I am incredibly frustrated with my body right now. Not only could I not do Pilates this week because of my stupid back, I also have some kind of respiratory infection that is keeping me from doing any cardio. WTF? It seems so damned unfair that when I am well and truly motivated to Do Something, my body decides it’s a good time to fall apart.
Please, no lectures about “doing too much” — I am so not wanting to hear that right now. I really wasn’t doing too much. I was working out one or two days a week and not paying very good attention to what I was eating.
I know I’m supposed to be patient about all this, but dammit, I am so tired of looking at the fat on my midsection. I hate it and I want it gone. I want to look in the mirror and not cringe. I want to have sex with my husband and not worry about whether or not things are jiggling that shouldn’t be. Yes, he may say he doesn’t care, but he will also say he prefers my body in better shape. So which is it? ?!@?#! Ultimately, I know, it is about me liking what I see, but the fact is, right now, I don’t. And I can feel marginally better about that when I work out. Not being able to do that is making me cranky.
There is good news, I guess. I did manage to lose about four pounds this week from journaling my food and paying attention to what I eat. And I had some insight into how I defeat myself by giving up on eating well when I perceive I’ve made some kind of mistake — even if I haven’t really made that mistake. Journaling helped me see that. One day last week I thought I ate too much for lunch, so I went ahead and slid on dinner too — after all, I’d already screwed up for the day, so why stop? I had some candy too. I didn’t journal that day, but when I wrote about it the next day in my morning pages, I realized that I hadn’t really screwed up in the first place. It was all a mind game. So anyway, journaling what I eat is helping with that.
Topping it all off is just a general sense of blah, of blue and grey. Is it depression? I don’t know. I’m not feeling suicidal, just angry or apathetic in turns. I had a dream the other night that I was listening to a song, the title of which is annoyingly escaping me right now, and it reminded me of Jasmine and I just sobbed and sobbed. I expected to wake up to a wet pillow, but I didn’t. I can’t help but think that if I could do that when I am awake it would help release some of this pressure.