Despite hitting the gym four days a week, sometimes twice a day, for three weeks and not eating all that bad, I have only lost a pound and a half. Even two pounds would feel good, but a pound and a half!? I am so sick of being fat! I refuse to give up and if it takes me five years to lose a hundred pounds then goddammit in five years I am going to look good! I am recommitting myself to dieting and drinking my million gallons of water every day. Kale smoothies every day and water, water, water. Healthy meals and more water.
Alarm bells may be ringing, I am not hypomanic. I know when you hear I am going to the gym twice a day, that has to be the first thing you think and it is totally reasonable. I am just that sick of weighing over two hundred pounds. I go in the morning because that is when I have enough energy to drag my ass there, after about a pot of coffee. I have tricked myself into the evenings. I take the girls for various classes in the evenings and since I am already there I can at least talk myself into doing the bike for a half hour. I really think that extra cardio in the evenings is going to count for a lot in the long run. I hope anyway. Maybe sore muscles make you retain water, because man, I am sore. Everything is sore. I am not half-assing anything at the gym. Monday and Thursday are leg day for the next two weeks, as well as five days a week attendance. Have you ever seen a two-hundred thirty pound thirty-five year old woman do squats?. I have, because there are mirrors everywhere. I hate those mirrors. I could convince myself I am on par with half the people in there if it wasn’t for those blasted mirrors. I am shocked by my reflection every time I see it. I just can’t believe it has gotten this bad. And it is. Bad. I’m all belly and boob on a sturdy foundation of pock marked thigh meat. And my five pound chin, I swear it should have it’s own zip code. My cute little behind has been swallowed by my spare tire turned tractor tire. I have the butt of a ninety-year old woman, and I have seen plenty of ninety year old butts working as a nurse, ever so briefly it may have been. So….Squats, squats and more squats. Mirror or no mirror, pretty Viking guy or not. There are some cuties in that damn gym. I am near paralyzed with fear when I go in there and there’s a load of middle aged men in my weight room, add in the occasional hottie and it is a wonder I get anything done.
Why do attractive people make me so nervous? I have met plenty of mean ass ugly people that have made me feel like shit about myself, why does it matter if a pretty woman or handsome guy should speak to me, why do I immediately go dumb and awkward? Literally stuttering and red-faced, no joke. I hope to god my disability judge is a ugly old lady with two heads so I can speak something other than gibberish. I want to see everyone that will be in the room ahead of time so that I can request new people if they are too pretty. I feel at such a disadvantage going into this hearing, I have no idea what to expect and so much of my life is riding on the approval of a total stranger. When I ask myself why I think I deserve disability, I have a hard time articulating my reasoning. I am far from the place I was in when I filed originally, but I still have so far to go. I googled a lawyer from the Home-Depot parking lot to get the ball rolling when I couldn’t bring myself to go into the store with my husband. I just sat in the car crying and answering their yes no questions. I knew I would never be a functional person again and that was my rock bottom on the job front. Three years later I have made a lot of progress from then and I ask myself , couldn’t I just flip burgers? I could see myself doing that, if there were no other people and no standards to uphold. People scare the shit out of me, driving has become a nightmare. Leaving the house is a struggle, how can I overcome my fears and anxiety and socialize with co-workers? Bathing on a regular basis is usually a job requirement. Then I think about working from home, customer service or something for amazon. It seems possible until I think about deadlines and quotas, just having to do something at a certain time every day, having a boss judging me, possibly being critical of me and my job performance. One negative comment could deflate me for a week, one rude coworker could make my life a living hell. What if I fail? Get fired? Get manic and quit? I can’t even think about it. The control I have over my life and environment right now have a lot to do with the progress I have made. I have filtered out negative people and influences, taken away the chance for a less than ideal work environment to rule my life. I am in control in my little bubble and I can handle this, sometimes, I don’t think I could handle more. The hurdles of daily life being so insurmountable some days that I just stay in bed, especially on adulting Fridays.
16 hours later
I know I spent the beginning of this post expounding on the fact that I am not hypomanic…well…it is 4AM and I haven’t slept. This never happens to me, unless I am in fact severely hypomanic. When I could doze off, I was dreaming about my future beautiful locs and woke up to google more how to’s and check if the local loctitian had gotten back to me, doodled on my phone and tossed and turned, finally I just gave up. I have become fixated with the idea of having dreadlocks and doubt if I will wait the year I spouted I would wait. My holier than bipolar attitude should have warned me, I should have seen the mania in my writing first off. I can’t keep a post on one subject and just ramble on. Second- the gym, twice a day, really!? I never have that much energy. Don’t get me wrong, I am exhausted physically but my mind is racing. My recent spate of short-temperedness was not a symptom of depression, as I thought, but actually a manifestation of my impatience. I have been so wrapped up in being depressed that I didn’t see the signs for what they were. I have an appointment in February to see my primary care doctor to get the referral for mental health, then who knows how long to get in there. This could easily get out of hand. We are dead broke and I was just contemplating spending five hundred dollars on my hair!? For fucks sake! This couldn’t be happening at a less opportune time. Tax money is coming in and I am going to want to either go on a shopping spree or pay off all our bills. You might think paying off bills is a good idea but, not if you don’t leave a few pennies for food and gas. Which is what I always do. Great. Manic me while hubby is deployed, no wonder Viking guy at the gym looked so good. There hasn’t been a sexual fiber in my being for months but random guy with pony tail gets my panties wet!? How did the switch flip so quickly? I swear I was ready to give up two weeks ago. This explains the cigarette smoking and wine drinking, why else would I drop 5 years of sobriety like so much baggage? It has to be the stress I have been under. The move back home, the deployment, the disability letter, the collections notices, baby has been sick for two weeks, my preteen is being a monster. Too much stress, too many neurotransmitters, too much dopamine.
So where does this leave me? What do I do with myself now? Second guess every decision, ask my mom before I do anything, including dreads, buying cars or shit should I even be driving. Maybe it’s not every body else on the road who has become a maniac, it’s me. I’m the maniac. Epiphany. This also explains why I have been secretly harboring the belief that my pancreas is riddled with cancer and is a black tarry mass eating me from the inside out.