Cet endroit chaud et lumineux

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I’m hopeful that I can carry this post over to MyFitnessPal.  I just need to be present there.  I am also hopeful that the internet will remain connected long enough for me to draft and post this.  I’ve written every day – however, internet blackouts have kept those posts as word docs so I’ll edit them in soon.

Some of this will be replicated in earlier posts, but I don’t think I’ve given much detail there – if at all, so I will not have to mind repeating myself.

Today was Sunday.  A day of not being on-call.  A day of not being anyone’s employee but my own.  In that regard, I did one thing of significance.  I left the house.

It is odd.  You build a thing up in your mind as difficult and it builds its own little wall around the idea.  What was once simple and easy and done every single day, for me, can become the sort of issue that I wake up and find myself panicking over.  I have, of course, been travelling on my own – particularly lately as I have had to take those long drives into the old stomping grounds to perch myself on the old stomping lane for my little part-time job.  In some ways, I have been doing precisely the opposite of what an agoraphobe desires.  I’ve been in public, talking with people, driving, active.   But in my head, I’ve been doing what I can to not think of anything.

My grandfather passing, dear little Peanut having to leave this mortal realm to wherever kitties play beyond this life, getting this new job and how much it pricks the heart of my body issues, visiting my friends and then realizing the depth of their absence in my life, feeling profound deja vu with issues related to the current job, feeling tired all the time.  That was May.

Food, through this, and soda, too, has been this coping mechanism.  The great cure-all to make time pass, to make time stop.  To shut out all the shaming voices that I hear about the failures and frustrations I am experiencing right now.  And the other good tactics I know about, in my head, feel impossible.  It’s those walls that exist around them after avoiding them for a month.  Exercise felt like digging through a brick wall with my fingernails.  Writing down the fact that I had ice cream for breakfast and a brownie for late breakfast today still feels like I’m spitting in the wind.  I feel embarrassed, but at the same time, like I’m not ready to take off the bandaid.  Even if I don’t have the money right now to keep eating out for every meal.  I have to start paying attention.

But I told my parents about the job situation.  They didn’t flip out.  They didn’t catastrophize the way I did for them.  They absorbed it and supported me.  They did, as they do, start to think of ideas what to do, but not as though I needed to do them…more of a group brainstorm.  It was okay.

Somehow, telling them what was going on took a load off of my mind. I didn’t need to go get some extra food after seeing them to take off the edge of having spent so long thinking about these painful things.  I didn’t go buy a bottle of soda just for the craving.

So I feel, somehow, like I’ve done something right.

And on another note, bonne matin!

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