I'm feeling very angry-frustrated-sad these days. I'm in a funk so low that even if you "played that funky music, white boy" I wouldn't be able to get down in that funk any further. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qe1ScoePqVA for your reference.) And just so you know, I can hear all of my friends and The Rug Doctor saying, "be kind to yourself." Ugh. I can hear them say, "look how far you've come." I can hear them, "I'm sorry you are having a tough time, it will get better." And, yes, I hear them say, "be patient, it will work out, you'll get there." I wish I couldn't hear them. Because then, I could fully wallow in this funk without guilt. Guilt that I should be feeling differently. Guilt that I'm not expressing my gratitude for being blessed with life, a job, a roof over my head, etc. Why do people, and Pinterest, always have to go there? Like, I'm a bad person for having these dark thoughts. I'm a bad person because I have the ability to reach down, deep inside and feel what I'm feeling. I can feel like I'm a failure. And not just with weight-loss, but with many things. I can feel like I hate my own guts. I can feel like I'm never going to get anywhere. I can feel like I'm never going to be able to conquer this monster within that holds me back. I can feel like I just want to give up. At the same time, I'm so angry that I want to give up, that I can give up, but that a part of me will not let it happen. Is it any wonder I am a hot mess?
I'm so angry that I allow myself to feel like I have a legit chance at achieving my goals and then I continue to struggle EVERY FUCKING DAY. I'm so angry that people encourage me and make me feel like I have some sort of special talent and I start to believe it and then I see a bazillion other people out there that are better writers, that are more entertaining, more funny, etc. People that have made it, or people that maybe haven't "made it," but still do what they love and they are good at it. I tell myself I can't. And then I get mad because I said the "I can't" thing. It's such a disgrace, because now, all those stupid meme's on Pinterest are right. If I say, "I can't," well, I won't. You have to tell yourself that YOU CAN. You have to tell yourself that you believe in yourself. But what if you don't anymore? What if, at the end of the day, you have realized there are a whole bunch of people, let's call it a "buttload" of people, to be really safe on the overall number, that are getting it done? They are losing weight. They are making their dreams come true. They are living the life they want to live. Those buttloads of people are proving that I am inferior. I am a failure. How do I change that voice? She is so dark, so powerful, so in charge. I hate her. I Hate. Her. Guts. And, I can't get rid of her. She's like a fungus...toe fungus...that kind that turns your nails yellow and can't be cured. She's like asbestos. I need people in hazmat suits to extract her because she is so vile, she slowly kills all that try to gently extract her. She's like cat shit on your shoe. You are never going to get that smell out. You are going to have to throw the shoe away. She is like a tattoo of an ex-boyfriend's name that you put all across your back, like a banner attesting to your eternal love (which, I haven't done, for the record). No matter what you do to erase it, to remove it, to hide it, it's there. It will always be there. There's no cream for that. No more than there is a cream for curing cellulite. Especially not Jergins Firming lotion. It can't hide the years of this stretched out body.
I sit at my desk at work, wallowing in the hate. Do I really hate my job? I don't know, but right now I am unchallenged, under-utilized and bored. I feel where there was once trust and fun, there is now a coldness and a disconnect. I am an island. I come in, do my job, go home. While I am there, I know I am appreciated, because, without me, how else would the lights overhead get turned off when they are too bright, how else does the heat get turned up or down when you are either sporting rigid nips or when you are sweating down your butt crack? How else does the building manager get notified if there is a suspicious smell? How else does the janitor get notified that some daft cow pissed all over the seat, took a dump in the corner or finger painted it on the wall? Who else would bring them the sweet smelling soaps? Who? My GOD, how on earth would that place survive. Sure, there are a billion other things I do, but right now, all I can think about is the daily bullshit that makes me feel like a mom at daycare. I'm so tired. But, even more tired that I don't know what my dreams are and seemingly have the inability to change. The Rug Doctor would tell me that change will happen. Nothing stays the same. Situations change. I think I will challenge her on this tomorrow at Therapy Thursday. What if things change, only to revert back to their prior form? It's like when you activate Wonder Twin powers. You can morph into the form of a sheet of ice or something, I can't remember what exactly the Wonder Twins did, but they did this knuckle bump thing and then they were awesome. They always returned back to their original form. Just like me. Me and my dark, self-loathing guts. We always come back. The bitch will not move out. She might take a short hiatus to work on her skill. Lay low, get some new ammo together, bide her time. And then, there she is, knuckle-bumping my lips against a Magnum ice cream bar. Wonder Twin powers...ACTIVATE! Form of Cellulite! She's like the Friday the 13th saga. You can't kill a bitch that is already dead inside.
Anyway, that is a lot of drama to say, the Pony is sad. The Pony is hating herself right now and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to fix this. Why in the hell did I start talking third person? Good Lord, how many freaking personalities are in here? I've lost count.
What I do know is, I need a big-time water-fountain moment like my good pal, Cher (link below for those of you that need the reference, see it to the end, it's only two minutes of your time). Lights and everything. I need it badly and I need it soon. Maybe when I see the doctor on Friday, he can prescribe some good drugs. Maybe I will not only have my fountain moment, but I will ride a unicorn through it and have some Skittles.
So, for those of you riding out the storm, please hang in there. I hope I find some answers soon. I'm sure I owe at least some, if not all of you, an apology for something. Reading my blog alone earns you an apology.
I'm going to close with my "Cher Moment" for those that are unfamiliar with Clueless. And if you are not a Clueless fan. Shame on YOU. I'm totally buggin' about it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwTXojMq4KE
I'm so angry that I allow myself to feel like I have a legit chance at achieving my goals and then I continue to struggle EVERY FUCKING DAY. I'm so angry that people encourage me and make me feel like I have some sort of special talent and I start to believe it and then I see a bazillion other people out there that are better writers, that are more entertaining, more funny, etc. People that have made it, or people that maybe haven't "made it," but still do what they love and they are good at it. I tell myself I can't. And then I get mad because I said the "I can't" thing. It's such a disgrace, because now, all those stupid meme's on Pinterest are right. If I say, "I can't," well, I won't. You have to tell yourself that YOU CAN. You have to tell yourself that you believe in yourself. But what if you don't anymore? What if, at the end of the day, you have realized there are a whole bunch of people, let's call it a "buttload" of people, to be really safe on the overall number, that are getting it done? They are losing weight. They are making their dreams come true. They are living the life they want to live. Those buttloads of people are proving that I am inferior. I am a failure. How do I change that voice? She is so dark, so powerful, so in charge. I hate her. I Hate. Her. Guts. And, I can't get rid of her. She's like a fungus...toe fungus...that kind that turns your nails yellow and can't be cured. She's like asbestos. I need people in hazmat suits to extract her because she is so vile, she slowly kills all that try to gently extract her. She's like cat shit on your shoe. You are never going to get that smell out. You are going to have to throw the shoe away. She is like a tattoo of an ex-boyfriend's name that you put all across your back, like a banner attesting to your eternal love (which, I haven't done, for the record). No matter what you do to erase it, to remove it, to hide it, it's there. It will always be there. There's no cream for that. No more than there is a cream for curing cellulite. Especially not Jergins Firming lotion. It can't hide the years of this stretched out body.
I sit at my desk at work, wallowing in the hate. Do I really hate my job? I don't know, but right now I am unchallenged, under-utilized and bored. I feel where there was once trust and fun, there is now a coldness and a disconnect. I am an island. I come in, do my job, go home. While I am there, I know I am appreciated, because, without me, how else would the lights overhead get turned off when they are too bright, how else does the heat get turned up or down when you are either sporting rigid nips or when you are sweating down your butt crack? How else does the building manager get notified if there is a suspicious smell? How else does the janitor get notified that some daft cow pissed all over the seat, took a dump in the corner or finger painted it on the wall? Who else would bring them the sweet smelling soaps? Who? My GOD, how on earth would that place survive. Sure, there are a billion other things I do, but right now, all I can think about is the daily bullshit that makes me feel like a mom at daycare. I'm so tired. But, even more tired that I don't know what my dreams are and seemingly have the inability to change. The Rug Doctor would tell me that change will happen. Nothing stays the same. Situations change. I think I will challenge her on this tomorrow at Therapy Thursday. What if things change, only to revert back to their prior form? It's like when you activate Wonder Twin powers. You can morph into the form of a sheet of ice or something, I can't remember what exactly the Wonder Twins did, but they did this knuckle bump thing and then they were awesome. They always returned back to their original form. Just like me. Me and my dark, self-loathing guts. We always come back. The bitch will not move out. She might take a short hiatus to work on her skill. Lay low, get some new ammo together, bide her time. And then, there she is, knuckle-bumping my lips against a Magnum ice cream bar. Wonder Twin powers...ACTIVATE! Form of Cellulite! She's like the Friday the 13th saga. You can't kill a bitch that is already dead inside.
Anyway, that is a lot of drama to say, the Pony is sad. The Pony is hating herself right now and she doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know how to fix this. Why in the hell did I start talking third person? Good Lord, how many freaking personalities are in here? I've lost count.
What I do know is, I need a big-time water-fountain moment like my good pal, Cher (link below for those of you that need the reference, see it to the end, it's only two minutes of your time). Lights and everything. I need it badly and I need it soon. Maybe when I see the doctor on Friday, he can prescribe some good drugs. Maybe I will not only have my fountain moment, but I will ride a unicorn through it and have some Skittles.
So, for those of you riding out the storm, please hang in there. I hope I find some answers soon. I'm sure I owe at least some, if not all of you, an apology for something. Reading my blog alone earns you an apology.
I'm going to close with my "Cher Moment" for those that are unfamiliar with Clueless. And if you are not a Clueless fan. Shame on YOU. I'm totally buggin' about it.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwTXojMq4KE
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