It’s no surprise to me I am my own worst enemy
‘Cause every now and then I kick the living shit out of me
I like myself. Not in a boastful way. I don’t puff my chest out and say, “Look at me! I’m the shit, yo!!!” I do say ‘yo” a lot, but not “I’m the shit”. What’s my point? Simple. I like myself and am happy with who I am but the reality is that I occasionally do things to sabotage myself—things that, whether consciously or unconsciously, I do to keep myself from being happy.
I don’t mean I physically hurt myself; I mean hurt myself socially, professionally or in relationships. I don’t do it as much anymore, but a few years ago it was happening all the time.
I wanted to be successful at my job, but I would take shortcuts that I knew would probably come back to bite me in the ass. I would get lazy and not pay attention to details that I knew I should pay attention to. I’m not saying that I was a loser or anything. I was respected at work and I did a good job, but I could have done better. I knew it; my boss knew it and it frustrated us both.
I’m not sure if this makes sense, but its like I was afraid of success. I certainly didn’t want to be mediocre. I wanted to be at the top of my game and I knew I could be—somehow I generally found a way to not make it as far as I should have.
When these setbacks happened I would get upset with myself and would beat myself up because I knew that I could have and should have done better and it was a case of self-sabotage. I would mentally and emotionally kick the shit out of myself.
It was the same with relationships. After Baby Mama moved out I didn’t go out on a single date for about a year. I didn’t want to. I was emotionally devastated at what happened and I wasn’t ready to date. My first date was with The Period One and that date should have been a sign that maybe I wasn’t ready; but (as usual) I didn’t heed the warning signs.
Over the next few years I had a couple decent relationships and another one or two that showed some promise—until I found ways to screw them up. I’m not saying I was the cause of things not working out in all of them, but I definitely played a part. It’s almost like I wanted to be happy, yet somehow I didn’t think I should be happy or deserve to be happy. Weird, huh? I’ve pretty much gotten over that, but I still do it from time to time, just in different ways.
At the beginning of the year I dropped about 25 (in my mind, very necessary) pounds. I was feeling great physically and was happy with myself. I lost the 25 by about early March and I was maintaining it and was really proud of that. I was never way overweight, but enough that I wanted to lose it for appearance sake and to feel better about myself.
In May I went into work one day and the owner of the dealership told me, “I’ve decided we don’t want to go in this whole Internet direction anymore.” I replied, “Good luck with that” and went home to look for a job. I was out of work less than two weeks when I found my current job—the one where I work six days/70 hours a week for less than I should be paid. That’s another blog post for another day.
As the only Finance Manager for the dealership I can’t really get away to get anything good to eat. The only places to eat within a reasonable distance are pizza joints, fast food, Subway and a crappy Chinese place.
I know I should bring my lunch and I occasionally do, but the reality is that with my work schedule I am pretty burnt out when I get home and I often sleep as late as I can without being late to work, which leaves no time to make a lunch.
What’s the point to this? By the end of June I had put 20 of the 25 back on and by the end of July the full 25 was back in place. In August I decided I was sick of it and vowed to take it off the way I did before—doing the South Beach Diet pretty hardcore for 3-4 weeks, then simply cutting down on carbs, sugars and other crap. Basically, just eating healthier.
Since then I’ve gone two or three days at a time doing the right thing, but then I slip back for a few days, get pissed at myself, start back for a day or two, then do it the right way again.
What do I mean by “slip back”? In the first couple weeks of South Beach you’re supposed to cut out all sugar, most dairy and a lot of fruits and veggies with a high sugar content. For me it’s pretty easy for a couple days, then it gets tough for a few, then easy again. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday of last week I did pretty good—I drank my coffee black, avoided junk food and ate what I was supposed to.
Then came Saturday. In the middle of the afternoon I was hungry and had some peanuts in my desk drawer. Peanuts (in small amounts) are ok on South Beach, but I didn’t want peanuts. I wanted chocolate. I “compromised” and had a Snickers bar. In my mind I could justify it. There were peanuts in it, but I knew I was setting myself back. I ate it anyway.
On Saturday and Sunday our dealership gets pies from a local bakery. We give them to customers and from time to time we have a couple left over at the end of the night. I (of course) took home an apple pie on Saturday and had a big ass slice. (It was Dutch apple. Who could blame me?)
Sunday morning I woke up and had to run Drama Queen to Barnes and Noble before work. She asked if we could stop at Tim Horton’s and I said yes. I wanted some coffee and was planning on stopping after I took her home, so why not get it now.
I walked in with the intention of getting black coffee and nothing else. I walked out with a XL double double (double cream and sugar) and two apple cider donuts. I knew I shouldn’t have and I seriously kept telling myself “black coffee, black coffee” as I was in line, yet somehow “Extra large double double and two apple cider donuts, please’ came out of my pie hole when the chick asked what I wanted. Damn…
I know it’s not the end of the world, but it bugs me. If I can go a few days, why can’t I go a few more? I’m confident that one of these days I will get through the tough days and will once again take the weight off. At least I hope I do.
I played ice hockey for a lot of years and have to say that I received my share of bruises, bumps and injuries. I had a filling knocked out when I got punched in the mouth. I totally deserved to get punched, but it still hurt. After scoring a goal late in a game to seal a playoff victory I went to high five a guy on the other team’s bench and he punched me in the mouth. (Pretty shitty move on my part, huh?)
I’ve broken ribs, bruised kidneys, torn meniscus in my knee, dislocated a shoulder and had bruises on almost every part of my body, including a nasty purple one on my ass that was about 4 inches across and hung out for a solid month. I got that one blocking a shot from a guy who was WAY too close to me.
My point to this? I’ve had my share of pain, but none of it compares to the pain I feel when I kick the living shit out of myself. One of these days I will finally learn my lesson and stop sabotaging myself. Right?