Hello, my peoples. I have been having one heck of a day. It’s snowing again, my gloves are not really that compatible for playing in the snow or clearing off cars. They are good for keeping my hands warm if I’m walking or playing with my phone and that’s about it. I also need to wash my winter jacket.
I’m having issues with my weight and I should really delete MyFitnessPal from my phone because, whenever I log my calories, anything over 1,000 freaks me out. If I’m estimating my calories my head, I can get to around 1,200-1,500 calories without being too bad about it because I also subtract exercise calories then. It doesn’t help that I’m at the weight when the Thing happened. (I’ve dubbed it the Thing. Don’t ask.)
So, anyway, about the calorie thing. I’m sure I’ve eaten enough calories (even though my stomach has that weird light feeling it does when I’m kind of hungry). I managed to have my protein coffee shake today. Yay. I just don’t want to eat any more food. I don’t want to consume any more calories.
I think this is because of a wide variety of reasons, but more specifically, I’ve often been told by abusive people in my past that I’ll never amount to anything and I’ll always be fat and worthless. Never mind that those words are coming from people who would manipulate me, abuse me, use me, and then toss me away when I was deemed no longer useful in their eyes. Exacerbating Ex kicked me out because I refused to cater to her every whim and was trying to assert myself and also I no longer got her drugs. JackAssTwatWaffleThunderCunt was just a giant dick.
My point is that I keep having flashbacks about the Thing today. In which I was called a fat useless bitch. It wasn’t for the first time and it certainly wasn’t the last time. But the emotions associated with it (and the gods’ forsaken images and memories, fucking christ) make it a bit more imprinted with me. Since it’s been a decade and this is the first year that I’m not using and I’m not actively being super emo and I’m kind of just like… How I was before. A bit more spazztastic, for sure, but more like I was before.
Not entirely carefree but close, friendly with people. Face stuck in a book. Not tied down to any one person. But mostly sober. No drugs. The drug thing is what’s really getting me. It’s like, I really want to just lose myself and numb the pain and everything. But I don’t get to pick and choose the things I numb. The drugs and the alcohol dull the pain, yeah, but they also dull the happy parts. And in the end, it’s only another method of procrastination.
I keep holding on my hurts really close and I don’t like talking about them a lot. I don’t like it when I’m unhappy, even though I’m unhappy a lot. And just because I’m unhappy doesn’t mean I have to make other people unhappy. I don’t like to say the things that make me cry and I don’t like to think about them. I like it when I can pretend that everything’s okay and I’m avoiding the pain.
Then I get flashbacks and I get brought back into reality. Life’s not sunshine and roses. The darkness and sorrow isn’t some inner force that popped out of no where. People have done me wrong and they damaged me and I can’t understand people who hurt other people. It’s one of those few things that are beyond my comprehension. I don’t understand it when I’ve hurt other people either. I don’t always realize that I say or do hurtful things and I always feel bad.
I always apologize and seek to right the wrongs or to improve myself so I don’t do it again. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt when they hurt me because they might not know that what they are doing is hurtful or mean. I’m getting better at voicing when something bothers me, but not always.
And with this Thing, I just can’t seem to do it. I keep telling myself that it will get better, but it doesn’t seem to be. It seems to be getting worse. And I hate that.
-The Sarcastic Autist