Running in Place

I can't believe it's been SO long since I've updated. For my laziness and for my chaotic life, I apologize. =)

Currently, the sun is glaring in through the window above my computer, scorching my corneas, and my cat Skittles is rooting through a box of un-used Christmas decorations. And, honestly, even though it's only 3pm, I'm exhausted.

I feel like I've been steam-rolled by a bus of Christmas carolers... And it feels great!

Since my last declaration of 1) No more sad songs. 2) No more tears and crying. And 3) ... I don't remember what else I wrote because it's been about seven and a half decades since I wrote last. But since last post, I decided that I wasn't just going to SAY those things, but I was actually going to do something about it, too. I hope I speak for everyone who's ever been broken up with in saying... you have no energy. You forget what it's like to laugh. Really laugh. And, your eyes burn pretty much constantly from the itchy torture of fresh, unending tears. That has been me. My make-up, perfume, nice clothes that AREN'T his sweatpants and hoodies... They've all missed me. Because since Ben went AWOL, I've let myself go. Alot.

Buut... Not anymore.

I was depressed in a state of noone-is-ever-going-to-love-me-I'll-do-anything-for-him-to-come-back-I'll-love-him-forever. Not fun. But while I was bemoaning myself, I began studying depression. And the three main factors for curing it? Let's take a quick quiz:

Are they:

A) Partying and drinking and sleeping away all your pain.

B) Driving passed his house every night, cyber-stalking him until MySpace blocks your IP address, and watching him through the windows at his work while eating cheetos in your car.

Or C) Eating healthy, soaking up sunshine, and exercising.

Sad to say, I have been way too guilty of B... But that's not the answer. Of course, it's C. And that's just what I've been doing.

Safe to say, I'm probably 99% blind at this point from the sun beaming in through this infernal window. And I'm exhausted beyond comparison from running for an hour, every day, since Sunday. And, it feels AMAZING! I threw away all of my oreos (yes, I cried just a little bit on the inside... and on the outside), and I gave my thousand Starbucks giftcards away. No more self-medicating with calories. In my opinion, I'm a healthy weight for being 5'9". At 130 pounds, I feel good about myself. But because of my exercise-deprivation... I was depressed. "No more," I told myself as threw away all of my excuses. ("I'll work out when I fix my iPod." "It's too cold to work out." "I'll waste water by showering too much." "I'll get attacked by spiders and mice if I go into my basement!")

Nope. No more excuses. I dug a cracked, skippy (ancient) CD player from my closet and grabbed EVERY CD that had a song on it that reminded me of him. Scared, I opened my basement door and stared down into the spidery pit that I'm embarrassed to admit is part of my house. The stairs creak. When I put too much soap in the dishwasher upstairs, it drips a little onto the stained brown carpet (that only covers half the room). The other half is cold cement, and I'm humiliated to allow anyone access into the dismal pit. Whenever I have company over, I forbid anyone from opening the basement door, and I tell them that there's nothing there but a big hole that drops off into hell...

Behind boxes of fallen Christmas ornaments, old, dusty books, and a heap of soggy, waterlogged photo albums, my decrepit treadmill from the 80's sets. (I bought it from a friend for a $100!) Scared and hesitant, I cranked the speed dial. Inside, it ground a little bit, then made an unsettling gurgling noise. Incautious, I cranked the dial and my headphones and began running. At first, I wasn't sure that somehow, the forsaken piece of junk hadn't propelled glass at me, because I felt like I had swallowed a bag of porcelain figurines, then someone had beaten me with a baseball bat, crunching them all up inside of my lungs... Intense. But as I started sweating, feeling the endorphins rushing through my body, I started to enjoy it. And I learned that when you're getting your butt kicked, and you can't breathe, and you feel like you can't stand, let alone run for another second... I learned that it is physically impossible to cry. As I listened to all those sad songs, and channeled that sad, angry, bitter, poisonous energy into bettering myself... It felt great. Whether they were tears running from my eyes, or formidable beads of sweat from my forehead dripping from my eyes, I'll never know. But to me, it seems like every tear, each drop of sweat is just weakness, pain, heartbreak leaving your body. Suddenly, I have so much more energy, and I feel like laughing, and dressing up for no reason! And for the first time since the break-up, I don't have a problem sleeping at night. Because no, maybe he's not there beside me and I still pretend that my pillow is his chest. And no, maybe I only have nightmares about what I used to have. And yeah, I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't cry myself to sleep still, but not as often. Because, I'm so exhausted from being assaulted by my treadmill that I fall asleep within minutes. No more waking up at 4am anymore, pacing my house, and checking my phone, hoping that maybe, possibly, I'd have a missed call or text... Because that's not going to happen.

Well, that's all. That's how I'm coping, and I'm hoping (hey, it rhymes!) that maybe, somewhere, someone who reads this will try the same thing and get moving. Because I swear, the next time Ben lays eyes on me, he's going to regret leaving me in his past.

All my love, my single ladies.
XoXo,
Sarah