Restless
Today I feel restless.
Could be the lack of sleep. Ok, I did get some, but the little pocket of z’s I got isn’t worth measuring and I feel tired and anxious and jumpy.
Could be the zillion of thoughts running through my head. Running, pole-vaulting, eel-throwing (yes, believe it or not, that is a celebration is some random whatever place according to Wikipedia and how I know this, don’t ask), colliding and slamming into each other. I am bombarded by disjointed problems and situations and issues–yeah, yeah, blog readers, go ahead and say it–as always. *Sigh.*
ED. Dear old Mags (and I’m sure by now you have figured out that I am talking about Margaret). Seth. Bobbie and Double. Work. Me. Being in control of my own life.
My life is a mess. Has been. Is. Will Be. It is what it is. How to make the best of it. Clearly I am suffocated and bombarded by things that I am powerless to stop and manage. I have no strength. My my efforts are nonexistent and laziness is the skill at which I excel.
Pathetic doesn’t even cut it.
No wonder my problems force me down.
Before I could handle things. People could view my convictions and dedication and hard work and drive. I was skinny. That is an accomplishment. I still had work to do, but I was on the path.
My life was still a monumental disaster; some things never change, but at least I was pleased with the way I looked. I felt good about myself. I liked shopping and buying clothes where the “X” was not followed by “large,” but by “small.” I liked going into a store and finding that they didn’t have things that fit because the size started at a larger number. it was a thrill. A rush. A joy.
Now it is a reverse experience. A letdown. An embarassment. Degrading. Something to be avoided at all costs.
I do not want to see people who have not seen me since I was skinny. I do not want to see people who knew I was in treatment because now I am obese.
Seth told me that he didn’t like to look at me before. He hated the way I looked. He didn’t want to touch me. Well he isn’t beating down my door now. He’s not gushing with the compliments now. He didn’t when I started to gain the weight back.
He didn’t at any point.
So if I am unattractive when I am skinny and have some semblance of control over my life, and I am more confident and self-assured, and I am unattractive when i am fat as a cow and feel like a miserable failure and a slowly unraveling old patch of cloth that is being ripped apart by many different hands, why not be skinny?
I was told that being skinny didn’t solve anything. In terms of my problems, no. In terms of me, yes.
I started off talking off about feeling restless, and then I went off topic. I really do feel restless. Anxious. Not eager. A lot of people confuse those two emotions. Eager implies excitement and looking forward to something that will happen in the future. Anxiety involves trepidation and fear and worry and dread and doubt. Nervous.
I am not sure. I really do feel like something is going to happen.
I am not enjoying this feeling of foreboding.
momsgotproblems 