Hey - Yeah, I am still here. It has been eight weeks since my surgery (and seven since my last post, apparently). Life has been...shall we say... trying. My knee decided that it was not going to straighten, no matter how much physical therapy or pain pills I threw at it. And I threw a lot of pain pills at it, which only brought my insane addict out and got me going on a pill bender (I have since kicked that to the curb, thankyouverymuch - with the help of God and my AA posse and family...) When the addict gets crazy, my whole life is affected. Work slides, stress builds, I get really nasty - oh, and I just stop taking my Prozac. Yeah, my family REALLY likes it when that happens.
In the past week, the knee has suddenly decided to be cooperative, which is likely due in part to the threat of another surgery, new PT exercises aimed at my hip and ankle, of all places, and just...I don't know. I don't understand what changed. Certainly not my shitty attitude. But I'll take the progress because the last thing I want is to have to have another surgery and go back on the f-ing pills and have to pry myself off of them yet again.
Then there is the whole weight loss thing. I am fat. My husband says so and I agree. He is all pissed off at me because I apparently don't make it a priority to make myself attractive to him. Despite the fact that my husband is wonderful and has put up with an immense amount of drama and has willingly allowed himself to be educated about addiction/alcoholism, etc - he still just doesn't GET IT sometimes. And it is probably because I don't really tell him where I AM - I tell him where he wants me to be. Or I just say I'm "fine," and he accepts it. The fact is that I'm not fine and the past 8 weeks have been awful and I've really just been trying to keep my sanity and not drive off out of here or get wasted. I have not been focused on doing Medifast. Sorry. But he doesn't understand that. He says I should be able to do it all at once. It's the same refrain I've been hearing - if you really cared you would just stop - everything. NOW. I want to. But sometimes, choosing to eat something shitty takes the place of stopping off for an 18 pack. Sorry, again. But its the truth.
I am so not looking for sympathy - I know where to find that (between "shit" and "syphllis" in the dictionary, per my grandmother). No - I am just venting. I need to vent. I get tired of pretending that everything is fine when really, everything is fucked up - I am fucked up. I don't like to tell anyone I am fucked up because oh my God, what then? Will my sweet image be disturbed? Will people not trust me? Will I have to admit that I am not perfect? That's part of it - I make myself sick sometimes when I see how self-centered and vain I can be. So much so that I won't help myself be sharing with others about who I really am or what is really going on. So I thought I might start here. Maybe. We'll see.
Alright well I feel a little better. Now I have to go finish some work that I HATE. Then I will ride my new exercise bike and eat an "on plan" meal and try not to feel overwhelmed by the coming week.