Confessions Of An Old Lady

I had an emotional breakthrough the other day and it was both shocking and disheartening.

I was attending a resolve workshop through my chiropractor because I'm fat and am trying to lose weight. I don't eat large portions. I don't even eat that often every day. Half the time, though, I eat the wrong things and that has piled on the pounds along with my irregular sleeping habits and not eating on a regular basis.

I've worked for nutritionists and I'm even an herbalist myself. I have extensive knowledge in the field of wellness and natural health yet I still look the way I do. Try giving someone sound advice when you look like I do. Not easy. So it's not a lack of practical application knowledge that is holding me back.

In the seminar, the doctor was talking about mental blocks and fear of success. So he had us write down our goals for the new year. Then a list of the top 10 reasons why we want to accomplish our most important goal. I wrote the following:

1. feel better
2. play with kids more
3. clothes fit more comfortably
4. less wear on my body
5. live longer

Then I paused and really thought about it. I realized then that I don't really want to live a longer life. I've felt like an old person in a young body for as long as I can remember. 'Eight going on thirty', they said about me as a kid. As a teen, it was 'old sour bi**h' and 'get the stick out of your a*s and relax'.

I'm only 31! I have three children, a wonderful husband, a house that we own, and enough money to pay our bills and eat healthy food. What do I really have to complain about?

I look back on my childhood and it was miserable and I had NONE of those things I have now. No security, comfort, support, safety, order, food... I could go on from there, but you get the point. I have everything I need and most things I want. I'm hard pressed to even think of something I want for Christmas every year because my husband takes such good care of me.

So why do I feel this way? Why don't I want to live to a ripe old age and see my great-grandchildren playing? Whatever it is, I realized that being fat is the slow death. The death that doesn't require active participation from the conscious mind. It's a little closer to being as old as I've always felt. The end of the line. It's the most passive form of suicide, if you could call it that. I'm not actively depressed but passively allowing myself to die while I pretend I'm content.

I don't believe in drugs or therapy and there is no way I would ever actively hurt myself, but I'm still on this slow path. Grinding myself down bit at a time. I'm not sure what to do about it so that I want to actively live because I can't remember a time where I really did want to be here. The days of my life sort of stretch before me in a chain and I'm just living them as they come with my nose to the wheel. My only real desire is to live long enough for my children to grow up. After that I don't really care what happens to me. I'm apathetic to that, but at the same time a part of me is screaming against the apathy and acceptance.

If anyone has any ideas that could help I would be appreciative.
An Ep User An EP User
1 Response Jan 17, 2013

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