courting perspective

It's like the perfect storm, this battle I wage against the persistent bulge and my racing mind.

I've lost much of my focus these past few years, starting with my long bout with vestibular neuritis and its attendant woes, then dovetailing nicely into never ending sinus infection battles, decreased energy, wild mood swings, more frequent panic attacks and lots of self-medicating. It's been a joy.

All sarcasm aside, however, I'm working on turning this ship around. It feels somewhat desperate, this steering into a new sun, but absolutely necessary. I'm scared shitless of so many things: change being the big one; letting go of those things that have "worked" for me for so long, like seeing your children off to college, the letting go, the trusting that I can make it on my own without these crutches. To borrow a phrase: I have "an unquiet mind" that, until recently, I thought was just, well, me. I'm slowly beginning to understand that what I deemed "normal" (and I use that word with a big CAVEAT of nothing is really normal, but some things are more normal than others) isn't. One of the things I can point to is weight gain. I may drink more than I should (beer me!) but I'm not a huge drinker. Ingestion of the green is a major culprit, as I am a study in how THC excites the appetite and makes you feel hungry even if you've just eaten. Munchies are not above my pay grade. Nor is a degree of lax-ness, amotivational behavior, and downright petulance at the mere mention of someone wrenching my soft, green red-haired security blanket from me. "You have an atypical reaction to pot," says my therapist. This, apparently, points to the fact that I have more underlying chemical issues than I'd like to think. It's true--people who smoke before bed, or to "chill" pretty much confound me. I smoke for energy, or to calm myself the fuck down, whichever happens to be needed for the situation at hand. The notion of puffing before bed merely invites the surety that I will not fall asleep...I'll be spinning like a top, my mind whirring and turning and chewing...any actual rest is impossible.

I don't really know what it feels like to fall asleep on my own volition, without popping a benedryl or xanax or something else that congers dreamland. I don't like admitting that, but there it is. And I used to think it was "just the effects of not smoking/smoking weed" but now I know--or think I know--differently. I am cycling without wheels, riding a roller coaster without tracks.

The process to shift my perspective has begun. I need new walking shoes, and some new work out clothes, and I'm going to really TRY to write things down this week in turns of eating. Nothing is going to fall from the sky and force me to make these changes. I bet I've said that very thing many times before. I guess this time...well, this time, it feels like my very life depends on this shift and how I approach it, what I do with it, how I re-prioritize.

An end to the slog, perhaps. (I can only pray.)