In my terror and desperation to not end up like my grandmother, I worked too long and too hard yesterday. I went to bed achy and I’m still achy.
I’m not sure I can really explain how palpable this Terror and anxiety is. I feel as though I have unlocked a bonus level or an absolutely chaotic debug mode in the video game of having an anxiety disorder.
I had to force myself today to do something that should have been fun and that I’m ostensibly excited to complete. I was just consumed with this terrible feeling of worry and Dread that I had left the task in my bedroom (cleaning, overhaul, laundry, among much else) incomplete.
Some of the task I am literally unable to do because components of it need to be delivered to me, and yet I was still screaming inside ‘it’s not enough it’s not enough it’s not done’. This is all tied up in wanting to feel not like gross lazy slob, in wanting to legitimately make a nicer living space for myself, in wanting to prove that I am fine and that I will be fine. If I leave it undone then it means that I am failing or that I’m not good enough or that I’m not trying hard enough even if it’s literally just on hold because I need Walmart to deliver some storage bins and then it will be fine.
Desperately seeking some way for it to look like I have it together, to look like I’ve done something, to look legitimate.
It’s like some kind of self-flagellation ritual that I’ve forced myself into after too many people helped me and I envisioned my future as fat nerdy (mostly but not always) woman in wheelchair. Which scared the ever-loving fucking shit out of me because that’s exactly the situation my grandmother is in and fucking hell there is nothing that society hates quite like a fat nerdy woman in a wheelchair.
And all of this is more than slightly catastrophizing and is just absolutely marinating in terrible bullshit, but I was so drawn and so compelled and so obsessed with just returning to the work in my bedroom even after doing nothing but that for like three solid days. I sat down and said okay you have done enough there are some parts of this project you literally cannot move forward on right now sit down and enjoy doing something with dolls.
If I wasn’t fighting spinal bone spurs I would have had to physically sit myself down several times against how strong the compulsion was to stand back up and go back to work cleaning and folding and sorting and purging and moving, I felt like I was fighting against a magnet.
I feel like these are my fault, I feel like everything is my fault, it’s all my fault for being fat, I deserve to be in this much pain because I caused it and I need to do this muxh work to deserve to be delivered of it. I know this is false logically, factually. But somewhere very deep emotionally I think this is the steam shoving me forward toward undefinable.
