I did not start this day off well. Yesterday I still weighed 199. Today I weigh 200. I didn't eat a lot yesterday, and the whole week's been pretty good in that respect. It's been very emotional though and tough that way. I don't know. I hate to mark my weight down as 200 and weigh 199 again tomorrow. Maybe I'll wait.

This is my goal week too. I wanted to be below 200 by my birthday. So that number this morning is even more depressing.

I've had a hard three weeks. I missed exercising like I should. I got in at least three workouts a week this week. I think I had two the week before and skipped altogether... no, there was one the previous week. I guess I'm progressing. Heh. It's not any easier than it was the week after I was sick (the one workout week) though. I'm still procrastinating into doing nothing.

I'm very irritated. I'll just have to make the most out of today. It's a running day. Only a mile. I should be able to manage that. I'll log my food too. I can end the weekend well. Everyone needs it.

I think it's going to be a clean-up day. The house is pretty messy. I have laundry of course. Hammy has to really clean his room. Both kids have weekend chores. We'll have to do something as a family too. It will be good for all of us.

12:30 p.m. - Snapping Out of It

I ate two pieces of coffee cake and some cereal. I still want to eat. I don't want to do anything else. My heart seems to be sagging in my chest.

11:59 p.m. - John to the Rescue

He came home just before I started writing. I greeted him as usual but held onto him longer. He asked how I was, and as much as I didn't want to burden him, I told him I wasn't well. I let it go at that and came into the bedroom to write and see if I couldn't vent enough to operate. I had to make dinner, but I felt incapable of anything.

When I started to write, John came in and lay beside me. I apologized for being so glum. He said he understood. I made sure he knew it wasn't because of him. It's not. I simply feel overcome, weighted, dark. He offered to pick up dinner without prompting. I told him I did plan to make dinner. Our finances need us to eat at home more often. He said it was OK, though and asked that I come with him. He knew it would be good for me to get out of the house.

We ate and watched the Garfield movie that Booie has been wanting to see. It was nice for all of us, even if the movie was less than stellar. I felt better with all of us there, enjoying something as a family. Nothing extraordinary. Just nice.

As always, night seems to bring me energy and clarity. I'm more focused and motivated even now than any time during the day. I don't understand why it's so hard for me to be functional during the day, especially when sunlight makes me feel so much better. I feel abnormal, and days like today, when I am so depressed and worthless make me truly believe I am not right. There has to be something wrong with me.

I don't really believe I have any tumors or physical disease that explains how I feel and act. I want that to be the case, because that's a lot easier to accept than what I really believe. THat I am mentally ill beyond depression. There is something wrong in my head. I am flawed at a basic level. There is a whole genetic half of me that is a mystery. That could explain this illness. Or I am just one of the unlucky ones that lost the dice roll of life. Either way, I am damaged in the head. And that is what I never wanted to even think as a possibility. At least think it consciously. Out loud. Because I believe I have always actually thought I was defective. I just didn't want to face it or consider that possibility.

So... since I have, what now? Do I go back to the doctor and tell her this? Do I go to a psychiatrist? Do I keep living as I am, struggling along? Is there any hope for me? I am so good at hiding everything and do it so automatically. I'm not honest with anyone, including the professionals. My little bits of information yield scraps of help. It's not enough. But I don't know that I can expose myself enough to get the help I need. My mask keeps me alive. At least I believe so. But I'm still sick. And getting worse. Do I wait until I'm so far gone that I'm forced by someone else to get help? Wait 'til I'm committed? Will it even matter if I am?

My poor kids. My poor husband. My poor family. Sometimes I wonder if they all really know how sick I am and that I just believe I'm succeeding with my facade. They all know I'm crazy and humor me by treating me like I'm normal. Becuase there's nothing else they can do. Whether they know or not, they fell it. It permeates their lives. Cancer that love won't let them remove.

I work tomorrow. Sometimes it helps. I have a purpose. I contribute to the world rather than simply spawning like an animal.

But those kids... God, they are beautiful things. I hope they are better than I, untainted by this illness. I hope I haven't damaged them beyond repair. They are so perfect to me. So strong. So much better. They are my life. If I accomplish nothing but to make them whole, I will know success. But I so doubt my ability to do that. So I pray they do it in spite of me.

Best try to sleep. The day will be doomed to misery if I'm exhausted.

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One Year Ago Today: