Check, mate

I don’t know what the fuck I was smoking when I said it was getting easier. Or perhaps I doomed myself. That seems appropriate.

Because I have run out of things to do when it comes to working on myself, or at least the tangible things, y’know, but I don’t feel better? I gave up drinking. Check. I’ve seen my counsellor twice so far and have my next appointment on Tuesday. Check. I’m moving my body more. Check. I got a job. Check. I’ve read the book. Check. I use the app. Check. I reached out to see if I can start to repair some of the damage that I have done (apparently not, or maybe not yet but also I just have no idea). Check. I am doing things outside of my comfort zone and doing them sober. Check. But it’s not enough. I’m trying to do the acceptance commitment therapy thing in which I boil down my feelings to understand what’s going on but it’s just I am afraid I will always be alone, I am afraid I am unfixable, I am afraid I am unloveable, I am afraid I am incompetent. I am afraid.

And yesterday I was brimming with excitement about the Fat Babes Pool Party that’s being held in Auckland, so I booked flights and hotel and car rental and am paying for a Boom scholarship to it for someone who can’t afford to go. I saw it as the next step in accomplishing the thing that I really want to pull off later this year. But today when I’m thinking about how I have to go to my production manager to try on the new blouse tomorrow, and how I have to find a new venue for the photoshoot, and after this shoot I’ll have to find new photographers, and why am I pouring all this money and effort into this thing, I’m not making any money, no one has been buying lately and I just feel so fucking worthless and maybe the whole stupid thing has just been me skating by on people’s pity.

And yes, this is my fucking pity party. I’m back to crying all day. I’m also craving every carb under the sun and getting wank cramps so I know my period is approaching, but it’s just so tough last night and today. I can’t get away from myself because of course I have to sit with myself, sit in my feelings.

Or lie with them, alone in my enormous new bed that was delivered today. Tomorrow I need to build a new set of stairs for Sebastian because it’s too high for him to use the existing ones. Right now they’re sitting on my box of tissue paper and hopefully he can use them like that, but he is a cat stuck in his ways. I did love the way that he has greeted everyone who’s come by today – the bed delivery people, the women who came and took my old bed away and the DeliverEasy driver (carbs). I love that cat so much. My heart is sore for people missing their cats. My heart is so sore.

But my neighbours are home from their month long holiday, which means Trixie Doggie is home too! It’s hard to cry when you’re hugging such a happy lovely scamp. Tonight I will take a sleeping pill along with the magnesium, and hopefully I will sleep solidly in my new bed in crisp new sheets, and then tomorrow I will be productive. I will clean. I will do Boom admin. I will move my body. I will recite mantras as I knit another row in the scarf I’ve been working on since 2009. And hopefully I will feel a little better.

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