I’m so sick and tired of myself, my own BS, the stories I tell myself to pretend that I’m fine. I’m not. I’m fucking screwed. And I don’t even want to say that because it sounds like I’m a victim, as if it was giving me the permission to keep fucking my life without dealing with the mess.
I’m tired of pretending, even if it’s only to myself, that I’m better, that I figured it out, that I know how to be successful. I don’t. I got it all wrong. I know what matters to me, my true values, family and friends, but I don’t act accordingly. I still let my anxiety/ED get the best out of me.
Since coming back from vacation, I’ve been trying out to play it cool. No more HIITs, no more strong vinyasa practices, more weights, a slower pace. Less podcasts, more time with loved ones. Less walking, more Kundalini chilling. MindPump style. Slow down. Calm down. Don’t hurry. Don’t worry. Trust the process.
It was great. I felt much more free. More time, more space. Then the weekend came, and true to my values, I wanted to spend it with my grandparents. On the Saturday, I got away with the bus drive and the sitting at night with a long workout in the morning and a fair share of walking during the day. It was all fine until Sunday came along and the beast showed up.
I’ve been brainwashing myself with multiple sources of information to convince me that 10 000 steps a day is enough. I’m working so hard to lower my volume of physical activity, I thought it would be a great opportunity to test my new way of living.
Needless to say, I failed miserably. By noon I had almost reached the total amount of steps allowed for the day, and the monster was not even tired a bit. By four, while everyone was having a good time relaxing by the pool, the dragon came out of the cave, roaring like a wounded lion. My mom, tired after a long drive, couldn’t fight the beast and resigned. We left early, for no reason (the monster pretended she had to do grocery shopping).
I hate the monster. But I can’t keep on pretending it’s not me. She’s with me all the time. Not, not with me. She’s me. She’s the lowest version of myself. And I’m the one allowing her to get out.
I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want her to take over my life like that. I always wanted to be a better person, always looking to develop my full potential, to do more. Striving for the best career path, looking for new business ideas, applying for a new school program. I’m telling you, that won’t happen. I will not become that superstar. I’m shutting down all those aspirations. No more self-help books, no more readings in the stars. My only objective from now on is to be fucking normal. I just want to be able to chill the fuck out with my friends and family by the pool on a Sunday afternoon.
So if you ever see a monster drowning, please don’t call the lifeguard. I’ll take full responsibility for keeping her head under water until she breathes no more.