Dear sweet Jesus, shoot me if I ever blog about pea salad. I was taking in a dose of reading some blogs from some friends of mine and wishing I had kids as happy as them when I realized that these stay at home moms are blogging about peas. PEAS. As in those delicious little green balls. Why are we blogging about peas? I can only assume there is nothing else in this world that can occupy a mind that sits at home with happy little kids. Don't get me wrong, I would love to swap, but you can bet I wouldn't blog about peas. Oh the irony.
Today I ate nothing except for a pear, 5 pecans, and 10 kernels of popcorn. I drank a lot of tea. Then I came home and devoured an entire quesadilla, beans, and a large horchata. I have been hating myself for this all night and took some laxatives to get it out sooner. I realize I am doing something wrong but it just feels too awful to eat and when I do it feels to awful to keep it in.
I have a skewed perception of myself. I am constantly asking my husband if someone looks to be about my size so that I can get an idea of how big I look. Because I honestly can't tell. To me all I see is ridiculously large breasts, rubbing thighs, a double chin, fat upper arms, and the roll of back fat from where my bra cuts in. I wish I had a job where I moved around all day and burned calories. I feel like I will never be thin.
I am gearing up to be surrounded by kids in a few days. My nephews specifically. I am excited to see them but also know that last time I cried all night for 2 nights. It is sincerely painful to have a little boy put his tiny hand on my cheek. Painful to have a little boy tell me he loves me. Devastating to see a little boy go unnoticed. Every time I write about kids I realize how much I suppress because automatically the tears start coming. I feel like Superman, acting all normal during the day yet completely out of my element, and then I come home and look through as many walls as I want. Forgive my failed metaphor.
Also, today a strange occurrence unfolded on my way to work. It was unbelievably foggy and I couldn't see more than 5 yards ahead. Some guy tailed me and tried to pass me on a two way road. He almost crashed into two vehicles, fish tailed, spun out and hit a ditch at 45 MPH and flipped over. There was no place for me to stop to help so I had to call it in. What was strange is I kept wishing that he had hit me, or that I was in the ditch. I hardly ever have those kind of thoughts, it is more I wish I was never born or cease to exist kind of thoughts. But literally, I was envious that I was not in the ditch. That feeling was so disgusting to me that I cried from being mad at myself.
I am biding my time to be able to talk to my husband about my issues going to a doctor. I have wanted to tell him every night but I don't want to burden him with something new to worry about. Honestly, I wish he would have married someone who is better for him than me.
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