Issues

I gots wut dey call da issues. That's what I have. Last night I had a bit of a fashion show. I tried on a bunch of different articles of clothing, some of which were swim wear. And when I saw a bump here, a bit of roundness there, chunkiness on that side, and sagging on another, I freaked out. I came apart. It was amazing to watch how the temporary and irrational panic unfolded. So I will unfold it again for your entertainment.

Looking in the mirror.
"Wow my legs are white."

Then scrutiny.
"Is that cellulite on my thighs?"

Then upon closer inspection in the mirror scrutiny becomes overreaction.
"Oh my gosh, I'm a monster! I'm hideous. I'm huge! ... But I can't look away."

Then, the why me whine?
"How did I get to be so disgusting? I don't get it. I eat well. I exercise. It's not fair. Life isn't fair. I hate food."

Then give up.
"Maybe I just shouldn't even bother. I should just eat whatever I want, have quesadillas for lunch every day, cookies whenever I feel like it. Why do I even bother to exercise? That's IT! I'm DONE with exercise."

Then, a bit of rational me shines through.
"Calm down Gordita. You're being irrational. Of course you need to eat well and exercise. Just keep doing what you're doing. It's alright. You're alright. Everything is alright."

Then rational me is obliterated.
"But what I've been doing obviously isn't working. My legs are so chunky it's a wonder I don't need a Jazzy to move those trunks around. That's IT! I'm never eating again. Ever. No more Cafe Rio ever. Only salad and water from here on out. Yeah. And I'm going to exercise until I collapse from exhaustion. I will punish myself until I look less hideous."

Then, deep breath, attempt at rationality.
"I'm being too hard on myself. I'm not THAT bad. Everyone has some cellulite. It only looks bad because I'm so white. If I had a tan..."

Then, the wishful thinking.
"If only I weren't so pasty..."

Then freaking out because there's seemingly no solution.
"But when I go out into the sun I burn. I'm going to get skin cancer at some point in my life, I just know it. I don't want to damage my skin. I want to keep it young and unharmed by UV rays. I don't want to look like an old leather glove by the time I'm 40."

Then realization that 40 is just around the corner.
"Oh my gosh! I'm only 10 years away from 40. It seems not that long ago that I was 20. What happened? TIME happened. I can't stop it. What am I going to do? My life is practically over."

Then rationality sneaks back in.
"Don't be silly. Aging is a part of life. There's nothing I can do about it. I have to focus on the things I CAN do something about, like my ginormous thighs."

And then it starts all over again with the legs....

It's a bit of a freak show, I know. And some of you might say I'm brave for sharing this. I say, this is cheaper than therapy.

The end of the story as far as last night goes went like this: When I became rational again, later, after taking a long walk and talking it out with TC, I decided that there is more I can do as far as exercise; I can push myself a little more to work a little harder. I can do a few more squats, work a little harder at "fetal thighs," push my limits with my weight routine. But I also decided that I need to accept the fact that I'm pasty white, and my legs are kind of chunky, and I have cellulite, and my weight fluctuates from time to time, and my hair has split ends, and my belly button has lint, and my toes are crooked, and I have dark circles under my eyes, and I get pimples from time to time, and sometimes I freak out at the smallest provocation and I draw ridiculous and illogical conclusions, and sometimes I panic when there's no need to panic...

That's life. That's me. Accept it. Change what you can. Be realistic. Move on. Rational me knows this is the way to be: accepting, forgiving, moving on. Irrational me is a total jerk and tells me all that other junk. I'm curious how many of us are walking around with an irrational jerk inside our heads feeding us negativity all the time. How do we get the little jerk to shut his pie hole? If any of you have the answer, let me know.