*sheepish*

So, I took all that energy I had from September's Indian Run and...misplaced it? Honestly, the day after the race, I hiked around The Ridges looking for new running trails. But life snuck up on me very, very quickly. And I started making less than ideal choices:

1. I got sporadic with my meds (Oh, I'll take them today. Tomorrow, maybe not so much.)

2. I let myself get manic, then depressed, then...both?

3. School + Observation Hours + Job = Working from, eating on, and sleeping on my couch

Things got pretty out of hand. Thankfully, I made it through finals week and home safely. I'm not completely balanced out emotionally, but being home with Jay and our families (especially my mom) gives me a lot more stability than living alone. So, I'm making more progress on my two-steps-forward-one-step-back system. If I could just start sleeping at normal hours, things would be great.

But then there is my weight. Since I wasn't running and had started stress eating, it's no surprise that I've jumped up to the highest number I've ever seen on the scale (I know I have weighed more than I do right now, but I've been a champion scale-avoider). Even with that new, scary number in my mind, I couldn't seem to find motivation to get back into the groove.

Until I was surfing Facebook and spotted some waifish friends of friends out clubbing in lingerie. Granted, not the healthiest source of motivation, but it's enough of a kick in the pants to get me reevaluating my plan and setting some more reasonable expectations. So here they are, the new goals:

1. Lose 10% of my body weight. That's 15 pounds. That's enough to put me back in the healthy BMI bracket.

2. Restart and finish the C25K Program. This time with 100% more inhalers.

The "finish line" for my goal is my final wedding dress fitting. Which isn't yet scheduled but will probably be late June-mid July. So, that gives me...hold on, math...about 30 weeks to make this happen. If I can maintain the -1lb/week goal that the WebMd calculator made me use, I can get there in about half the time. But, I'm going to be realistic here and shoot for 30 weeks.

Thank you WebMd for this handy summary:

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.