I See Myself Digging This Hole I’m Standing In
I know it seems like I have it all together.
I can’t even keep a straight face while I write that.
I also can’t even keep my credit card balance together.
I just transferred my balance from one card to another. Late last year, I transferred a ton to a brand new card that I got just for the purpose of kicking the can down the road with 0% APR until mid-2024.
I see myself digging this hole I’m standing in.
At the bottom of that hole is a scale that tells me I weigh the most I’ve ever weighed outside of pregnancy. I’m stretching the credulity of my pants.
It’s difficult when you can see the steps that need to be taken, but you just can’t seem to take them. It makes sense from an ADHD perspective – impulsivity can be a huge problem, in addition to being a fun asset.
I suspect there is some deeper stuff that goes along with it. My impulse tells me to spend the money, eat the junk food, drink the beer, and play dumb cell phone games for reasons that probably stem from trying to fill some hole in my life. Why can’t my impulse tell me to exercise and eat salad?
I’m always so existentially restless and bored.
That is part of the rationale behind the 101 Things list. My hope is that doing things that point towards my values will help fill that hole at a deeper level.
It’s a bit of a catch-22, though. A lot of the things I value and that make me feel fulfilled cost money.
None of this is unique, and I recognize my overall privilege. Because I lived in a dual-income household where the ends met until I left my ex-husband, my credit is fantastic. Though, on one level, it means I can dig this hole deeper.
I get short-lived motivation to do freelance writing, but I can’t sustain it for long. But I think I’m going to have to look for a steady side gig and spend my kid-free weekends hustling. But that just makes the impulsive part of me want to escape town.
As I’m typing this, I placed an Uber Eats order. And, I should be writing that ADDitude piece I’ve been not writing for months. It’s bordering on self-destructive, really.
FormerTherapist is supposed to write me a letter at some point. I was thinking about that earlier, and the fact that while I have no doubt it’ll be very positive, my brain doesn’t know how to internalize the sort of positivity that says, “people care about me.” It’s not that I think they don’t. Intellectually, I know they do. I just don’t know what to do with that info because it doesn’t fix whatever that deep need is. So, my brain seems to deal with that by tossing feelings of self-worth over the side of the ship. So, while I can’t wait to read the letter, I already feel a little sad for the future me who can’t let the words land.
TinyVersionOfMeWhoLivesInMyHead is just really, really sad right now. I think she’s tired of living inside an adult.
It’s always hard to find the line between writing blog posts like this in the hopes that if other people relate, it will help them feel less alone vs. wallowing in navel-gazing self-pity.
I know that feeling deeply not-alone is important enough to me that if I can provide that to anyone else, the risk of a little navel-gazing is worth it.
