"Doubt begets all sorts of ill begotten self-destructive doings..."

 The fog that has settled here in the PNW is eking into my mind. Not helped by long delays in getting money settled and a knee injury from earnestly practicing yoga and belly dancing. The cycles of these nonmoving events boggle. I feel a slipping that I know so well and have to let go into, but the hypo-mania was far too short and it did nothing for my disordered eating. I can usually count on mania being a wonderful equalizer when it comes to all my binges. This time I’m left wanting.

When I find myself here, I wonder each time, how am I going to make it? But in the last three years I’ve been feeling the deep sting of aloneness. There is simply no one for me to tether to and ache for it so. It isn’t like I lack awareness of being alone when balanced for a second or the longer standing mania, but obviously depression blatantly reminds.

Mystifyingly, I find me falling for domestication. I left behind the consumer in me, the one that must have fucking Cost Plus snowflakes because seemed styled just for me. I want to gobble them all up and put it in the holiday bins for future usage. I want to cook turkey dinner, pumpkin bread, and lots of soup. But again this is not the new Michelle; this is just the filler that I’m filling me with because I’m empty.

Came to me like a shock that this is THE issue. Yes, there’s a new Michelle but her identity is in flux, in the embryonic empty stage leaving me vulnerable to the influence of doubt. Doubt begets all sorts of ill begotten self-destructive doings, which I already hold expert level like prowess. I don’t need outside pressures to catapult me down this well-known path. The “fuck it” moment becomes so doable on this path, which unfortunately “fuck it” begets “why bother?”  I’ve spoken already of the redundancy of suicidal ideology, but as I feared, the stealthy storm of depression simply follows its path of ‘being’, and I simply am the passenger waiting out the storm.

I wrote this yesterday and paused in its publication because I knew I might regret this pouring out, of what amounts to…self-pity. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but I know that today I am tired of being mired. So I start doing what I can do, what I do have control of despite the arrival of limitations.  Like for instance, I can walk. Oh how it’s going to be a freezing affair, but I had to my chance to walk in the sun, and chose self-pity instead. So this is what I get for not finding a way before this, a bloated gut and a frozen atmosphere.

Eat My Way Back To Death...Yoga My Way To Knee Injury

 This eating disorder thing is prevalent so soon after having lost so much, that to have gained so much back again, is a pain I cannot bear any longer. I do not want to eat in quantity, and yet in a state repulsive awareness, I compulsively continue as though possessed. Food is a necessity; and so this is where drug and or alcohol addiction part ways.  But after recently speaking with a 20 year sober AA participant, came to realize that addiction is indeed fucking addiction. Only again, you do not require heroin to sustain life.

I recently start yoga after a long absence. Body and mind has loved me for it, my knee however is not pleased at all. But this was certainly not going to stop me so I got my flexible band/brace out to support the knee and was icing when necessary.

Then yesterday happened. We have very steep stairs to the finished basement and where my room dwells. Going down the steep and narrow stairs my large booted feet stepped down awkwardly but my nifty cat-like reflexes moved into action grapping the railing. I would have fallen a long and hard into the litter box, still I stumbled hard in the knees and now my right knee declares it officially injured. This makes me very fucking irked, reminding me of a pattern that plagues my attempts at psychical exercise beyond walking, which then leads to the rapid cycling of intense moods of all sorts.

Eating disorder 101: knee injury begets binge eating.  The cycle of stress inducing food frenzy is clear, what is not, is a way the fuck out of the pattern. I am not a 12 stepper, I fundamentally disagree with nearly all the steps as I do not believe in giving up power to any one thing. Yes yes yes…I let go and allowed my bipolar to be what it is rather than trying to make it be like everyone else thought it ought to be…something to be controlled. But this is not something I want a part of me, I do not wish it a home within and therefore must be expunged.  This is how my mind functions; get the fuck out since you serve NO purpose!

My eating disorder is learned behavior and therefore I know can be rewired. I have successfully managed this with many other nasty aspects/demons deeply settled in my subconscious; I can kill this off as well. Really this rearing of ugly heads is timely, the shit and muck we wish not to face bubbles up when we are ready, even if we feel otherwise.

This is where I’m at, the in your face ‘deal with it and stop being a pussy’ stage of transforming eating disorder into health consciousness. Take into myself eating mindfully of the global impact of food distribution, not just my impulses towards corn chips. I am what I eat, so I must stay aware of the cells taking up temporary residency in my liver and other organs. I must alter my relationship with food. Right now I am wounding myself to new self-destructive glorious heights because…fuck I don’t know, a plethora of reasons I’m sure.

What I can assert…Namaste Fucking Eating Disorder…you are SO fucking out of here!!