5/7/2023

It's May 7th. My blood pressure is 160/99 in my left arm and 162/99 in my right arm. This is OK for me. I'm not anxious about that number. I'm not proud of that number. I guess I'm nothing about that number.

120/80. That's always my goal. Maybe I'll get there...

Joe was out of town this weekend, so I used these three days as a sort of mental reset. After therapy on Thursday, I was feeling energized to make some little changes. Do some things differently. Maybe wrangle that anxiety a bit better. So I had a cheeseburger and fries for dinner on Friday.

How the fuck does that make things better? Because ever since I got out of the hospital, my relationship with food has shifted. I've been so fucking terrified of eating, well, anything. On the one hand, it's really prompted me to start cooking again, which is definitely better for my stupid heart. I have more energy, I'm eating fewer salty snacks (AND sweets), and overall it just feels good to make better food choices. But it also means that I perseverate on food like a motherfucker. Like, it's all I can think about. And I'm kind of terrified of doing the wrong thing, of eating the wrong thing. As if one shitty Tam's cheeseburger is going to trigger a goddamn heart attack. I don't like feeling that way, so I decided to confront it. 

And ya know what? It was fine. 

Tam's has got pretty mediocre burgers overall, but their fries are goddamn manna from heaven. I ate about half of both and it was fine. I didn't feel guilty for indulging, mostly because it didn't actually feel indulgent. And I didn't feel anxious for eating the wrong thing because cheeseburgers aren't inherently wrong, right? And I sure as fuck didn't feel satisfied because, again, mediocre cheeseburger. I just felt OK. 

I did a whole bunch of other stuff this weekend - painting and drawing, a scrub at the jjimjalbang, some quality time with friends outside, solid meal prep - all stuff that felt good for my brain AND my heart.

Today I'm OK. And that feels like a win.

5/4/2023

It's May 4th, 2023. My blood pressure is 150/101 in my left arm, 150/92 in my right arm. This is low for me, so I feel proud. And I fucking hate that I feel that way.

I've been out of the hospital for 44 days. 

My therapist suggested journaling to deal with all this new health-related anxiety, so here we are. Do I need another blog? Should I write this shit in an actual journal, like normal fucking people? Should I just change the blog name to something peppy like, "Mindy Gets Healthy: A Fat Girl's Journey to Kale-Love"? I don't know. 

I guess I just need to start.

Honestly, I kind of had no idea what a fucking anxious person I truly am. Like, I worry about EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. My mind is a frantic hamster on a wheel and calming it seems difficult on good days and fucking impossible on bad days. It's weird, ya know? Like, I think people who maybe don't know me and just stumbled upon this blog would probably peg me as weird and neurotic INSTANTLY. But when I tell my loved ones how anxious I feel on the reg, sooooo many of them have told me that I hide it well. Do I? I don't know. I don't feel like I do, but maybe? Ugh. It's frustrating. 

Yesterday I saw one of those "If I'm murdered, don't lie about me" memes. You know how Dateline always starts with some little quip about the murdered woman (because it's always a fucking woman, of COURSE)? How her smile "lit up a room" and how "everybody loved her"? I posted one of those on my socials and another woman read it out loud to the office and then everyone just piled on about how fun and funny and silly I am and how they like my laugh and my smile and it was fucking uncomfortable and weird and I immediately shut that shit down. Like, no reveling in the praise, just embarrassment that these people even notice me. Is that normal? Do other people feel like that? (I think they do.)

Anyway, I'm generally usually horrified by the thought that people notice me at all, so I suppose I make it a point to sell a very specific version of myself so that on the off chance that they DO notice me (or, god forbid, think about me) I have some control over what they think or feel. 

DAMN. 

Writing that down makes me sound like a fucking controlling psycho. Cool, cool, everything's cool.