rest of the day feeling like shit. He likely didn’t, as I’m just another worthless name on his charts, just another woman who can’t control her emotions and lets them manifest into physical symptoms. He has such a kind smile, twinkling eyes and beautiful caramel skin but he really is an asshole. If he’s not an asshole I still hope he felt like shit, but channeled that energy into helping another patient that he may otherwise have brushed off with the all encompassing diagnosis of “conversion disorder”.

I spent the rest of the day in bed. I was exhausted. More than likely from the combination of walking all the way around the lake (my summer goal!) two days before, as well as a busy weekend, but the broken part of myself wondered if it was simply because of the run-in with Dr. P. This is what happens when your symptoms aren’t validated by a diagnosis. More emotional destruction and pain. I manage to make chicken noodle soup for dinner, and headed right back to bed. 
I’d much rather spend another day in bed today. My legs feel heavy, the coffee is doing nothing for me, my chest hurts and my eyes keep blurring, but my will won’t let me. I’m so tired of being this tired.


September 1, 2016

She just kept going. It was so hard, she was so tired. Her legs burned with the fire of a thousand torches. Her lungs were at capacity. Every breath felt like it might be her last. Her heart was pounding. The others around her were tired too she could tell, but they still were gaining on her, passing her, lapping her in some instances. She knew there was no chance of her winning anymore, but her goal was to at least not finish last. She had to make it there, there was no way she could give up now. She closed her eyes for just a second and stepped on a pebble. It was minuscule but enough to break her stride and cause her ankle to roll, almost forcing her down on the ground. She managed to steady herself and, with more resolve than ever, looked straight ahead to her finish line. She couldn’t help but slow down at this point. Her body just wasn’t going to let her do it any other way. The goal had to change again, now all she strived for was a clean finish. She wanted to get there without hurting herself. Her body slowed down even more, there was no way she could control it with sheer willpower anymore. She stumbled again. She was so tired. She’d heard others talk about being tired, but didn’t imagine they knew what it really meant. How could their tiredness compare with what she felt at that moment. She was getting closer. Soon she could rest. She’d cross that line and get the reward. Still the others kept passing her. She felt defeated, sad that this was what she’d become. Upset about the new goal, while being aware of how necessary it was. More burning in her legs woke her resolve. She really had no choice. She couldn’t just stop here, she’d gone so far and worked so hard. She repeated her mantra to herself over and over again; one foot in front of another. Finally, when she was sure one more step may just be the end of her she reached her goal and threw open the car door. Practically falling inside it she let her body go limp in the drivers seat, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Grocery shopping shouldn’t be this hard.