So it's, like, 80° this morning. WTF? This ain't Georgia, what gives Mother Nature? Oh, you're unhappy with the head baboon in Washington & you're trying to burn up all the grass in his golf courses? Well you know he'll just take all the water he wants to water that grass. He always does whatever he wants. No. Matter. What. Just like Cartman. Only it is not amusing when he does it. But I digress. I lose focus so easily. Well, duh. Why address my issues/problems when I can just bitch abt. something I can do nothing abt. Wait. That sort of feels like something. It's that same sort of feeling. Like I just cannot make things change. The futility maybe? Anxiety. Anger. Frustration. Shame. Sadness. Horror at watching history repeat itself. Dread. Fear. Fear of the unknown, the known, change. Paralysation. Feel so close but can't quite grasp it. Like he's doing all this shit & I end up mirroring him. Vaguely. He's out of control - I'm out of control. He lets shit fall out of his mouth uncontrollably, I shove shit into mine, uncontrollably. There's that word again - control. Neither of us show any restraint. OMG, I'm just like him. Fuck fuck fuck fuck! How can this be? If this doesn't/can't help me make some changes, I honest-to-fuck don't think anything can. I'll have to go on my 600 Pound Life. I know I'm nowhere near that, & I don't make light of those folks' problems. But the one thing that stays in my mind is that I wouldn't have anyone to take care of me if I got that big, plus I wouldn't have any privacy or freedom. A lot like the struggle I had giving up my recreational opioid use. I was so afraid of crossing that line into total addiction. I'd sort of daydream abt what it'd be like to not care abt anything but chasing the high. But I knew I couldn't do that. There would be absolutely no coming back. Without fear & shame, I'd fucking be lost. I think I haven't reached the point w/my weight yet. I haven't faced that line. The point is, I don't want to have to get to that place to be able to get a grip. The opioids were a lot like smoking - I just knew I wanted to be shed of it. Smoked my brains out until I got to the day I'd planned to be the last day. And it worked. I had to really work at it, but not once did I relapse. I just knew in my heart of hearts (or some place buried deep inside of my psyche) that, if I started again I would never stop. Same with op.s. Food is not so cut & dry. Gotta eat to live. The thing I feel that needs to change is me, living to eat. So, all that verbal shit and I'm back to the beginning. But @ least I've got some new shit to think abt.
Recreational opioid use? Really?! I guess technically it was. I never got high at work, though I can't say that some mornings I didn't have a Vicodin hangover. I guess the point of this post was (for me) to keep trying. That the alternative is to just be swallowed up and sucked down into the lair of whichever demon I'm fighting. And the shame of that possibility is a large part of my motivation (if that's what it is) to keep trying to win, or at least not drown. But who knows what's down there? Oblivion, nirvana, my self, the real one? Should my relationship with food be so complicated?? WTF is wrong with me? I feel like such a whiny jerk.
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