Monday, June 27, 2011

And so it begins...

In true fattie fashion, I am starting this new not-a-diet-seriously-don't-call-it-a-diet-unless-you-wanna-hear-my-six-minute-speech-about-how-it's-NOT-a-diet Diet on a Monday. I felt I needed the last few days to get shit in order. Cook some meals, stock up on good shit, get the junk outta my house, eat some Ben & Jerry's, etc.

I actually got a lot more accomplished this weekend than just stuffing my face. Listen, I'm not proud to admit that I'm a bit of a hoarder. TLC has turned that word into some kinda scary psycho diagnosis where the mere mention of it brings about images of layers of empty pizza boxes and dead cats at least six feet high in some elderly person's apartment. But mine's slightly less impactful. I just like to keep shit. It used to be called "being a packrat" until old people started dying from being smothered by their own collections of tin cans and old newspapers so the medical field felt the need to put a label on it. So a hoarder I became.

Truth be told, I've had this giant stack of cardboard boxes in the corner of my living room since the day we moved in. In total, it was 21 boxes...all filled with mystery! Well, mostly Jeff's old sci-fi books and textbooks and random clothes of sizes gone-by, but still.

The real problem is that it's embarrassing and I don't let people come hang out at my house because I don't wanna hear a lecture about it or worse, have people talk about it behind my back. I don't like people knowing I'm some weirdo who can't let go of what is literally boxes upon boxes of trash cluttering my life.

But Saturday night, I did something awesome! I got off my couch and took my TiVo remote and actually PAUSED Cupcake Wars (who will win?? I DON'T KNOW...what is that French guy saying??? I DON'T KNOWWW!!!), and started going through those stupid boxes!

Five hours and three full Lawn & Leaf trash bags later, the corner was empty! I was all sweaty and covered in dust, but I felt accomplished. And it really wasn't ALL THAT HARD...I just needed to do it. I wondered why I waited two years to attack it when it was so easy to overcome once I just set my mind to it and got the shit done. I wondered why I pushed so many people away because I was ashamed of how it looked then cried when I felt like I was so alone? I wondered how much longer I would have just dealt with the pile being a part of my life if I hadn't just decided to do something about it right there in that moment?

The irony isn't lost on me.

It's time to get rid of my own garbage and stop being ashamed of myself and start letting people in. I can have the life I want or I can keep existing in this life I's up to me.

Just gotta get off the couch...

Friday, June 24, 2011

Time is an illusion.

How the fuck is it already almost July??

This was supposed to be MY year. The year I finally got all my shit together and stopped wasting my life being fat and miserable. That was supposed to start in January. Now it's June. I'm fatter than ever. More miserable than ever. Pissed off and depressed. Just...mad at myself.

Being mad isn't very constructive though. It never changed anything before and it's probably not gonna start changing things now. So I'm trying to be proactive about this shitty feeling about life that I've had lately.

I went to the psychiatrist yesterday for the first time in six months. I ran out of all those anti-depressants he put me on like a month ago, but he wouldn't refill them until I came in to see him. But since I have that $3,000 deductible this year (Seriously, what is the point??), I had to put it off for a while. You know how they tell you not to suddenly stop taking antidepressants? Turns out they're actually telling you that for a reason! Holy shit, I've totally been so down on life. I never wanna leave my house and I don't want people around and I don't wanna do ANYTHING and I just turned into a fucking asshole in like...a week.

Was I like that before drugs? I don't even remember. Maybe it was worse because I found out what it felt like to be semi-happy, then it all went away like some weird backwards fairy tale or something. All I know sucked. Gimme those damn pills.

My awful. I'm winded walking from my car to my apartment, and if you'll remember, I live on the first floor. I feel like shit all the time. I've been watching all these shows on Netflix and YouTube about like the moment you die and what happens to your body when you're actually legitimately dying. I have this weird morbid fascination that I'm constantly about to take my last breath. I don't even know what the fuck that is about unless it's some scare tactic I'm trying to use to convince myself to make a diet last more than 4 hours. So hasn't worked.

Long story short (too late!), July will be December and I'll either still be fucking around or I can just start now. I got the pills, I got the healthy food, I got the will to live...I guess I'm out of excuses. Wish me luck?