I’ve been working out for about a year. I have three levels of torn discs and effed up feet from birth defects and being fat. I’ve lost thirty pounds in the last year by using a recumbent stepper. Today, I thought I’d mix it up. I’m a little less heavy and a lot stronger so I thought I’d try “hip hop” tabata. I found a YouTube video and I watched it all the way through, thinking, “That looks pretty straightforward. I can do that!” Nope. I’m super uncoordinated and awkward and I have zero rhythm and I busted out in to tears in the middle of it. I busted out crying because I feel like an utter failure at life.
Usually, working out makes me less stressed and more confident. Today it just underlined how shitty about myself I have been feeling. My husband, intentionally or otherwise, has made me feel ugly, unloved and unwanted. He says he loves me. He says he doesn’t want to hurt me. He says he thinks that he’s a burden to me.
What I WISH he would do is ask ME how I feel. I WISH he would say, “So hip hop isn’t your thing. You’ll find one that works for you.” Instead of just smirking and saying, “Really?” As I read this I hate how I sound. Whining, crying, weak, devastated. How I sound is how I feel and I really hate it. I’m just struggling to get through this ugly shit. I’m trying to forgive. I’m trying to trust. I’m trying not to fall completely apart. Most of all, I’m trying not to feel desperate.
His new meds started today. Tapering off the old med also started today. I’m praying/hoping/wishing/begging for the new meds to help bring my husband out of the third ring of hell. (And me, too.) This mess started when his other MH med was stopped so I’m scared and cautiously optimistic all at the same time.
He asks me why I stay – doesn’t he understand that I love him? Through all of the janky stuff, I love him. Through all of the blackness of mental illness and TBI, I love him. If I didn’t love him I’d have been gone a long, long time ago.