05 July 2012
I don't like to admit to this, but I'm going to. I've been struggling for a while. Struggling a lot, somehow, but not in a practical manner. Rather more of an internal struggle, often in the form of a battle with my inner child.
With some good news and an end in sight to my darling lovely hubby's health problems (well, we think that's pretty much the case), life 'ought' to be straightforward and cheery and I 'should' be happy as a lark, but somehow things are not quite like that.
Hmmm, so what's been going on here? Blowed if I can figure it out yet, but let's get it down in black and white and see if that helps.
When I look back at the last month or two, I've had spells where I seem to have sunk into a bit of a pit, and have lost the incentive (interest?) to look after 'me' properly. This bit sounds really silly, but I haven't even been taking care of those little personal things, like shaving my legs or painting my toenails. Sure I got my hair cut, but I'm not too fussed about the results of that even.
My eating has slipped, quite badly, for short periods. My inner brat bellows "I want" very loudly and 'me' has been giving in to her raucous demands just to shut her up. Then I realise what's going on and I get it back in hand... for a while, until it happens again.
I'm not exercising daily as I should be. Huh? Why ever not? I would usually do my exercises willingly and get pleasure from it. At the moment, it all seems a huge chore to be endured not enjoyed.
As you'd imagine, the combination of poor food choices and lack of exercise is having the expected effect - my waistband has got tighter and weight has been fluctuating.
Not very happy to say this aloud, but a week or two ago I was nearly half a stone heavier than I want to be [picture a horrified face here, à la Edvard Munch's 'Scream'].
I had begun to feel old and tired most of the time. My joints were beginning to complain and I'd started to look pretty darned flabby, not toned. Er, although I've managed to shed some of those pounds, I still feel that I look flabbier than I want to... and that's despite some assurances from lovely hubby that I'm not really turning into a complete jellified blob again.
The worst part is that I 'know' what I have to do to get back on track... but just can't find the will/energy/self-discipline to get up and at it, then keep on keeping at it.
Buffetted by the strong side-winds of life's stresses, I can feel myself wobbling on my tightrope and feel in real danger of falling. So far, when I've slipped, I've just about managed to grab hold of the rope on my way past and pull myself to my feet again, but look out! There's peril ahead. I'm likely to miss my grip at some point, and I know if that happens my own personal 'gravity' will take over. It's an awfully long way down from here, and it won't be a comfortable landing. Worse, I'll have a serious battle to haul myself back up onto the rope. My weight loss efforts over the years will have been wasted.
I'm also scared that, if that happens, it'll sink me deep into the black despair I've felt in the past and that's just hovering in the periphery at the moment. Something needs to change.
It may be, in part, a reaction to the emotional roller-coaster ride of the last year, with periods of intense stress and spells of relative calm, but no real resolution until recently.
It may be, in part, that it hasn't been possible to take a break - almost all of my annual leave allowance has been used when lovely hubby came out of hospital after the various rounds of eye surgery. Boy, I could do with a holiday, but...
Whatever the cause, I need to take full control. It is MY choice, and my choice alone, whether I descend off the rope into a crumpled (and obese) heap, or whether I hold up my head and walk onwards, despite the odd wobble.
The plan is to choose the latter path. Onwards ever...