Self-loathing is back January 9 2010

I’m sitting in Bowling Green, Kentucky.  Fred’s robotic’s teams just won second in the state. They competed against 36 teams from across the state, many of them were middle schoolers.  Thus, the second place is awesome! I’m so proud of Fred and what he does.

He’s down at the pool with them now while they burn off some energy. I’m sitting in the room will a belly full of good food, feeling grim.

I am hating everything about myself again.  Surprise.  Overindulgence.  My middle name.  It will plague me the rest of my life. It will never change. I will never change. I keep thinking I don’t deserve to be so happy on one end and so miserable on the other.

The lap band is not stopping my decision making.  I think I have a doctor’s appointment Monday.  What to do, what to do.  I don’t have a band support system now because the doctor’s office group therapy sessions are during my work time.  They begin before I get off at 5:30.  I’ve told the doctor it’s impossible for me, but they don’t seem to be able to help.  I like this doctor, but I’ve got to find a support system that works for me.

I do so hate these cycles.

I read a book today.  Yes a whole book.  While I was waiting for the robotics teams “heats”, I read the book, “I Choose to be Happy,” written by William Croyle and Missy Jenkins. Bill is a co-worker of mine.  The book is about Missy who was shot in a school attack in Paducah, Kentucky. It was before Columbine. She is a paraplegic now.  The students had just completed a prayer circle when the shooter began his release of horror.  In spite of everything, this young 15 year old forgave the shooter and knew her life was going to be fine.  Now 11 years later, she is a full time counselor, wife and mother. She still has her bright outlook and still feels no bitterness toward her attacker.

This story was very inspiring to read. Yet, it throws me into a bit of despair. She was so strong to work toward her goals. Physical therapy was painful and difficult.  She has to catheterize herself and administer other difficult things to keep her body functioning. All I need to do is stop eating carbs. All I need to do is take a walk.  She had adversity created by another that she has risen above and beyond. My problems are of my own creation.

After reading this book, I feel more handicapped than her. I feel bitter and angry. She does not. I blame my mother, Weight Watchers’ and many other things for my failures. She blames no one, but the one who shot her – and that gives her freedom because she forgave him. 

I know we each have our own road to travel. I’m getting tired of mine.  When will my brain just shut up!  I’ve got a great life. Any problems I have are my own doing.  Overindulgence is my middle name.

I can change for a month – but not two. I can chose the positive in a moment, but not the next. I can feel hopeful for others, but not for me. 

As I often say……arg.

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