I’m getting better. In some ways. I’m out of the stroke zone, which means the blood pressure meds are working. My sugar has dropped more than 50% from its high into a region that may mean I won’t need to take insulin. I’m about 17 lbs. lighter. I should be extolling the virtues of this success.
But I’m not.
Now that I’ve reached the half way point of a 10-week program to get my self into a better health, the introspection is reaching a certain plateau, too. And, to be frank, so is my weight loss. If my body is starting to recognize what I’m depriving it, so is my mind. I can’t shake loose some of that which ails me further.
I’m tired of being single.
I’m tired of trolling these apps that only reward those who look airbrushed.
I’m tired of engaging in behavior on these apps that is beneath me.
I’m just tired of being lonely. It’s palpable, this feeling, and it is coloring everything a shade of “pity me” that is so frustrating and self-defeating.
I know how to flush away the sodium that makes me retain water. But how in the hell do I get rid of this moronic self-pity?
I look at this entire experience as a tear down. Something wonderful lurks beneath all this fat and fur. I know it.
It’s interesting. I see examples of my mindset in odd places. Like the Taco Bell on 8th street, one of my favorite haunts. It has been razed to the ground. It will be a long while before I can eat there again, if ever.
Things trigger my mania, to the point I can’t stop feeding this insatiable monster that takes total control.
Today was tough. Tomorrow’s the anniversary of Aunt Susanna’s death. I can’t stop thinking about how much we miss her. How much things still haven’t settled down within the family. All I want to do is consume, to spend and eat, spend and eat until this emptiness feels somewhat filled. But nothing helps. I feel the hunger of that beast growing, even as I bloat myself further and encroach on unnecessary debt.
Woe is the stomach and heart that can’t be placated.