Poorly Forward

Sir is Sir again for the moment. We’re not sure what we’re doing… none of us. I feel stupid and childish, but I have this deep sense of upset that no one has… answers. Maybe that’s what religion is for, because, deep down, the majority of us are children who need a grown up to look to… to have the answers… to be… in charge. There’s some comfort in that.

But Sir is just Sir, and I don’t believe in deities, so I’m stuck with the child in the darkness syndrome, wanting someone to know everything, protect me from everything, have the answers to everything…

I am struggling terribly with writing here. Sir wants me to push through and try to write every day again, at least for as long as I am on vacation, and possibly once work starts again, as well.

He says he thinks it helps me to have a record of my life because my memory is strange around it. I remember procedural and episodic memories extremely well. I, generally, remember facts, events, who was there, words that were said… But emotional content seems to fade into smoke for me. I will say that things have been pretty even over this break, with a few ups and downs. But then I look at my mood tracker and I remember all the things I wrote down, I remember them happening, I realize, cognitively, that these lines of my tracker represent a wildly not even break… I’ve had severe mood disturbances, multiple times each day. But when I just think back, I believe things haven’t been too bad.

This is a weird phenomenon since I usually think of myself as a negative person. Maybe I’m not as negative as I think I am.

It’s… complicated… to have illnesses that affect your perception of reality. It makes everything much harder to trust or to believe in, or to invest in. This week I looked in the mirror and saw myself… huge… like blimp huge. I checked the scale and I had gained eight pounds, literally overnight (sometimes the scale says my image in the mirror is wrong). So… I figured I had cross-checked perception with facts (the scale) and therefor I had gained nine pounds because I ate too much for Christmas dinner.

Sir said that didn’t make sense, but I was totally convinced because… I’d fact checked. It wasn’t just my perception.

He said to show him, so we went on video conference and I took my shirt off. He actually agreed with me that something was wrong, but he didn’t think I’d gotten “fat from Christmas.” I, however, felt fully justified now, because he couldn’t argue that I was huge.

I ate potatoes for Christmas. I almost never eat potatoes because they’re a nightshade and I avoid nightshades due to my autoimmune disorders. But it was Christmas and I didn’t feel like being super strict so I ate some mashed potatoes, and I also ate some pudding that I used potato starch to thicken.

Then I ate leftover potatoes and potato starch the day after Christmas. Then the third day, I woke up huge. Coincidentally (I thought), my asthma got really bad (because I was super fat, of course), and also my joints and all of my connective tissue (like seriously, the cartilage in my ribs!) hurt like living fuck.

DJ got all of this information out of me, eventually, and suggested that I drink some coffee and black tea, drink a shit ton of water, and take some Advil.

The next morning, I had lost nine pounds.

I literally gained and lost nine pounds over the course of two days.

I only ate 1500 calories on the second day, so I, of course, decided that was why I’d lost the weight.

Sir asked me not to eat any more potatoes for a while.

He lives in that reality. The one where my calories do not dictate nine pounds of weight gain and loss over 48 hours…

I don’t live in that world.

He lives in a world where… it makes sense that I don’t have to write quality content on a blog which literally makes zero money for me, I don’t get paid for, I don’t even get responses to the majority of the time. Fuck it. I should use it the way I want… in his world.

In my world, I owe everyone perfection, even these faceless, nameless people that come and read and never say a word.

Which makes every post I make a terrible exercise in anxiety.

Sir says that’s okay. He says to just keep going forward, even if I go forward poorly.

He says it will get easier with practice.

It will get easier to fail on a daily basis with more practice in failure…

Yeah…