The worst days are those where there is some good news and then something rocks me backwards into the muck. I keep thinking the good will buffer me from the bad, but it’s not quite working that way yet. I can’t seem to hold on to the good long enough. It’s so easy for the bad to take over. Yes, I guess that’s depression…just like it’s depression that keeps shoving the bad feelings away, putting them in a drawer somewhere for me to deal with later, whenever later is. I feel like I’m building armor over me to protect me from those bad things. I don’t know if that’s good either. I already have a lot of armor up from the divorce years ago…I let some of it down, and now here I am. But you can’t be in the world without letting some of it down.
I did biometrics testing yesterday at work; it’s part of the health insurance program that provides me with my health coach, whom I’ve never met. This is my second health coach…the first one was older than me, I think, and had been through grief and death and at least had some concept of the aging perimenopausal woman’s body. This one is young, mid-20s probably, and thinks everything is simple…are you over your grief yet? You can eat this many calories (no I can’t…look back at the notes from the previous health coach). Anyway. She tries. It makes me be accountable to someone besides my sad self. Anyway, the biometrics was basically BMI, skeletal muscle, fat/muscle ratio, measurements etc., and some stuff for me will never be great just due to genetics, but the numbers were really good compared to 18 months ago. If I’ve done nothing in the last year, I’ve aimed myself at being a healthier old lady. I’m close to all my goals on that. That was good news. It made me smile, even when I think about how I got there.
Because my weight loss plan? Well for the first year, it was healthy: eat reasonably, use an app to track calories, exercise regularly. Lost 20 pounds. It was hard, but worth it. Good deal. For the last 3 1/2 months? Experience extremely traumatic event, stop eating normally, exercise lots, and lose a shitload of weight. Lost 27 pounds. Seriously? And even this week and last week, little things throw me off and I get back into the not-eating mode, not because I’m trying to punish myself (I’m not…I’d really LIKE to be able to eat sometimes), but because I just can’t stomach it. The psychological pain is enough to make me gag and the nausea makes my stomach feel like a roiling sea of acid and those two things combined means I can eat a handful of peanuts or a spoonful of cereal, and then that’s it. I’m done. Not the healthiest diet plan in the world.
In my life, this is what I’ve found that helps me lose weight: really horrific traumatic personal events, stomach flu, and pregnancy (because I throw up for 40 weeks straight). All the things my health coach says should work? Don’t. None of those other health plans really work…try one of these (don’t…it’s not worth it).
OK. Whatever. So from here on out, I know I’m going to be one of those scary old ladies at the gym until I die. I’m OK with that. As far as the emotional crap goes, I know it’s going to take me a really long time to get past all this depression and the trauma and the trust issues, which are beyond huge at this point. They seem to get bigger every day. Not good. This is what counselors are for. I’m going to keep making art and at some point, I will get a rush off it again. I hope. It’s a lot of just doing at the moment. The just-doing doesn’t feel bad, but it doesn’t feel good either. Hopefully some day, it will feel good again. Hopefully lots of things will feel good again. People keep telling me they will, but believing them means I need to trust them. Yeah. I know.
I picked up the Babygirl quilt last night and my trophy for 2nd place…
There’s nothing like a Pussy Trophy to make you at least smile for a moment. When I picked it up, I had a conversation about whether people should be in long-term relationships at all, whether it makes any logical or biological sense (I don’t know that the word logical should be hiding in biological, and it really isn’t, if you look at the meaning, but it just creeped me out, because biology isn’t logical in many ways). She is considerably more cynical than I am…not trusting any relationship to last for a long time. She’s been through more than I have, though. I guess I am more idealist than that…I do think that with mature, responsible adults that you can get through most of the trying times, as long as both people are behaving appropriately to the relationship…there are dealbreakers, of course, and I guess this comes down to how we treat other people…do we sit down and have a conversation about our concerns, our worries, and try to work it out, or like so many relationships I’ve seen fall apart, do we just careen around like bulls in china shops because we don’t know how to handle our own emotions and difficulties, trying to blame other people for how we’re feeling and not dealing with that? And not telling people what we’re feeling and thinking? I’ve seen too much of the latter…maybe this is how we’ve socialized people to be…maybe this is just in our genes. I hate to think it’s the latter. So yeah, I do believe, despite my own personal experiences, that people should be able to hang on to each other in a healthy way for a good long time, and maybe that makes me stupid, but I also know that if it doesn’t work, that there’s at least one person in the relationship who isn’t doing the work of paying attention to other people and themselves. And that’s how people get seriously hurt. Are we genetically built to be selfish assholes, or can we consider the big picture? Is it all about me me me? Or can there be an us that allows both me’s to exist? And let’s not even put the kids in the mix, because my kids HAVE been negatively affected by all this…and I regret that. I can’t do anything about it, because none of this has been under my control, divorce or other; I can just do my best to mitigate the after and show them that it’s not the end of the world…even though it feels like it.
I don’t know if any of that makes sense, and it probably dooms me to loneliness for the rest of my life. Whatever. People are shitty towards each other in general. If there’s no one else out there who thinks like I do, then so be it.
I did go out last night and hang out with total strangers…hang out is probably the wrong term, because although I was in the room with a lot of people, I didn’t interact. I somehow feel better in those situations, at least for a while, because no one there knows my background or my issues, so I don’t have to explain them or talk about them or wonder if they’re wondering if I’m OK, or worry about getting tearful, because I don’t care what any of those people are thinking…they’re total strangers and I don’t have to do anything but BE. And for a few hours, just BEING is easier than a social event where I would have to introduce myself or be with people who know what’s going on, or worse, with people who know me but DON’T know what’s going on and ask painful questions. It’s hard when there’s a break in the event and everyone is standing around socializing and I’m not, but hard is where I’m at right now no matter where I am, with friends, at school, in the grocery store, driving in the car, at the gym, at home…all of it is hard. Every day is hard. Some days are hardER, but they’re all hard. And I guess that is a testament to how much I had invested emotionally…and how little was invested in me.
More drawing tonight? Maybe. I’m already tired and I have a busy day. I’m glad my health is a positive thing despite all the shit. I’m glad I went last night (will write more about that later). I’m glad I can make art and give myself moments of peace in the shitstorm that surrounds me. I’m glad my daughter randomly texts me at night when she’s not here and tells me she loves me and that she’ll always be there for me (she won’t. she’s got to go to college and have a life and that’s OK.). I wish for a lot of other things, but there’s no point in dwelling on them (tell my brain that). And I guess I’m going to continue the daily crying jag for a least a while longer.
Kathy Nida 