Keep Moving Forward

I can’t sleep lately and it’s for the dumbest reason possible. Not something I like admitting has been plaguing my thoughts for weeks (years more likely) and I’m starting to get so mad at myself that I can’t sleep.

I’m not losing weight.

There it is in all its pathetic glory. Those four stupid words that I hate repeating. Because I’m not just repeating them to myself, I tell my friends, my family, you guys, Doomsday, hell I’ve probably ended up saying it to total strangers at some point in my life. It’s ridiculous. I am more than this. I am more than the weight I carry or how I look in a picture. I know this. I know this deep down and up front, but still I sit here thinking about how disappointed I am in myself because I’ve once again let this get the better of me.

It’s not all about what I’m eating or how little I exercise, sometimes I gain weight when I’ve been eating really well or maintain even though I’ve gorged. My body is nuts because my brain is keeping it trapped somehow.

I’m self conscious about a lot of things, most of which I’m using my weight as an excuse to not try something new or go out on a limb for.

My brain is holding me hostage in my own body.

Literally encasing me so that I think that I’m not pretty enough or thin enough to do the things I want to. I want to sign up for dance classes, but I think I’m too fat to ever be a dancer. (Hello dummy brain: If I take dance classes I’ll lose weight.) I want to go back to singing and piano because they made me really happy but I’ve gained 20 pounds since my teachers saw me and I don’t want them to see me like that. (Hello dummy brain: neither of them gives a tiny rats hind quarters. They’ve seen you at your worst and best some in-between isn’t going to make a difference in how they see you as a human being.) I want to fall in love but looking in the mirror lately kind of makes it harder and harder for me to believe that someone is going to look at this same naked body and fan themselves because they are getting heart palpitations. (Hello dummy brain: Whoever does fall in love with us will fall in love with our hearts first and our asses second. Either way you’re well rounded. Wink.)

So you can see that I’m boxing myself in with not only my neuroses but with a literal fat cage.

This weeks motivation is simple (although harder to follow than to give as a direct order to myself):

Cry or Try?

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Keep Moving Forward

Soooo….remember last week when I said that I wasn’t going to break my stride? Yeah. I broke it. BUT it was for a fair reason and I dare anyone to defy my decision in stopping.

Here’s some TMI for you: PMS boob pains. There are only a handful of things that could stop me when I set my mind to something (two of which are the words ‘Hey, let’s go get a poutine’ and ‘Let’s go watch Outlander’) and the very tippy top of the list is all period related.

Now, I’ve worked out during my period, I’m sure a lot of girls have, but there are two things attached to said period (well, I guess one thing is something trying to DETACH from me, heyo…gross word play.) that will stop me from doing an aerobic exercise:

1) My boobs become two (albeit smallish) sacks of sandbag hell where it feels like someone is continuously punching me in the tit while another person is putting them into a vice. Hello sleeping in a bra because it hurts to move.

2) Cramps that feel like I’m being stabbed by a rusty machete and it hurts to stretch let alone do crunches.

This weekend I had to cancel on plans with someone because the cramps were so bad I couldn’t (and didn’t want to) get out of bed. Instead I had to force myself up to get Advil and then made socks all weekend while watching Scrubs because moving from my Buddha-like sitting position was like being skewered by a katana.

(Upon writing this I realize I know more swords than I thought.)

Anyway, now that that’s all dealt with and I’ve inexplicably lost 5 pounds (I’m going to assume it was the child I never wanted and water weight combo.) I can recharge, restart, and be a little more prepared for the next annihilation of my insides.

All in all…fuck periods. Period.

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