I should be prepping for my classes tomorrow, but I need to take a moment to write. I’m struggling.
And I don’t want to be.
I saw the Boob Doctor today. I know that’s a juvenile thing to call him, but it helps me. His office is at a cancer center, which was a sobering building to enter. I managed to remain calm until I found myself alone in the examination room, dressed in a flimsy gown. I tweeted while I waited, which helped, but I found myself regretting the billion times in my life when I wished that I could get rid of my boobs. I regretted all the times I lamented not being able to find a bra that flattered my super huge boobs. I was sure that karma was going to bite me in the ass, and that the Dr. would take one look at them and declare that I had cancer. Of course, that didn’t happen. He examined me, said that he felt something, but that it could just be a plain old lump. He wants me to have a mammogram (scheduled for next week), and then we’d know what we’re dealing with. He was optimistic. I pretended to be.
I left his office, and stopped at the grocery store to pick up taco fixings for dinner. My Mom (who was watching The Kid), requested her favorite Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. I picked up my favorite Haagen-Dazs (chocolate peanut butter), as well as a chocolate muffin, and a glazed donut. I wanted to fill my basket with all sorts of sweets that I’d binge on when I got home. I shared the donut with The Kid when I got home. I haven’t touched the muffin or the ice cream. Yet.
I know it’s stupid. I know that food won’t help me not worry about my boobs, feel less overwhelmed about work and home stuff, or help me manage my time better. Eating junk won’t help me achieve my health goals. But I still want it. I also want to be healthy. I feel like I lost the girl I was back in August, before my guts busted. She was confident (mostly), looked forward to exercising, and tracked every bite she took. She faltered a little, but she got right back up and got back on that Weight Watchers Wagon.
I miss her.
I know exactly what I need to do to find her again. I need to plan my food, track everything, and move my ass. Simple, right? For some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it. And that kind of scares me. Because I’ve been at this point before, and I’ve given up. I don’t want to.
I know that I’m trying to be superwoman, and that I can’t do everything. I know that I’m stressed, and overwhelmed, and that I have the power to make it all better. I can’t do anything about my schedule because I’m locked in through December. All I can do is hang in there, and do the best I can. I know that I have to be kind to myself.
I hate to post this whine, but I’ll put it out there. Maybe being embarrassed about it will help me get back on track.
I hope so.