Wax and Bullshit

This whole eating thing … is hard. Today, it’s harder than it has been since the beginning of April. I dropped my lunch at the office today after only having about a fourth of it. All of those lost macros! That yummy nutrition spilled all over the concrete. I had extra protein powder with me, thankfully, but couldn’t bring myself to mix it up.

In times of struggle, my default is to restrict. Today has been a buttons kind of day – Grandma’s funeral was this evening. I’ve been thinking all day about life, loss, those who have been dear to me who are no longer around. Mainly, I’ve been thinking about my mother, the struggles she experienced, the trials she faced and ultimately what it was exactly that caused her death. Because we were estranged for so many years, I will never rightly know just what … happened to cause her shift, but I can guess.

I think, like me, her default was to run. Unlike me, instead of seeking a hiding space in the limbo float that comes with not eating, she chased her demons with a bottle. I understand that chase because I have run the same course. I’m grateful that I snapped out of it before I became what was her ultimate demise. I know that not eating isn’t healthy; just as sure as I’m sure she knew that drinking so much wasn’t doing her any favors. But I’m sure she saw it as the only way she could cope with the stresses and pressures of living a life that she didn’t set out to experience.

I’m 32; at her age, my mother had three children and a husband who was too busy being selfish to ever stop to notice her. She probably felt like she was wafting adrift, shapeless and alone. The bottle, and the buzz that she found in it was likely her only friend. Much the same, the way that I feel when I’m empty of food offers me a comfort that I haven’t found anywhere else.

Looking at Grandma’s waxy body this evening, I considered what struggle really means, and how healthy individuals overcome their own issues. I’m sure no one is perfect; there’s just no fucking way. But there are better ways to deal with things than not eating, or drinking too much. I went for my sweat this evening with a heavy heart. I lifted, I focused, I projected into the world the image of the person I want to be. Now, back home after another almost eighteen hour day, my stomach is rumbling, my food tracker says I need at least another 500 calories to break even for the day, and my mind says there’s no fucking way. This. This is the struggle.