It's never a good sign when one goes to therapy and the Les Miserables soundtrack is playing in the waiting room. Give me white noise, give me Barney the mother trucking purple dinosaur but don't give me that crap. I endured 10 minutes of this before I was invited in to Rug Doctor's office to discuss what had been happening in my life over the last six weeks. I was overdue for an appointment. I started off asking if the Les Mis soundtrack was to ensure I was really angry or just to ensure I scheduled a follow-up to discuss my anger about Les Mis. From what I could gather from Rug Doctor, additional anguish was not the intent.
There was no time to talk about bad music, however, I have too much other shit to whine about. I feel guilty sometimes going on about my drama and feelings since there are so many other people out there going through so much worse, but as the Rug Doctor says, my feelings are valid.
We spent the right amount of time talking about the non-stop shit storm of bad luck Shark Bait and I have been having. And then we settled in to the heart of the matter, the thing that keeps me in the utter state of hopelessness. I could tell you it's my weight, but it isn't, not entirely on its own. What really keeps me where I am is the negative voice in my head. The voice that says I'm a failure and that there is nothing to look forward to in life. The voice that is critical, the voice that holds me accountable to every decision I make. The Rug Doctor says that my decisions do not define who I am, but I disagree. My voice feeds the decisions and the decisions feed the shame and so it is a full circle. She started to compare my weight issue with other struggles like drugs or promiscuity. Stop. That's it. This is a break through moment! She didn't even realize she had just solved all my problems. I would start taking heroin and have lots of sex. Then, I would be skinny and, who doesn't like sex? (Note to self, get Shark Bait vitamins) And, as long as I wasn't ingesting anything during sex, it's a full calorie burn activity. So, I'm taking drugs, I'm high, I'm having sex and because I'm high, I don't care and then I get to be skinny, which honestly, is the whole reason for becoming a crack-whore in the first place.
The Rug Doctor did not believe this was a reasonable solution to my problem. I told her I had never been high and that maybe I would like to try it to see if it was a worthwhile endeavor. She says that if I was high, surely I would find it fun, but then my body would eventually fall apart. If I just keep injecting it with heroin, I doubt I'd care. I bet that would shut up the negative voices. Sure, other voices are liable to appear in its place, but I'll deal with that later. Those people walking the streets talking to imaginary people...I bet if we polled them, they would say the voices are paranoid, but not necessarily negative.
Some of you might not think that is funny. And, really, it isn't, but there comes a point in life that you have to just step back and look at the absurdity of what you have done for years and years and come to realize that what you have done isn't working and it never will. How do you break the cycle? How? I don't know. If I did know, I wouldn't be sitting in The Rug Doctor's office sobbing about being a failure in my weight loss journey, which has already been a lifetime and having no hope for anything in the future. I wouldn't be looking in that mirror every day seeing my face get fuller and feeling my clothes get tighter and feel powerless to stop it. Where did my inner fighter go? Where is she? I'll tell you where she is, she is fighting every day to get out of bed, to go to work, to put on the brave face and pretend that she isn't dying inside. She is trying to figure out where the next dollar is coming from. She is trying to figure out how in the hell life is ever going to be better than it is at this moment. And, since we've already discussed that I don't have hope, we know this is a struggle.
On the way home tonight as I thought about many things, I realized that I used to spend my drives to and from work daydreaming about what it would be like to be thin, or what it would feel like to go to a store and buy whatever I want. What it would feel like to be with my horses again doing all the things I used to do growing up. What it would feel like to go do the things I've always felt too self-conscious to do. I realized, I hadn't done that in a long time. When did I stop doing that? When did I give up? At what point did I stop being powered by dreams and when did I start being powered by chocolate? When did I check out? That thought made me so incredibly sad. More so than anything we'd talked about at therapy tonight. I really don't think about the future anymore, other than dying and being homeless. It's like I'm stuck in an Adele song 24/7. It's exhausting. And every time I see a meme on Facebook posting how to appreciate today because tomorrow isn't promised, I want to punch a bunny. Stop stressing me out, already!
The Rug Doctor says that I've used the "kind" voices before. She says she's witnessed the transformation and that the progress we made in the past can be made again. She says that when she has seen me access them that everything else has been better. She says I have to stop being so critical, so negative, so rigid and unforgiving with myself. She has given me an assignment to create a daily "Mission Statement" to myself. Something to say everyday when I get up. Something that will remind me to be kind. Something that will remind me that I have the power to do better and be better. She said to use the voice that I use to talk to my friends when they are sad. Additionally, she says I can't use sarcasm...okay, maybe a little, but it can't be at my expense. I told her it was hard to access the nice sometimes. Like, I don't really like really nice people. I like people that are kind, but have an edge or a wit. I mean, I don't like mean people either, but those super sweet people...gross. I don't like people with no filter that don't care about other people's feelings either. Those people suck. Anyway, I digress.
So, somewhere between "Look who's a pretty, pretty princess!" and "Look, the Dark Queen has risen..." I have to find a common ground that encourages a more positive self.
Cassondra's Mission Statement
Today is probably not going to totally suck, but if it does, you can handle it (You know places to hide the bodies). You will get up and do this day because you can (and because your mother trucking dogs poop vet bills like you won the lotto). Each day you have survived is proof of this (To date, you have taken no hostages). You will get dressed for the day like you own it (Even if your legs are too fat for your boots now). You will drive to work listening to music that doesn't make you sad (Unless it's Adele). You will be thankful for your job and the people in your life that keep you afloat (I'm still employed and no one has gotten me fired yet). You will do the best you can to make healthy choices (unless it's donut day at work, and if it is, Fuck This Shit, eat a mother trucking Apple Fritter). You will fall, but you will get back up and that is all you can ask of yourself (just hope you don't fall on your back, because fat girls are like upside down turtles). You might cry, and that's ok (that's why I have Kleenex at my desk). Breathe. Take a moment. Go for a walk (find new places to hide bodies). And at the end of the day, know that you did the best you could and that is good enough (even if you broke are homeless and you had to eat your horses to live and then trap possums under your house for future food, if you still have a house, and if not you can live wild in the woods, or at least in North Everett where the other homeless, crazy wild people live).
So, now, I'll take out the parts Rug Doctor told me to avoid.
Cassondra's Mission Statement (Rug Doctor approved...I think)
Today is probably not going to totally suck, but if it does, you can handle it. You will get up and do this day because you can. Each day you have already survived is proof of this. You will get dressed for the day like you own it. You will drive to work listening to music that doesn't make you sad. You will be thankful for your job and the people in your life that keep you afloat. They are a blessing, do not ever forget that. You will do the best you can to make healthy choices. You will sometimes fall, but you will get back up and that is all you can ask of yourself. You might cry, and that's okay. Breathe. Take a moment. Go for a walk. And at the end of the day, know that you did the best you could and that is good enough. You are good enough.
I guess that's it. I can't say how I'll feel in the morning, but I'll see if I can muster a few kind words. If the Dark Queen shows up, all bets are off. Sorry, Rug Doctor.
There was no time to talk about bad music, however, I have too much other shit to whine about. I feel guilty sometimes going on about my drama and feelings since there are so many other people out there going through so much worse, but as the Rug Doctor says, my feelings are valid.
We spent the right amount of time talking about the non-stop shit storm of bad luck Shark Bait and I have been having. And then we settled in to the heart of the matter, the thing that keeps me in the utter state of hopelessness. I could tell you it's my weight, but it isn't, not entirely on its own. What really keeps me where I am is the negative voice in my head. The voice that says I'm a failure and that there is nothing to look forward to in life. The voice that is critical, the voice that holds me accountable to every decision I make. The Rug Doctor says that my decisions do not define who I am, but I disagree. My voice feeds the decisions and the decisions feed the shame and so it is a full circle. She started to compare my weight issue with other struggles like drugs or promiscuity. Stop. That's it. This is a break through moment! She didn't even realize she had just solved all my problems. I would start taking heroin and have lots of sex. Then, I would be skinny and, who doesn't like sex? (Note to self, get Shark Bait vitamins) And, as long as I wasn't ingesting anything during sex, it's a full calorie burn activity. So, I'm taking drugs, I'm high, I'm having sex and because I'm high, I don't care and then I get to be skinny, which honestly, is the whole reason for becoming a crack-whore in the first place.
The Rug Doctor did not believe this was a reasonable solution to my problem. I told her I had never been high and that maybe I would like to try it to see if it was a worthwhile endeavor. She says that if I was high, surely I would find it fun, but then my body would eventually fall apart. If I just keep injecting it with heroin, I doubt I'd care. I bet that would shut up the negative voices. Sure, other voices are liable to appear in its place, but I'll deal with that later. Those people walking the streets talking to imaginary people...I bet if we polled them, they would say the voices are paranoid, but not necessarily negative.
Some of you might not think that is funny. And, really, it isn't, but there comes a point in life that you have to just step back and look at the absurdity of what you have done for years and years and come to realize that what you have done isn't working and it never will. How do you break the cycle? How? I don't know. If I did know, I wouldn't be sitting in The Rug Doctor's office sobbing about being a failure in my weight loss journey, which has already been a lifetime and having no hope for anything in the future. I wouldn't be looking in that mirror every day seeing my face get fuller and feeling my clothes get tighter and feel powerless to stop it. Where did my inner fighter go? Where is she? I'll tell you where she is, she is fighting every day to get out of bed, to go to work, to put on the brave face and pretend that she isn't dying inside. She is trying to figure out where the next dollar is coming from. She is trying to figure out how in the hell life is ever going to be better than it is at this moment. And, since we've already discussed that I don't have hope, we know this is a struggle.
On the way home tonight as I thought about many things, I realized that I used to spend my drives to and from work daydreaming about what it would be like to be thin, or what it would feel like to go to a store and buy whatever I want. What it would feel like to be with my horses again doing all the things I used to do growing up. What it would feel like to go do the things I've always felt too self-conscious to do. I realized, I hadn't done that in a long time. When did I stop doing that? When did I give up? At what point did I stop being powered by dreams and when did I start being powered by chocolate? When did I check out? That thought made me so incredibly sad. More so than anything we'd talked about at therapy tonight. I really don't think about the future anymore, other than dying and being homeless. It's like I'm stuck in an Adele song 24/7. It's exhausting. And every time I see a meme on Facebook posting how to appreciate today because tomorrow isn't promised, I want to punch a bunny. Stop stressing me out, already!
The Rug Doctor says that I've used the "kind" voices before. She says she's witnessed the transformation and that the progress we made in the past can be made again. She says that when she has seen me access them that everything else has been better. She says I have to stop being so critical, so negative, so rigid and unforgiving with myself. She has given me an assignment to create a daily "Mission Statement" to myself. Something to say everyday when I get up. Something that will remind me to be kind. Something that will remind me that I have the power to do better and be better. She said to use the voice that I use to talk to my friends when they are sad. Additionally, she says I can't use sarcasm...okay, maybe a little, but it can't be at my expense. I told her it was hard to access the nice sometimes. Like, I don't really like really nice people. I like people that are kind, but have an edge or a wit. I mean, I don't like mean people either, but those super sweet people...gross. I don't like people with no filter that don't care about other people's feelings either. Those people suck. Anyway, I digress.
So, somewhere between "Look who's a pretty, pretty princess!" and "Look, the Dark Queen has risen..." I have to find a common ground that encourages a more positive self.
Cassondra's Mission Statement
Today is probably not going to totally suck, but if it does, you can handle it (You know places to hide the bodies). You will get up and do this day because you can (and because your mother trucking dogs poop vet bills like you won the lotto). Each day you have survived is proof of this (To date, you have taken no hostages). You will get dressed for the day like you own it (Even if your legs are too fat for your boots now). You will drive to work listening to music that doesn't make you sad (Unless it's Adele). You will be thankful for your job and the people in your life that keep you afloat (I'm still employed and no one has gotten me fired yet). You will do the best you can to make healthy choices (unless it's donut day at work, and if it is, Fuck This Shit, eat a mother trucking Apple Fritter). You will fall, but you will get back up and that is all you can ask of yourself (just hope you don't fall on your back, because fat girls are like upside down turtles). You might cry, and that's ok (that's why I have Kleenex at my desk). Breathe. Take a moment. Go for a walk (find new places to hide bodies). And at the end of the day, know that you did the best you could and that is good enough (even if you broke are homeless and you had to eat your horses to live and then trap possums under your house for future food, if you still have a house, and if not you can live wild in the woods, or at least in North Everett where the other homeless, crazy wild people live).
So, now, I'll take out the parts Rug Doctor told me to avoid.
Cassondra's Mission Statement (Rug Doctor approved...I think)
Today is probably not going to totally suck, but if it does, you can handle it. You will get up and do this day because you can. Each day you have already survived is proof of this. You will get dressed for the day like you own it. You will drive to work listening to music that doesn't make you sad. You will be thankful for your job and the people in your life that keep you afloat. They are a blessing, do not ever forget that. You will do the best you can to make healthy choices. You will sometimes fall, but you will get back up and that is all you can ask of yourself. You might cry, and that's okay. Breathe. Take a moment. Go for a walk. And at the end of the day, know that you did the best you could and that is good enough. You are good enough.
I guess that's it. I can't say how I'll feel in the morning, but I'll see if I can muster a few kind words. If the Dark Queen shows up, all bets are off. Sorry, Rug Doctor.
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