That’s it. I can well and truly say that my over-indulgence has hit its peak. It’s time for me to do my annual “clean-living” stint, and what a better time than at the start of a new age and new month?
I woke up this morning in a cold-sweat. I had a terrible nightmare last night which was basically like I was a character in a Saw film. And I hate the Saw films. With a passion. I don’t know who any of the other people were in this room with me, but we were all trapped and forced to commit terrible things against ourselves that involved knives, spikes, etc. A cackling voice came from above the stone prison commanding us to do awful things. In short, it was HORRIFIC. I woke up nearly in tears and my sheets were soaking wet.
I have nightmares about as often as I lose my temper, which isn’t very often. Probably about once a year or every two years. But just like my temper, it seems that when I have these nightmares they are so utterly disturbing that they keep me on edge for weeks.
In my groggy haze at 6.30am this morning, I called upon Freud to help me understand what the hell the dream meant. I’m still at a loss. Something about me feeling trapped and in a prison? No, I don’t think so. I feel pretty liberated these days. Something about feeling I deserve to be punished for something? Hmmm…but that’s not unusual. I’m Catholic – the guilt never leaves you. Perhaps it’s some sign that I’m over-doing it? Over-indulging, over-drinking, over-eating, over-thinking? Maybe. That feels right. But I can’t recollect the last time I saw an alcoholic forced to cut his own finger off in a dark dungeon because of his steady relationship with gin. I mean, I’m not living in the Middle East (well….hmmm…maybe I should rephrase that?).
So, seeing as I was already up at the crack of dawn, I took it as a sign to go to the gym. Two and a half hours later, endorphins running high, I did my daily dosage of writing at the library. Then, I decided “Hey, it’s Friday. Buy yourself a new pair of jeans.” My closet literally frowns at me every time I open the door. It’s as if every time I look in it it’s saying, “If you put on another baggy, frilly top and stretchy pants with Uggs, no one will ever love you.”
I went to the mall, all excited at the prospect of shopping because I haven’t done it in ages.
The excitement quickly turned into frustration.
It was right in the Macy’s changing room , when I was trying on the 4th pair of size 6 jeans(which “used” to be my usual size) and I couldn’t even get it up past my ass, that I looked at my reflection and said, “Alright. This is crazy. Enough.”
I left the mall, in a huff, angry at myself for even attempting to buy new clothes when the only reason I knew I wanted new ones is because all my current ones DON’T FIT ME.
Blast.
So, instead of doing my normal retreat into myself, constantly berating myself for my unhealthy ways as of recent, I went to yoga. And I felt much better after that.
I’m going to try to not procrastinate and do things in moderation from now on. There’s no need for me to always be such an extreme person, is there? Or is extreme just more fun? I think I know what the answer is but I’m going to try and find out for myself first.
