I’m in recovery of my mind, body, and soul.  I put so much poison into my body that I was completely shutting down.  I’m lucky that I didn’t suffer through any seizures or organ failures.  There was a point in my life where I was having a hard time doing anything physical.  I don’t mean I couldn’t get out and run a marathon.  I was having a hard time with getting my shoes on, I could barely get up the stairs without feeling like I was going to pass out.  I used to have to take a break when mowing the lawn.  I didn’t have the energy some days to stand in the shower and I could barely get myself out of the tub if I had a bath.  When I entered into recovery I decided to work on getting my body healthy as well as my mind and soul.  I joined a gym and started to work on the stuff that I am putting into my body and it’s been going well I think.  I am still a work in progress but it’s about progress not perfection.  A fact that I really struggle to remember some days.  Like today, I step on a scale (which might be part of the problem) and I am up 3 lbs from the last time I did that.  My brain instantly relapses into a major case of the “fuck its”.  Why am I doing this, what’s the fucking point, why do I even bother?

Because my perception is that if I don’t see constant progress it means I must be failing.  I greatly dislike failing, which I think is human nature.  It is pretty normal to see a few pounds of weight loss in a week.  For me to expect to to see 2 or 3 pounds of weight loss per day is unreasonable.  But it means I need to slow my head down and keep that expectation in check.

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