Five years ago, I had a wonderful baby girl. Five years later I still look the same as I did the week before I went into the hospital.
The baby weight wasn’t too bad. Twenty. That’s all, it would have been easy to lose and I should have gotten on it as soon as possible, but there was the surgery to recover from ( c-section) and the newborn. Then came the additions from the depo-shot.
If that weren’t enough, due to other medication, more packed on. Add to that the irresponsibility of eating what’s convenient instead of what was healthy. Bad idea!
Here I sit later, feeling downright foul about my appearance and making some kind of resolution to make an effort to get things back on track. There are cute clothes out there I want to wear. Shorter haircuts that I want to have! Of course the ever-elusive swimsuit season that will someday be mine.
Fat, I’m tired of you hanging around making me look bad all the time. You need to take your self and go to someone who needs you. Me? I know I’ll be better off without you.
Over the past few years, my anxiety has slowly been shoving it’s way into everything: My diet, my social interactions. Really everything. Last April I hit a low point of sorts. I would wake up in a panic. Going to sleep was really tough. Not sure why, but the dark just seemed to make it worse. Soon I was literally dreading sun down like I was in some horrible monster movie. This is part of where the anxiety pops in. I spent most of the day worrying about being afraid. It really was ridiculous. Cutting out sugar helped with the panic attacks to a degree, but even still I get anxious about being anxious.
I worry about such stupid things, and I KNOW how dumb it is, but I can’t help it. The biggest thing is food. I literally have stopped eating so many things because I’m worried I’m going to get sick. Then if I do get sick, I worry that the pills are going to make me feel gross or some weird side effect is going to eat my soul. Even aspirin and vitamins are a no go. I guess in a way it all comes down to feeling off. I’ve felt so mediocre for so long, that even the thought of feeling better then normal scares me.
I love my daughter like crazy (4), but sometimes I get so frustrated, like many moms and dads. After about the 10th time asking her politely to please stay out of the bathroom, or please stop terrorizing the dog, I just get so frustrated. I definitely need to find a better way to get through to her little mind then yelling.