I said that I would explore the whole “guilt sitting down” thing, so here it goes. This weekend, it took a bottle of wine and running my legs out for me to sit down. I don’t know why I get stuck in this pattern, I know I don’t want to – it isn’t logical.
Logic would state that I feel bloated now and have for the last 2-3 weeks (maybe a veganism thing, more carbs, but holy fuck is it ever fucking with my head), so that can’t be the result of sitting down (because I haven’t been!). Logic would also state that my weight stayed stable last year when I went through a period of time being able to sit down, so I shouldn’t worry about putting on weight. Logic would furthermore state that there are more important things than weight.
Perhaps it is the overwhelming guilt based on what happened last time, because of how bad it got. And so I don’t want to fuck up and believe in myself and think fuck it, I’m doing the right thing and being the person I need to be, and then… being blindsided by the fact that I’m 135 lbs and being carried into the hospital because I believed in myself. But even that fear isn’t what is keeping me moving, keeping me standing, guilting me into not sitting. Because it isn’t logical to be stopped by fear.
Maybe it is because I believe my urges are bad, they’ve led me into darkness before. As a result, I see my urges as evil, I see them as bad things, as an unchecked id. This isn’t just with food either; it extends to everything, even with going to the bathroom. I can’t just go to the bathroom, going to the bathroom is predicated by something. It is a pattern (going before eating, after _______, during _______), and being controlled by a pattern is a bad thing and it is a bad thing to be controlled by something else. But how is this logical either? Because it isn’t logical to be this distressed by going to the bathroom.
Probably, the amped up distress and stress and anxiety and AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (I have a bruise on my stomach right now from pulling so hard on the “FAT”) is because I’m getting attacked from all fucking sides by a universe that I need to be kind, I need to be caring, I need to be beautiful. It shouldn’t be this hard to keep going, to find what’s kind and caring and beautiful. I’m looking, but I’m so freaking worn down and that’s why there’s the guilt – the illogical blackness creeps in and screams its death song.