I was ready to stop at Day 100. I rethought that today.
I was tied up in knots about a couple of phone calls coming down today (my brother’s involuntary hold being appealed, a giant project grant). I had lunch with Workout Friend and had trouble sharing food (he didn’t want it anyway, but it took some effort to offer him some of my food, which I want to and usually do = connects to the Day 103 entry about not realizing my feelings, especially hunger). I tried testing my one-rep-max today, as my grandfather’s workout schedule dictates, but I just didn’t have enough energy to do it (psychological and physical wear will do that to you).
Clearly, some of my strategies aren’t working. My stress level is riding high right now. My threads are very worn. I have three candles to burn and one more to add for today. My body was crying out for some reprieve, my mind screaming for a way to ameliorate this crumpling-up, this feeling of being scrunched in a giant elastic ball…
I wanted to write. Not only did I want to write, but I felt that without writing, I would not be able to sort out the discombobulation that is my head right now.
That’s kind of cool; it shows the power of habit. When I didn’t let autopilot guide my writing (writing sporadically – at best – and when I NEEDED to, which is what I had done for the four years preceding these 106 days, as opposed to every day), but instead made a conscious effort to do it as a tool, it became a habit. Now, it has become something that I miss – and moreover, something that my emotional stability and mental well-being misses – when I don’t write. I find this when I don’t work out or do a cardio session for a couple of days, but I always chalked it up to the eating disorder parts of my brain. Maybe I now write because it is the tool in my belt, always on hand and constantly in use, as opposed to the one in my toolbox, taken out when the job requires. Maybe I don’t need to feel self-conscious about wanting to work out, because it falls under the same umbrella (it is funny how the need for writing doesn’t cause this anxiety, but physically-based tools do). Maybe it is just my mental health needing it.
I have made my mental health a priority and now, I understand how it feels when my screws are loose and I’m not using the tools – the ones that I know I have looped into my belt – to tighten them, to make them right (AKA righty tighty!).