I scratch and claw and fight to get up. I take a breath. Focus on the things I need to do with my next step so I can get some traction, some positive momentum to keep going. To be able to confidently say, “Yup, I feel good, this is right I’m doing the things” and before the last words came out of my mouth, I slip and do a face plant back into a shit/mud pile that easily slips into the depths of hell.
I’ve moved via long walks. I signed up for the gym to slowly move more so I don’t mess my crap up again. Water has been lacking. Praying and listening to praise music that usually wraps my heart and fills it. At the end of the day, all I want is a Xanax and my pillow. Maybe a handful of Oreo’s on the way.
I’ve gained so much weight ant that ain’t helping anything. I’m using food as a drug. I’m not listening not only the my God speaking to my heart, but my inner Rachel screaming at my brain. “Put down the sugar. Drink the Stupid Water. Eat the Stupid Salad. MOVE. Get the F*#! up.
Heaven help me!
Mentally Healthy Mama Bear in Progress 