Different? Or the same?

I've been thinking about going back on the antidepressant. I feel reasonably good on a personal level. I'm still nice to Jeff and the people at work, I'm mostly patient (maybe a little less but I can't say for sure). Choosing a workplace that forces me to smile was a good idea. It helps. Most of the time. 

I used to hate going to work but I didn't want to leave. Now I don't mind going to work but I can't wait to leave. My shit is half done. 

At home, I have to say, I think I'm pretty much the same. I've been making an effort to cook more and to deep clean more lately. Before I went off the Wellbutrin I was pretty much just doing the dishes and trying to make sure Jeff came home to a clean home in the morning. I went through a long spurt of barely even doing that over the summer. 

When did I gain all this weight? It seems to have come on in a hurry. Is it shameful to admit that I didn't see it going on? I watched it. I gave myself permission for every bag of chips and I shrugged off every chocolate bar. When I start beating myself up about food again? Did I ever really stop? 

I'm angry that I don't have any clothes. I thought I was angry because I can't afford to buy any more but I could get some stuff. I went to three stores today and felt like what I wanted didn't exist. And the other stuff costed too much for me to take a chance on it. I usually know what I want when I see it but nothing falls right anymore. And I'm completely the wrong shape for most plus size clothes. I don't have an ass, dammit. Every pound makes my ass concave a little more. 

Why did I go off these pills? Was it to see if I could? I know the upfont cost and the turn around time bugged me. But it also felt a bit like savings and I liked that. Did I think it would help me lose weight? Did I think it would make me feel better? 

I'm sad all the time. Not crying sad but just down. I don't want to make an effort. I thought pot would help. Motivate me or something. I honestly think that exercise would make a huge difference. I just can't seem to get my ass off the couch long enough to find out. 

I need patience. I need to let it unfold and see what happens. I'm just afraid... that's not fair. I'm assuming I'll fail. It's time to get back to assuming I'll succeed. 

And I need to figure out how I can make that happen. 

I am putting myself on the path, though, I think. I'm looking. I'm so fucking slow to do anything it's hilarious. But I am still doing. Today I walked from the far side of the Walmart parking lot over to Reitmans and then to Addition Elle, back to Walmart, out to the parking lot and back out to the pharmacy. I takes time and you can't really load up with purchases but I guess that's a pretty important part of it, too. 

I'm doing better. I'm happy, I'm okay. I just don't know if that still shows on the outside or if they're just remembering who/how I was. 

Pot calling the kettle fat

My boyfriend just bought me some pot. He's fucking awesome. And, if anyone actually reads this, you're going to see some stoned stuff for a while. It's very difficult to follow and probably hurtful and/or offensive but tremendously cathartic to me so please bear with me.

I told my mother that the very worst thing she did in raising me (we discuss and review these kinds of things frequently) was her refusal to let me fall. I can tell you where all my scars come from. All four of them. I can also tell you what I heard while healing from all four of them (two you can't really see anymore). I heard: See? Falling hurts, doesn't it? Don't do it again. And they were right. And I did my best to not hurt again. 

Okay, that's enough for now.

I think, therefore...

I think I just realized something - what I need to do. Obviously this whole weight thing has been bothering me. On a different emotional level than before but I still don't want to look like this. I don't want my clothes to be too tight or my hair to be limp. I don't want to drive a Pontiac and have floral wall-paper and have to worry about being five minutes late for work every day.

I've tried to eat healthy, made a half-assed attempt or two at exercise, sporatically looked at job postings and had moments of 'what if'. But nothing I do is sticking. I get it, I understand it, I want it but I throw it away just as easily. I don't need it, I don't care. I think I need to go back even further than that. Maybe it's time to start wanting it again. But, whatever, I'm stoned. What I'm trying to say is that I need to go even more simple - I need to take care of my home. I need to do the dishes and clean the floor, wash the windows and scrub the shower. I need to feel pride to feel want. Maybe then I'll eat better, cut my hair, exercise, study, and then to the moon.

I love my sister

I do. Before I met Jeff, my sister and my mom were pretty much the only people that I would go above and beyond for... and not even my mom during a few years of angst. And when I decided to leave Vancouver, it wasn't because I didn't love it there - trust me, I loved it there - it was because I was looking to test myself, to push myself and see how far I would go, what I could achieve. My sister is 11 years younger than me, had moved to Ontario and missed her big sister. She was planning to get married and start a family and I wanted to be in her life. Which coincided with our dad contracting terminal cancer and wanting to be closer to home - although I never dreamed for a moment I would end up there. I didn't know what I was looking for but I knew I was looking for something. So I decided to start looking at my sister's house.

She and her boyfriend (who is now her husband) took me in and gave me a home. I only lived here for three months, deciding after my second month that it was crazy to shovel snow out of my sister's driveway when I should be at home shoveling it out of my parent's driveway. (Then it took a full month to accept that I had volunteered to live indefinitely in the house that made me insane after a week and with the people who made me want to pull my hair out after an hour.) But the time here was very happy and important to show me that next hard step.

All of that was four years ago now. My dad lived for half a year after I got there, I stayed with my mom the promised one year after. In the mean time, I met Jeff on Tumblr, came to Ontario to meet him, came back to meet Ruby, we broke up and dated other people, we came back together stronger than ever, I moved back to this side of Ontario, four hours away from my sister.

It is my absolute fantasy that some day we will live closer again. But she has a home and a life here and I have Jeff and Ruby so there is a very strong chance that we will never live closer than we are right now. Four hours away really isn't so bad. We're in the same time zone, generally the same climate, we don't even need to worry about ferry schedules as we did when we lived in the west. We do need to worry about money a hell of a lot more, unfortunately, so we don't get to see each other as much as we'd like, and when we do we have to get together for days instead of lunch. She is going through a really rough time in her life right now and I wish so much that I could make it better. I want to promise her this baby will survive and they'll both be alright but it's not a promise I'm able to make or keep. So I need to find a way to take care of my little sister as I have been doing since she drank from a bottle. I want to be here for her as she was for me when I needed her. So I will come here once a month or so, to vacuum her carpets and wash the dishes and tell her to rest and have faith and let go of the things she can't control and concentrate on the things she can.

It's hard to be away from Jeff, though. I feel like a part of me is missing when he isn't around. I miss him and the home we've made together. I even miss Ruby more when I'm here for some strange reason. And there's all these cats climbing all over me! Tomorrow I will pep-talk, I will vacuum, refill water glasses and generally try to ease some of pressure until I leave my little sister in her husband's capable hands. And on Monday I will rush home to spend some time with my favourite person in the world and enjoy some more of the things that no one else can give me but him.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Reflection makes the head grow stronger.

Kiss my hole

It's like there's a hole, an abyss. How dramatic. But I can't think of another way to describe this feeling. This hole simply drains the life out of me. The want, the desire to do better, to be more. They're gone. These desires are stuck at the bottom of the hole, maybe they've even drained away by now. And it's not just that there's a hole... it's the absolute compulsion to fill it. With food. With pot. With anger or tears. With anything. But at the same time I know it won't work. Yet I try and I try. It's a terrible feeling and most of the time I want to do something about it. But the rest of the time - like when I'm stuffed with crap and my ass is suctioned onto the couch - I really couldn't give a fuck. It's terrible. It really is. I'm still not going back on those pills. I just need to wait until it eases and get up... hopefully, if I get moving and healthier, next time it won't hurt so damn much.

Frustration, an epilogue

Okay, first of all let me just say that was the booze talking.

And I succeeded in my goal. I just wasn't completely certain... haha... can't even finish the sentence that way. I totally didn't think I would succeed. I thought I needed some deep introspection and analysis but all I really needed was a good cry. And that's what I got. And it was good.

I feel fucking fabulous today.

Bitches.
;-)

Frustration

This is the second post of this name tonight. But let me get a little more in-depth, if you will...

Frustration?

I need to do better. I know who I am. I know what I can accomplish. But I've never done it without pot or anti-depressants. And, to be completely honest, I'm floundering. Even with, things aren't what they used to be. I'm 250 pounds. Two. Hundred. And fifty. Pounds. I make 30 thousand dollars a year. I drive a shit car. I have no clothes. I live in a stupid apartment. But I have love.

Is it enough? For now? I guess. In the long run? No.

But how do I get going?

I don't know.

And I think I'm really afraid that I won't find my way again.

I'm drowning.

All I need is a branch.

But where is it?

And, if I reaching out for it, am I not also pushing it away?