dreading this

My Dad says he can tell when I’m depressed because I don’t call him for stretches. I don’t really call anyone. My depression manifests itself as hostility a lot of the time. But depression and sadness, as I’m sure I’ve said before, are different things and even though “sadness with anger” feels exactly like depression, it’s different because there is a cause.

I haven’t wanted to write this blog, but my life has begun literally to revolve around my health issues, so I want to just kind of get this off my chest. I changed my diet three or four days ago and had a wonderful training session this morning, so don’t try and tell me how to change all this, I’m already changing it.

I’ve been sorta blacking out for the last year or so. Not that often, and I don’t usually go all the way to black. Just an occasional not being able to see and getting dizzy and shit. Prior to this, I had a period of severe over-training at the gym which left me with series of lumpy muscles and a strong back, but still carrying around too much weight.

I’ve had crippling weight issues since I was a young boy. I remember being praised when I got scarlet fever because I lost a ton of weight. I remember dreaming when I was in third grade that I was wearing a fat suit in order to humble myself, that I had to cover myself in fat every morning or people would be able to see my super powers.

Anyway, last summer I just got sick of being sore and exhausted all the time. I had never worked out and felt better afterwards, only worse, so I decided to stop and try to control my weight with diet. My body started eating my lean muscle, my blood sugar got all fucked up… it’s just too big a mess to go into.

Anyway, it turns out I’m currently sprinting down the path towards early onset diabetes and heart problems. And as the blacking out attests to, it’s getting worse. I have some cholestorol something or other and my body fat is currently just below 30%, and some other stuff

So, I changed my diet and I’ve started working out, and there’s really nothing to bitch at me about. It’s a classic case of being a little fat leading to being *really* fat. I don’t really care what I look like, but I do want to live another 78 years, and my knees aren’t gonna last another 5 unless I do something about this.

So, if you see me eating raisins and refusing cupcakes, you’ll know why. However, if I don’t refuse a cupcake, don’t you dare fucking remind me, K?