I had a meltdown the other day, and I haven’t been able to pick myself up from it. It all started because I’m on a diet and lost weight. Which should be a good thing right, but when I saw that the numbers on the scale, I immediately thought ‘but imagine what it would read if you had worked harder at the gym’ and ‘you had a wine on Wednesday, that was cheating’. It quickly descending into chasm of self hatred littered with ‘you Don’t deserve this’.
I told a friend about it who didn’t get why I wouldn’t be happy. That just made me feel worse. Does thwt mean I’m incapable of happiness? Should I just give up on life now if I’m never going to be happy? I managed to function enough to get to the gym, where I promptly launched into a full scale sobbing mess in the car park.
How broken must I be, if I don’t know how to be happy? If I don’t know what success or pride feels like? I attempted to try and find a memory of success, something I could try and replicate, which was terrible, because I couldn’t find one, so I just confirmed that I’m failing at life.
Since then, I’ve basically been a miserable mess. I’m grumpy and angry at work. I spend my commute crying in the car. I go to the gym and feel like a failure because I’m not working hard enough, I come home and eat, and feel like a failure at that because all I want is chocolate, and I don’t want to eat any more vegetables. Then there is the weighing.
I weigh myself approximately every half an hour. Today the scales have been rising, but I’ve stuck to my plan. Does that mean I’m failing? It thwt wine from a week ago catching up with me? I definitely need to work harder at the gym. And eat more vegetables. What happens if it continues to rise? I may as well just eat chocolate and then at least I’ll die of a satisfied heart attack.
So here I am. Broken. Failing. Despairing. And the worst bit of that….? I’m telling the internet because there’s no one else who cares.