I made a very conscious decision yesterday to actually get fit. Now, I'm sure you're all laughing, but I'm being deadly serious. I am going to get fit. Why? Because it's something that nags at me constantly, I figure its going to be a good way to help me keep tabs on the improvement (or lack thereof) of my pulmonary hypertension, keep my weight down -- because we all know that that is a concern of mine that torments me mercilessly -- and it's a good way to work out anger I'd otherwise carry around with me for an indefinite period of time. And I can carry anger for a long, long time if I so choose. And even if I don't choose. It just hangs around because I have this amazing ability to get angry for a bit, and squash it down into a box for a few days, weeks, months as long as I need. Foolproof right? Yeah, um no. Unfortunately its just one of those things that stacks up to unbearable proportions and comes out all lethal and deadly like.
Which is certainly not ideal. And certainly unideal for a person such as myself who is... I've forgotten the word, which is a shit because it was a good one... it was to do with unbalanced, easily upset, fragile isn't the right word either. GOD DAMMIT! This is frustrating. I'm just going to drop it. Where was I?
Anger, exercise. Okay. The other really brilliant thing about getting on the exercise bike is that I don't really think much either. And the beauty of cycling out the anger, through the pain and working out the other emotions I'm carrying at the time is I feel so much less inclined to cut. Which is amazing, and unless you're like me, you cannot begin to comprehend just how amazing a revelation this is for me. Of course, naturally, there are drawbacks -- as with everything -- and it's only a small portion of my day that I do this and as such there is still copious amounts of time to cut.
I feel kind of guilty touching on my cutting all the time. It's pretty confronting, but its unfortunately quite a significant portion of my life. Some days I'm a winner, not cuts ladies and gentlemen, and other days I'm a loser and it plays on my mind and I engage. And I like it. Embrace the scars. But this is where I get a bit iffy, you know. Embrace the scars, it's all fine and good. Just don't ask me about. How conflicting is that?! I'm not concerned by my scars until they're seen. Not concerned until you are. Don't care until you do. If it bothers you, I'm uncomfortable. Ridiculously guilty. How COULD I ever do something like that. But at the exact same time I want to indulge.
So this is pretty much where I realise that I'm suddenly not as okay with myself as I previously thought. Damn logical thinking, damn it. I guess I'm kind of stung by this realisation. It's a massive change of tune. I was okay with it, I was perfectly happy. Well not happy, that's a lie. But I think you know what I mean. It's like, one day I'm perfectly okay with what I've, well, done to myself. And the next I've sat down and had a two second think about where everything is going and suddenly I'm turned on my head. Everything I've believed is a facsimile of a sham. Damn logical thinking. Damn my logic. Damn my brain.
Do I just over think everything? Is that what's happening here? Do I simply confuse myself at every turn or is life legitimately this confusing. I cannot decide. Speaking of things I cannot decide, everything above was not what this entry was going to discuss. But alas, I have wandered off topic again. Why is it that I can spit out copious amounts of crap when it doesn't matter, but when it does I am rendered mute? I had hoped racing had cured this, and more or less it has, my confidence is extreme -- so different to what it once was. But I guess it couldn't have been a miracle cure.
I'm not sure there are miracles in life. They don't cross my path. Just like helpful, no strings attached, meds don't cross my path. They are all conspiring to maim me or on a much more extreme level, kill me, you know, plot my death. So Thursday is the big day and I was pumped for Thursday, I was. 'Ready for it' I said, 'come and get me'. And now I'm hesitating. A little bit worried. I woke up with so many whiteheads this morning that my face actually hurt. Yes, that's right, it hurt! It hurt even more popping them and I'm going to lose my shit severely if this doesn't get resolved on Thursday. There will be drugs, it will go away. I'm done, I'm over it, I want to be pretty too. Is that too much to ask?! It better not be.
But as such, until all this is resolved, I'm just going to cycle through the pain. Cycle through the pain because its easy. But knowing that this is a false replacement for cutting, I'll be doing that too. There's no way to sugarcoat this stuff. That's just how it is.
- Sky
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