Day 228

9PM:

Counting calories

Counting calories, calculating portions

Counting calories drives me

Counting portions keeps me controlled

Counting calories drives me

Counting portions ensures I don’t fall

Counting calories drives me

Counting portions keeps me on the edge, in a constant state of awareness and stress, spinning the motor faster and faster and faster

Counting calories drives me off the edge, because I can never stop, never lie there without calculating activity or goodness, never slow down, never find peace, never find quiet

Counting portions, counting calories makes me jump off the edge, since there is no peace in this

Counting calories, counting portions drives me insane

Day 227

8PM:

It is only fair to chronicle it all here. The fears, the happy, the mindblowing astonishment at the stupidity and selfishness of some people.

It was the last day of school on Friday. The last day for this year, a year of glimmers but glimmers through the filth. It ended largely as it began: with selfishness and self centered and selfinvolvement.

Without specifics, there is a difference between doing the right thing and doing a good thing. The right thing follows the rules. The right thing takes guidelines and puts them before people or feelings or care. The right thing makes people feel like me.

Good things support and love. Good things make the universe better. Good things do not keep you searching for forgiveness, because even if you fail together, you are together.

Don’t think that doing right is the same. Lots of you did the right thing and lots of us are left feeling like this. Do unto others are acts of good. Doing what the rules say may help you sleep at night, but the impact of it keeps the rest of us awake.

Fuck you (insert school-workplace here). Summer is here much too late and the sun isn’t because of the season, it’s just that the filth won’t be there for a little while.

Day 226

1:30PM:

Some people have turkey dinner or chocolate chip cookies, neither of which taste as good as when they are made with love, never mind the dry or burnt bits. Others have bagels and cream cheese or Costco hot dogs, cheap dates that are more valuable than any other. Others even still have the smell of a musty, well-worn but classic and authentic cologne.

For me, it is the singing the birthday song over the phone. For me, it is the always standing on the porch, waiting for the drive off so the last image you have is of them smiling and waving, is of love.

Thank you Grandparents. I love you always.

Day 225

7AM:

Yesterday had a slew of shitty moments. A whole host of work-related fuckery, shittardery and fucktardery even, made it long, demanding, frightening and altogether brutal.

However, this post isn’t about that. I will CHOOSE to write about the following things. I will CHOOSE to remember in the chronicles of the Internet, the things about yesterday that made me smile and warmed my heart and reminded me that my soul is there, still, and that they have not taken that from me.

– CSA #2 = VEGGIE HAUL!

– Workout Friend telling me that just like I told him, I can, should and need to vent to him to deal with the emotions = reciprocating the friendship,  the affection.

– IAN of the day = having a customer (and cashier) at Bulk Barn be dumbfounded and geniunely happy at my Intentional Act of Niceness of passing the $2 remaining on a gift card to him standing behind me in line.

– The smile on an ungraduateable student, predicted to be dead before high school even started, crossing the stage and seeing me, with the hat he made me being worn proudly, and multiplying the happy moment by two. Congratulations Matthew.

Day 224

6:30AM:

I want to know that there is a day without worry, without doubt.  I want to know that there is a day that I can spend following my feelings again, trusting them unequivocally and without hesitation.  I want to find someone that will explain how to do that, will shed some light on this uncertain path of recovery.  I want to know that I can get lost again, lost and not worrying about looking left or looking right, instead just looking up.  I want a day without connections or patterns, a day when ahead isn’t an issue, when my worrisome mind isn’t three steps ahead and as such, my heart is left behind.  A day where I forget about eating disorders or mental health issues or bitching about work or scaring myself into looking in the mirror.  A day where hope doesn’t exist, not because it is dark, but because hope isn’t hoped for, something better isn’t worried about – a day where hope isn’t needed or sought or required.

I want a day without worry again.  I want a day of peace.  The more and more I live calculating, calculating calories and wrinkles and exercise and worthiness through doing, the less and less I believe this day will be.  The more and more I live like this, the more and more I believe this day will come the day after my last.

Day 223

6:30PM:

I think I can I think I can…

But don’t you have green shit leaking out of your ear?

I think I can I think I can…

But haven’t you lost five hours of sleep over the last two nights because of visions of bitter-work dancing in your head?

I think I can I think I can…

But aren’t you exhausted from being battered, kicked in the head with a smile?

I think I can I think I can…

But aren’t two of your fingers still suffering from nerve damage, albeit temporary?

I think I can I think I can…

And aren’t you planning on surreptitiously spending time finding your friend a home, instead of resting?

I think I can I think I can…

And aren’t you going for a run tomorrow, to continue a relationship at school, one of few that counters the frostiness?

I think I can I think I can…

And aren’t you thinking about driving your parents home from the airport on Sunday night, to save your brother from having to do it the night before working early and to give your parents a smile when they get off a long flight?

I think I can I think I can…

And I am crying, because I need to feel like I can relax without math, without calorie calculations, without worrying about food intake being enough or too much or being scared of it.

I think I can I think I can…

The cliff is coming, even the little engine knew that.

 

Day 221/222

6:30PM:

My wife was exhausting yesterday and today. She’s going to hate reading that, but it’s semitrue. I say semitrue because it isn’t all her. It is her blackness. Oh yes, she has one too: hulking up. It is anger or sadness or selfishness without cognizance, without awareness, without context. It is, after a year of thinking, likely what caused her to cheat on me – lack of awareness, being hijacked by something inside her. After becoming aware, she’s better. She is better about not getting hijacked when the going gets tough. She’s not perfect, but she’s on the path, on a path just like me.

To help out her physical system, we’ve had to introduce an artificial blackness into her system. One that amplifies the degree to which her blackness appears and deamplifies the degree to which she can fight it off. It is for the better though – I know that wholeheartedly.

I am sick as hell right now. My body decided a week before the end of the school year to get hit by an all-out sinus, ear, nose and throat infection. It does that because I’m just too fucking stupid to fall down. And so when my wife is getting hijacked by this artificial blackness, it takes all of me to keep standing. But I want to keep standing. I want all of her. I want her to be healthy, which is what this medication will help her become. Artificial blackness be damned, it is not going to take away the love of my life or the love for life or my love for the love of my life.

So while she was exhausting, because of something outside her control, I will love her more than I thought I’d be able to love anyone. I am not a martyr. I do not enjoy this hurt, thus sickness, this exhaustion.  I do enjoy being as strong as I can be, for her. I do enjoy being her love, and her being my love.