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Granville.
Nov. 2nd, 2024 03:39 pmWeighed myself recently and realized that it's not actually weight that I'm struggling with at all, it's bloat. This is very typical of menopause. I am only 132lbs - I feel best right around 128 so yeah I'm a little over, but mostly my problem is inflammation. I don't need a ton fewer calories, I just need the right kinds.
Which is hard to do on a day like today when I am in so much pain, ouch. I crave comfort food so much more when I am hurting. So far I have managed to avoid inflammatory treats, explaining to myself that it's a bad idea when I'm already in pain. we'll see how long this holds.
I'm really struggling with aging right now. My great grandfather on my mother's side, Granville ("I named myself," he said - this book is the first I've ever even heard my mother's grandfather's name), moved from Iowa to California to try to alleviate his arthritis symptoms, which my grandmother and mother also had. I remember mom starting to rub her finger joints and show me the swelling. My knuckles are now starting to swell. They don't hurt yet, but my oura ring often does not fit, and it's getting more and more frequent, and I can see the bones slowly expanding. It's very subtle at the moment, but I'm afraid this is just genetic and there is just no avoiding it. I am just not sure how much more chronic physical pain I am up for handling, in this life.
...
I love my Knott's Scary Farm lantern so much. Such a great souvenir.
...
Josh is sick. I am working on fighting it off, whatever he caught. I am tired but not sick. Yet.
I am still bleeding. Thawing out more red meat. This is part of the cause of the bloating.
But if I were 124lbs, the bloat wouldn't matter, I would look svelte regardless. So I am tempted to try to lose eight pounds, instead of four, which requires extended periods of hunger that I'm just not sure I can tolerate. Four will be hard enough. I will start there, anyway. See how I feel if I can get there. I might need to reinstall a calorie counting app I dunno.
I need to write about the finley stuff. sigh. It will need to be a private entry. I just don't feel valued or cared for by him. he doesn't want to do what it would take to reassure me or communicate with me that I am (if I am?). And I don't think there's anything to be done about it.
I feel very empty and strange.
Need to find a new doctor, or medical clinic with a team that will have appts when I need them.
Dreading the holidays. There is no winning. I hate going to interact with my step-family, when I get sat with the awful people and have little chance to talk to Susan, my older step-brother's wife, who is the only one who shows me any real interest, aside from my younger step-brother Jim, who I adore but it's better to interact with him outside of this sort of gathering. I am ignored by the kids and my older step-brother entirely, aside from obligatory hugs. I feel quiet loathing or at best, barely tolerated by them. I also hate the feeling of squirming out of it.
I miss my dad.
Simmering chicken bones for Josh, they will become broth that I hope will be healing and restorative. Something my mom taught me. I miss her, too. The good stuff. I don't miss the nightly late hour drunk black-out screaming and berating, the degradation and lies, the stealing and manipulation, being made to feel incapable and stupid, the neglect as a small child that led to me being preyed on by adults against whom I had no defense. The worn out stained and torn clothing and shoes with holes in them. The relentless bullying inside and outside of the home. The constant threats and insults. I miss the cooking, the creativity, the music, the hard work she put into keeping me on the ice, the costumes, the decorations, my room with my stuffed animals, the pets.
Which is hard to do on a day like today when I am in so much pain, ouch. I crave comfort food so much more when I am hurting. So far I have managed to avoid inflammatory treats, explaining to myself that it's a bad idea when I'm already in pain. we'll see how long this holds.
I'm really struggling with aging right now. My great grandfather on my mother's side, Granville ("I named myself," he said - this book is the first I've ever even heard my mother's grandfather's name), moved from Iowa to California to try to alleviate his arthritis symptoms, which my grandmother and mother also had. I remember mom starting to rub her finger joints and show me the swelling. My knuckles are now starting to swell. They don't hurt yet, but my oura ring often does not fit, and it's getting more and more frequent, and I can see the bones slowly expanding. It's very subtle at the moment, but I'm afraid this is just genetic and there is just no avoiding it. I am just not sure how much more chronic physical pain I am up for handling, in this life.
...
I love my Knott's Scary Farm lantern so much. Such a great souvenir.
...
Josh is sick. I am working on fighting it off, whatever he caught. I am tired but not sick. Yet.
I am still bleeding. Thawing out more red meat. This is part of the cause of the bloating.
But if I were 124lbs, the bloat wouldn't matter, I would look svelte regardless. So I am tempted to try to lose eight pounds, instead of four, which requires extended periods of hunger that I'm just not sure I can tolerate. Four will be hard enough. I will start there, anyway. See how I feel if I can get there. I might need to reinstall a calorie counting app I dunno.
I need to write about the finley stuff. sigh. It will need to be a private entry. I just don't feel valued or cared for by him. he doesn't want to do what it would take to reassure me or communicate with me that I am (if I am?). And I don't think there's anything to be done about it.
I feel very empty and strange.
Need to find a new doctor, or medical clinic with a team that will have appts when I need them.
Dreading the holidays. There is no winning. I hate going to interact with my step-family, when I get sat with the awful people and have little chance to talk to Susan, my older step-brother's wife, who is the only one who shows me any real interest, aside from my younger step-brother Jim, who I adore but it's better to interact with him outside of this sort of gathering. I am ignored by the kids and my older step-brother entirely, aside from obligatory hugs. I feel quiet loathing or at best, barely tolerated by them. I also hate the feeling of squirming out of it.
I miss my dad.
Simmering chicken bones for Josh, they will become broth that I hope will be healing and restorative. Something my mom taught me. I miss her, too. The good stuff. I don't miss the nightly late hour drunk black-out screaming and berating, the degradation and lies, the stealing and manipulation, being made to feel incapable and stupid, the neglect as a small child that led to me being preyed on by adults against whom I had no defense. The worn out stained and torn clothing and shoes with holes in them. The relentless bullying inside and outside of the home. The constant threats and insults. I miss the cooking, the creativity, the music, the hard work she put into keeping me on the ice, the costumes, the decorations, my room with my stuffed animals, the pets.
