Swing and a Miss

Weight Loss Endeavors No. 9

This past week was challenging. I wasn’t necessarily “low” (mood wise); but I was definitely in some sort of slumber mode. I didn’t have a lot of motivation to leave the house, and felt like I might have been fighting a bug of some sort. Then again, it’s monsoon season in Arizona; and it could just be that my allergies are kicking my ass.

Tracking Last Week’s Goals

As far as last week’s goals? I only hit one of the targets I set. 🤦🏻‍♀️

I went to the gym four out of seven days — versus five. (Miss.)

I did get to gym on Saturday with Mitch; but I did not make it on Sunday. (Half a miss.)

We did not get out and walk Tocho, because it’s been showering in the evenings and our boy does not like to get wet. (Unavoidable miss.)

I ate more than once each day a couple of days, but not consistently. (Miss.)

I did choose healthier snacks (Score!); but as I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m still eating too much in the evenings (healthy or not).

I am posting on time again; so I suppose that’s something (even though I didn’t necessarily set that as one of my goals).

All in all? Not a great week.

The Numbers Just Ain’t Addin’ Up
Weigh-In History

Thursday, July 28th: 263.2 lbs
Thursday, August 4th: 266.4 lbs

I’ll be honest, seeing that I had gained weight (working as hard as I’ve been) was extremely discouraging. Mitch says not to let it bother me — that building muscle mass takes time, and that it will mess with the numbers on the scale for a while; but I think the man’s just being kind.

The bottom line is that I’m consuming more calories than I expend… and I just can’t reign in the habit of binging in the evening. I try and I try… but often, I find that it’s more difficult to fall asleep if I don’t indulge my cravings (which just rattle around in my head until I act on them).

It is better that I’m eating snacks that are lower in fat and carbohydrates, but I still have to manage my calorie intake… and I just don’t know that I have the strength to overcome in this department. Ugh.

Workout Review

Normally, I find joy and pleasure in my workouts. But this week? I just couldn’t find it. All I could think — while riding the bike and stomping on the treadmill — was that I’ll have to start doing multiple workouts a day if I want to lose weight. As it stands, I’m working out to maintain my weight… and I’m not happy with how heavy I have become.

The numbers on the scale went up; and my excitement about cardio and weight training went down. I honestly haven’t had any enthusiasm when I’ve been at the gym… which leads to me tapering off, and sulking around the house.

But here’s what I did accomplish (half-heartedly):

Thursday, August 4th

Bike: 20 min 4.45 miles 154 cals burned
Weight Lifting: Lower body 25 min
Treadmill: 28 min* 1.44 miles 213 cals burned

*The treadmill I was on went to pot near the end of my workout, so I just decided to end it a lil’ short.

Friday, August 5th

Bike: 30 min 6.93 miles 228 cals burned
Treadmill: 35 min 1.75 miles 257 cals burned

Saturday, August 6th

Mitch was with me on this one.

Bike: 20 min 4.41 miles 151 cals burned
Weight Lifting: Upper body 55 min
Treadmill: 35 min 1.76 miles 258 cals burned

Sunday, August 7th – Monday, August 9th

Nada.

Tuesday, August 10th

Bike: 30 min 6.28 miles 202 cals burned
Treadmill: 35 min 1.76 miles 259 cals burned

Wednesday, August 11th

Nada.

Success is Directly Correlated to My Motivation

What I learned this past week is that measuring success — and then achieving it — is an instrumental part of my motivation faculties.

If I know I’m going to — or maybe, just might — fail, I’m far less likely to try; and after last Thursday’s weigh in, I stopped trying.

Mitchell has stated that the scale is a poor source for tracking my progress… that it’s more important that I focus on what I’ve accomplished; but what the hell have I accomplished if I’m gaining weight?

I feel like a failure; and therefore, start to act like one. Which, I know, makes absolutely no sense what-so-ever. Do I honestly just want to sit here and continue putting on the pounds? No!

Do I feel like my efforts have all been in vain? Yup.

I got’ta get out of this cycle of self-pity and self-destruction… but it’s easier to give in to the melancholy.

The one thing I will say is that I did not judge myself on those days when I just stayed home. I tried to show myself a little kindness and leeway; but I do need to find a way out of this stupid, dismal pity party.

Cowgirl, Up!

Clearly, I haven’t been to the gym today yet (because my mood does not reflect the fleeting happiness of the endorphin rush); and I just need to suck it up and get off my duff. But today is weigh-in day; and I’m dreading the numbers on the damn scale. (Avoidance is one of my many talents. 😜)

Mitchell’s long weekend is coming up; so he’ll be home tomorrow through Sunday… and I want to go the gym with him; but I don’t want to go to the gym with him. Partly because I’ve been skirting my weight training, and sticking mostly to my cardio workouts. But! If I want to build strength — especially in my core — then I need to get back to it.

Also, I want to have a better progress report for you next week, Dear Reader… so it’s time to don the yoga pants and Cowgirl, up!

Sigh. Adulting is such a drag.

Soundtrack: “A Little Bit Off” by Five Finger Death Punch

Stupid Looking Glass

My beautiful blogging friend, Ms. Michelle at “From Famine to Feast”, reposted an older piece this morning entitled “I don’t want to get better, I want to be better” (I highly recommend giving it a read; it’s lovely); and in it was a line that I thoroughly resonate with…

“I want a vacation. The destination is unimportant; the only requirement I have is that I get to leave myself behind. I’m tired of finding myself wherever I go.”
– Michelle, “From Famine to Feast”

This is a common theme in much of my life — both as it pertains to my mental health disorders, and as it relates to my many addictions. It is a sentiment that many women in the Anonymous programs share at meetings; that no matter which mirror you happen to gaze into, the same needy bitch is always staring back at you.

Don’t Insinuate that I’m Crazy

Last night, I was in a state of utter ennui… and for no other reason than I suffer from unpredictable, seemingly inexplicable (they’re a symptom of Borderline Personality Disorder; but knowing that doesn’t help), and crippling bouts of depression.

Every answer to Mitch’s questions (most of which were typical, every day stuff like, “What would you like to do for dinner?”) was, “I don’t care.”

Understandably, this frustrated the shit out of my husband, who made every effort, and used every kind word he could, to try and pull me out of my rather apathetic despair.

He also needed to pick up one of my medications from the pharmacy, and asked me to verify that it had been sent to the correct location (we recently switched, and our doctors are still catching up with the change). When I opened my phone, I noticed a reminder for an appointment with my psychiatrist today and said, “Goddam it. I have an appointment with the shrink tomorrow. Shit.”

To which my husband accidentally said out-loud, “Perfect timing.”

My thought was, “Perfect timing? Perfect timing, you son-of-a-bitch?! You’re the problem here, not me. I’m not crazy; I’m sad. Sad that you don’t desire me, and that I feel undesirable.

But instead of saying that, I slammed the phone down on the armrest of the recliner, glared daggers at my spouse, and spit, “You know he can’t fix what’s wrong, right?”

(Side Note: If I’m being honest, I said this to deliberately sting my spouse. He knows that I am deeply unhappy with our lack of a sex-life; and that I blame a lot of my depressive feelings on such.)

Mitch’s posture immediately shifted to a defensive position, and he said, “I’m leaving. Text me when you go to bed, so that I can come home.”

And I said, “I never asked you to leave. Come home whenever the hell you’d like.”

“What the fuck for,” Mitch yelled back, “so I can deal with this shit?!”

When You’re Nuts, You’re Not Allowed to Have Feelings

One of the worst things about suffering from a mental health disorder is that your feelings often come out sideways. By the time my negative emotions — anger, despair, frustration, sadness — find their way to the surface, my behavior goes topsy-turvy and the Borderline Bitch comes out to play.

As such, I often come off as “crazy” and/or “nuts” rather, than say, sad. I yell. I cry. I bunch my hands into fists; and as a result, Mitch tries to deal with the behavior (out of necessity), and the feelings underlying that behavior get dismissed as irrelevant.

Even in our more rational exchanges, when I am able to express my darker emotions in a logical way, Mitch often turns them around on me. “Honey, you’re exhausted and your brain isn’t working right,” is one of his favorite responses to my darker concerns.

It is true that when I’m exhausted and my “brain isn’t working right”, all of those unwanted feelings float more freely to the forefront of my consciousness; but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t valid and/or justified.

I have a deeply compelling reason for feeling slighted in my marriage — Mitch’s absolute unwillingness to meet my sexually intimate needs. (In his own words, I meet all of his needs. So how is it fair to have mine unmet?)

It hurts to feel undesirable; and I imagine that it would hurt someone who is not mentally ill, just as much as it does my “crazy” self. Their partners, however, wouldn’t have anything to stigmatize and use against them in a conversation about said hurt.

Having any negative emotions (that I might feel) recognized as “truth” is an eternal battle. Mitch doesn’t discount my positive feelings as a symptom of my disease, so why should the negative emotions be any different? They are treated as different because my behavior shifts as my emotions grow darker. The behavior is a symptom of my mental health disorder, the feelings are not.

And I have grown utterly exhausted by having to constantly explain this… especially when the explanation is ignored, as are my underlying needs and feelings.

I’m Also Tired of Finding Mitch Wherever I Go

I love my husband with all of my heart; but having to suppress a part of who I am — a truly sexual being — is a taxing endeavor.

It’s difficult to take on all of the household chores, to keep going to the gym, to try to watch my food intake, and to maintain my mental health (through medication and action) when I feel there is very little reward in it.

Doing all of those things does make me feel better about myself; but when I feel better about myself, I also feel more sexual… and I don’t have a partner who cares about that.

I fear that if I gain and/or harness more self-confidence, then my desire to leave my marriage for greener pastures might increase… and I don’t want to leave my marriage, nor the man that I am so deeply in love with.

It’s a terrible — depression-inducing — cycle.

I have a few good days (in which I perform all of the tasks on the list above), immediately followed by a crash… and when I crash, Mitchell gets hurt because I’m hurting; which absolutely isn’t fair.

Especially, when Mitch is trying.

This past week, he was up before 8 a.m. each day that he was home. But then, quite bizarrely, I wasn’t. I slept in and woke up grumpy and disconnected.

Perhaps it’s a subconscious endeavor to try and make my husband feel all the emotions I feel when he doesn’t get up and then doesn’t want to do anything. I don’t know…

All I know for sure is that I’m tired of the woman staring back at me in the mirror… and I’m frustrated with the man who dismisses my feelings due to the fact that I have mental health disorders and addictive tendencies.

We Remember Differently

I want to reclaim the couple we once were. The goofy people who went bowling and sang karaoke on the weekends, the Cassie and Mitchell that more regularly did things with friends (the Cassie and Mitchell that had friends), the husband and wife that people admired, and wanted to be.

I also miss the long nights that we spent making love so intensely that Mitch sometimes called out of work the next morning… the times when his passion was so intense that I had a hard time keeping up with it.

When I say these things to Mitch, he often says that I remember things differently… that he was never social and/or sexual; but that I was the driving force in those departments. In contrast, I think we both were.

I don’t know when or how we lost those people; and unlike my husband, I believe that they are still here… they just need to be found.

I desperately wish we had a map to our younger selves, because we both need to see them when we gaze into that damnable looking glass.

Soundtrack: “Remind Me” by Brad Paisley & Carrie Underwood

Move Over, F*ck It Hamster!

Weight Loss Endeavors No. 5

I am totally unmotivated this morning. I did wash my face and brush my teeth upon awakening; but I haven’t showered since Tuesday afternoon, and have yet to return to the gym (haven’t been there since Friday) and/or my chores (which I abandoned Monday).

It’s a bit odd to have apathy linger this long… especially when I had a good day yesterday. Bug (my son) came over in the early morning to do his laundry; and we had a very nice visit. Rige-o (my baby brother) called in the afternoon just to chat (a rare treat); and we had a great conversation full of laughter. Mama texted me throughout the day; and we also had a fun conversation. Mitch came home after work and did the dishes himself; while we joked and poked fun at one another.

So what the hell is my problem?!

The First Law of Physics

“An object will remain at rest or in a uniform state of motion unless that state is changed by an external force.”
– Newton’s Three Laws of Motion

I’ve been at rest (though some of that rest was beyond emotionally taxing) since Mitch and I had our fight on Sunday morning.

This is not to say that Mitchell is at fault. On the contrary, he has asked “Are you going to the gym?” every day, before leaving for work. And my response has been, “No, I don’t think so.”

Instead, I’ve sat in the recliner — day after day — binging “Shameless” on Netflix, while occasionally corresponding with friends.

I haven’t been eating during daylight hours… which turns into shame-inducing sugar binges after our evening meal. (Last night, I ate a box of Crunch ‘N’ Munch toffee popcorn, a Mr. Goodbar, and a bag of Skittles. 🤦🏻‍♀️ )

When we visited our primary care physician on Tuesday afternoon, I weighed in at 266.9 pounds — the heaviest I have ever been — and one of my liver enzymes is out of whack due to obesity. (Causing me to think, What the hell is the point of working out if I’m not seeing any results on the f*cking scale, and my fat-encrusted liver is being uncooperative?!)

Add all of that up, and the sum total is this: I’m disappointed with myself, and think I don’t deserve to feel any better than I already do… which is not very good at all.

What Did I Do?

I find that when I feel like this, it’s good to take a moment to reflect on the positive things I’ve done.

So, I know it’s a little late this week (I should have posted Tuesday); but here is my week in review.

Workout Review

I did find the courage to lift on my own (while Mitch was at work) last week.

(Side Note: One of my readers emailed me and inquired about the equipment at my gym. All of the cardio and/or weight machines are produced by Life Fitness.)

Tuesday, July 19th

Bike: 20 min 4.10 miles 150 cals burned
Weight Lifting: Lower body 25 min
Treadmill: 35 min (“Hills” Level 2/Speed 3.1 mph) 1.77 miles 256 cals burned

Wednesday, July 20th

Bike: 20 min 4.43 miles 150 cals burned
Weight Lifting: Upper body 40 min
Treadmill: 35 min (“Hills” Level 2/Speed 3.1 mph) 1.77 miles 255 cals burned

Thursday, July 21st

Bike: 20 min 4.25 miles 159 cals burned
Weight Lifting: Core 35 min
Treadmill: 35 min (“Hills” Level 2/Speed 3.1 mph) 1.77 miles 256 cals burned

Friday, July 22nd

Bike: 30 min 6.56 miles 227 cals burned
Treadmill: 40 min 2.01 miles 292 cals burned

Saturday, July 23rd

Intentional day of rest.

Sunday, July 24th – Wednesday, July 27th

F*ck It Hamster was at the wheel; and I gladly let the fuzzy lil’ f*cker drive me off my motivational cliff. Bad Cassie! 😜

Food in Review

This is seriously not a topic that I wish to review… too many nights spent sugar-binging in the midst of a self-pity party.

Goals for the Week Ahead

Ugh… do I have to?!

Yes. Yes, I have to… because if I don’t get off my duff and become the external force needed to change my current state of utter inertia, then I am doomed to continue feeling disappointed and ashamed of myself. (Is that really what I want to feel?!)

Thus, it is time to let the fuzzy in and turn on the cartoons (Tocho — my rescue pup — likes to watch cartoons in our absence). Time to once again don my workout gear, tie my hair up, and find my way back to feeling better about myself.

So.

This week I will go to the gym at least five out of the following seven days. I will limit myself to one sugary item after our evening meal. I will eat more than once a day (and snarfing a bag of Goldfish crackers doesn’t count as a meal). I will pull myself out of this damnable downward spiral and be the change I wish to implement in my life. I will continue to post weekly updates; but the day will be changed from Tuesday to Friday.

I’m getting out of this chair, I promise.

Soundtrack: “Work B**ch” by Britney Spears

Scaling the Walls

Ugh is the only way to describe the past couple of days within the confines of my marriage.

Mitch and I had a fight that went from quiet arguing to screaming obscenities to me throwing him out of the house to uncomfortable days of silence.

In the end, we were able to have a more rational conversation about the things that had transpired (i.e. normal marriage stuff, but with the added bonus of each of you knowing how to push the shit out of the other’s buttons); and agreed that as long as we’re still fighting — and have something to say to one another — then we’re still in this. Together.

Overcoming the Addict Within

My first gut reaction to having been emotionally disemboweled by my spouse was to act out.

I wanted to reach for the bottle of wine in the pantry (that Mitch keeps for cooking) and just get soused. I wanted to run to an AA meeting that I know is full of chaos and lies (and become a part of said chaos and lies). I wanted to grab my phone, reach out to an ex, and beg for sexual benefits. I wanted to take every pill in the house, and wait for death.

(Side Note: I do not wish to do these things to hurt my husband nor myself — not consciously, anyway — but to feel something radically different to despair.)

Instead, I did none of these things.

I collapsed onto the couch and cried into Tocho’s fur until he was soppy and covered in snot. I forced myself to get up and wash the dishes in the kitchen sink. I turned on a beloved television program and hit the mod like it was my last day on earth. I didn’t eat… until I did, and then went on a binge.

I don’t proclaim that these choices are “healthy” necessarily; but they’re a hell of a lot healthier than the destructive alternatives that first surfaced in response to stress.

Years into my recovery (in which I’ve done a ton of self-reflective work), I recognize the aforementioned gut reactions as extremely poor coping mechanisms for emotional discord.

I realize that thinking that way will always be a part of who I am (and I cannot control said thoughts); but acting on them is something I can control.

When I start to hear the insidious siren call of the addict within, I know it is imperative to think of the things I could lose should I answer it. Namely? My husband, my son, and my (rather precarious) sanity.

Having gratitude for what I do have helps to prevent the damage that my addicted self would do should she be let loose. (I’ve managed to keep that bitch caged for a good number of years, and do not intend to set her free.)

I will always be an addict… and I may never be able to stop the binge-eating or the non-stop inhaling of nicotine; but I would rather be a lil’ fluffy and vaping like a dragon than a careless drunk who thinks little about anything other than getting that next drink.

I would rather be fighting with Mitch over my lack of a sex-life than feel miserable about myself for having reckless sex (and yes, it’s always reckless at that point) with men who aren’t my husband.

I would rather know who I am than have no idea who I have become.

I choose to be more than my addictions.

Residual Fallout

Unfortunately — even when making healthier choices — mental and emotional stress always takes a toll.

In this most recent event with my husband, I lost all motivation. I stopped writing, stopped reading, stopped going to the gym, stopped showering, stopped corresponding with friends, ate a shit-ton of junk food, and was minimalistic in my attempts at doing the chores (I did keep up with the dishes).

This reaction to internal turmoil is a symptom of my disease… and it’s never easy to cope with.

It is beyond difficult to live with a mind that seems determined to unravel itself; and the knowledge that you will have to deal with said self-destructive mind for the rest of your life can be more than a little daunting.

I have yet to scale the walls of the rabbit hole I found myself falling into this past weekend; but I’m getting there… and really, that’s all that I can do — scale the walls one tremulous step at a time.

F*ck It Hamster’s at the Wheel

I woke up this morning feeling apathetic, which is a pretty predictable cycle in my world. I tend to have two really good days, followed by a lower one. (And thus far, my psychiatrist is at a loss regarding how to explain it.)

For lack of a diagnosis for this phenomenon, he has been encouraging me (for several years now) to return to traditional “talk therapy”; but after I was betrayed by my last therapist — which did significant damage to my professional life — I haven’t had the heart to look for another one.

Trust, in my world, is a deep and complicated thing. I give it freely — and upfront — in all of my relationships; but once that trust is broken, a person becomes dead to me (unless they’re family, and can’t be easily tossed aside). Thus, my track record with therapists has left me not wanting to re-enter that type of an association. (This, unfortunately, is a common problematic theme with Borderlines.)

I’ve also been dealing with moderate back pain for the last couple of days, and was forced to defend my “agnostic” approach to twelve-step programs last night in a meeting (which I did vehemently)… add all of that up, and the steering wheel that guides my emotions was rife for the taking — and it seems F*ck It Hamster was eager to step up to the task.

This same time yesterday morning, I was already back from an extended workout at the gym, showered and doing laundry. Since I’m not in that same position today, it’s tempting to flog myself emotionally for not adhering to my usual routine… an activity that will lead to negative direction and/or choices, rather than positive.

The only rational thing to do is to summon the energy to overthrow the fuzzy lil’ apathetic bastard currently directing my train of thought, and fight my way towards the opposite path… but right now? I just can’t seem to summon the energy needed for such a coup.

I’d rather sulk, and hit the mod with an unbridled enthusiasm for a nicotine high… but sadly, that doesn’t seem to be improving things much either.

Sigh.

If I want things to get better today, I have to hit the mark for at least one of my goals; because as Mitchell Tenpenny sings, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” and sadly, I have neither.

Let’s see if I can summon the strength required to knock the arrow, pull back the bowstring, and hurtle myself out of the recliner, shall we? Ugh…

Soundtrack: “Horseshoes and Hand Grenades” by Mitchell Tenpenny