Posted by: catsandfish | September 27, 2012

Pushing Myself

Update- I think I finally found a decent doctor. Tamika. She actually had an idea of how to care for a person in my situation. The last doctor, Dr. W, we’ll call him, decided I was an insane hypochondriac who for some reason wanted to take antibiotics and steroids for no reason at all. He was insulting, condescending, and physically dirty. He made me sit on the exam table, even though he didn’t examine me, and I told him that it was painful for me to do so. He barely glanced at my file. What a tool. 

Tamika, however, listened to everything I had to say, went over my medications with me, and asked a series of well thought out questions. I’m glad I found her. My medication situation was becoming desperate, since Dr. W decided I didn’t need refills on half of my pills. The kind of stuff that you can’t just cold turkey quit. 

I was unpleasantly surprised with my weight gain. I have gained almost 70 lbs since I stopped being really sick. While I do not feel “fat”, I do feel unhappy with the way I look. I don’t recognize myself in a mirror.It’s hard on my self esteem.  It is also hard on my body, carrying the extra weight. I have no doubt that I would be in less pain if I lost 10 lbs. So that is my new goal. I am just going to eat better, exercise as much as my body will allow, and just try harder in general to take care of myself. I have really been in a low self esteem pit for about 6 months. The bitch that lives in the back of my brain keeps screaming at me that I’m not worth it, I shouldn’t even try. I will never be normal. I will never be able to do all the simple things that everyone takes for granted. I am going to rip that bitch’s tongue out Spanish Inquisition style. I am sick of my pathetic pity party. I don’t need to be normal, but I do need to be better. Better to myself. I have this sick sense of worthlessness, like I don’t deserve to eat healthy foods, exercise. This is something to talk to the psychiatrist about. There is something deeply wrong with me. My self mutilation has reached a new level; destruction from inside. I might as well go back to slicing open skin and binge drinking. This stagnant sitting in limbo, not living, just surviving, is going to drive me insane. A slow, terrible, death by apathy. Inching closer to going back to being bedridden, then physical and mental shut down.

I understand that it is normal for someone in my position to lose their sense of purpose. Expected even. I am unable to do even the smallest task without worrying about my body or my mind panicking. Why even try? Because I have to. I need goals; something to look forward to, or I will fade into nothing. I will lock myself inside my timeless mental prison and let my body rot. Slow suicide. Not as dramatic as slitting my wrists or swallowing a bottle of pills, but with entirely the same intention. So I will plant a garden. Keep the house tidy. Exercise and eat better. Do my little routine. Try not to be disgusted by it. Try not to let the tedium of these tasks drive me insane. 

I think a big part of it is knowing that even if I do everything I can, I will never change things in the way I want to change them. I have to try though, to be just a bit better. Because there is no other option. 


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