Today is Wednesday, April 27, and today is bare minimum day. I did the bare minimum for my workout, I did bare minimum for work, and I’ll do the bare minimum of living my best life today.
It started Monday when I weighed myself which was a huge, HUGE mistake. I apparently gained 12 pounds in five weeks. There is no way I’m eating 15K extra calories a week to make this happen. Have I binged? No. Have I not had a good meal? Yes. Sorry, but the popcorn gods call when I’m at the movie theater.
Could I do better? Of course. But I have been doing better. This week marks week seven of three day a week workouts and my eating has cleaned up. Not as considerably as I have liked but I’m not bingeing and I’m making better choices. Yogurt, strawberries, bananas, sliced almonds, and protein powder for breakfast. Some kind of large salad for lunch. Chicken and some veg for dinner. Dessert is usually caffeine free coke or a sugar free pudding cup.
If I’m feeling especially bad, we go to Los Aztecas for dinner.
(That’s tonight by the way. I’m just not having it today.)
It’s more than likely water gain. The meals that are not the best choices are chock full of sodium (I’m looking at you Raising Cane’s chicken tendies) and I pack on the water weight like crazy. Friday when I see my doc, I’m going to ask for water pills because 12 pounds in five weeks is insane.
Also, I weigh in on Friday to start the official check-ins toward my surgery. Yay for finding out how fat I am.
I had a dream last night about high school and my sense of not belonging and being bullied. I think about the fatness as a way to keep people away from me. Some twat opined that if I wanted to keep people away, I shouldn’t get tattoos. Um, the tattoos are for me not for the public at large. They tell a story of my history. Reminders of who I was and what I have become.
Back to the light nightmare: Pinpoint decisions that I now wonder about along with what happened to the people I used to want to be versus where they are now. I looked some of them up and the same crowd follows the other. They seem to be having fulfilling productive lives while I wrench over in mental anguish about things that happened over 30 years ago.
They probably forgot who I was.
It feels like I’m bobbing up and down in water, holding on for dear life to a piece of wood, trying to swim to safety. I’m pulled down by the past and my thoughts nipping at my feet. My own accomplishments seem like nothing even though what I have accomplished is amazing. I have a good job with a great company, and I make a good living. I’m in a stable relationship with someone I finally trust, and I have great core friends around me.
I’m tired of this narrative of nothingness and lack of self-contentment. I’m tired of living under this brick house like I’m the wicked witch of the west and my feet curl back as I die.
My session yesterday with my therapist was shortened because I could not speak. I could not articulate what I wanted to say because my brain gawped into the distance. My therapist was concerned when I get like this; I’m floundering and in trouble but I’m not in trouble. No suicidal ideation or thoughts to harm myself.
I’m just exhausted of a broken brain and a half-lived life.