The Ostrich-Head

You say you don’t know how to do it, but you do.

You choose not to do it.

I say I don’t know where to begin.  But I do.

I choose not to begin.

But that would be fine.  That would be acceptable.  If only I wasn’t, at the exact same moment, choosing to make things much, much worse.

I am choosing a daze.  I am choosing the posture of the ostrich.  I am choosing anxiety.  I am am choosing to make myself as juvenile and irresponsible as I can without being called upon it.  I am choosing to throw out the anchor on all of my plans.  I am choosing this.  This is not happening to me.  This is not a mental illness that has invaded me.  This is not self-protection.  This is me being a jerk and exerting control over the possibility that maybe I am really stressed and unhappy in my job and maybe I don’t know how to deal with the fact that I want to move on not only from that situation but from my whole housing, being single,

I keep pushing, assuming my body will give me a fair warning.  It won’t though.

This isn’t even a size issue.  This isn’t even a me being comfortable in my own skin issue.  This is about me turning off my brain.  This is about me being a type of person I always found shameful and embarrassing: willfully ignorant, snotty, obsessive, no longer allowing the higher functions of my cerebral cortex to function.

I am coasting.  I am coasting towards sharpened pikes, a pit of snakes, a joyless state being tied to a bed, to white walls, to what might have been.  To surgery.  To things that I have a say in.  And that the path in that direction is sleek and fast and smooth like a luge run so that I am shuttled far and fast away from the kind boy speaking to me only about nerdy things on the internet.   I don’t want to have to sort that out.  I don’t want to have to try, knowing how hard I could fail or how well I could do.  I want to pretend that it will happen and it will be amazing.  I want to pretend that I have control over all outcomes by remaining precisely at the center of all things.  It’s all potential.

The future is full of endings I have to shoot in the head.   I have to stop choosing everything.

I have to stop eating this crap, craving this crap, obsessing over the right to keep eating this crap.  I have to get on the bike.  Five minutes.

SparkPeople.  Water.  Scale.  Carrots.  Leftovers.  Walking.  Sleeping.  30 days.  Anger released.  I have some vacation days.  I have to stop this mania.  I have to give it up.  Give it away.

I have to be more in smaller ways.  I have to not eat salty pizzas, whole pizzas, and act like oh, well, that’s mostly normal.

I just don’t want to face the void that all this crap is filling up.  I’m not so brave.  I just know I have to try.

Thanks, Rowsdower, for the reminder.