Postcards from the Pity Party

I am really bad at taking care of myself.

Like, really bad.

I feel better when I write. I feel better when I run. I feel better when I'm with my friends (okay, unless I'm already feeling crappy, then my agoraphobia kicks in).

I feel better when I take my meds.

But lately, my poles are shifting toward a definite down spell, and I stop doing the very things that would prevent that.

Meds are tough. My PDoc is far away (an hour from Athens and four from the Yo) and refuses to let me phone in refills. And when I can get there to ask for my refills in person, I get lectured about not taking my meds. About how disrupting my intake can screw with their overall efficacy.

Of course, I could be more on top of these appointments. And not having refills doesn't explain why I can't get up and walk across the room to take them. I guess, in the moment, I don't see how missing a dose can do that much harm--or, alternately, how taking them will do that much good. Then I find myself missing close to a week and feeling like... this.

And my friends...I am clearly avoiding them. I want to talk to them, be close to them, but every time I look at my phone or think about going out, I curl up. No. No. The bed is safer. They'll already be mad at you for not calling. Why upset them more? You've always been a terrible friend, just keep the status quo.

Running is actually the only thing I've kept up with. I took one week off from training, then realized that in order to succeed and run a 5k this fall, I have to make my running a priority. It helps that my little sister desperately wants to go to the gym, but can't drive herself (or use the equipment without an adult present). So I make myself get up and take her and know that at the very least, I'm being a decent sister.

And writing? Sometimes I tell myself, Nobody reads this, nobody cares. When I counter that this blog isn't for anybody but me, I hear, 1. You're lying. 2. You don't even care what you write. Then I realize that I'm arguing with myself.

But here I am, writing.

...

This post is not about making sweeping changes and living my life for the better. Oh, I'd like to do that. I'd love to write up a plan of action, promising myself and the semi-anonymous blogging community that, no this time, I'm going to get better.

But I can't. I've got to 12-step this bitch and just take things one day at a time.