I talked myself into a bit of a tizzy this morning- you know how you sort of convince yourself that things just aren’t going the way you want them to. Like this: “Ugh. I ate that graham cracker cereal last night. I feel fat. And also so many cashews. Why can’t I stop drinking so much coffee? I think coffee makes me eat sweet stuff. I’m blaming everything on coffee from now on. And I have to stay up later so I don’t wake up in the middle of the night wide ass awake. The coffee again. Fucking coffee.”
And I won’t replay the other conversation about the GIANT zit I have forming on my chin from all the sugar I ate this weekend. It is giant, but I’m resisting the urge to mash and squeeze it until nothing comes out and I’ve made a huge red spot on my face that scabs and peels for a week and a half.
But y’all, at least I give a fuck.
This is my new mantra. My way of making myself seem sane when I’m making myself my own special brand of crazy.
I care about my skin and my sleep. I pay attention to what I eat and what I drink. It matters if something isn’t organic, or is pumped full of chemicals. I hydrate. And try to remember to floss and brush every night. At almost six months sober just being sober isn’t an excuse for me anymore. It’s not a free pass to eat eight cookies, it’s inspiration to do better because I know that I can.
Being sober is so much more than just being not drunk. Perhaps we can change it to being human, or being a full human instead of a half assed one. Worrying about all this shit may seem pointless but for me it shows me that I care about myself. I’m concerned for my welfare and well being. How about that!
Belle always asks me a valid question: “What if you were good enough right now?” But what if I am? And what if enough is enough, and better is more me- or to feel like me I need to kind of try things on for size to get the life that feels comfy and fits. What if coffee seems right for a while, but then I can bend another way? And that way is better? What if wondering and trying is my way?
Speaking of trying, and new, and my way- I can’t run. This is heartbreaking. Running is my one thing that is ALL MINE. And I can’t do it. I keep setting my alarm so I can get up early and walk, but then it goes off and I feel like what’s the fucking point? So I’m going to have to wonder and try myself into doing something different for a few months until my foot heals. Another thing to gnash and gnarl over. But I am getting better at noticing when I’m not doing things because I’m fearful in a small or big way. Or knowing that I’m being a big fat ego about it. (walking? Hrumph. That is not running. Walking does not make me a bad ass. Laying in bed ignoring the alarm definitely does not make me a bad ass either!)
So I am good enough right now. And I’ll be good enough tomorrow, and the day after that too. And maybe one of these mornings I’ll be good enough on a walk. And I won’t eat too many cookies when I’m feeling nervous. And I’ll keep on trying to do better, not because it’s a way for me to beat myself up, but a way to show me how much I really care, that I really really give a fuck.