Tag Archives: netflix

Strange Addictions

19 Jan

Starting last week LP and I decided we were going to do our own roomy challenge to get our health goals going and find motivation in each other. I have done health challenges before and they have definitely helped as it would seem I thrive on competition. This time around, we customized our own instead of finding some squat/plank/arm/etc. challenge off the interwebs or completing a DVD series meant to kick your butt. I have done both and although entertaining and masochistically enjoyable, this time we were both looking for something a little different.

The basics areas follows: we each picked a few goals, made sticker charts, and are competing to see who can have the most days completed. I am aiming to get more active so I am earning stickers based on active days. Anything from yoga, a little jog, or even just completing my FitBit step goal on particularly busy days earns me a sticker, I just want to get my butt off the couch and moving around in the world. I added a bonus element to my goals by giving up Netflix and Hulu, really tv in general, unless it is a social activity, for the four weeks we are doing the challenge or until I have earned 25 stickers.

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It is nice seeing the chart start filling up and the first week went swimmingly (as first weeks often do). There were a few little things we both promised to do together as well. Surprisingly the things I thought would be difficult are not, and the things I thought would be easy aren’t that easy.

First, we both gave up edible weaknesses. Mine as of late has been the pounds of chocolate laying around the house since before Christmas. I gorged myself on the remnants and it has been incredibly simply to avoid temptation since. That will probably change, but for now I am glad to be standing firm.

The second thing we omitted was alcohol. This one has posed more of a difficulty, but I expected it to. It is not a healthy coping skill, but one none the less and especially on hard days I like to end the day with a glass in my hand.

The final item we gave up was the scale. Personally my goal was not to change the number this machine showed me every morning necessarily, but change the way I behaved, what I focused on. This relinquishment, however, has been astonishingly difficult to live without.

Which got me to thinking about addiction and self image. Every morning I run through the same routine. I wake up. I relieve my bladder. I wash my hands. I step on the scale. Often what it tells me is a gauge to how my day will proceed. If it has barely altered then more or less I move on and forget. If it has decreased I am elated and the first thing I put on is a smile. If the number went up by a significant amount on the other hand, I get discouraged and angry. I think back to what I ingested the last couple days and beat up my psyche for being so weak and lazy. You would think I would stop doing it, or at least limit my usage, but no, every morning I feel off if I don’t check in with the little white box.

It is not a thing I would have considered an addiction until this challenge. Until forcing myself to stop looking. It is seriously the only thing I have considered altering the terms around. I negotiate with myself that maybe just once a week is ok, or a least at the halfway mark. It is ridiculous! I am eating well, I am exercising, and feel good, and yet it feels incomplete without knowing what the scale is going to tell me. I am infuriated with myself. Out of all the things I have considered being negative habits in my life, I would have never listed this among them, and I wonder how it could have escaped my notice.

I could go into a rant here about societal lessons that are ingrained into us, but I won’t. I am sure you have heard it all before.

I just wonder what else is there under the surface I have been hiding from myself. What have you been hiding in your own subconscious?

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Tucker Max Drunk

29 Oct

There are nights you expects to be full of shenanigans and know the next morning you are going to regret most of your decisions. I call them rock star nights – party hard, crash hard, try to remember where you left your wallet…and panties.

Then there are the nights you intend to be a quiet outing with a few friends, innocently believing you will have a drink or two then return home at a reasonable hour so  you can discreetly fall asleep watching Netflix. Only things do not go as planned and the next morning you are jolting awake, head screaming, trying to fit the pieces together.

I refer to this as Tucker Max drunk. I don’t think TM himself would necessarily categorize such an event as such himself, but as I never achieve this level intentionally, I find it my prerogative to create the category in my personal life.

One morning on a Thursday in July, I awoke after such a night. I was late for work, clothes were strewn all over my apartment, and my body was aching in every way possible. The memories came back in flashes, but to this day I cannot recollect what inspired me to pee in the sink. Yes, dear reader, walking out into the kitchen I discovered the unmistakeable odor of urine in my sink with no clear idea of what lead to that occurrence. I bleached the shit out of everything and resolved to not drink for a week.

How did this come to be? Well, let’s start a the beginning. I have Wednesdays off and from time to time I participate in a little day drinking while I take care of things around the house (bills, laundry, cleaning, yoga, yada yada). This particular Wednesday I had indulged, but not overly…until LP came home from work. She invited me to Toby Keith’s and that was the end of that.

Drinks ensued and at some point I lost track of how many and what I was doing. LP’s friend came with us and between the two of them they got me to ride the mechanical bull at the bar as I threw back more drinks than I should have been able to ingest.

By the time we got home I was ready to crash, but I am stubborn. For some reason that night I decided I needed to pee…but not in the toilet, in the kitchen sink.

I didn’t remember the next day, but instinct knew it was me.

It was the first in a series of incidents. The sink, the dish washer, my closet…for a handful of weeks, this was my pattern and amusement.

One questions one’s motives when one gets drunk enough to justify such behaviors. And then one read the Tucker Max autobiographies. I recommend them to anyone who feels their lives have hit the toilet because this man will make you feel better about ALL of your mistakes.

Depression…what a bitch!

20 Apr

I hate to whine and make people listen to my problems. You know its bad when I can’t find an appropriate level of positivity to hold up a conversation. I have to admit that even I, with ability to always find the silver lining and snap myself out of a funk within a day or two, have hit a great big wall that’s making it hard to get out of bed.

Feeling that you are one heartbeat away from failing is a hard feeling to fight. You start at the top of this spiral where confidence is high and your determination is strong. Then with each road block your confidence and determination are slowly chipped away at. When one decreases the other falls with it. Then what fills up the space that is left is fear and hopelessness. Once the equilibrium is more fear/hopelessness than confidence/determination, its hard to get out of bed and do anything to help yourself out of the hole.

This my friends is depression at its finest. We all get there at some point in our lives, some more intensely than others, but if you’ve ever had a day it felt better to stay in bed with the blinds closed sleeping and having hours long marathons of tv shows you don’t even care about, than get up, take a shower, and do even the slightest thing to make the situation better, you know what I’m talking about.

I meant to start this post days ago, but instead wallowed, watched A LOT of netflix, and considered buying a plane ticket home. Of course the concept of living with my parents and abandoning all my things was enough of a deterrent, so now, days later, or like a week, I have almost come to terms with where I’m at and begun making a new plan.

How did I get here? Well it all started with the death of Skittles. Not having a car has made getting a job hard, which led me in an act of desperation to buy a car at a car auction with half of my remaining savings. The car is, and I’m being nice when I say this, a dirty whore bitch with more problems than I can even consider.

Hind sight is 20/20 and mine is crystal clear. I know exactly what I would do to not have ended up here, but none the less, here I am and I can either continue to wallow until I am left with no choices at all, or rebuild. Its still hard and I’m still struggling, and part of me wants to cry pretty much every second of the day, but life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes you have to get off your privileged high horse and  take a very large bite of reality, knowing that in the end it will make you a better, stronger person.

Saying this out loud helps. I repeat it to myself constantly. There is always someone who has it worse off than you do. I am not in a good place necessarily, but I have all my basic needs met and still enough audacity to have some self-pity. I’m sure in the months to come it will continue to be hard and I’ll still have days that I want to swallow a handful of vicodin. However, I am blessed with a vast support group of friends and family, who, even from thousands of miles away for the most part, still manage to make me feel loved and reassured. THAT is what keeps me going, THAT is how I get out of bed everyday, and no matter how bad things get, I will forever be thankful for those people.

Side note: as I was writing this it reminded me of another blog I had read a while back. The entire things is great, she’s freaking hilarious, until the last post and I haven’t seen anything new since *sadface* Check it out – Adventures in Depression