I do not consider myself a sad bitch or even a sad person. I am full of life, vibrant individual, whose house is constantly creatively messy. I do not have time for not living. I am in the prime of my life with so many things behind my belt. But not according to my new trainer. What I have behind my belt is a few extra pounds. Too many few extra pounds.
I love this body. It birthed babies. It created so many beautiful ideas and pieces of art. It knows how to make humans swoon. It knows exactly when to smile, cry, be angry, laugh, and when is the right time to hug. This body has done so much for me. I wish I could love it more. Share it more. Expect less. And simply put more work into it.
I have not. Not in the last six months. Not since my work has caused me copious amounts of stress and my brain simply started shutting down memories, opportunities for conversations, cutting out time, pushing my mind into a dream world during the day and keeping me in the nightmares at night. My body has been warning me for half the year that it was time to get out - upset stomachs, constant headaches, body aches, weight gain. It worked so hard to warn me - it would either rev up my heart or my heartburn. It would yell at me from the inside to just take a break from work.
I listened to it, but I should have listened earlier, before the severe PTSD kicked in. Before my long term memory started to get affected. And definitely before I started to slowly disassociate from reality, from the trauma I saw day in and day out.
I worked hard, I valued my job, but my job did not value me and so my body quit.
It's been a few months since I first got diagnosed with severe PTSD created by cumulative secondary work trauma. PTSD killed my motivation. Destroyed it - in it's entirety. I have zero of it to do anything. Out of every other PTSD symptom that I had, lack of motivation is the hardest one. It keeps me away from doing things I love. It makes me stay in bed at the most random times of the day. It has cut into producing beautiful things, into making love, into being fully engaged in life, into doing any kind of physical activity that my body needs.
No amount of Pinterst-ing is enough to just get up and move. My lack of motivation borders on full blown depression. Where is motivation to live a life full of potential? It feels like it will never come back. It will. PTSD is treatable and most cases remit within two years.
I guess I am not tired of being a sad bitch after all. I am just tired of being an unmotivated bitch.
My body is trying so hard to protect me - it is keeping me in a bubble wrap with this long silk black ribbon around it. I am like a luxurious gift just waiting to be open to all the future opportunities in this world. I am doing all this mental work to get better but the physical work is still frozen in ice.
I can no longer stay unmotivated. I do not have time for not living. It's time for this vibrant woman to get her body on a new page. Expect work - expect that undoing all this damage will take a long time. It's time to plan for new tattoos and boudoir photoshoots, a new glowing career, and most of all higher expectation from thyself.
My new trainer asked today what I wanted to achieve in my gym sessions. I said I wanted to fall back in love with movement. Any kind of movement, in the right direction.
He said but what about measurable goals?
My goal is to wake up tomorrow.
My goal is to stay alive.
My goal is to stop being a sad bitch.