I’m like the red roofed house that sits just outside the far window here at the clinic. The shutters aren’t straight, the siding is hanging in odd ways, and the paint– all the years of paint– is stripping off in layers.
It’s not a bad house, it’s quite lovely in it’s own right, it’s just not been taken care of properly. Someone should have powerwashed the siding a few more times, or sanded it down and re-primed before adding yet another layer of paint.
It’s not a sad house, I’m sure it even now has love filling it, spilling out of it’s doors and windows and alighting the world around it with the history that fills it’s walls.
I’m a lot like that house. I’m burning down the calories, stripping layer after layer away, until I can look at myself and see who I want to be. The pounds are dripping away, much slower than they caked on, but the paint on that old house will take elbow grease and willpower, and love to make it like new again.
I’ve been in such horrible relationships, where I settled, and that house too has settled, perhaps it needs a new foundation, jack it up and make the foundation level again. I’ve been working on that as well.
I’m rebuilding friendships, and kindling the ones long since forgotten, for though some will alight anew, others are gone for good. I made that choice, and in the moment I didn’t know what I did was right or wrong, but I made it all the same.
I have love, and I am love. I have it spilling out of my eyes, and my mouth, my ears. Yes I’m a lot like that house.
Everyday I wake up and keep moving, sticking to a new way of eating to lose another lb or two, I remove some of the depression fueled weight that is further depressing me. Each day I talk to a friend that makes me smile, I feel that foundation sit a little straighter, and every day that I wake up and think at least one good thing about myself, I find myself with a little more love to give.
I’m currently down 27.2lbs, I weighed more than that before I started to keep track, but since starting this journey i’m down damn near 30 lbs. That’s without deprevation, it’s just with willpower and portion control. I’ll keep working on it.
Just like I’ll keep working on me, and one day I won’t be like that house at all, because I will be the me I was before. Before the abuse, the hateful words, the “are you have a strokes?” I will be someone worth knowing, loving, and growing old with.
Until then I just have to prove I’m doing better one day at a time. And that poor house, will still be ramshackle with a bowing roof, and stripping/chipping paint. But I won’t be.
My roof is no longer caving in, my back is straight and I’m ready for whatever is thrown next my way. And if the wind blows just right, parts of that house my break, but I’ll bend and adapt, as I’ve always done, and it’s always been.
So if no one lived in that house, and it was up for rent or sale, it would be sad, because without a lot of love an attention it might just end up a shack of it’s former self, and I’ve already been there, and I”m well on the way back to a livable, loveable me.