The Me Project: Day 0

Feeling very ill right now. Perhaps I can blame it on cheddar meeting mild lactose intolerance. Or the pineapple juice with ginger ale that I drank with the cheese. None of it is combining well in my stomach, but underneath it is also a weird hypoglycemic sensation. Maybe it’s all a manifestation of my inner conflict — I seem to remember going through weeks of this at various points over the last couple of years, where everything I ate made me nauseous.

Have been trying to sort out what I actually want. Or, rather, trying to separate what I need out of the tangled ball of wants and wishes that fills up my head and heart right now. Having to do it through continual, sudden crying jags that are bubbling up out of nowhere isn’t making the job easier. (Some of that I can blame on hormones but it isn’t like this every month so that’s obviously not all it is.)

The conclusion I’ve reached has been that I want to be open to all the Universe has in store for me and I can’t do that if I’m not comfortable in my own skin. That means both being comfortable with how I look and also being more comfortable physically. I’ve passed on so many opportunities for fun because of physical limitations or because I couldn’t get past the cripplingly low self-esteem. Even those chances I’ve taken haven’t always been fully enjoyed because I was worried what people were thinking about me.

But I get overwhelmed at the sheer amount of time this is going to take to do this right. I need to just focus on taking it one day, one hour, one minute at a time, like a recovering alcoholic. Stop thinking about past losses and delayed futures and just concentrate on right here and right now. Concentrate on right now and the future will take care of itself.

So, today is day 0.


My new life…take two

From “It’s not the thing you fling, it’s the fling itself” (a blog written by a very cool young lady whose posts have been sending me to scary places tonight, like Stuff Christians Like), an apropos quote from CS Lewis’ The Four Loves:

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.

Been there, done that, don’t want to do that any more.

Today I seem to have entered phase II of my crisis. What started two years ago is kicking up again, sans anger. The whirling vortices of pain and sadness are all around, leveling me to the ground when I least expect it. Have forgotten to eat for much of the last two days. That’s me: All Or Nothing Girl. Can’t find the middle ground. Binge or starve. Joy or depression. Cool and confident or completely neurotic. Happy hermit or lonely little girl curled up in a ball in the corner. Up. Down. Up. Down. Without the drama of a good bipolar cycle or some tasty meds to make the ride fun. My friends are far, far away from me, and I’m feeling very small and very lost.

Unfortunately. most of what I wanted or planned for phase I didn’t happen. My fault. I got sidetracked again. Seems that happens when I stop listening to the same song or songs on autorepeat. I stall. Or I just forget what I was doing and go back to sleep. Or get confused and overwhelmed by all the things I can/should/didn’t do.

No more. NO MORE.

I’m done with this Scheiße. I’ve lost two more years to this and I refuse to lose even one more.

Welcome to the Me Project, the reclamation of a derelict body.