It’s 5AM and There’s No Snoring
I question why I’m here. Why I’m up. Why I believe that one day, not today, I will turn things around. If I want progress it will come, right? But yet, I see myself in the mirror and I want my results without waiting. I’ve learned to manage the effort. I’ve learned how to feel satisfied after the effort. But, it’s the idea of waiting that destroys me. And sadly, my refusal to wait is what will prolong the waiting period.
My heart feels funny and I have weird, sporadic pains as if my fatty tissue is crushing my nerves. I know I’m not healthy. And the mortality of my body is becoming too real to me.
Still, it’s as if my desire for health can’t reign over my desire to satisfy my self-deprecating cravings.
Besides, there’s all my other problems going on right now. I have no job, no money, and no sense of self-worth that’s appropriate for my age. Apart from spending time with a certain unmotivated, mooching alcoholic, I have no friends.
I’m doing all I can not to hate myself.
I stay up late. Later and later. I wait till I get to this kind of delirious state that I’m currently riding. As if it’s the great thrill I’ve been waiting to experience all day.
The consequences of this behavior seem to multiply exponentially as time goes on. I sleep very little. I eat in binges at odd times. I’m fatigued at all hours. Outside of waddling down to the kitchen or to the bathroom, I remain bedridden even when awake.
No wonder I’ve slipped into such a depressive state. I’ve checked myself in as a psychiatric patient, with my bedroom as the saddest ward there ever was.
I need to run and I need to do it often. No matter how embarrassing my life has become, I am no Lindsey Lohan. If Lohan can set a realistic goal in completing a marathon, then surely I can get back to being healthy.