I'm just your average, everyday, divorced 38 year old girl -- overweight, tragically unhip,
and trying to make a life for myself. I live with two furry beasts, Dave and Abby, whose
feline mission in life is to choke me with their fur. Nothing special.
Saturday morning. I know it's been a really long time since I posted and I'm sorry about that. I haven't been reading anyone else, either, and I'm far more sorry about that than my neglect of my site. Truly.
The truth is, I'm contemplating what I want to do at this point. It's apparent to me that I have some serious mental health issues to deal with, mostly about my eating disorder and also some other things (like mild social anxiety) that are complicating things for me, too. I'm totally unhappy with my body shape and my inability to do so many things that ought to be easy for me and yet I don't seem to be able to make the changes that I need to. I start out eating properly in the morning and then I freak out and binge until I feel better. Blah, blah, blah, blah. I've said it all before, you've heard it all before, and I'm so very fed up with writing it over and over. I don't feel that I have anything original left to say. My "voice" is hoarse from screaming and yet I can't seem to hear whatever I need to hear in order to save myself.
I'm sick to death and don't want to keep up the charade that this is a fitness/weight loss journal because that's clearly not true. What is it? I don't know and I guess that's why I'm contemplating taking a little break until I can figure out what I want to say now. If I can't find something other than failing at weight loss or my stress at work or my work with Alcott (which I can't write much about anyway) or my ho-hum, "see him one day a week" relationship with TCB...why am I here? I just don't know. Just. Don't. Know.
