“These mountains you’ve been carrying, you were only meant to climb.”
I have been carrying so many mountains. I have been carrying other people’s mountains. Weighted down by a past so heavy I can’t even lift my eyes up to see the road in front of me. If I had climbed the mountain and…much like Stevie Nicks…just turned around, I would have been better off. But no, when the landslide brought me down I proceeded to pick up the mountain and carry it until I collapsed. Then I climbed it again and was thrown off the top. And now I lay here at mountain’s foot fighting the desire to pick the damned thing up again. I hate this fucking mountain.
It was difficult to get out of bed today. Again. I wanted to get drunk and sleep all day. But being hung over in the afternoon is not an experience I ever wish to revisit. So I laid here and watched The Walking Dead. I mean, I guess I find some comfort in not living in an apocalyptic zombie infested world. That seems slightly…and I mean only slightly…worse than what I am living through now. I did eventually get up, eat some vegetables, go to the gym. I went to the store and bought arts and crafts supplies for an upcoming demonstration. Because apparently in the depths of my despair I wish to protest with hot pink paint and gold glitter. Social justice doesn’t have to be drab. I took out I lost count of how many bags of recycling and general junk that just needs out of my house. I wanted to get drunk so I could stop feeling this menagerie of ALL the bad feelings. But I didn’t. I have flipped off my phone a few times. It doesn’t seem to notice my middle fingers waving at it. I might be losing my mind.
I have been eating clean and exercising since I quit drinking. I actually started getting some exercise again about six months prior. I had caught a glimpse of my naked, bloated, pasty body in a mirror and realized that I had blazed right through “Aloha From Hawaii” Elvis straight into “August 1977” Elvis. Poor Elvis. I am 41 now. I get you, dude. Anyway, I gained 33 pounds in two years. The beer years. Never gained weight on vodka but I quit drinking it because was afraid I might go out Amy Winehouse style. At least I couldn’t physically drink enough beer to die in my sleep.
I did not really see any results from working out until I quit drinking and changed my diet. I have lost 23 pounds since last July. I needed to lose 20 pounds when I gained 23, so if you’re keeping up with the math that means I currently need to lose another 20 pounds. I have been coping with that pretty well sober, no starving myself or vomiting up meals. I have been feeling ok about my body lately until I met a three-way mirror while trying on sports bras today. Damn. That was a gut punch I could have done without. Feeling fat and lumpy is so not good for my mental health right now.
I did a decent job of positive self-talking my way through the three-way mirror debacle. I flipped off my phone again. I scurried on that treadmill like I was being chased by, oh I don’t know, my past. I made a brilliant speech in my head to exboyfriend telling him (again…in my head) to go in peace and light and love and also to fuck off and take this mountain with him because all this bullshit and destruction was always his to bear anyway.
This is hard, this meeting life’s sucker punches straight on. Sitting with horrible feelings is…horrible. I feel, though, that I am engaged in a fight for myself, like I am finally fighting for ME. It is a struggle and I am miserable but it feels like a worthy struggle. Like this is a moment where I choose…keep doing the same old shit and keep GETTING the same old shit or do something different. I want something different. Better. Every damned day now I have the thought that I want to be numb and every damned day I have decided that I will not hurt myself with alcohol, not cheat myself with alcohol. I have an opportunity to grow and get better. I deserve that.
After I finished writing this last night, my anxiety revved up to a 10. Terrified of every sound in the night, convinced the house was going to collapse. Eventually stuffed kleenex in my ears to keep out the tiny noises. Anxiety running on high today too. So very exhausting.