Something happened to me last week that opened a door to my past. A deep and dark precipice that threatened to let me drop off it’s edge with no remorse. And it broke me.
It was a moment of rejection. A painful reminder that not everyone will like me even when I’m the best version of me I can possibly be. Suffice it to say that the after-effects of this incident left me reeling for days and I couldn’t gather my bearings. I found myself filled with embarrassment for being shunned in front of others, then dread at the idea that I was no longer liked by this individual. I pushed the thoughts aside till the next day when my mind and heart suddenly filled with crippling anxiety. I spent the day in a daze, struggling to re-route my thoughts every time they would resurface. I made comfort food, had a movie night with my child, and for all intense and purposes “forgot” about the day before.
But I didn’t forget.
The next day– two days after the initial incident– I had my very first “angry” gym session. The workout was vigorous and aggressive as my body tried to release what my mind would not. After all, I wasn’t writing anymore, how could my mind possibly find a way to sort through the pain?
And then I slept. I slept the day away and come the following morning I felt almost normal again. Not happy but not devastated either. I was past it. Or at least I was past the initial blow.
I meditated on this and asked myself, why was I letting something so small and irrelevant get to me in this way? I’m a strong woman who doesn’t place her self value in what people think of her. And yet at that moment, and days afterward, I was 12 again… And it was horrifying.
So the writing bug returns as a symptom of childhood insecurity and bullying. It never occurred to me that writing was necessarily that essential to my self esteem. I mean, I knew it kept me calm and sorted out some muddled thoughts, but I never truly understood to what degree it played in my self-preservation, not to mention my sanity. But as it turns out, it’s more important than I ever gave it credit for and so I’ve come to the conclusion that it can’t go away.
I deal with pain through words. It’s not what my gift was given to me for but it’s what I use it for, even if I didn’t realize it. So as my therapy and as my essence the words have to come back.
Living with bi-polar means I don’t have control over my emotions; they fluctuate and are erratic. Medication can calm the ups and downs, but there isn’t anything out there that can really harness a sense of control. Except creating worlds.
When I’m writing elaborate fiction I AM in control. That’s the whole point. Without it, I flounder. And so, in spite of trying to push my gift aside, It’s been proven– quite disturbingly, I might add– that writing is my ultimate self care and I couldn’t ditch it even if I wanted to.
August 2017 to February 2019
I’ve come a long way. I’m not 100% where I want to be but when I look at these pictures I’m reminded that I’m on an adventure that’s years in the making and there is no rushing it.
Truth of the matter is, I’m told the results stay off the longer it takes to get there. I’m hoping that’s the truth because I don’t want to go back to that version of me. And that’s not because I was considered “obese” – Hell, I’m technically still considered “overweight” right now and that’s totally insane! I wear size medium, for crying out loud! Does that make sense to anyone else out there?
In any case, the goal is to be in the zone of what is considered “healthy range” for my age and height. According to the internet that’s 145 lbs. Currently I’m 166 lbs. But that’s 166 lbs “partially toned” as apposed to 166 lbs “not toned at all.”
See the difference??
This pictures was taken on the day I joined the gym. I was the same weight I am right now. 166 lbs but you wouldn’t think so. The scale barely moves these days but I haven’t had my clothes fit any better!
When I look at these pictures I can’t get over the fact that This is me! I’m healthy, I’m fit, I’m happy, and I can’t wait to see what I’ll look like another 6 months from now.
But with all of that being said, let’s focus on my quality of life. My depression is 75% less. Like, seriously. Bipolar type 2 tends to stay in the depressed zone more often than not. Since starting my healthy lifestyle that’s completely changed. In fact, the gym is a trigger for hypomania for me. It makes me SO happy that I literally can’t come down from the high for hours! If anyone had told me that would be a fact in my life I’d laugh in their faces — Hell, I used to laugh at my psychiatrist when he’d tell me to “exercise” and “walk” to help with my depression.
Physical aspects. My pulse has regulated, my low blood sugar episodes have ceased, my GERD has almost completely disappeared, My IBS is non-existent, I no longer have weekly yeast infections (sorry for the TMI, but it’s a fact!) I have energy to get through my days. Even the long work days!
It’s a total 360 and I couldn’t be more proud of myself. This just might be the biggest hurdle I’ve ever had to overcome in my life so far. It’s a battle and it’s far from over but, damn, it’s amazing. <3