iscribblings

Charting life's circuitous path


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Scratched Lenses

“Merry Christmas!” says a smiling face as I take my packet I bought for a good friend. The carefully chosen doll was weighed against the other items in the shop and had won out by a cuteness factor of ten.  It was so cute, I was tempted to keep it myself.  🙂 My startled gaze creates an odd juxtaposition with the presents in my arms.  While I obviously had Christmas on the mind, I didn’t seem to have wholly absorbed the fact that Christmas was, in fact, only 2 days away.  Mind and body or even mind and mind do not always align.

Camera360_2014_12_23_052954_jpgWe’re spending our holidays at my in-laws in a country not my own.  Everything is lovely, familiar and new.  We’ve visited a few times now, but this is the first time where I’ve felt confident about going out on my own and exploring the town.  The winding roads that dead-end, the narrow sidewalks and magically appearing cars around corners no longer frighten me like the times past.  Striding down the street purposefully made me feel more like I was at home than most anything else.

Camera360_2014_12_23_053533_jpgJet-lag means tiredness and odd wake-up times, but it also means a giant hammer striking against your fragile self-esteem.  Inadequacies are hard things to ignore when your rose tinted glasses are scratched blind.

But they’re so much easier to deal with when you’re able to breathe and take them off for a bit.  The world is full of bumps and slight dips but nature and people have a way of filling them in with color, life and novelty.  When we’re running about our day-to-day lives we miss the details.  The things we do notice, ripped up roads, piles of leaves and broken verges are usually taken with a cringe, a frown and a general air of obstruction.  What ought to be beautiful, our own lives, are relegated to the mundane and chore-list of life.

And the only thing I can do is remind myself to lift the scratched lenses from my eyes.

Camera360_2014_12_22_074327_jpgAnd finally see.

Camera360_2014_12_22_074123_jpgIf only for a bit.


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Tilted Smile

What is almost depression?

Alone Oil by I. Mudrov

Alone Oil by I. Mudrov

It’s the dark day smothering your eyes, your ears and your mouth.
It’s a suffocation from the inside pouring out with tears, wet and hot.
It’s wanting, knowing, desperately hoping to be happy, to be content,
but only able, capable, of so little, so slowly.

Walking a fine tightrope of light and chaos.
Shaking for fear a tip to one side, dark and silent,
Continuing to baby step slowly and carefully,
but not strong enough to sway towards the embrace of love.

It’s stuck within a grey fog, unrecognized.
Fear of a diagnosis, but failing to gain validity.
The horror of a downward spiral speeding towards oblivion
And not being able to justify it either to oneself or to a doctor.

Screaming for help, but only hearing “think positive”.
Looking for answers, but only receiving pamphlets and hollow reassurances that you’re not really depressed.

It’s a half turn, step to the right of a chasm gaining breath,
even as your own get shorter and shorter.

What is almost depression?
It’s real.


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Weighty Doppelganger

I want to talk about weight.  Losing it, in particular, and the weird doppelganger that suddenly shows up to threaten the party.cb34518a7075ca198c7837033c23f19b

Over the last two years, I’ve been able to lose about 20 pounds and keep it off.  After my high cholesterol scare (and with me only in my early 30s), I hopped onto the FIT bandwagon and I’ve been dancing to the beat every day.  And I mean every day.  I exercise in some form every single day with maybe a day off here and there during the course of a month.  I rotate my exercises to match my moods and how my body feels so I might bike one day, run another or do weight lifting in between.  I love how I feel after I do a routine – more energetic, empowered, and beautiful.

Am I dancing for joy?

Sometimes.  There are days where I’m very happy with my weight and with my body.  I like how I fit my clothes, I like how my body feels when I walk, and I like how much more healthier I am than before (my doctor is pretty happy about this, too).  I feel good about how much taller I stand (partly due to the yoga and partly due to a greater sense of confidence) and how much control I’ve been able to exert over my eating habits.  Overall, yeah, I’m dancing to my own beat and I’m loving it.  🙂

Except those times in-between.  The times when my evil inner self decides to pull the plug on my happy music and throw the boombox out the window with an evil cackle. It’s like I suddenly acquire a Double me that is my old me – the more depressed, shy and undervalued weighty me.  This me isn’t happy.  This me wants to eat and eat and eat.  This me hates many parts of my body and hates the way she looks.  For some reason, this me wants me to go back to how I was, even though I fully recognize that I’m happier how I AM now than how I was then.

During those times, I’m right back in the dark place I used to be when I weighed 20 pounds more.  In fact, in some bizarre way, I feel even worse.  If I let my double talk me into it, I’ll binge.  I’ve done it over the last year where a plate of free cookies or free cupcakes will be sitting on a table at work or at a party and I JUST CAN’T STOP.  Even though with every bite I hate what I’m doing and with every bite I realize that this isn’t even as good as my crazed scarfing indicates.  I want to stop and I know I’ll feel worse later, but my hand shoots out and I grab another and another as if my hand recognizes that my brain will take control and it needs to get as much as it can.

I know, I sound a bit like I need some serious help.  😦

841b343cdbcec75351918913e41caf3fThese moments are getting a bit better – they don’t happen quite so often because once they do, I feel so weepy horrible that I use that awful experience as a shield for when I feel like binging again.  Do I want to feel that way again?  NO.  So I recall how it felt and breathe and move on. (Sometimes it actually works.) The odd thing is, when I was my old self, I never experienced that loss of control.  Sure, I felt generally bad, but I didn’t feel like the world was ending when I would eat a large, unhealthy snack or dinner. It wasn’t until I lost the weight that my inner self started to split into two – the new me and the old me.

And that’s something that doesn’t get talked about very much.  I follow a lot of fitness blogs and while they talk about struggles and triumphs, I don’t hear a lot about the doppelganger that can suddenly materialize when you’re feeling insecure.  I don’t hear about that other self who wants to sabotage everything they’ve worked for and drag them back into the dark place full of hatred and no music.

I’ve just recently finished a book called The Undervalued Self by Elaine Aron where she talks about such a double that she calls the protector-persecutor.  This protector-persecutor makes you feel bad about yourself to protect you for imaginary bad things.  It made me realize that perhaps my own double is like the protector-persecutor in that they are trying to make me feel bad about myself so that I am saved the “disappointment” of feeling bad later when I gain weight (even if I never gain weight, the self wants to protect itself from the imaginary inevitability).  She suggests some serious therapy that’s outlined in the book on how to deal with such a thing, which is daunting (and apparently my feeling that it is daunting is all part of the protector persecutor’s plan to keep me as is – scary?  Confusing?  Definitely!).

At the moment I’m taking it day by day and trying to remind myself of all of the positives before I let my negative self take too much control.  I tell myself that just yesterday I loved how I felt walking down the hall at work and that in 12 hours I surely couldn’t have changed so radically to warrant such self-hatred.

I try.

I don’t always succeed, but sometimes the music just drowns it all out. 🙂
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