I’ve felt the weight of broken men against my chest. I’ve watched as they cried until they had nothing left, collapsing into my arms and letting me guide them into a rocky slumber. I’ve steadied the shaking hands of terrified children. They were small, but the fear in their eyes was big, and it threatened to swallow us both whole. I let my heart break in silence, doing my best to give those kids every ounce of my warmth, never letting my smile waver, because that was all I could do for them. I’ve touched the bruised faces of women who did nothing wrong. I’m only trying to help them, to clean their wounds, but it’s hard, because no matter how slowly I raise my arms, I can see their spines clinch, their eyes narrow, and even the weight of the air around us becomes a mass of chains, so I can never have a delicate enough touch to give these women even a moment of peace. And I’ve watched my own life collapse from the pressure of wanting to only save others. I knew where I was heading, but I was determined to save them, at least one of them. If I could save even one of them, I could have saved myself… I know I could have done it, I just needed that proof… but maybe that’s why I couldn’t do a damn thing for any of them, because I was never sincere. I wanted to save them, but only for my own selfish reasons. So of course I couldn’t help them. So of course I’m still breaking. It all makes perfect sense. In the end, it was all for nothing. Everything I did was for absolutely fucking nothing. I should have known better… I shouldn’t have fucking bothered… I should have trusted in my own judgement and saved myself this pain… I should just fucking die.
8/29/2018 – It’s a cloudy mess outside this office window, but even so the August humidity refuses to let up. The heat on the other side of that glass is enough to distort a few inches of air sitting atop the parking lot pavement, burning out the cracks that run through that blacktop, stripping them of their usual collection of weeds, leaving only spotty yellow lines to break up the otherwise charcoal landscape. The dry air is turning my body into glass. My legs, my hands, even my hair feels like it’s turning into uncooked spaghetti. With such a brittle body, it should come as no surprise that this Summer has been another record year for me.
That’s right! This summer I have managed to surpass all of my previous 27 summers of being alive to reach a new level! I’ve finally broken the 200 barrier! I’m in the +200 club! Hooray! I knew all those years ignoring my running shoes and eating nothing but flaming hot Cheetos would eventually earn me this amazing feat of human perseverance!
If you haven’t guessed yet, when I’m talking about reaching the next level, I am referring to the effect of Earth’s gravity on my person. More specifically, I am calculating the impact of the Earth’s gravitational pull in relation to my mass. The result is a number recorded using a unit of weight under the system of imperial units, the preferred system of the United States of America.
What I’m trying to say is, HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS, I WEIGH OVER 200 POUNDS, also known in my family as “a metric fuck ton”.
I’m not surprised, but I want to be surprised. This has been creeping up on me ever since I graduated from college. My life, while not exactly active before, has turned into a game where I see how long I can go without breaking a sweat. I’m stuck in a swivel chair for 8-9 hours in my corner cubicle, where my only movement comes from typing in numbers, clicking on other numbers, and the occasional trip to take a shit while getting paid. It’s the epitome of the American dream, honestly. Heart attacks in my early 40’s and type 2 diabetes, here I come!
But really, I am a solid 205. What the fuck. Why in the fuck do I weigh over 200 pounds? When did I let this fucking happen? That’s rhetorical, as I already explained that above, but I still struggle to comprehend. I know I was letting myself go, but this is a whole other level of giving up. This is being so inactive that I am actively digging myself an early grave.
I seriously need some change, or the next time I have a mental breakdown, my body will break too, and then it will be to late… or maybe that’s what I really want…to have no way to climb back up… maybe I just want everything permanently…
8/21/18 – It was a rather poor start to my weight loss journey, pretty much the exact opposite of what I should be doing if my goal is anything other than “gain 300 pounds and die of a heart attack at age 30.” I woke up too late to cook myself breakfast, so I planned to settle for some Honey Nut Cheerios. Unfortunately, dry cereal tends to only be a legitimate option when one has some milk to soak those sugary oats in, and wouldn’t ya know it, I was fresh outta milk. This shouldn’t have been a surprise, as I ran out of milk Saturday afternoon, and it was now Monday morning, but after my shit weekend, groceries were the last thing on my mind. O, and for me a shit weekend is the norm, so it doesn’t mean anything particularly terrible occurred, just that I suffered through the same, pill induced haze I’ve grown accustomed to from Friday evening through the 10PM news on Sundays. And before you ask, no, I don’t watch the news at 10PM on Sundays, that’s just the general time I browse through the internet for headlines, to make sure I didn’t miss anything important. AND THAT REMINDS ME!! This weekend did mark my last weekend of living in my brother’s (very nice) basement! As of Thursday, I will be living on my own in an apartment within walking distance of my work! How exciting! If only my facial expressions matched my use of!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, back to breakfast. Cooking was out, cereal was out, so I drove to work on an empty belly (it’s full of fat and stuff, but that’s not enough, obviously). Upon arrival, I found myself face to face with our decades old vending machine. Clutched in my sweaty palms were 6 quarters, just enough cash to purchase a cold can of Mountain Dew and some generic brand Cup Cakes. Back at my desk, I scarf the cupcakes down within a minute, and I chugged half the soda in the next. I felt the sugar rush through my chub, and the deep disappointment I associate with visiting my parents took over my being. For the next 4 hours, I typed away with a lethargy rivaling a hibernating bear, and by the time I left for lunch, I had managed to color-code my weekly cash forecasting spreadsheet to resemble a Christmas Tree, and nothing else.
I needed a boost of energy for lunch. Walking through the parking lot, I saw my fellow cube-mate taking laps around the building with her headphones on, blasting some sort of 80’s hair-metal. A walk would surely help pump me up, get my blood going, and wipe away some of the guilt of eating cupcakes for breakfast! It was the perfect lunch idea! And so, 53 minutes later, I walked back into the office, feeling like complete ass after eating a 10-piece nugget, large fry and coke from Mickey D’s. Yup, I’m clearly an individual with amazing decision making skills. At least the fast food was extra greasy, so in a few short hours I’ll be forced to skip my 3PM meeting to take an extra big/long/uncut shit. I’m a salaried employee, so I will get paid for that shit too. America is amazing.
I ended my day with a dinner of…carrot sticks! And…. pickles! Yes, my dinner was 3 sour dill pickles and 8 carrot sticks. It’s not exactly healthy, but carrots are good for you, right? And pickles…are a vegetable? Well, they are a low-calorie food, even though they are just wet, green cylinders of sodium. And I didn’t even have any soda with my dinner! (I had a 0 calorie Monster. Yes, that’s pretty much liquid cancer. No, it was not refreshing.)
All in all, I’d say the first day of my first day needs a new first day. But that’s the greatest part about a first day; you can always have another.
I left you, ran away from you, rented a Dodge Charger, drove that bitch till the gas ran out, got on a sled with a full 10 Husky sledding team, road those bitches (a more appropriate use of the term here) until running into the Alaskan never-ending summer skyline, and STILL, when I caught my breath taking in that shimmering sunlight, I found myself holding out a hand and feeling empty when no fingers slid their way into mine. I say my hand felt empty because even though I did look away from that nightless view, my eyes felt cloudy, like the grass outside my parents house around 6:49am on a mild September morning; not so much wet, with drops falling off one after another, but moist, with the feeling that somehow a sudden drop in temperature has occurred, a chill down my spine, causing dispersion of the H2O molecules and suspending them in my field of vision. I was not crying for your hand, but without that weight my eyes did make the rest of the world seem a whole lot less clear.