I feel so heavy today. So fucking heavy. Not just my weight – all one hundred seventy six pounds of it. My whole body. I walk down the street. My feet plod. One, two, one two. My knees are in pain – from the 176, and the arthritis. My body wants me to stop. It begs me to cease and desist. Go no further. I am done. My mind reaches out. Split in two. One half – “Oh my God. This is so hard” with shoulders slumped. The other “Just a few more steps” with head held high. I know this feeling. Hate this feeling. It is so familiar to me. I feel it more and more. My depression is less, my heavy is more. Or am I more aware of my heavy? Or does one heavy make the other heavy happen more? All that I can say for sure is that this heaviness is tiring, and that makes me feel more heavy. I will be having a good day, thinking about what to write in my notebook for my psych, then BOOM, shit hits – HEAVY. Erase that happy entry. No. Put it in. then say it all went to shit. 🙁

Right now I’m drinking beer. I’m not supposed to drink beer because I’m an alcoholic. Or am I? I mean I “knew” I was, but now I’ve been doing okay with moderation for a while, so I’m not so sure. Well I’m pretty sure I am. I just wish I could let loose again. Go nuts. Drink loads. Take a bunch of Coumadin and Metoprolol and Seroquel, cut lovely lines in my skin, and then lie on my bench in floods of rain. It would be beautiful. It could destroy my family. So I won’t. Everyone would give up on me: my husband; my doctor; my program; me. I would screw up my kids. I really don’t care so much about me. I really do care about them.

So back to being fat. I am. I hate it. My doc’s trying to help. I would love to cut the shit out of my thighs and stomach. Like, love it. But we all know what a marvelous idea that is. So I’ll just stay pissed off as usual. Pissed, pissed & fat!

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