Green machine

I finally went to Costco. I’ve had a membership for three years but in the last one year I hadn’t used it. I think I’m ready to start paying attention to my diet. I bought one of those green drinks. It’s a big bottle and says, finish within seven days of opening. My goodness. There’s no way I can finish that huge bottle in seven days! Unless I drink it every day. It’s supposed to be good for you. It has kale and apple and kiwi and several other unpalatable things in it. It tastes just like it looks: not good. It’s green and it tastes green and I’d rather plug my nose while downing it. But it’s the only way I’ll get my greens in. I otherwise don’t eat anything green.

My roommate is in bed. I’ll be thankful for that because I hate it when she’s up. I just hate having to share my living space with other people. Don’t have a choice right now. I am feeling that green drink hit hard in my stomach.

The thing is, I don’t have a difficult life. I have to keep telling myself that. Yes, it used to be full of difficult things, moments, situations. But all that is in the past. I actually have a pretty easy life, compared to some. I don’t have children to be responsible for, although sometimes I think I would rather have others to take care of, with taking care of myself as a by-product because I don’t do well at taking care of myself to begin with. My job is, for the most part, easy, though it may seem challenging at times. The most challenging part is when boredom hits and I have to do menial tasks that don’t challenge me.

My life feels difficult. It feels heavy, and oppressive, and challenging. Often I find it difficult to get through one day. I find myself wanting to hide out in my car during breaks at work, because I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to be anywhere. I just don’t want to be. Then, for moments and small glimpses, I see hope in babies sitting in shopping carts, innocent beings that need to be protected and loved and cherished. There is no exchange of love in my life. The closest I come to love is loving my therapist because he is patient and kind and always there for me, once a week every week.

Why is it that I can’t get out of bed? That’s my big question. It’s what therapy discussions revolve around. I don’t get out of bed for myself but I do get out of bed for others, like for going to work. I miss social engagements because of being in bed. I keep to myself. I isolate. Somehow I feel protected and safe in bed, but it’s also beginning to be the source of nightmares. I do have nice dreams, of chocolate cake and things like that, but I also have bad thoughts that perpetuate my conscience. How do I keep myself safe from all of the bad people out there? Stay in bed all day?

I’m going to drink tonight. It’s not the smartest thing for me to do, but it’s what I’m going to do.


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