An object at rest tends to stay at rest. Wow, is this true. At least for me it is. I struggle so much to start an exercise program with any consistency. I struggle to get out of bed in the morning. I struggle to go to sleep at night.
I know what rewards await my success. I know how much better my life can be. I know where my current path leads. Shouldn't that be enough to motivate? To energize?
Yet sadly I continue to stay . . . at rest.
In continuing with my physics theme, in order to entice an object from rest into a state of motion takes an application of energy. (At least that's what I remember from school, bear with me here, it's been a while.) So where do I find an application of energy that will push me into motion?
An object in motion tends to stay in motion. My hope is that this equally will apply to me once I start on a consistent program. I know from experience that it is possible. I have done it before. Of course before I had a clear "impact" that started my path and kept me focused. I'm having trouble finding that now. My natural proclivity toward procrastination is in full effect.
It's not for lack of planning. It's not for lack of knowledge. It just comes down to lack of will power. Lack of the ability to concentrate enough will power into energy that will spark movement and set me in motion.
My goals seem so far away as to be indistinct. Where as once they served as motivation, now they are on the level of fantasy, like winning the lottery. Sure it can happen, but does it ever really? It's just something that you see on TV.
On days like this it is hard to imagine being able to exercise enough to make a significant change. I can't possibly move enough to create a caloric deficit that will erase all the mass I've accumulated. It's hard to imagine exercising at all through this lethargy that has me firmly in its grip. I feel like I am watching life go by through a cloudy haze. I don't know if this is physical, mental, or both. I just know that despite my wish to be active, I am held fast by a metaphorical anchor and drowning in a sea of resignation.
Sorry to be so down, maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Friday, September 5, 2014
Good kinda sore . . .
Baby steps. That's what I keep telling myself I'm taking. Baby steps toward fitness, toward reclaiming or restarting a life that's been on hold for too long. Baby steps are effective, but only when consistent, and lets be honest, consistent isn't my strong suit.
See, I tend to be an impatient kind of guy. An instant gratification type. Hence the over eating and lack of exercise. So this is a paradigm shift for me in more ways than one. I've definitely made some positive changes to my nutrition, which seem to be holding. Now I'm ready to up my game.
The other night we dusted off the ol' weight bench. My son started it, he decided to start working out again and I decided to join him. We decided to max to give us an idea of where we are and how much we should be lifting. It's been a LONG time since I've done any weight lifting, and even longer since I maxed. To the uninitiated, max is when you see how much you can bench press once. You typically continue to increase the weight until you can no longer life it with good form without help. The last amount you successfully lifted is your current max. It's a good way to measure improvement over time.
At my prime I could bench 315. I was about 220 pounds then, so that was pretty good. A rule of thumb for normal sized fit people is that you should be able to bench press your own body weight.
So on this first max in many years I got 165 pounds.
In some ways it was better than I expected. I warmed up with a set of 115 pounds to get the blood flowing. I had this fear that I wouldn't be able to bench more than 135. It's always good to be at least slightly ahead of where you think you are. I realize this isn't some life changing number, but its a small win and I'll take it. This morning I woke up with a slight soreness in my chest and arms that I haven't felt in a long time. It was a good feeling.
See, I tend to be an impatient kind of guy. An instant gratification type. Hence the over eating and lack of exercise. So this is a paradigm shift for me in more ways than one. I've definitely made some positive changes to my nutrition, which seem to be holding. Now I'm ready to up my game.
The other night we dusted off the ol' weight bench. My son started it, he decided to start working out again and I decided to join him. We decided to max to give us an idea of where we are and how much we should be lifting. It's been a LONG time since I've done any weight lifting, and even longer since I maxed. To the uninitiated, max is when you see how much you can bench press once. You typically continue to increase the weight until you can no longer life it with good form without help. The last amount you successfully lifted is your current max. It's a good way to measure improvement over time.
At my prime I could bench 315. I was about 220 pounds then, so that was pretty good. A rule of thumb for normal sized fit people is that you should be able to bench press your own body weight.
So on this first max in many years I got 165 pounds.
In some ways it was better than I expected. I warmed up with a set of 115 pounds to get the blood flowing. I had this fear that I wouldn't be able to bench more than 135. It's always good to be at least slightly ahead of where you think you are. I realize this isn't some life changing number, but its a small win and I'll take it. This morning I woke up with a slight soreness in my chest and arms that I haven't felt in a long time. It was a good feeling.
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Under the weather . . .
A great way to put a damper on any good exercise plan is to catch a good head cold.
I've felt bad for about 3 days now, including 2 terrible long sleepless nights. I was dragging so bad last night at the part time job that I ventured down to the coffee shop, where they make some of the best java related concoctions I've ever had. I had a frozen turtle. At this point we are not going to talk about just how bad for me this is. I'm aware that it is a sugary confection that is in no way, shape, or form to be considered healthy. Nevertheless, I was feeling rather terrible, extremely tired, and needed to take drastic measures to keep my head up for the remaining hours of work.
Did I mention that the frozen turtle had 4 shots of expresso?
In case I didn't, let me inform you that the frozen turtle does indeed have 4 shots of expresso. I had no problem staying awake for the rest of work, and about 1:30am when I was once again in bed and unable to sleep, at least this time it wasn't due to sinus drainage. So, to counteract the overdose of caffeine I took some tylenol pm. I slept through 3 alarms this morning and was 30 minutes late for work.
Yes, I have 3 alarms. I use a traditional alarm clock set to a radio station. It brings me out of sleep, but not quite awake, depending on the music playing I think. It's set to one of those funny morning radio shows so I have actually woken up laughing in the past, which is weird.
In addition to the radio, I use my iPad as my bedside alarm clock and it beeps insistently at me, but I have mastered the snooze button on it, so the last half hour of morning sleep comes in 10 minute increments. Then lastly I use my iPhone as my hard point, must get up right now, alarm.
I know its ridiculous, I know that the last half hour of sleep isn't doing me any good, and I know I should break this habit. Hey, nothing like starting off the day with a little procrastination. Just one more bad habit on my list to overcome.
Anyway, back to my cold. I remember when I was on my weight loss trip before, nothing could keep me from my workouts. I ran in sickness and in health. I ran in the rain, snow, ice, heat, wind. I truly wish I could find that motivation again. Not a day goes by that I don't plan out how the next morning is going to go, and without fail I hit that snooze button every time, reveling in those last few glorious moments of sleep. So, needless to say, having a cold and feeling "under the weather" just gives me that much more license to be lazy. Its almost like I'm glad for the extra excuse so I don't have to feel so bad when I don't go walk because I got up too late.
Man, that is sad.
Hopefully I'll get some good sleep tonight and can get back to making plans for a glorious start to my new fitness regime in the morning.
I've felt bad for about 3 days now, including 2 terrible long sleepless nights. I was dragging so bad last night at the part time job that I ventured down to the coffee shop, where they make some of the best java related concoctions I've ever had. I had a frozen turtle. At this point we are not going to talk about just how bad for me this is. I'm aware that it is a sugary confection that is in no way, shape, or form to be considered healthy. Nevertheless, I was feeling rather terrible, extremely tired, and needed to take drastic measures to keep my head up for the remaining hours of work.
Did I mention that the frozen turtle had 4 shots of expresso?
In case I didn't, let me inform you that the frozen turtle does indeed have 4 shots of expresso. I had no problem staying awake for the rest of work, and about 1:30am when I was once again in bed and unable to sleep, at least this time it wasn't due to sinus drainage. So, to counteract the overdose of caffeine I took some tylenol pm. I slept through 3 alarms this morning and was 30 minutes late for work.
Yes, I have 3 alarms. I use a traditional alarm clock set to a radio station. It brings me out of sleep, but not quite awake, depending on the music playing I think. It's set to one of those funny morning radio shows so I have actually woken up laughing in the past, which is weird.
In addition to the radio, I use my iPad as my bedside alarm clock and it beeps insistently at me, but I have mastered the snooze button on it, so the last half hour of morning sleep comes in 10 minute increments. Then lastly I use my iPhone as my hard point, must get up right now, alarm.
I know its ridiculous, I know that the last half hour of sleep isn't doing me any good, and I know I should break this habit. Hey, nothing like starting off the day with a little procrastination. Just one more bad habit on my list to overcome.
Anyway, back to my cold. I remember when I was on my weight loss trip before, nothing could keep me from my workouts. I ran in sickness and in health. I ran in the rain, snow, ice, heat, wind. I truly wish I could find that motivation again. Not a day goes by that I don't plan out how the next morning is going to go, and without fail I hit that snooze button every time, reveling in those last few glorious moments of sleep. So, needless to say, having a cold and feeling "under the weather" just gives me that much more license to be lazy. Its almost like I'm glad for the extra excuse so I don't have to feel so bad when I don't go walk because I got up too late.
Man, that is sad.
Hopefully I'll get some good sleep tonight and can get back to making plans for a glorious start to my new fitness regime in the morning.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Inspiration . . .
Saw a video last night posted on Facebook. It was of a couple of war vet amputees
participating in the Spartan Race. One guy has
lost his left leg and his left arm. He
has one of those reverse ski looking prosthetic legs. The other fellow has lost both legs and an arm. The story was amazing. These guys just don’t know the meaning of the
work quit.
The fellow without legs was carried in a back pack type
system by a team mate for some of the competition, while the other guy toughed
out all the obstacles, with some assistance from team mates. I’m inspired not just by the amputees drive
to compete and face the obstacles despite their disadvantage, but also by the
team mates that went right with them, supporting , encouraging, and helping
them to get through the race.
These guys have recognized that there is more to life than
existing. More than breathing in and out
and consuming food and watching mindless entertainment flash across a
screen. They are actively participating
in their lives. In the human race.
This short video spoke to me. It embarrassed me. It challenged me. I don’t want to watch life pass. I want to participate. Deep in my soul I know
there is more out there than what I currently experience. I know there is more to me than this lump of
flesh that I've become.
On a personal note, today I weighed in at home. Don’t think I mentioned it before, but a
while back I purchased a scale that is supposed to register up to 440
pounds. I had no idea what I weighed since
it’d been so long since I tried. When I
got the scale I got on and it ran through its numbers and came back with “ERR”,
which meant that I was somewhere north of 445 pounds. A few weeks ago I weighed again and got
444. Just seeing the number was a small victory. Last week was 443.
Today was 440.
I’m glad that the minor changes I've made are working, if
slowly. I went to the grocery store this
morning and I think I have enough food for the week. Some of that will depend on the hearty
appetite of my son, but I think I have things fairly well planned out. I used coupons for the first time in years
and planned meals based on what was on sale.
I got $95 worth of groceries for $74.
Not too bad. I’ll be able to eat
good, but healthy food this week and hopefully see those numbers continue to
fall. Checked my blood sugar this
morning and it was 160, also a marked improvement. I took the puppy for a short walk last
night. Probably did her more good than
me, but it was movement. The fact that
after only a couple of blocks my calves and back were screaming, was not a good
feeling, but I know that will fade with continued persistence. Hopefully tomorrow I can continue that
journey and keep moving forward.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Painted into a corner . . .
Over the last few years my lifestyle has become more and more sedentary. Well, actually, I guess about the last 2 years in particular it's gotten to be completely sedentary.
I went from really active - running, weight lifting, tennis, paintball, martial arts, to nothing.
Over the years I've made several half hearted attempts to start moving again, each time with pretty much the same result - some type of injury. My back has been especially guilty of this, but not exclusively. I've had hip and knee and foot problems as well. In the end it doesn't matter because the result was the same, I gave up and went back to sitting and laying 24 hours a day.
So you see, I felt as though I'd painted my self into a corner. I can't exercise because it hurts too much due to my weight. I can't lose weight because I can't exercise. It is a very frustrating and deflating situation.
I know that there are other options out there. The one that probably makes the most sense up front is to modify my diet and lost some weight that way. And to a degree I've done that. I've been eating out much less than previously, I've altered what I eat to include more health conscious items, and I've almost cut out soda. It's just not enough. The key to getting fit is a combination of exercise and healthy eating, and I believe that exercise carries the lion's share of the equation.
There are other exercise options, I know. Swimming for one. I thought this would be a great option for me. I love to swim. I may be part fish, I can and have spent entire days in the water. I have a YMCA membership and could swim there. The problem is that I cannot bring myself to get into that pool with all those fitness fanatics that are swimming like Olympians. I can't make myself take my shirt off. Call it ego, call it fear, call it growing up as the chubby kid and hearing all the jokes. Doesn't matter, I ain't doing it.
Walking is probably my best option. I've been told to just suck it up and fight through the pain for a few days and it'll get better and easier. On the few times I started I ended up with calf cramps, back spasms, and hip pain before reaching the end of the street, which is less that a quarter mile away. It's easy to give up after that, and as we've discovered, I tend to do what's easy.
Actually there is something a little deeper than just doing what's easy. I have this fear that I absolutely won't be able to do it. Fear that rather than get easier and less painful, it will go the other way and I'll end up with a serious injury and more medical bills, which I cannot afford. Fear that I really cannot physically get better and that the way I feel right now is the best it's ever going to be for me again. This thought has been on my mind for a long time and makes it hard to seriously try and "fight through the pain". I'm afraid of what's on the other side.
A few weeks ago something changed and I had a glimpse of hope.
For the first time in many years I took a week long vacation. This kids and I joined my parents and my brother's family for a week at the beach. I love the ocean and couldn't wait. We made plans for a day of deep sea fishing, among other activities. Now of course part of me was nervous that I wouldn't be able to keep up with my family on this trip, especially the deep sea fishing which can be rough on a fit person. Never the less I took plenty of acetaminophen and ibuprofen and packed up and away we went.
The first day involved more walking than I'd done in a year. We walked on the pier, we walked on the beach, we swam, we walked around a shopping center. I popped pain meds like candy and sat down every chance I got. By the end of the evening I was miserable. That night I couldn't sleep. My legs kept cramping, my back hurt, and I couldn't get comfortable. I've also had trouble with sleep apnea, waking up repeatedly in the night gasping for air. It hadn't bothered me in a while, but chose this night to come back with a vengeance. It seems like every time I drifted to sleep, I'd wake right back up, unable to draw breath fast enough. All in all a miserable night. Suddenly my much anticipated vacation of fun, relaxation and family bonding was looking more like torture and humiliation.
I got up way early the next morning and sat on the porch of our vacation rental by myself. Everyone else was still asleep. I watched all the tropical birds fly back and forth and the fish jump in the tidal pool. I thought about the previous day and night and how I was going to end up being a burden to my family and an embarrassment to my kids if I couldn't go anywhere or do anything during our vacation. Not that they'd say a word, or complain at all, but still - I didn't want to hold them back. I made a promise to myself to grit my teeth and keep moving, to actually fight through the pain for once.
That day we played at the ocean, which included a 2 block walk to the ocean carrying chairs and bags and other accouterments for a day at the beach, followed by several hours of swimming. The swimming I could handle, it actually seems to help my back and keeps the weight off my legs. But first I had to dredge up the courage to take off my shirt and get in the water. I looked around at the crowded beach, then at my kids waiting for me with boogey boards in hand. I realized that not only was everyone out there NOT a swimsuit model, but there were all shapes and sizes of folks strolling around wearing very little. I thought to myself, hey, I don't know any of these people and will likely never see any of them again. I stripped off my shirt and marched into the ocean with my head held high and without looking back. A few hours later we trundled back up the beach, just ahead of a thunder storm, and made the walk back to the house. I was in serious pain, but kept putting one foot in front of the other. After a shower I collapsed on the bed and almost immediately fell asleep to the sounds of thunder and rain.
I woke up refreshed and feeling . . . good. I was a little sore, but in a good way. The way you feel after a good workout. I hadn't felt like this in a long time. I stood up and expected my back to lock up. It didn't. In fact it was feeling ok. Relief washed over me like the waves had a few hours before and I was back to being excited about this trip.
Over the course of the week I got more exercise, without a doubt, than I'd had in the last 2 years combined! I still sat down occasionally to rest my back, but a couple of minutes and I was good to go again. We walked, and walked and walked. I survived the deep sea fishing trip and had a blast! By the end of the week my back was giving me very little trouble at all, and aside from a little pain in my hip, I was feeling great!
The best part was realizing that I could do it. That I could get through the pain of getting all these poorly used muscles back up and moving. I could do more than I thought I could and the pain lessened, instead of getting worse. I came back from vacation resolved to continue moving and not to lose the gains I'd made.
It's only been a few weeks since the beach and while I still haven't managed to start a real exercise regimen, I have become more active. I strive to do some walking every day, even if its just around the grocery store, down the street, something. My back has continued to feel better, but my hip flares up. I can deal with that for now. I'm just glad to see that I might have a small path still open and that I haven't painted myself as completely into the corner as I'd thought.
Saturday, August 16, 2014
A Start . . .
445+. That's where I'm starting from. Yes, that's pounds. I guess like any good start, you need to know where you are and how you got there in order to really begin. Here goes . . .
I'm 41, divorced as of 2011 but separated in 2009, so I've been single for 5 years now. I'm father to 2 teenagers, both great kids. Son just graduated high school, daughter is a rising junior. My ex and I have an amicable relationship for the most part, especially in terms of parenting. We've both always tried to put the kids first and present a united front to them. We don't always agree, but we get along. We talk frequently by phone, mostly about the kids. It took a while to get there, but I'm really glad we did. She's with someone else now, and as much as it used to pain me to admit it, he seems like a good guy and has been great to the her and the kids.
I am 6'3" and have always been a big guy. I was frequently picked on all through school for being chubby. At least until my senior year when I discovered weightlifting and the fact that I was suddenly inches taller than most of the guys that had picked on me. I learned to take up for myself and the bullying stopped cold. I've also always been strong, but I come from hardy stock. Both sides of my family produce tough folks. I've seen an uncle hold up the side of a tractor while someone else changed the tire. I'm not talking lawn mower either, I mean BIG GREEN GARDEN tractor, the tire as tall as me. Another uncle used to compete in rodeo events. I've seen my brother carry a car transmission over his shoulder. Don't even get me started on the feats of strength I've witnessed from my Dad. We all have that raw, rough, country strength that I guess comes from generations of working outdoors, tilling the land, or generally working hard for a living. Even though I've never done any of those things for any length of time - I work in an office - I guess genetics had its effect and with intermittent weight training, I was pretty strong. Early in our marriage we moved yearly (usually when the lease was up, it was cheaper to move to another apartment with a new "move in special" than to renew the lease with the requisite rate hike) and I was good at it, it was nothing to pick up a washing machine and carry it out and put it on the truck by myself. I thought that strength would last forever, but good genes only get you so far.
I got married in 1994, too young to know what we were doing, we struggled throughout most of our marriage. We both set our sights on graduating from college and made a lot of sacrifices to make that happen. Those sacrifices included working a full time and a part time job for me while she worked part time and took care of the kids full time and we both went to school. Online classes are awesome, by the way. Over the years my weight crept up, no doubt the result of sitting behind a desk so many hours a day, combined with eating cheap fast food multiple times a day and getting very little exercise.
The funny thing is that for so long, even in the 300 pound range, I was still strong, still flexible, still athletic, even if I looked ridiculous running around a tennis court, or playing basketball. People tended to underestimate my speed and endurance and I loved surprising them. I've been a fan of martial arts my whole life and for Christmas one year, when my son was about 5, my wife got he and I karate lessons. Him because he'd love it, and me in hopes that it would generate some weight loss. My daughter later took classes as well until gymnastics and dancing took over her interest.
I took Kenpo Karate for about 9 months, got my orange belt, lost a little weight, gained a LOT of flexibility, and loved it. Unfortunately I didn't alter my eating habits so the weight loss was pretty minor. Then we moved again and it became too far to drive to the dojo, so I went to another dojo, owned by a friend. His was much more intense, and I made some headway but before long, finances put a stop to that. To this day I really miss training.
Anyway, to speed up the story, we'll fast forward past the crazy busy years of finishing college, getting my associates and then bachelor's degrees, while working two jobs and my wife getting hers as well. I'll also fast forward past the issues that arose in our marriage and led to its dissolution. Sufficed to say that years of hectic lives, under constant stress, had taken its toll. I'll refrain from trying to explain why she left, although I've spent years analyzing every conversation, every interaction during that period and trying to figure out what I could have done differently. What I've come to realize is that you can't undo years of problems overnight, people do change, and some things just aren't meant to be. I still love her, probably always will - even when I don't like her very much.
See, when she first told me she was considering leaving, my first thought was that it was because of my weight. It didn't help that I was about 380 pounds at this point. In fact that was part of our problem, but certainly not the only one, but at the time that is what I seized on and I convinced myself that if I could lose weight, I could "save my family". I just knew that if she left my whole world would collapse, my kids would hate me, and my life would be over. These thoughts ignited a fire inside of me, a desperation, like I'd never felt in my life.
There was a little good that came out of these feelings. The first being the realization that I didn't have to eat traditional meals and could eat as little as I wanted, no one was making me eat the crazy amounts of bad food that I was used to. There is no law that says Thou Shalt Eat Three Meals A Day. This was suddenly freeing to me. But of course out of desperation I took it to the extreme and literally didn't eat any solid food for the first 4 days.
I started walking the next morning after the infamous "I want a divorce" conversation. I was up at 6am and made it to the end of my street and back. My back hurt, my legs burned, and I was tired, but I did it. That night I joined 9Round and started a twice a week boxing workout (genius idea by the way, I seriously love 9Round). I lost 30 pounds the first week. Aaaannnd ended up in the doctors office when my kidney's shut down and I was dehydrated. I'm lucky that I wasn't sent to the hospital. I had gotten to the point that I couldn't drink water. It made me gag. I literally had to force myself to drink.
I started eating a little. Yogurt, chicken breasts, salads. I added weight lifting 3 days a week and gradually increased my walking until I was going 2 miles per day, 6 days a week. My walking evolved in to mostly walking with a little jogging, to jogging and walking, to mostly jogging with a little walking, to jogging 2 miles per day 5 days a week and 3.5 miles on Saturday mornings. The weight melted off.
Unfortunately as my body became healthier, my mental state deteriorated. My relationship with my wife just seemed to get more and more strained. It started affecting my work. I would sit in my office with the door closed for hours, unable to concentrate, unable to move, just running a never ending series of scenarios through my mind as to how my marriage was going to play out. I even had dumbbells under my desk and I'd do curls and presses to try and take my mind off of my problems, but it was just a temporary fix. At the time I was so self absorbed in my own misery that I didn't see the signs all around me that due to the real estate collapse, the company I worked for was slowly circling the drain.
By May of 2009 I'd lost more than 130 pounds. I'd run my first 5k. I was being treated differently by everyone around me, to the point of actually being noticed and hit on by women. My friends couldn't believe the transformation. I'd had to buy all new clothes. Physically, I felt good! I could do things that normal sized people take for granted, but are huge sources of shame for a fat guy, like fit into a booth in a restaurant. Like tie my shoes without grunting and maneuvering. I could actually see my feet! . . . among other things that I'd lost sight of due to my weight.
I just knew that my new physicality would be enough to "save my marriage". That was my mantra, words that I'd repeated millions of times to myself, that I'd Googled over and over, read in countless books and articles, spoken to my friends in many long conversations, prayed over and over and over and over. I'd been going to Church with my kids every weekend, singing along and praying for a miracle.
Alas, twas not to be.
I was constantly searching for a guarantee that everything would be ok; a promise that she wouldn't leave. I was grasping for straws - from my friends, from the internet, books, co-workers, God, my wife. I think I must have become unbearable for her to be around. My every action, every word, calculated to either ingratiate myself with her, impress her, or beg her not to go. It was not a healthy time for me mentally and I am ashamed of how I acted. I was desperate. I was weak.
In May of 2009 she had enough and moved out. The next week my company folded and began the process of shutting down, I was let go. I fell apart.
I got low. Very low. I forgot every person that was there to support me. All my friends that were by my side. My parents and brother and sister, whom I'd hidden all of this from until now, who loved and would do anything for me, I dismissed. My kids. My wonderful, beautiful, incredible kids. I felt like I had let them down. I had let their family fall apart. I'd failed as a husband and therefore as a father. I was a burden to them. I didn't deserve them. They deserved better, a better influence, a better provider, a better Dad. Someone better than me.
A lot of people say that they've contemplated suicide, and I believe that is true. Many of us have done the childish - "they'll be sorry when I'm gone and they'll miss me" thing, at least in our minds. Some of us have even threatened it out loud, for the drama, to get the attention of someone we think is ignoring us, or we're losing. I don't think we're really serious about it then, it's truly a cry for help, or attention. I did that. I'm not proud of it, but I did it as a last resort, please come back, you're ruining my life thing. I can honestly say that of all the mistakes I've made, I hate myself for that one. I feel like an idiot now.
Thinking about and facing suicide are two different things. Sitting in the dark, alone, with the device for ending your pain at hand and no one to stop you, no one to pull it away, no one to talk you out of it. That is facing suicide. Weighing the pros and cons, trying to see through the haze of jumbled emotion, thinking further than what others will think - to the mechanics of the act; who will find you, how will it impact them and how can you arrange for that to be someone that can handle it. Sitting alone in the dark and staring into the void that has become your soul and looking for just some flicker of light, listening for some voice, some whisper on the winds to say "don't", or "stay". When your thoughts are not about revenge on someone that hurt you, but truly about ending the pain, emotional or otherwise, about making it stop, escaping; that is facing suicide. It's thinking about taking the easy route and "opting out" rather than getting out of bed one more time to face a day that holds no light, no hope, no chance for happiness. It's when you can't remember what happiness is, what self worth means, and you are convinced that the only purpose left of your life is to be a warning to others. It's forgetting all the faces of your family, your friends, and being completely absorbed into your own misery. This decision is right in front of you like a tangible object and you pick it up, turn it over, examine it with cold eyes, from all sides, to see if it fits. Still listening for a hint, a voice, something to interrupt your inevitable slide down the slippery slope into this dark decision, into this oblivion. Thinking about God, wondering if he understands. Will he greet you or will it be the other, and can Hell possibly be worse than the way you feel right now. I don't know if it's like this for others, if anyone else has ever felt the way I did, but I went through this. I stared down this decision, this demon. More than once.
At my darkest, tear soaked, soul numbing, closest to the edge moment; I heard something. My mind was a raging storm of emotion, pain, regret, and self-loathing, but through that storm I heard a voice. The barest whisper carried on the storm. It just said, "I've got you".
It was just enough to push me back from the brink. Enough that I carried on. I'd like to tell you that this was the beginning of a whole new happy life for me. It wasn't. I did eventually see how ridiculous it was that I felt so alone. How selfish I'd been to think that my kids didn't need or want me. How utterly crazy it was that I let one person's decision to no longer be with me define who I was and whether or not I was worthy of breathing. I did eventually take responsibility for my own mistakes and issues and realize that the universe wasn't out to get me, but it took some time. But in the meantime I ran back to my old vice. The one addiction that you can't quit cold turkey - food.
When life turns upside down some people turn to drugs, or climb into a whiskey bottle. Not me. I climbed into a bag of chips. I suppose as far as vice's go its not the worst, but given enough time it can be just as deadly.
I started my old eating habits back. I was lucky and found a new good job, thanks to a good friend - you know, one of those people I'd convinced myself wouldn't care if I were dead. Sadly, I'd lost all desire to exercise any more. I ate whatever I wanted, more than I wanted. I kept running, for a while. I'd grown to love the solitary sport and the way I could clear my mind and think while doing it. Unfortunately physics kicked in and when you start adding weight, without fail you'll lose performance and injuries follow. I injured my leg and started having a sore back, so I stopped altogether. I walked one last 5k in October of that year and that was my last serious attempt at exercise in 5 years.
Lets fast forward again, through years of tears, 5 years of emotional and mental healing. 5 years of slowly building a different, but positive, relationship with my ex. Yes I did see a counselor for a while and it helped. I'm back working 2 jobs, but I love both and while I scrape by financially, I work with great people in great environments and have a hard time contemplating leaving either one. I'm stronger mentally now, although all that physical strength I boasted of earlier, sadly, has left me. It's also been 5 years of eating out of control. I sadly admit that a big part of why my finances are the way they are is due to eating out 3 meals a day most days. Not only is the food really bad for me, but it's really expensive when you start adding it up. $30 a day quickly becomes your biggest monthly expense, especially when it goes up on the weekends when the kids are here and we all eat out.
So what does 5 years of physical neglect look like? What does 5 years of a very sedentary lifestyle, consisting often of 15 hours a day sitting behind a desk, look like?
I have a laundry list of escalating health issues. My feet hurt, shoes don't fit the same anymore. My knees pop and ache, going up stairs is hellish. My back is a mess. I have had sciatica twice, I don't recommend it. If I stand for any length of time the pain becomes nearly unbearable. I frequently have stabbing pains in my left side that I'm not sure whether or not they are related to some kidney problem, kidney stones, or related to the sciatica. I get out of breath tying my shoes, which is a chore. I'm always tired, can fall asleep anytime I sit still for a few minutes, but never a good nourishing deep sleep. I wake up virtually every hour during the night, uncomfortable, with my arm or leg or neck sore from what ever position I've been sleeping in. I avoided the doctor for a long time, dreading what they would say. Although I did go when I had a kidney stone, and again to talk about my back, but got no sympathy from the doc and felt like I was dismissed out of hand since I guess to her my problem was completely obvious. Lose weight was her grand advice. Then, thanks to changes in the insurance industry, which I won't rant about now, my doctor's office dropped my insurance carrier.
I was watching myself slowly deteriorate.
On some level I think it was punishing myself. I know I was depressed, I know I was feeling sorry for myself. I know better than to eat the way I did. I know my bad habits were killing me slowly. I know with the onset of diabetes and my sedentary lifestyle, the next step would be high blood pressure and eventually heart disease. I know that my life expectancy is mid 40's. I also know that on some level, deep down, I thought I was OK with that. I don't think its that I consciously wanted to die, but I just didn't care if I lived. Even though my depression was much improved, it was still there and I still had moments where I felt . . . out of place, stuck in a hole, and climbing out just seemed so hard as to be nearly impossible. It's almost like I'd accepted that this was my fate and I was resigned to it. I would just slowly fade away.
That's not how life works. The pain was a wake up call.
I missed a day of work just about every month due to some ailment. My vision started to blur and I bought reading glasses for the first time about 6 months ago. My back was the worst though. I was in nearly constant pain. Walking hurt, just standing hurt, and now sitting hurt. It wasn't unusual for me to come home from work and go straight to bed just so my back would ease off. A few months ago I finally took some steps forward, at the urging of some good people.
One of my bosses suggested that I see his friend who is a Chiropractor. Doc Holloway was great. I use his name because it always reminds me of Doc Holiday when I say it. Anyway, he did x-rays on my lower back and showed me my problems. I had a vertebrae out of alignment and with what looked like a small fracture. Also, the cushioning in my right hip was pretty much gone from all the pressure on it. He started a series of adjustments on my back, vertebral subluxations, I believe he calls them, to bring it back into alignment. He's not a backcracker, but a serious health enthusiast that believes that these minor movements aid the muscles in doing what they are designed to do. He's worked wonders for me. He encouraged me to start walking, told me that it was possible to fix my problems, just to start easy and get moving.
My other boss (I work in a law firm for 2 partners) apparently noticed my declining health. I guess the dark rings under my eyes were probably magnified by my new reading glasses. Anyway, she gave me the name of her doctors office and a glowing recommendation, so I set an appointment with them. Some blood work, some lab tests, and what do you know, it's official - I have type 2 Diabetes. No surprise there. My Mom's had it as long as I can remember, it runs in both sides of my families, but genetics aside, I knew I was an ideal candidate for it and fully expected this diagnosis. My blood sugar was averaging around 300 or so first thing in the morning. My doc put me on meds to help control my blood sugar and my thyroid and we had a long talk about my health in general, my eating habits, and the fact that I could turn my health around. Luckily my blood pressure was good, which was surprising to me and the doc. For the first time in a LONG time, I left the doctors office feeling positive.
After a few days on the new meds I felt better. My blood sugar dropped down to around 200, still not good, but better. My vision actually improved and I don't use the reading glasses anymore. My energy level has improved - some. All in all, its a start. Its been a few months on the meds now and I'm down 15 pounds from my initial doctor's visit, according to their scale.
I've made some other changes as well. For one thing I'm bringing lunch from home. Besides saving a ton of money, I'm bringing much healthier fare than I've been eating for the past several years. I'm buying groceries weekly and it's evolved into my new Saturday morning routine. I plan my meals for the week and then go buy the ingredients. For me, just walking all through the store and getting back home without my back screaming is a win. I still have a lot of room for improvement, I still eat out a couple of nights a week while at the part time job, but over all I feel for the first time in years that I'm making forward progress, even if it's at a very slow rate.
So that brings us almost current. Like I said, I wanted to start out by remembering how I got here. Just admitting some of the things I've just admitted makes me feel a little lighter. It's good to clean out the mental closet I guess. Pull things out and look at them and remember and maybe gain new insight.
I don't know if anyone will read this, and if they do if it will resonate with anyone, encourage anyone, help anyone who might share some of my issues, feelings, and experiences. Maybe someone will read this and see things I haven't realized myself, offer me some insight. I welcome insight, wisdom, and encouragement, even commiseration. Judgement I can do without.
I don't know if I'll post again, and if so when it will be. I don't know what my journey will be like. I've tried before and failed. I've promised myself sooo many times that I'd get healthy and yet here I am. I'll just take it a day at a time and try to do the right thing. Hopefully that'll be enough.
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| Me in August 2013 |
I'm 41, divorced as of 2011 but separated in 2009, so I've been single for 5 years now. I'm father to 2 teenagers, both great kids. Son just graduated high school, daughter is a rising junior. My ex and I have an amicable relationship for the most part, especially in terms of parenting. We've both always tried to put the kids first and present a united front to them. We don't always agree, but we get along. We talk frequently by phone, mostly about the kids. It took a while to get there, but I'm really glad we did. She's with someone else now, and as much as it used to pain me to admit it, he seems like a good guy and has been great to the her and the kids.
I am 6'3" and have always been a big guy. I was frequently picked on all through school for being chubby. At least until my senior year when I discovered weightlifting and the fact that I was suddenly inches taller than most of the guys that had picked on me. I learned to take up for myself and the bullying stopped cold. I've also always been strong, but I come from hardy stock. Both sides of my family produce tough folks. I've seen an uncle hold up the side of a tractor while someone else changed the tire. I'm not talking lawn mower either, I mean BIG GREEN GARDEN tractor, the tire as tall as me. Another uncle used to compete in rodeo events. I've seen my brother carry a car transmission over his shoulder. Don't even get me started on the feats of strength I've witnessed from my Dad. We all have that raw, rough, country strength that I guess comes from generations of working outdoors, tilling the land, or generally working hard for a living. Even though I've never done any of those things for any length of time - I work in an office - I guess genetics had its effect and with intermittent weight training, I was pretty strong. Early in our marriage we moved yearly (usually when the lease was up, it was cheaper to move to another apartment with a new "move in special" than to renew the lease with the requisite rate hike) and I was good at it, it was nothing to pick up a washing machine and carry it out and put it on the truck by myself. I thought that strength would last forever, but good genes only get you so far.
I got married in 1994, too young to know what we were doing, we struggled throughout most of our marriage. We both set our sights on graduating from college and made a lot of sacrifices to make that happen. Those sacrifices included working a full time and a part time job for me while she worked part time and took care of the kids full time and we both went to school. Online classes are awesome, by the way. Over the years my weight crept up, no doubt the result of sitting behind a desk so many hours a day, combined with eating cheap fast food multiple times a day and getting very little exercise.
The funny thing is that for so long, even in the 300 pound range, I was still strong, still flexible, still athletic, even if I looked ridiculous running around a tennis court, or playing basketball. People tended to underestimate my speed and endurance and I loved surprising them. I've been a fan of martial arts my whole life and for Christmas one year, when my son was about 5, my wife got he and I karate lessons. Him because he'd love it, and me in hopes that it would generate some weight loss. My daughter later took classes as well until gymnastics and dancing took over her interest.
I took Kenpo Karate for about 9 months, got my orange belt, lost a little weight, gained a LOT of flexibility, and loved it. Unfortunately I didn't alter my eating habits so the weight loss was pretty minor. Then we moved again and it became too far to drive to the dojo, so I went to another dojo, owned by a friend. His was much more intense, and I made some headway but before long, finances put a stop to that. To this day I really miss training.
Anyway, to speed up the story, we'll fast forward past the crazy busy years of finishing college, getting my associates and then bachelor's degrees, while working two jobs and my wife getting hers as well. I'll also fast forward past the issues that arose in our marriage and led to its dissolution. Sufficed to say that years of hectic lives, under constant stress, had taken its toll. I'll refrain from trying to explain why she left, although I've spent years analyzing every conversation, every interaction during that period and trying to figure out what I could have done differently. What I've come to realize is that you can't undo years of problems overnight, people do change, and some things just aren't meant to be. I still love her, probably always will - even when I don't like her very much.
See, when she first told me she was considering leaving, my first thought was that it was because of my weight. It didn't help that I was about 380 pounds at this point. In fact that was part of our problem, but certainly not the only one, but at the time that is what I seized on and I convinced myself that if I could lose weight, I could "save my family". I just knew that if she left my whole world would collapse, my kids would hate me, and my life would be over. These thoughts ignited a fire inside of me, a desperation, like I'd never felt in my life.
There was a little good that came out of these feelings. The first being the realization that I didn't have to eat traditional meals and could eat as little as I wanted, no one was making me eat the crazy amounts of bad food that I was used to. There is no law that says Thou Shalt Eat Three Meals A Day. This was suddenly freeing to me. But of course out of desperation I took it to the extreme and literally didn't eat any solid food for the first 4 days.
I started walking the next morning after the infamous "I want a divorce" conversation. I was up at 6am and made it to the end of my street and back. My back hurt, my legs burned, and I was tired, but I did it. That night I joined 9Round and started a twice a week boxing workout (genius idea by the way, I seriously love 9Round). I lost 30 pounds the first week. Aaaannnd ended up in the doctors office when my kidney's shut down and I was dehydrated. I'm lucky that I wasn't sent to the hospital. I had gotten to the point that I couldn't drink water. It made me gag. I literally had to force myself to drink.
I started eating a little. Yogurt, chicken breasts, salads. I added weight lifting 3 days a week and gradually increased my walking until I was going 2 miles per day, 6 days a week. My walking evolved in to mostly walking with a little jogging, to jogging and walking, to mostly jogging with a little walking, to jogging 2 miles per day 5 days a week and 3.5 miles on Saturday mornings. The weight melted off.
Unfortunately as my body became healthier, my mental state deteriorated. My relationship with my wife just seemed to get more and more strained. It started affecting my work. I would sit in my office with the door closed for hours, unable to concentrate, unable to move, just running a never ending series of scenarios through my mind as to how my marriage was going to play out. I even had dumbbells under my desk and I'd do curls and presses to try and take my mind off of my problems, but it was just a temporary fix. At the time I was so self absorbed in my own misery that I didn't see the signs all around me that due to the real estate collapse, the company I worked for was slowly circling the drain.
By May of 2009 I'd lost more than 130 pounds. I'd run my first 5k. I was being treated differently by everyone around me, to the point of actually being noticed and hit on by women. My friends couldn't believe the transformation. I'd had to buy all new clothes. Physically, I felt good! I could do things that normal sized people take for granted, but are huge sources of shame for a fat guy, like fit into a booth in a restaurant. Like tie my shoes without grunting and maneuvering. I could actually see my feet! . . . among other things that I'd lost sight of due to my weight.
I just knew that my new physicality would be enough to "save my marriage". That was my mantra, words that I'd repeated millions of times to myself, that I'd Googled over and over, read in countless books and articles, spoken to my friends in many long conversations, prayed over and over and over and over. I'd been going to Church with my kids every weekend, singing along and praying for a miracle.
Alas, twas not to be.
I was constantly searching for a guarantee that everything would be ok; a promise that she wouldn't leave. I was grasping for straws - from my friends, from the internet, books, co-workers, God, my wife. I think I must have become unbearable for her to be around. My every action, every word, calculated to either ingratiate myself with her, impress her, or beg her not to go. It was not a healthy time for me mentally and I am ashamed of how I acted. I was desperate. I was weak.
In May of 2009 she had enough and moved out. The next week my company folded and began the process of shutting down, I was let go. I fell apart.
I got low. Very low. I forgot every person that was there to support me. All my friends that were by my side. My parents and brother and sister, whom I'd hidden all of this from until now, who loved and would do anything for me, I dismissed. My kids. My wonderful, beautiful, incredible kids. I felt like I had let them down. I had let their family fall apart. I'd failed as a husband and therefore as a father. I was a burden to them. I didn't deserve them. They deserved better, a better influence, a better provider, a better Dad. Someone better than me.
A lot of people say that they've contemplated suicide, and I believe that is true. Many of us have done the childish - "they'll be sorry when I'm gone and they'll miss me" thing, at least in our minds. Some of us have even threatened it out loud, for the drama, to get the attention of someone we think is ignoring us, or we're losing. I don't think we're really serious about it then, it's truly a cry for help, or attention. I did that. I'm not proud of it, but I did it as a last resort, please come back, you're ruining my life thing. I can honestly say that of all the mistakes I've made, I hate myself for that one. I feel like an idiot now.
Thinking about and facing suicide are two different things. Sitting in the dark, alone, with the device for ending your pain at hand and no one to stop you, no one to pull it away, no one to talk you out of it. That is facing suicide. Weighing the pros and cons, trying to see through the haze of jumbled emotion, thinking further than what others will think - to the mechanics of the act; who will find you, how will it impact them and how can you arrange for that to be someone that can handle it. Sitting alone in the dark and staring into the void that has become your soul and looking for just some flicker of light, listening for some voice, some whisper on the winds to say "don't", or "stay". When your thoughts are not about revenge on someone that hurt you, but truly about ending the pain, emotional or otherwise, about making it stop, escaping; that is facing suicide. It's thinking about taking the easy route and "opting out" rather than getting out of bed one more time to face a day that holds no light, no hope, no chance for happiness. It's when you can't remember what happiness is, what self worth means, and you are convinced that the only purpose left of your life is to be a warning to others. It's forgetting all the faces of your family, your friends, and being completely absorbed into your own misery. This decision is right in front of you like a tangible object and you pick it up, turn it over, examine it with cold eyes, from all sides, to see if it fits. Still listening for a hint, a voice, something to interrupt your inevitable slide down the slippery slope into this dark decision, into this oblivion. Thinking about God, wondering if he understands. Will he greet you or will it be the other, and can Hell possibly be worse than the way you feel right now. I don't know if it's like this for others, if anyone else has ever felt the way I did, but I went through this. I stared down this decision, this demon. More than once.
At my darkest, tear soaked, soul numbing, closest to the edge moment; I heard something. My mind was a raging storm of emotion, pain, regret, and self-loathing, but through that storm I heard a voice. The barest whisper carried on the storm. It just said, "I've got you".
It was just enough to push me back from the brink. Enough that I carried on. I'd like to tell you that this was the beginning of a whole new happy life for me. It wasn't. I did eventually see how ridiculous it was that I felt so alone. How selfish I'd been to think that my kids didn't need or want me. How utterly crazy it was that I let one person's decision to no longer be with me define who I was and whether or not I was worthy of breathing. I did eventually take responsibility for my own mistakes and issues and realize that the universe wasn't out to get me, but it took some time. But in the meantime I ran back to my old vice. The one addiction that you can't quit cold turkey - food.
When life turns upside down some people turn to drugs, or climb into a whiskey bottle. Not me. I climbed into a bag of chips. I suppose as far as vice's go its not the worst, but given enough time it can be just as deadly.
I started my old eating habits back. I was lucky and found a new good job, thanks to a good friend - you know, one of those people I'd convinced myself wouldn't care if I were dead. Sadly, I'd lost all desire to exercise any more. I ate whatever I wanted, more than I wanted. I kept running, for a while. I'd grown to love the solitary sport and the way I could clear my mind and think while doing it. Unfortunately physics kicked in and when you start adding weight, without fail you'll lose performance and injuries follow. I injured my leg and started having a sore back, so I stopped altogether. I walked one last 5k in October of that year and that was my last serious attempt at exercise in 5 years.
Lets fast forward again, through years of tears, 5 years of emotional and mental healing. 5 years of slowly building a different, but positive, relationship with my ex. Yes I did see a counselor for a while and it helped. I'm back working 2 jobs, but I love both and while I scrape by financially, I work with great people in great environments and have a hard time contemplating leaving either one. I'm stronger mentally now, although all that physical strength I boasted of earlier, sadly, has left me. It's also been 5 years of eating out of control. I sadly admit that a big part of why my finances are the way they are is due to eating out 3 meals a day most days. Not only is the food really bad for me, but it's really expensive when you start adding it up. $30 a day quickly becomes your biggest monthly expense, especially when it goes up on the weekends when the kids are here and we all eat out.
So what does 5 years of physical neglect look like? What does 5 years of a very sedentary lifestyle, consisting often of 15 hours a day sitting behind a desk, look like?
I have a laundry list of escalating health issues. My feet hurt, shoes don't fit the same anymore. My knees pop and ache, going up stairs is hellish. My back is a mess. I have had sciatica twice, I don't recommend it. If I stand for any length of time the pain becomes nearly unbearable. I frequently have stabbing pains in my left side that I'm not sure whether or not they are related to some kidney problem, kidney stones, or related to the sciatica. I get out of breath tying my shoes, which is a chore. I'm always tired, can fall asleep anytime I sit still for a few minutes, but never a good nourishing deep sleep. I wake up virtually every hour during the night, uncomfortable, with my arm or leg or neck sore from what ever position I've been sleeping in. I avoided the doctor for a long time, dreading what they would say. Although I did go when I had a kidney stone, and again to talk about my back, but got no sympathy from the doc and felt like I was dismissed out of hand since I guess to her my problem was completely obvious. Lose weight was her grand advice. Then, thanks to changes in the insurance industry, which I won't rant about now, my doctor's office dropped my insurance carrier.
I was watching myself slowly deteriorate.
On some level I think it was punishing myself. I know I was depressed, I know I was feeling sorry for myself. I know better than to eat the way I did. I know my bad habits were killing me slowly. I know with the onset of diabetes and my sedentary lifestyle, the next step would be high blood pressure and eventually heart disease. I know that my life expectancy is mid 40's. I also know that on some level, deep down, I thought I was OK with that. I don't think its that I consciously wanted to die, but I just didn't care if I lived. Even though my depression was much improved, it was still there and I still had moments where I felt . . . out of place, stuck in a hole, and climbing out just seemed so hard as to be nearly impossible. It's almost like I'd accepted that this was my fate and I was resigned to it. I would just slowly fade away.
That's not how life works. The pain was a wake up call.
I missed a day of work just about every month due to some ailment. My vision started to blur and I bought reading glasses for the first time about 6 months ago. My back was the worst though. I was in nearly constant pain. Walking hurt, just standing hurt, and now sitting hurt. It wasn't unusual for me to come home from work and go straight to bed just so my back would ease off. A few months ago I finally took some steps forward, at the urging of some good people.
One of my bosses suggested that I see his friend who is a Chiropractor. Doc Holloway was great. I use his name because it always reminds me of Doc Holiday when I say it. Anyway, he did x-rays on my lower back and showed me my problems. I had a vertebrae out of alignment and with what looked like a small fracture. Also, the cushioning in my right hip was pretty much gone from all the pressure on it. He started a series of adjustments on my back, vertebral subluxations, I believe he calls them, to bring it back into alignment. He's not a backcracker, but a serious health enthusiast that believes that these minor movements aid the muscles in doing what they are designed to do. He's worked wonders for me. He encouraged me to start walking, told me that it was possible to fix my problems, just to start easy and get moving.
My other boss (I work in a law firm for 2 partners) apparently noticed my declining health. I guess the dark rings under my eyes were probably magnified by my new reading glasses. Anyway, she gave me the name of her doctors office and a glowing recommendation, so I set an appointment with them. Some blood work, some lab tests, and what do you know, it's official - I have type 2 Diabetes. No surprise there. My Mom's had it as long as I can remember, it runs in both sides of my families, but genetics aside, I knew I was an ideal candidate for it and fully expected this diagnosis. My blood sugar was averaging around 300 or so first thing in the morning. My doc put me on meds to help control my blood sugar and my thyroid and we had a long talk about my health in general, my eating habits, and the fact that I could turn my health around. Luckily my blood pressure was good, which was surprising to me and the doc. For the first time in a LONG time, I left the doctors office feeling positive.
After a few days on the new meds I felt better. My blood sugar dropped down to around 200, still not good, but better. My vision actually improved and I don't use the reading glasses anymore. My energy level has improved - some. All in all, its a start. Its been a few months on the meds now and I'm down 15 pounds from my initial doctor's visit, according to their scale.
I've made some other changes as well. For one thing I'm bringing lunch from home. Besides saving a ton of money, I'm bringing much healthier fare than I've been eating for the past several years. I'm buying groceries weekly and it's evolved into my new Saturday morning routine. I plan my meals for the week and then go buy the ingredients. For me, just walking all through the store and getting back home without my back screaming is a win. I still have a lot of room for improvement, I still eat out a couple of nights a week while at the part time job, but over all I feel for the first time in years that I'm making forward progress, even if it's at a very slow rate.
So that brings us almost current. Like I said, I wanted to start out by remembering how I got here. Just admitting some of the things I've just admitted makes me feel a little lighter. It's good to clean out the mental closet I guess. Pull things out and look at them and remember and maybe gain new insight.
I don't know if anyone will read this, and if they do if it will resonate with anyone, encourage anyone, help anyone who might share some of my issues, feelings, and experiences. Maybe someone will read this and see things I haven't realized myself, offer me some insight. I welcome insight, wisdom, and encouragement, even commiseration. Judgement I can do without.
I don't know if I'll post again, and if so when it will be. I don't know what my journey will be like. I've tried before and failed. I've promised myself sooo many times that I'd get healthy and yet here I am. I'll just take it a day at a time and try to do the right thing. Hopefully that'll be enough.
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