Cracked

This is one of those moments where I wish I had a Dom to turn to. To give me direction, to give me palpable purpose, to be the bridge between my aspirations and reality. To be that gentle hand that turns rough when called for. Because I may have grown into a woman in most respects, but I have allowed myself to become so hollow and fragile without even realizing it. 

After posts like the last-- ones I have come to refer to as mental vomit (as in, after you get it out of your system, you feel better) -- I do indeed feel better. And I did, somewhat. I got what I can only describe as my life, my essence back. I felt again. And then I hit the big wall and shut down completely. Like, bipolar only smile-at-work-get-in-car-fuck-the-world-I-hate-you. Kinda how I felt a few months back when the pain got to me. 

Honestly, I wish I were a more positive person. 

Anyway, I was feeling pretty shitty about myself and why I couldn't tolerate more stuff and be a better person when I got off work today when I learned that I had apparently agreed to help with way more than I had bargained for. Long story short, mom's redoing the backyard, painting, repairing, etc and asked if I could be available. I answered in the affirmative, but dates and times and specifics were never discussed. As you might have guessed... It's an accident waiting to happen. Come three days before, she starts dropping hints and I'm completely clueless. Enter tonight: the day before and she tells me the whole shpeel of what's really going on. I apparently agreed to be at the house with the dogs the entire day, five days straight (and I have work and other appointments... Which I've canceled for this God damned thing). I get the massive breakdown of missed conversations and a lot of assumptions between both parties but hell. The whole blowup of her throwing what can only be described as a panicked tantrum and yelling hysterically that she's totally unsupported, while I just say OK and take it....

I'm caught between how little it matters and how frightened I feel. How I don't feel safe as a person, how little my life matters in the grand scheme of things and how (for the moment) a majority of me would really like to throw in the towel. 

And while that part of me would love to go down any number of the in-the-end unpleasant imaginings my brain has concocted I mother fucking can't. Seriously, I physically and mentally can't. Even now when I have had all kinds of negative self talk rolling around in my head and have even teared up a few times the gosh darn stubborn light of me won't go out. 

I'm still requesting a hug. From a really yummy smelling man. And a kiss and a snuggle would be nice too. A good murmuring of "my pet" thrown in for good measure. 

Even in times of struggle I am spoiled and demanding. It is the way of things and I am OK with that. 

The Wall

I've hit what most runners like to call "the wall". The mental block that tells you, "you can't go on. Everything hurts. Just stop. PLEEEEEEEEEEEZ?!?!" Normally, I'm a fan of the wall (in fitness). Or more accurately, I'm a fan of mustering up whatever I've got in me and kicking down that God damn wall to find the land filled with rainbows and a bath.

Well, that's not quite how things have been going since the weekend. It would appear I've slipped from tired to just plain sloth. And while sloths are cute, they are rather slow, sleep most of the time, and only poop once a week [video]. Me? I've slipped into my rarely eating habits again for some unknown reason, sleep until I have to get up, and lie in unless absolutely necessary. My old skills as a star procrastinator have aided these new habits.

Basically everything is in terms of "I have tos," which makes for rather interesting conversations with myself of what classifies as "I have to".

Out to Lunch

Good morning all! I've been rather absent from the internet lately. Mostly for the very fact that I've been quite proactive in life, funny how that one works doesn't it? 

I'm not ignoring you, I promise.

I've gone back to work and that takes up a good chunk of time... mostly because the recovery time after multiple days in a row or a full 8 hour shift is about 20 hours. The wonderful news is there is progress on that front as well. I've realized life is like that: you identify a problem area of your life and you tackle it until it becomes manageable... and add it to your Filofax of good habits. If it needs tweaking over time, one adjusts and refocuses.

The other reason I've been staying away? This single business. It's been slightly getting to me. Not that I need someone right now, and I know God has his own timetable that I would rather follow, but my first instinct is to shy away. There is no end goal, my submissiveness isn't a priority and I don't have anyone of authority in my life to say otherwise so... the kinky part of me has been filed away somewhat. Do I get lonely? Of course I do, but that's a reflection of my own fulfillment in life rather than anything else. Do I get horny? Well, yes, occasionally.

But the whole point of this process I'm going through is this grand goal I have, chipping away at it one moment at a time.

207.2

That's my weight*.

It's the heaviest I've ever been.

I've always being an active gal, even if I overate or binged, you'd bet that I would work at least a good portion of it off. Hell, I'm really lucky that if I actually workout and eat right my body does this magical transformation thing and reverts quickly back to what I like to call "my healthy baseline."

I got injured back in the end of February. That means almost 8 months of basic inactivity. And lots... I do mean LOTS of binge eating bad bad food. Food to make myself feel better, foods that were easier than walking around a supermarket high out of my head on pain killers to mask a level of pain I've blocked out it was so consuming. I've basically gained 40 lbs. since my injury. And it's time I put a stop to it.

This is no longer some girl's struggle for weight loss, the symptoms I'm exhibiting are those OF AN ADDICT. 

I dodged alcoholism, a coke habit (seriously, ew, never took it), and even a pill addiction (which my parents used all three & more -- my dad still uses).  And yet the feelings and habits I have come to associate with unhealthy foods... they fall more in the category of "eating disorder."  I am fully aware of the power I have given to food. I am fully aware of how dejected I get after a "workout" (translation: a 5-10 min SLOW walk, if that).

I'm also fully aware and ready to confront the severe negativity I have towards my body. How I've noticed lately I look at my stomach and say/ think how ugly I am... when in reality I'm still fairly attractive. If you saw me, you wouldn't know I was over 200 lbs. And that healthy, active girl... she's still in here. My mouth waters just thinking about a nice bowl of spinach and carrots (I have a serious love affair with those two); I still get jazzed about walking (even if I'm limping after 5 minutes); I still dream about doing another 5k, 10k, half-marathon, marathon, and yes, even a triathlon.

And what's been my mantra? What helps me when I get overwhelmed by change and all the other things I have to improve upon in my life?

*Weight fluctuates, it's not the most accurate way to tell progress. But my clothes have gotten tighter too, so, ew.