you are viewing archives from 2005

the year that wasn't

I’ve been sitting here, looking at the blinking cursor, the empty screen, trying to fashion some sort of life-altering statement that befits the first entry of the New Year. And all I can think of is thank Christ that’s over.

Then I switched gears that thought I’d break down the year by month. I vaguely recall February, when I put Peanut to sleep, and May, when my grandmother died. My lawsuit came to fruition in July. Then there’s just a lot of blank space. I know I did something, I just can’t figure out what it was.

So I’m sitting here, looking at the past two paragraphs, pondering the past twelve months, and it hits me. 2004 was the year of De-Evolution. But instead of donning a red energy dome and making millions (thousands?) with my particular brand of post-punk new wave music, I took each punch on the chin, and to heart. I wore the mask of no big deal but everything became personal. It was all about me, and not in a good way.

Some might say I crave balance because I’m a Libra. I think I crave balance because it’s the one thing I can’t do. For the last four years, I’ve noticed that I have a hard time maintaining my weight; the scale either moves up or down. In an all-too-familiar-tango, my self-esteem dances three steps forward and two steps back.

The last year has been fraught with change, and mostly for the worse. I was constantly sick and fatigued, going from doctor to doctor. When I questioned blood test results, asking the difference between what was within normal range and what was optimal, I was told that it was all in my head. I hired a personal trainer who taught Powerlifting as well as Olympic Lifting, and proceeded to starve myself. When that didn’t work, I retreated into those familiar binge behaviors I thought I had left behind.

My Superhero personality devolved from Wonder Woman to Two-Face, as I went from a confident, strong woman to one who wept openly at her computer, while A. tried to convince me that I wasn’t worthless, wasn’t talentless, wasn’t a black hole of personality.

All I can say in my defense is that I wasn’t like this constantly. I did have good days, good weeks, a good month here and there. February I got back to the gym. October resulted in a perfect 32nd birthday with A. in Vegas. November I started spinning three to five times a week. December I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, Christmas shopped, baked cookies, attended holiday parties, wrapped presents and wrote 156 pages in fourteen days.

My spinning instructor, a tattooed woman in her early 40’s who lived a hard life, a woman who is far from the perfect size six, repeated the same thing over and over for the last few classes of 2004: don’t think about what you’re going to do this next year. Don’t think about how you’re gonna work out five times a week, think about how you’re gonna eat a thousand calories a day, think about how you’re gonna make your ass a size two. Think about what you’re not gonna do. You’re not gonna treat yourself like shit. You’re not gonna judge yourself on your pants size. You’re not gonna hate yourself.

That's a resolution I think I can make.

I do have one regret regarding the past year, and that’s that I haven’t been the girlfriend that A. bargained for. I haven’t been the person he fell in love with. I haven’t been the partner that I promised to be. And the only thing I can say to that is that I’m sorry, I love you, and I’m still trying.

2004.

Thank Christ that’s over.