Trigger warning: anxiety, eating disorders, naughty sexy behavior.
Lately I’ve been having trouble with two things: focusing and dropping things.
The hypochondriac in my thinks it’s because I have nerve damage somewhere in some part of my brain or body. The logical part of me think that it’s a combination of smoking too many weeds and gripping things way too hard: the arm part of the elliptical , my water bottle, my phone, my massaging tools.
I’ve had this problem before when I was streaming. I would grip the big boi thing so hard without realizing until the next day when I was trying to type and it felt like I had corporal tunnel or Arthur write this or, like now, nerve damage from fapping too hard, too long.
Honestly, the problem resolved itself when I switched my working tools and I think that I can force myself to focus on shit if I tell myself to FOCUS, BITCH! Believe it or not, it works for me.
When I’m zoning out while reading or scrolling through Spotify trying to pick the next album to listen to or cooking in the kitchen, I literally scold myself and tell myself to focus and so far it has been working well.
This is especially helpful when I did the smoke or I have anxiety that someone can totally see me right now or I’m wondering wtf the kittens are doing because they wear bells on their collars and I know it’s a bad sign when I don’t hear them jingling because it tends to mean that they are up to no good, as is the case with all children.
I hella spilled water with one of two new watering cans that I bought recently, which I can admit on here that I actually did not need, but will never admit this to my boyfriend who questioned this decision at the 99 cent and up store (dubbed the “everything over one dollar store” by me).
I spilled my coffee because I hadn’t had my coffee yet. I wonder if this was just because my brain wasn’t fully awake yet.
I am having trouble pressing down on the frets when I’m practicing the guitar, and it totally doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I am not practicing enough.
I don’t even know what I’m talking about right now because I made this new rule where I am not allowed to eat my lunch until after I get some writing done for the day and my lack of dexterity is the only thing interesting in my life in this present time I feel like.
It seems like I will be approved for my private loan, so my expensive for no reason private school should be totally covered. YAY insurmountable student debt. The American Dream.
Yesterday I was feeling stressed about how many calories I had eaten, but I was still under. Today I was annoyed at myself for being a sleepy big dumb and putting twice as many chia seeds in my oatmeal as usual, which meant an extra 6 minutes on the elliptical.
It’s making me feel weird and stressed to have this relationship with my food. Back in the day, during my teen years, when it was both easier and harder to find pro-anorexia or pro-bulimia content on websites, I remember looking at things like negative calorie foods, looking up the calories for every single thing I ate, looking up dieting and exercising tips that I now see as problematic and dangerous.
Websites like Tumblr flag these types of posts and even have a support number you can call pinned to the top of these troublesome tags, which I thought was wise because teenage girls are very susceptible to these damaging ideals. Having been a teenage girl with a fucked up sense of ideals myself at point, I can confirm that something like that might have been more helpful to me back then. Maybe. Who can actually tell a teenager what to do?
Still, you can just as easily fall into a rabbit hole of threads of real people suffering from these and other eating disorders and it does become hard to filter out the bad when you see the threads of women on various subReddits who all feel so similar to me.
I think it’s too easy to spiral down that dangerous path again. The scariest part of it all is that I couldn’t have been more that 90-100 pounds until I was in my early twenties.
Then my relationship with food was like: gimme all of that good stuff as long as it’s vegetarian.
And now I think of myself as “cohabitation fat” and “quarantine 15 + 15” and I wonder to myself at night if this is not just a slippery slope of anxiety to a part of my life when I was proud of my body in a way that was harmful to myself and others.
I need to work on loving myself and loving my body a little bit more. Some days, like yesterday, I think of myself as heavy and dull. I want to be slick and pearlescent like the citrus body wash I bought, not floppy with hidden crevices that only feel clean if I use antibacterial soap.
And then I start counting down the days when it’s technically safe to use antibacterial soap under my arms again without destroying my good bacteria. And I’m counting down the time until my next meal, or my next snack.
And my OCD is coming back in full swing because I think to myself that it is better to be up cleaning and organizing everything instead of sitting down or snacking. And there goes my focus again, since I can’t concentrate on my book if I know there is a chore to do. And nothing seems clean enough, especially the bathroom and kitchen. Especially with four cats and a cis-SWM living here. No offense to clean cis-SWM (though I have yet to meet one who wasn’t American Psycho incarnate).
Yeah, so despite getting some healthy and productive shit done, I guess I’m not really in such a good headspace after all.
Then again, I never said that I was. I’m still just trying to get there.