"I get knocked down, I get back up again"

A lot can happen in three months, or as it has been so noted a million times in as many ways, your life can change on a dime. After the start of my new job came vertigo, a stomach virus, missing a week of work, and a deterioration of health that caught me by surprise. I have always been strong and healthy, and I suppose like most of us I have always taken it for granted. So I have bitten the bullet and signed on for health care at work. While I wait for July 1st when I can make an appointment to be checked out, I swing between eating healthy and taking very short walks and driving through for hot chocolate and sausage muffins to muffle the stress. To care or not to care, that is the question. Forget the whole being thing.  Feelings are often complicated, and mine are no exception. I am somewhat ashamed of my thought processes during these last few months, of the way I buckled to panic and even more so of the small cold survival kernel that is influencing decisions I make - It appears that I can be a little bit cold hearted to achieve what I perceive to be necessary.

At some point during my illness I fell, and I think it was at this point I injured myself. Something to do with my neck, arm and chest that keeps me in pain daily - hence the importance of finally going to get checked out by a doctor after 3 years without insurance.  I dread it all - the tediousness of the waiting room, the irritation of sitting in a paper jacket while I wait to find out who I have drawn in my choice of physician. I am already praying for someone smart, intuitive, and engaged. Not in the sense that they are to be married, but rather that they are actively interested in the process of bringing health to their patients.  I met such a doctor back in March, when I was so sick I made an appointment to get checked out; my vertigo wasn't going away and I had to get to work. And with that appointment my perspective on my health changed a bit. I am not ready to write about it, but suffice it to say I have been bouncing between scared and cautious and wary and not giving a fuck.

But I do have some things to keep me focused, again not ready to write about it, and I somehow convince myself everyday that I do care and that it does matter.

My positive note to end this sorry diatribe; my broken FitBit has been replaced, and today I start once again to make an effort to motivate myself. God forbid I should have to tell the new doctor anything but that I have been trying.

Steps

This past week went fairly well, culminating in over ten thousand steps taken on Saturday. Some of those were beaten out on the treadmill and some tapped out while walking along with A down to feed the ducks. That was a good day. Today, not so much. Puttering around the house cooking and cleaning I am only up to...2431...and I don't anticipate accumulating many more this evening. Because Saturday I also sprained my foot a bit trying to keep up with a three year old. I am a little worried about the coming week. I am not laying out my gym clothes for the morning; I need to rest my foot at least one more day.

Instead of focusing on steps this week I will focus more on food. I have salad already chopped, and some veggie soup already made along with some small artichokes, corn on the cob, and a potato. Quick dinners and healthy lunches are in my immediate future.

I just need to keep my emotions in check, and if today is any indicator it will be a challenge. Sigh.

New Routine

I should have expected the gym to be busy at 6am - but somehow I was surprised at the plethora of full parking spaces this morning. I awoke early today, maybe from the excitement of a new job, or just nerves, but I was up and farming before 5am. I had laid out my gym clothes the night before in anticipation of hitting the treadmill this morning and I was dressed and driving down the road by 6:01. Now I am sitting here ready for work (except for shoes which continues to be a challenge); I am full of green smoothie, clean and shiny, have a salad packed for lunch with a homemade dressing (no oil) and 48oz of water to drink and an apple for the ride home are packed in my lunch bag. There is a new book on my shuffle for the commute and a good attitude in my head about this fresh start - they are my buoys for whatever is to come in this pretty almost spring day.

I have been busy all morning picking up after myself - I want to feel good about coming home too - and I have done more in this morning than I would normally get done in a whole day.  I am hoping for enough energy and mild enough weather to do some blank baling in the garage this evening; Senior games are three weeks away and I am on a mission!

I am a little worried about how manic I am this morning, but riding the energy and taking care of myself to alleviate a crash. I can do this :)

What a week

The emotions of the week are painted on my face this morning; the horrible rash a testament to my inability to manage my stress. But I am taking the time to reconnoiter and listen to my body. I have been wearing my Fitbit and walking the last couple of days as well as making healthier choices. I left my car on the third floor parking and hiked my way up and down the stairs to the movies and back. And just a small bag of popcorn was my theater companion.

My sleep pattern worries me, still saying I am getting around 4 hours a night. I woke up around 3am full of anger and old thoughts that could only have been brought up by the words shared by H last night. And I wanted him to share? To talk to me? Probably a big mistake. The nightmare I woke up from stays with me still - the couple yelling and throwing things; the man sending something flying that broke her Russian nesting doll (yes I have one sitting out on a shelf) and the woman flinging a knife at the retreating man, only to shift her hand to the left at the last moment so it went hurtling into the white front door (just like ours) instead of into his back.  The scary part was that I had entered the dream, and it was me that moved her hand to the left. I felt all of her frustration and anger, and the dream was obviously a construct of all the little talks - or lack thereof - that we have tried to have over the past month.

My survival instinct is screaming at me for a clean break. But money is a factor, and I truly believe that our break up is coming at a horrible time. I don't know if I can remain a friend with all the tumult within me trying to break free. But if I don't let it out, my body is going to suffer. And it has to be me first this time, not anyone or anything else. Me.

And I am not someone by nature to fling hurtful sentences, but this morning I flung a hundred of them in my mind. Then I put on my new walking shoes and hit the treadmill. If I have to take a thousand extra walks this spring I will not hurt him anymore than I already have with words I am tempted to say. I am better than that. Lord knows it's a big enough job just trying to take care of myself, I cannot be burdened with the knowledge that I am inflicting pain elsewhere.

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I should not be writing today because I am upset and that never bodes well.  But after years and months of not being able to communicate with each other, today H made it perfectly clear that he hates me and I need to vent these feelings somewhere. I told him to start looking for a place to move his things for when we do the Spring cleaning in the garage; we can not keep torturing each other this way. The details hurt but are not relevent to my current needs; as I read once in another's tale, I would hate to only relay one side of the problem. I know it takes two, to succeed or to fail, and I did my part.


Logically I can see that we are both to blame, but of course we will each have our own opinion on that score.  Earlier this week I sat down to type and wrote the following sentence.


                    " A rift formed between them that could not be bridged."


It felt like the beginning of a novel, but one I did not want to write, so I saved the file and put it away.  I am not sure yet how to spend my day. My last day at the old job was Wednesday, and the new one doesn't begin until Monday. And it's my Birthday. And while I can think of many things I might like to do I am frozen - as usual - so I sit and wait for the laundry to finish so my one pair of jeans that still fits will be clean and I can dress and run.

FitBit

My DD has ordered us each a Fit Bit - a nifty little tracker for everything health. I started logging my food again at their free site last night (www.fitbit.com) and found out I had managed to stay within my calorie range for the day. Knowing my approximate calories did keep me from eating last night after dinner, and that is a good thing. While I hate to go back to logging food I desperately need the help - so kudos out to my DD!

Reflection

In some ways it's pathetic how I seem to have not made much, if any, headway since I first started this rant and rave. Mostly it doesn't seem as many years ago as it has actually been, but other times it feels like forever and that I should be coming out the other side of morose to greet mental health in all it's shining glory. If only.

But for today I feel hope, and in some small measure this is enough to kick start the morning. Clean and shiny, tummy rumbling to break my fast, and an hour before I'm out the front door. As MF would say, "It's all good!"