Chunks

Sunday, October 03, 2010

For the last several days I've been doing some serious, hard-core soul-searching.  I can't get into specifics about what specifically caused my sudden voyage into WhatDoesItAllMean? Land, but just know that I bought my one-way ticket and I am heading there fast.  And when I'm dealing with emotional turmoil, I go balls in.  "Taking it in stride" is not my way of life.  If something is bothering me, it's torturing me and occupying most of my waking (and sometimes dreaming) thoughts.  To put it mildly - I've been in a funk.

And I'm not sure what to do about my current situation.  It's not something I can just go and change with a snap of my fingers (I'm sorry I'm being so vague.  I know you have no idea what I'm talking about it.), and that's what I hate.  People are so quick to say, "If you don't like something, change it!"  Oh, if only it were that easy. 

I'm having deep, gut-wrenching convictions that I need to give my life new direction.  It was rather unexpected, but all of these feelings hit me like a ton of bricks and I've been a depressed, moping mess ever since.  Something has to change.  But I don't know what to change or how to change it.

Again, sorry about my vagueness.

It has nothing to do with my marriage, I swear.  But boy, could you imagine if it did? Clayton reading that I was unhappy with him in a public blog? Ouch.  That's kinda like when my first serious boyfriend broke up with me over MSN Instant Messenger, frowning face emoticons and all. 

I know exactly what I want out of life, but I don't have the means or direction to get there.  All I know is that at this very moment I am unhappy and I cannot live like this.  It's selfish, I know.

I need a life coach.

It's just a huge slap in the face to realize that the one thing you thought you wanted more than anything in the entire world is not what you thought it was going to be ... that, in fact, it completely sucks and you'd rather shave off your skin with a cheese grater than continue to do it.  Graphic, but true.  I think the worst part of all of this is that I really, honest-to-god believed I wanted this and that this is what would really make me happy.  It's not.  I worked so hard towards and FINALLY got it, and it's not for me. I was fooling myself.  Now I'm stuck and miserable.  And, as I said earlier, I'm not one to be like, "Well, this situation sucks, but I just gotta think about the positive!"  No, that is so not me.  I'm more like, "OMG I AM JUST GOING TO SIT HERE AND COMPLAIN ABOUT THIS AND BE SAD UNTIL I CAN FIGURE OUT A WAY TO FIX IT."

In other news, I almost threw up yesterday,

So what? you say.  Babies, drunks, and bulimics throw up all the time.   Yeah, well, I'm not normal in that department.  I actually suffer from a mild case of emetophobia (they have names for everything these days) and have been weird about vomit since I was a child.

Whenever my stomach felt anything less than perfect, I used to have an anxiety attack and hound my parents with a sea of, "Am I going to throw up?" questions.  I don't know what triggered it.  I've actually only thrown up maybe 5 times in my entire life, but for whatever reason, throwing up, or being around someone else who is throwing up, is one of the scariest things that could ever happen to me.  I purposely don't get drunk to avoid it, I usually don't go on any kind of amusement park or fair ride (exept roller coasters. I can't pass those up) to avoid it, I obsessively get flu shots to avoid it, and I take great pains when ordering or preparing food to avoid it.  It's a rather shameful thing to admit, but yes, I am terrified of barf.

So you can imagine the tizzy I put myself into last night while I was hovering over the toilet waiting for my stomach to contract and the chunks to fly. 

I went for my 9 mile run yesterday (I remember when I was blogging about how hard it was when I had to run 4 miles.  Wow.  I've come a long way), and by mile 7 something just did not feel right.  I ran 9 miles the previous Saturday without any problems, so I had no idea why it was so hard this weekend.  Well, for one thing, the weather was about 15 degrees cooler than it was the last time I ran 9 miles, and I was running outside for almost two hours with a chilly, 57 degree wind hitting my face.  Also, I had eaten an apple immediately before my run, and I could feel it sloshing around in my stomach, refusing to be digested.  I really struggled to get through it, got a much slower time than normal, and came home too tired and shaken to form complete sentences.

It started with a pounding headache from the wind that quickly turned into gut-wrenching cramps, and finally into a wave of nausea so intense I had to constantly shake my foot to distract myself from the discomfort. I tried to take a shower, but I ended up collapsing on the floor of the tub, fighting back my gag reflex.  So I turned the water off and ran to our bed, hoping to calm myself down and fall asleep.  No such luck.

Clayton left to get himself Subway, and I was reluctant to let him leave.  "What happens if I have to throw up while you're gone?" I whined.  He assured me I wasn't going to puke and left me in a naked, wet mess on the bed.  No sooner did he leave, than I found myself bolting to the bathroom, feeling the bile in my throat.  I was so pissed.  Clayton lied. While I waited to barf, I thought of all the nasty things I was going to say to him when he got back.

Luckily, I never threw up. The urge passed. I walked out onto the porch to catch some air and walked right into a spider's web.  I guess freaking out about spiders in my hair distracted my stomach enough to forget it was sick, and I started to feel better.

Another crisis averted.


Speaking of barfing pumpkins, I am SO excited that it's October!  October is my absolute favorite month of the year (and not just because my birthday).  The weather is chilly, but no too cold, the leaves are starting to change colors, you can smell bonfires off in the distance, pumpkins are showing up on people's doorsteps ... it's just perfect.  I love it.  

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1 comments

  1. You know, we used to say in XC that if you didn't puke, you didn't run hard enough!

    ReplyDelete

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