Semi-Comfortably Numb

“so I didn’t cry today. I kept feeling my body wanting to, but it would go away like… ok you know when you are at the end of your bottle of lotion and you are squeezing and it does the thing where it starts to come out but when you stop squeezing it slurps back in so you end up squeezing really hard and trying to wipe it on your arm so you don’t lose it again even though you didnt need lotion on your arm but it’s the only way to get lotion? THAT is emotion to me today.”

This is how I described my emotional state to @verilyvexed today. It’s weird, right? On the one hand, the misery is behind a wall. It’s like I know it’s still there, but it can’t get to me. On the other you can’t even remotely call me happy, or even neutral. I’m tabula rasa, in as much as I believe any human being can be, since I do actually believe some things are inherent and the proof of actual physical proof that people with certain emotional disabilities have different brain functions. In a fucked up way I miss the pain. It’s like that was proof that I cared? But I realize it is fucked up and therefore that cancels it out.

I wonder if I could write. And if I could what would it be like? Sometimes I want to write my life story out, but I can’t imagine anyone would believe someone could possibly have so many wrong things happen in their life.  When I am lying in bed and feeling manicawake I will talk to myself, sometimes out loud, and the half delirious flow is almost beautiful.

I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Anyway.

Besides numbing myself medically, I have started the process of preparing for bariatric surgery. And yes, it’s a tool not a quick fix. And yes, it is going to be really hard. AND YES, it is going to hurt, and my recovery is going to be difficult and I am going to have to change my entire life.

But I am kind of at my last shot. Ever since I had my youngest daughter, losing weight is impossible. I’ve tried, I hardly eat anything (no I’m not starving myself) and I used to work all the time and exercise a lot, but it doesn’t help. Also, my depression has kind of taken over my body. I’m tired all the time. Like ALL the time. I have no energy. None.

I’m tired of being this. if I could draw it, it would be a normal shaped blue silhouette that almost glows surrounded by a dark red form of a heinously fat person. The red is so dark it almost sucks all the life out out the blue insides. That is me. And I’m so close to just… stopping. I don’t want to be me anymore. I want to be someone else. Someone reasonably healthy and strong enough to keep going after losing the person they thought was their soul mate, and can someone be your soul mate but you aren’t their’s?

I suppose that’s one of those things I will never learn the answer to.

Dear Rosemary by Foo Fighters

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