I had a disturbing dream.
The ex that caused my PTSD was in it. I was in a tea convention on photographer assignment. I was taking photographs of the technology, the new tea blends, and the company kiosks. He was behind me, complaining about something.
I saw a teamaker, specifically the model I had at home, for rock bottom price. I bought it for myself. Instantly, he was at my side.
“Why did you buy that? Why did you buy something for yourself? Why didn’t you buy something for me? Why would you do that?” This went on for the remainder of the dream, him berating me for doing something for myself, even when I resumed my assignment.
I woke up shaking, guilted over a purchase I made over a year ago by a man I’ve not seen in over five years. Disgusted with myself. What the fuck is he doing in my head?
Almost a full week ago I started a fitness alteration. I switched up my macronutrient profile—more protein, less carbs—and started an amino acid supplemental nutrition program to help with recovery. I can tell it’s working—I’m in less hell after work (and if you know me at all, you know it’s hell). In fact, I’ve started craving the aminos. I might have had a deficiency somewhere.
Today, I had the strangest craving: fresh pears and strawberries with whipped cream.
I eat neither of those on a regular basis. In fact, I usually detest strawberries, unless we’re talking with bananas in a smoothie.
As I sit here, too EXHAUSTED to be hungry right now, I’m wondering what the next week of this program will bring. So far, the gun show is back, and I feel my strength improving…
But GOOD GRIEF, housekeeping takes it out of you. And I still get tired of seeing beds.
So what’s the first thing I see in my tiny apartment? 😀
As a black queer individual, Pride Month means several things to me. However, being out has still been forcibly denied me. At work, my pronouns are not respected and I still haven’t gone out with my name.
However, elsewhere I have begun taking little steps to slay that old identity. My memberships to store rewards no longer have my dead name, and my new salon doesn’t know “her.”
The next step is the legal step. Yeah, I’m a little apprehensive. But this has to be done. This old identity is like an ill-fitting wool suit. And I deserve the silks.
I need to find out just how much muscle I got to find out if I actually CAN lose the 30 pounds it was just suggested to save my knees.
The first option is a surgery my insurance doesn’t cover.
If it turns out I physically can’t lose the weight I’ll just be out $6.7K.
But hey, they’ll treat my GERD and prevent my stomach from eating itself for another year.
I wouldn’t turn down money though lol.
It’s been hectic. Got rid of the bugs. My Outlook account is buggin’.
My doctor discontinued my gut medicine and it’s like $70/month for a month’s supply if he doesn’t fix it.
There is still a gaping gouge in my ceiling.
I dislocated my knee seven times last month. The good knee.
But I’m going to try to write again. I fell into this…hole, and I wasn’t writing. I haven’t been able to get it going. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to push forward and write again. Cooking, photography, and writing are the things that make me happy, and I haven’t been doing any of them. But I’m going to change that starting now.
It’s time to get moving.
…ps, if you want to feed the starving artist
, feel free to toss a few at. $20 feeds me for a week with this injured esophagus.
I am in terrible shape. Today I found out just how bad. That’s my cardiac score, based on VO2 max.
I work out based on partly wanting to lose a little weight, partly on aesthetics. Today I learned that it would also kick me into that blue bar there—my goal, that is.
I’ve not discussed any of this with my doctors. With the trouble they gave me thirty unexplained pounds ago, I’m rather apprehensive about letting them know what I’m worried about now.
But I gotta do something.
Everywhere I turn around, something reminds me of my weight. Getting to and from work involves a pass by a vending machine full of junk food that I “shouldn’t” be eating. I stopped carrying cash so I couldn’t get things out of it but sometimes I find a buck and so there it goes, bag of chips.
I wish I’d never heard that number from the neurologist’s office two weeks ago.
Now the ads being served up at me are diet ads. “Lose weight FAST!” “Drop inches NOW!” And every time I see one, there’s a voice in my head that says “You know, you should look, I mean you wouldn’t be seeing it if you don’t need it.” And then I get back into the cycle of looking at the stove and fridge and wondering if I’m allowed to eat, looking at my calories in chart obsessively.
I KNOW it’s not normal and I can’t stop it.
I just wish I knew what to do about it.