I had a kick in the proverbial balls earlier last week when I stepped on the scale: 352 pounds.
Seeing that number makes me panic. How the hell did I get to that weight? How did I slip so much? I do NOT want to die early.
I’m so overwhelmed with my own emotions. I want to hide in a corner and just wait for them to pass so I can feel better. While I haven’t been in a corner, I’ve been hiding in every other fashion.
These past few months have been about surviving versus actually living-my parents’ issues, my mental issues and exhaustion on many fronts. If I was feeling even the ittiest bittiest amount of uncomfortable, I would make myself just sit and concentrate on something else. My social anxiety just kicked into high gear.
Even at 340 pounds, I felt profoundly better.
My boyfriend works today. I go back to work Tuesday-which isn’t bad, since I need to finally get out of my own head and actually do something about what’s going on with me.
I’m scared, but pressing on. Even if I’m uncomfortable.
The Phoenix & Grieving 