It’s 10:30 in the morning on Saturday. I’m sitting in a booth at a McDonalds near my parents’s house, slowly making my way through a bacon egg and cheese bagel with a hash brown on the side. Obviously the most important part of this meal is the Diet Coke.
It’s surprisingly crowded – moms with kids, little families, a couple old guys who look like they could be friends with my dad. There is an employee washing the windows and having a loud conversation over his AirPods.
I’m not feeling great this morning. I forgot to get my Klonopin refilled so I didn’t sleep basically all night. Tossed and turned, some light snoozing, lots of catastrophic intrusive thoughts.
I wonder if this is what a hangover feels like. My eyes don’t want to stay open, the world is slightly fuzzy. I’m not in pain yet, but lack of sleep generally triggers big time fibro pain, so I have that to look forward to.
I was just thinking about when was the last time I was really happy. Like, not perfectly happy with everything in life but doing ok. I think it was 2021; I still enjoyed my job, for the most part. My health was great – I slept like a baby, I could run 3 miles easy-peasy, I was literally 100 lbs lighter, the thinnest I have ever been as an adult. I was having a ton of fun dating Rusty, going on adventures together. I loved my house and had plenty of energy to keep it clean. My friends and I went on roadtrips to hike in national parks and bigger trips to Hawaii. My mental health wasn’t perfect but the little incidents were just occasional annoyances.
I wonder if I’ll ever be her again. It feels as impossible as winning the Boston Marathon or knowing a single answer to a Jeopardy question.
I recently saw a video on Instagram of a woman slowly, methodically cleaning out a hoarder home. The bedroom was the subject of this particular video, and whew, it was rough. The floor was completely covered in at least a foot-deep layer of clothes, shoes, papers, and unidentifiable objects. Everything was dusty and dirty and crumpled. You couldn’t see out of the windows, they were so covered in grime.
I feel like that room. My joy and peace is buried under layer after layer of dusty memories, broken hopes, chaotic hormones and emotions. A healthy body is somewhere beneath all the pain and terrible lifestyle of eating junk and never exercising. The thing is, I don’t have the energy or clarity to try digging into that mess again. Where do I start? How do I do it? I’ve tried so many things in the past three years but I’ve never felt worse.
- Life coaching with Sal
- OCD outpatient treatment
- Therapy with Haley
- DPDR coaching with Jordan
- Therapy with Em
- ADHD testing and medication
- Dietician
- Massage
- Podcasts, books, apps, etc
I don’t blame anyone for their program or book not helping me. I actually think every single thing I’ve tried was smart and useful, based on good science and even better intentions. I simply couldn’t execute what they advised. And now, exhausted and discouraged, I definitely can’t do the things everyone keeps telling me to do.
What is wrong with me?
What should I do?
I have no idea. So I’m going to drink this delicious Diet Coke, go clean TeKa’s tank, and not think beyond the next 30 minutes.
KelCor Grows Up 
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