Skip to main content

Something's up...or down.

I"m not sure what's wrong with me these days. Lately I've been getting progressively lazier, fatter, and surlier. And, no sir, I don't like it one bit.

And the irksome thing is I know there are some perfectly good solutions and ways to put things on the mend, I've just been neglecting them.


Earlier in the week I was legit sick. Headaches, coughing, sneezing, dizzy, tired, the works. The few weeks running up to that I was fitfully tired at intervals; my parents had had the same symptoms a few weeks before and turned out sick. But since then, the last couple days...I can't tell if it's some lingering convalescence, that same achey/tired thing from before, or me just milking the opportunity for/habit of "resting up". :\

At this point my sleep schedule is pretty badly fucked. I've previously blogged about my my annoyance with my sleep schedule, and now it's even worse. grr!!

Now, before I get into this too much, let me just say this up front: I don't really think I'm actually fat. Pudgier than I'd like? Sure. A little paunchier than usual? Sure. But fat? No. All the same, it's felt like people have been increasingly making fun of my weight--nevermind simply "commenting on" it--in some cases literally "poking fun" at it. And it's been really getting on my nerves.

I've had at least a bit of a pudge ever since I was a kid. It's come and gone to but never been "fully" eradicated (there has always remained a noticeable chunk, that is). As with anything one has variously struggled to overcome, I've grown self conscious; I'll even admit I probably exaggerate how much of a "problem" or how "obvious" it really is.

More recently I've worked to establish a more realistic perspective on my body image, which includes appreciating the progress I have made, looking at how I look overall, and establishing more realistic goals. For example, even I can see that I'm no longer the pudgy muffin top kid I used to be; or that I have, as some people have cryptically commented, "a naturally built/buff look", whatever that means...; and ultimately I've accepted I may never have a cheesegrater midsection but rather would a modestly washboardy stomach.

But as I said, people have been making comments, and it's been getting under my skin. Like, even my dad said "I'm a bit surprised to see you've got a bit of a paunch these days"--the man who genetically donated this paunch, who can be completely oblivious to a new haircut for months, noticed this. Or the kid I was seeing for a bit would literally poke fun at my pudge. Hell even my mom, my sponsor, my bestfriend, everyone, have all made some comment or another to varying degrees of needleness.


Perhaps what's making people's comments get to me so bad is that even quite recently I had made a good bit of progress towards that washboardy--wrestler's-build-ness goal, but by what my overcritical mind can't help considering "personal failings" have more or less lost it.


Also, I've definitely been grumpier lately. Maybe it's just the tiredness or some of the weird shit that's been going on, but I've definitely been snarkier and a bit meaner, or at least been so more often or gotten so more quickly.

My roommate, Parker, has probably felt it the worst. The poor kid has to put up with me pretty much all the time. And he's also seen the creepier side of it too: I've been increasingly withdrawn and isolated the last month or so. Whereas we used to watch lots of stuff together and chat and walk around and do all kindsa crazy shit together, recently I've been content to curl up on my bed with my laptop playing some old RPG or watching Doctor Who by myself, increasingly ignoring him and his needs and otherwise not being a good, supportive friend.

Gosh, I'm a good person, aren't I.

And, fuck, that's another thing--with the snarkiness has come much quicker & less discriminating cynicism. Poor Parker has had to put up with this, too; Lord knows he tries to be supportive/consoling and I just shrug it off.

And, even besides the laziness, I've just not felt like doing shit. Even when I'm up and about and doing other shit, I can't be moved to 'take care of business', as it were. Like, my manager left a voicemail the other day offering me a shift, and I still haven't called back. I know I should. It's just...I want to be in some idealized, imaginary perfect mood/mindset/whatever before I'll feel "ready" to deal with this kind of stuff--life generally, basically.

Yeah, I'm a grown up.



What's also frustrating is I know what I should/could be doing, either generally or specifically, to deal with this shit. I know I've been avoiding my sponsor, neglecting my prayers, and generally not going to meetings at all enough.

Like right now, I feel compelled to just crawl back into bed (it's all warm and comfy right behind me...) and jack off, nap, or both. But...ugh...instead!...I'll do the opposite. I'll make my bed, and while I'm down there ask for guidance & strength & whatsit. Somewhere in there or after I'll draw up some kind of to-do list--maybe three things I'd like to take care of today that, in having finished them, would make me feel like I'd actually accomplished something.

At some point in/around there I'll look up some meetings in the area and get in touch with my sponsor and a friend or two in the program, see if anyone's down to go with me (thus making sure I go, see).

But, again, that's all work. And there's always that terrible moment of gathering before getting to work--gathering courage, effort, willingness, and so on, that all seems so silly to be so "necessary" for some of this shit, but...goddamn.

Why do I always gotta make this shit so much harder than it needs to be? >.<

Comments

  1. Everyone has bad periods; even guys. I'm very sure you're over thinking this one. In the words of a hippie I met once: "You gotta love yourself, man, 'cause no one else is gonna do it for you."
    That pretty well sums it up. You have to live with yourself before living with others, and likely the unhappiness with your body is causing all the unhappiness towards others.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Many people go through periods of withdrawal. I've been doing it quite a bit, but people like to blame it on my being married now (which is easier for them to understand than my need for solitude). It's a cycle. Tell people. They'll understand. If they don't, then who cares. You know how you work. By the way, paunch isn't all bad. Of course, I haven't been able to drop the weight I gained at all, but cycling has helped a bit. You said it yourself, that your paunch comes and goes. It will go in time.

    No worries, mon?
    <3

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Or just tell me what you think.

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know