punishing myself with cheesecake

SW ⟫ 207.7 | CW ⟫ 176.7 |

Ozempic: ⟫ 1 mg

I’m not doing so great. The entire situation with JC has made me feel so incredibly useless and I can’t seem to shake it. Everything crossed, they have moved on – they have blocked Gidget on all social media and hopefully that brings an end to the whole thing.

But I can’t seem to let go of the fact that I felt so utterly useless. Even if I had tried to ride to the rescue in an uber, what was I going to do? Pass out in front of them? It’s not like I could actually defend Gidget if it was necessary. And I feel like I have failed her – like I should have seen the red flags, cautioned her, done something other than invite them into my home and make them welcome.

Logically speaking, I know it doesn’t work like that. People who turn abusive don’t wear a badge saying that’s what they’re like. But it’s very much like when I fell over and realised that if I hadn’t lost the weight that I have, I don’t think we would have been able to pick me up off the floor. Once again, I am feeling the walls closing in on me whilst at the same time offering me the safety of the familiar. Familiar and yet still potentially dangerous – hence the falling over. Maybe that’s what it’s all about – that I don’t feel safe.

A fall could happen at any time; I have twisted ankles and knees simply getting off of the bed. I could very easily spiral down a deep, dark road thinking about how small my life is, how little that I do. It’s affecting my daily mood and making me feel so down and miserable. Which is where the food comes in.

I know that I have a tendency to eat my feelings but Ozempic is making that very difficult. I asked for cheesecake when the girls went out earlier, and they got a gorgeous lemon curd type cheesecake. And it was lovely – really fresh tasting and satisfying. But it didn’t do a damned thing to fill this ruddy great hole that I feel inside that is just so full of self-disgust, disappointment and sadness.

I’ve been up all night creating banners and icons for the various blogs simply because I didn’t want to face sleep because I am afraid of nightmares. Nightmares of what could have happened if JC hadn’t moved on; if the argument between JC and Gidget hadn’t happened and she fell further under their control/web; nightmares about all of the awful things that could happen whilst Gidget is out of the house, working or making her way home.

I know its’ illogical – I know I can’t wrap the girls in cotton wool or bubble wrap to keep them safe, but sometimes I really want to. I don’t know if this is a symptom of losing weight – I know that I used my fat to hide behind, to become invisible. And losing weight means that potentially I become seen by people, possibly in ways that I’m just not ready for. Some of this is because I did my hair on Sunday (I think it was Sunday) – shortish braids that curl around my head and make me look like a cross between medusa and a Justin Bieber comb-over. It doesn’t sound that attractive, but I sent Marmee a photo and she loved it – was so pleased that I was growing my hair. It takes me back a few years to when me and the girls were getting into make up and I would dye my hair funky colours like lilac and blue. I think I went out more then – Stripes and I would go to the shops, or the cinema. I wasn’t as house-bound then.

I sometimes felt so guilty for Stripes having to push my wheelchair around – I weighed nearly four times as much as she does and she would push me around shopping precincts, etc without a word of complaint. But I grew self-conscious of the stares we got; felt very aware of when people offered her assistance because it was obvious that it was a struggle to push me around. And I hated it – I hated how invisible I felt, how people talked over my head, how they looked to Stripes instead of me when asking questions. And yeah, looking back, that’s a large part of why I stopped going out. I hated the feeling that people were looking at me and judging just how fat I was and how awful it was that a slender young woman like Stripes was stuck pushing my wheelchair around. Conversely, as I say, I also felt invisible and I didn’t like how that felt either. It just confirmed all of those horrid inner thoughts that said I was a waste of oxygen and that I should just stay away from normal, active members of society like a disease or something.

Obviously, Ozempic and Trulicity have shown me that a large part of the problem I have had losing weight is because of something within my body chemistry. It’s shown me that it isn’t as simple as eat less and move more. But it’s so hard to let go of that thinking, regardless of how negative it is and the detrimental effect it has on my mental state.

The first thing that I need to do is get some sleep – that will have a positive effect on my mental state pretty much straight away. Then I need to dig in to the latest Mantra chapter that Stripes let me have. And I need to look forward to the things I have set up that should bring me some joy:

⟫ finishing off my koi tattoo at the end of the month;

⟫ getting my geometric fox tattoo at the end of August for Stripes’ birthday;

⟫ the whole day to myself because all three girls are meeting up in Camden for the day.

I’ve just signed up for some weekend challenges on 1 Million Words on Livejournal and the artist sign up for WIPBigBang are the 17th July. I have two writing projects on the go – one with Rowan, the Regency/Bridgerton spin off and the follow up to Bloody Bonds. And I have two ARCs to read that should be fun – I have already started one and its’ an author that I haven’t read before but I have enjoyed the bit I have read. It’s called The Accidental Necromancer by Liz Rancourt and I would like to have the review up by the weekend.

Maybe if I try to focus on the positives, I can stop punishing myself with food that’s going to cause me distress – like lemon curd cheesecake! God, I am such an idiot – such a self-sabotaging idiot. I wish I could turn my head off and just let things work for me! I just need to get out of my own way.

Just. Such a small word for something that too often feels impossible.