Laughter and love are the most powerful weapons we have. Cheesy? Maybe. But they have consistently been the two things to save me when I’m mentally drowning. I feel extraordinarily blessed by the love in my life. People might think I throw my love around too freely, but it’s not a finite resource. Love is an energy that constantly renews itself… the more you give, the more it grows. It can be as simple an act as a smile, a patient ear, a cup of coffee on the house. Telling the people you value that you love them is never a waste of time or sentiment. It won’t lose its meaning; it will only grow stronger.

I have been through some shit in my life. I never thought I could be in a place to forgive the perpetrators of abuse, cruelty, and untrustworthy acts. Some days, yes, I find bitterness creeping in. I try to turn it into understanding, instead. My abuser was himself abused. He grew up in a time when seeking help for the repercussions of abuse was seen as weak. Actually, the culture I grew up in sent that very same message. When I first began therapy, I felt weak, coddled, self-indulgent. Now I see that it has helped me heal. My wounds might always be tender but they have scarred over enough that I can look at my abuser, know that his life has always been one of pain, and - at a safe distance - love him with the act of understanding.

As for laughter, sometimes that’s hard to come by. It’s easy to be weighed down by the horrors of the world, and as creatures capable of compassion, I think it’s normal and expected for this to happen. When I went through my April Wig Out, I was so preoccupied with worry, anxiety, and tragedy, that I thought I might never laugh again, and that’s a terrifying feeling. But if you’re in a relatively safe frame of mind, and small irritations are piling up, try laughing at it. The biggest annoyances can be downgraded by seeing the humor in them… or if that fails, finding an external source of funniness and immersing yourself in it can do wonders.

Love someone today. Give a moment to someone lonely. Hug your best friend. Write an encouraging note. Tell a joke or watch a funny movie. And take a deep breath: know that you don’t have to take on this big crazy world by yourself. We are all in this together: all bright, glowing parts of a bigger light.

…and I mean the workout, not the brain issues (though they’re still there, just hiding under a layer of glitter, confetti, derby, and medically-prescribed distractions).

Today was “easy”. It was cardio recovery, so it wasn’t all of the crazy jumping and burpees and plyo work, but it was still hard, and it still made me sweat. I wonder what tomorrow has in store for me? We’ll see.

I am not deterred at all by this program. It’s hard. I have to take rest breaks. Sometimes I think my muscles are going to give up altogether. I want to throw things at the TV when Shaun T. yells “DIG DEEPER!”. I’m not altogether convinced that it’s going to make me all ripped and awesome like the girls doing the workout on the DVD. (Let’s face it, after all the yo-yo hell I’ve put my body through, my belly is always going to be a belly, not a perfectly flat six-pack. You can only fix skin with surgery and, uh, nope. That’s not happening. The recovery time alone would take me away from derby! F that!)

But. I know I’m better than giving up. I’m better than sinking back on the couch and reverting to old habits. I might not have much of an appetite anymore after my April Wig Out (I think giving it a cute name might help me process it better), and I have to make myself eat, and sometimes - with workouts and the lack of wanting to eat - I’m probably sinking into negative caloric intake. And that’s not good. So I’m working on it. Slowly and surely. But I have this new determination that what I put into my body matters, and I’m not going to fuck it up. My only concern about food any more is that it will fuel me and get me where I need to be: alert, strong, athletic. Despite its sketchy origins I think that’s pretty good for a bulimic-in-remission. (Never again, never again, never again.)

Waiting for therapist. She’s 15 minutes late. I know she has this tendency (and I used to run tardy myself, until I made a conscientious effort to pull my shit together), but it still makes me feel like I’m not worth dealing with. And I know that’s my brain telling me lies, the groove worn from so many years of being told just that (by a person who had an obligation to care, not abuse)… but it still sucks sometimes.

I haven’t updated this in forever. I am not very good at blogging. I have no interesting pictures to post, everybody follows Bunny Food/Text From Dog/other popular tumblrs so I’m not going to reblog that stuff, and the last month or so has just been a blur of anxiety, ADD, and roller derby. Like a super blur. Like, maybe I should have been writing things down because I think my brain blocked a whole month and now I’m only getting it in shards and pieces. But I feel ok today. I saw one of my two therapists today, and right now I have a roller derby documentary on in the background (“Brutal Beauty: Tales of the Rose City Rollers”… get on Netflix right meow and you can watch it too), and later I’m going to stencil yet another derby shirt (mashup this weekend: GI Janes vs. Avengers. I am a Jane, and half of the GCRG all-stars are on the Avengers… ow). I’m also going to buy some Urine Gone and a new skate bag because one of my cats took a revenge piss in my skate bag, that furry sonofabitch. Later… adult skate? Maybe. If my leg muscles cooperate, they’re kinda hurty right now. Lunges, man. Lunges. (Recommendation: Getsome Athletics DVD. Carmen knows. Her. Shit.)

nrg-tear:

Every time I hit the #roller derby tag, I have this overwhelming urge to just drop whatever it is I’m doing and do situps, pushups, squats, whatever.  Like… MUST.. BE… BETTAARRRRR.

I hate working out by or for myself, but put someone… ANYONE doing something and I get all twitchy and want to work out.