Three years ago I went into a funk and if I were really being honest, it was more like depression. The kind where getting out of bed and going about your daily tasks were beyond difficult. I slept all the time, forced myself every so often to visit friends but for the most part indulged in the fact that I just couldn’t do it. Plaster on the fake smile and pretend that life was okay. I took meds for six months and while there are those who think that taking a pill daily is the easy way out, it was only part of my self-induced therapy.
The reason for the tailspin was my failure to see that the person I loved didn’t love me, at least not in the way I loved him. He did what he needed to do and I spent a long time criticizing myself; pointing out every single flaw. Then I started to go for walks, got an IPod and tried to drown out the voices in my head. All the what-ifs, what could of beens and how I had failed in that relationship.
And to me, I felt like such a failure. It didn’t matter that the reality was that guy had a ton of issues nor that while he questioned his feelings for me, he never talked to me about his fears or his hopes for the future. I was devastated that at 32 I was single again.
I also became a control freak in the only area I knew I could control. My eating. While my stomach revolted when I tried to eat, I also noticed the weight coming off and with each pound lost and another mile walked, I kept on. I was on lockdown when it came to eating. I would pick healthy foods, forget my love of sweets and would downright refuse to any craving the would result in binge eating. For while I am a one woman binge machine at times, I hate to throw up; hence the yo-yo weight gain.
And by the time I started a new job and started hanging out with my friends again, I was a skinny minnie. And I loved it, I loved the small clothes, the looks from others and my friends praising me for that surprising weight loss. I even thought (stupidly) that being skinny would win back that love. I was wrong on the front and am actually thankful that things worked out the way they did.
Then once I finally found myself happy again, I gained the weight back. All of it. My granny even called me out at Christmas this past year, saying I REALLY needed to lose some weight. I knew that I did, really wanted to but I was happy. I was with the boy and he could cook. But I was embarrassed by how I looked. Mortified and ashamed that I had taken to binge eating yet again, I strived to eat better and exercise. But I have the attention span of a gnat, so the weight barely budge.
Walking away from the boy and stresses from recent health concerns caused my stomach to revolt and behave as it did three years ago. The weight has started to fall off, albeit a bit more slowly this go around. I still find myself quite controlling when it comes to food and have found myself lost in thoughts of what could have been and if onlys.
That darkness that I felt those three short years ago have crept back in but I do make it out of bed, go to work and from time to time, grudgingly hang with friends. I have find myself going back to my IPod and walking. Although it is much easier now that I have 16 pounds off and don’t feel like a beached whale in gym shorts.
I thought I saw the boy yesterday running down the main road where we both live. I was on my way to Sonic for my usual Diet Cherry Coke for the pool and saw him. Immediately my stomach hit my throat, my thoughts were all over the place and I just wanted to cry. I threw in my copy of Motley Crue and turned the volume up to try and drown out all the voices that run wild in my brain. I didn’t even want to be at the pool once I saw him but I managed to get out there and worked out; running many laps in the pool in the hope that maybe I could find a way to control the out of control emotions I was having at the time.
Once I hit the shower, I fell apart. Sobbing those horrible sobs that I hadn’t done in awhile. I miss him and all that went with him. I went to bed early in the hopes that I could somehow wake up feeling better. Then I dreamed about him, fighting for him, for us and woke up realizing that the face to face meeting was only a dream.
I know that I will eventually get out of the darkness and this time I don’t have the meds like last time. Maybe I am more in control than I think but I also know that if I could, if I were brave enough, I would show up on his doorstep to talk to him. I know that I won’t because really, my pride might be in tatters but I can’t see myself embarrassing more than I already have.
It is just so hard to put everything in perspective, to see if what I chose to do was the right thing to do. The darkness isn’t nearly as scary as it was last time but that could be that having been there, done that, I get what I have to do.
I took a walk this morning, partly because I just couldn’t handle doing the Shred this morning and partly because I needed to get out there, walk, feel the heat, the sweat and get lost in my thoughts while listening to my IPod. I thought I saw the boy, in his car, but didn’t dare try to get a good look. If it was him, he was heading to the park to run. And then my thoughts turned to, does he think about me, does he miss me, does he want to work things out but pride and hurt are getting in his way? The pessimist in me says nah. But I hope that one day things will be better and maybe just maybe, he can forgive me and be willing to work things out.