Reddish Musings

I think many people can sympathize with hating their jobs. In fact, most people probably have it worse than I do when it comes to their career of the moment, be it for the long run or for the college break.

Oh, that reminds me, I need to buy books.

Anyway.

It's not that I think I have it worse than anyone else. I complain a lot, but only because I get surrounded by miserable people who complain just as much as I do. I refer to myself as the emotional sponge, because it's true.

My brain can only take so much misery and complaining before it starts to soak it up, to stress about it, to worry in other people's stead. Many of my friends end up feeling better after venting to me, but me? I feel worse. So much worse.

It takes a lot for me to put a stop to it. I am so susceptible to people around me that once I start slipping down a misery hole, I can't see the sunlight shining down the top, I can only fathom how deep it goes.

But no matter. I've reached the point where I cannot keep emptying myself out for people who don't need that. Nobody has asked me to carry their burdens for them. They're just airing them, not asking me to carry it. The burden is still theirs, but making it known helps lessen the pain.

I must learn to listen, not to take and bear. If I'm to have any success in my future, I have to. I'll go insane, otherwise.

If you are a female ranging from the age of 13 to 90 in this era, you are probably aware that the shape you are in determines a lot about how you feel and how others view you. If you fall in this age range, you probably have endured many different diets, lifestyle changes, programs, seminars, book groups, rededications to a healthy life, etc. But what really changes?

Not much, as far as I can tell. Me, I've ranged in weights from the upper 280's to the lower 200's. That's a grown child that I've gained and lost in my short life of 19 years, and I'm still working. Still striving to reach a goal that is even to this day only vaguely defined.

Thinner? Maybe. That'd be nice, sure. Healthier? That sounds closer, but in what regards? Do I measure my success in weight, in how much I can lift, in how far I can run (hahaha), in how long I can walk until my asthma kicks in, in what size my pants are? I don't know. I still don't. I've read a lot of books, a lot of blogs, and I still have no idea.

All I know is that I want to feel better. That's a lofty goal, maybe, but it's not really that hard to attain, either. Feeling better starts with the inside and works its way out. That's the difference between dieting and looking to be better. I don't think my worth is gauged on that scale in an inverse relationship - I've seen the pictures of girls who make it close to the 0 side of the scale, and they seem to be pretty miserable.

I don't think I'm ever going to be thin. I don't think I'm ever going to be absolutely satisfied with the body I've been given. Welcome to being human, right?

I do think I can take better care of myself. I do think I can exercise and build muscle and feel more alert and active and healthier. I think I can weigh less and I can wear smaller clothes and feel more comfortable when snuggling with my boyfriend.

But I don't think that will make me happy. I don't think that surgery, weight loss, exercise, any of that, can make me happy. The only thing that can cause happiness is an alleviating of worry and stress. Acceptance.

Things may change. Things may not change.

And I'm okay with that. I just want to try.

I promise not to beat myself up. Much. Cept for one week. That week doesn't count.

Ta!
~Red~