It has been such a damn thing- me waking up at 5, then going back to sleep unless I have to work. Avoiding all the things I love to do in favor of hiding in bed, or playing Plants vs. Zombies vs. living my real life.

But here I am this morning. So there!to the feeling that makes me want to hide and stay in bed all the live long day under the covers watching the whole second season of “House of Cards” in one sitting. FU.

I did manage a run day before yesterday- hurrah! I was thinking about how much I love running, and then how much I love yoga, and writing. You know, all those things I love but don’t cultivate in my life because I am used to hiding. I am most comfortable trying to be as small as possible. Sometimes I think I would rather be alone, in a tiny cabin in the woods with no one around to love or to please, just me being a plant or a zombie all by my lonesome.

Why is the weight I give myself still so heavy?

In group yesterday I spoke about how I don’t feel cared for by my husband- how he makes himself kind of an island, and then I feel like I’m left to fend for us all. But, am I really caring for myself? It seems so easy to just spew blame on other people when I am not doing the work of recovery and self care I need to be doing. I’m being my own island. Fuck.

Gah! The hardest part about knowing the good things I need to do for myself is the actual doing of them.

I am in this totally confused spot right now. Like I’m in the middle of a place, and there are all these directions I can go, and so I just stand there paralyzed. Scared. Unable to decide about simple things so I’m having this inner dialogue: “OK, so go ahead and get up to write. Then you can do that 20 minute yoga thing you like, then roll around on the floor and be squishy for a while. Um, oh. Well I feel warm, and comfy….I’ll get up in a minute. Get up, come on. I can’t. I can’t. I want to. I can’t. I don’t really want to. I really do. No I don’t.” Once in a while, sure. Every day? I didn’t go to yoga on Sunday because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to or not.

I don’t know. (obviously!) Sometimes I feel like getting sober was supposed to be my gift, my way to stop being so me and start being me. But the longer I am sober, the more I want to avoid me. I still do all the things I hate about myself, I just don’t drink. My inability to commit fully to the life I want makes me crazy. I can make lists and plans and then here I am, back to old reliable me. I think about how, if I could just get things going and make habits I would be fine.

I think about how I am just human, and should go with it. It just occurred to me that perhaps if I worried less and just lived it more that maybe things would be more better. How I am totally overthinking things, as usual. How I am addicted to alcohol and over-analyzation. Jeez.

It’s like sitting here, trying to write this post, having a terrible case of the should be’s: this should be better, longer, not so whiny. I should be happier, thinner, and training for the half marathon I’m supposed to do in April. I should be doing yoga and meditating almost every day. I should write every day. I should take out all the static and hear the noise. I should be better, better, better than the me I am right now.

…….runs screaming from the room……

Ah well. At least I’m moving.