My MIL has been giving us a subscription to Prevention magazine for years as a Christmas gift. At first, I loved getting it. I have long been pretty fascinated with biology and health-related topics, and before my OCD became a "problem," I read through it seemingly unharmed.
When my OCD became unruly, I found that getting the mag in the mailbox nearly brought on fits of panic. Prevention became a direct indictment of me as a person, an unfit lump of margarine kind of person. A diseased, "this close to death" person. Despite meds and therapy, I still have a hard time reading it especially with articles like, "The Superbugs Are Here." God, how many more vats of hand sanitizer can I fit in the back of my SUV? I know how the superbugs are going to enter my bloodstream....FROM ALL THE ABRASIONS I'VE MADE IN MY SKIN FROM WASHING MY HANDS TOO MUCH AS A MEANS OF KEEPING THE SUPERBUGS AT BAY.
Reading Prevention is a blow to my self-esteem. Why? Because I didn't get my 25 mg of fiber or eat 9 servings of green leafy vegetables. Because I haven't exercised 5 times this week for at least 30 minutes each time. Of course sometimes reality checks in and I think about the lady I used to work with who ate at 1Potato2 nearly everyday and who's skin was a pallid yellow, and who's arm fat hung down a good three inches whenever she'd stretch her arm out to hand me journals. This makes me feel a little better.
I do have to say that I did find one small nugget of info in the recent Prevention that made me feel a little better. According to a Penn State study, crabbiness can be a sign of intelligence, at least in people ages 60+. People with above-average intelligence tend to be the very disagreeable. Now a lot of people wouldn't think I'm disagreeable, but I just keep it to myself. Maybe if I can keep working on it, I'll be in really good shape by the time I'm a senior.
Enough about Prevention. I walked on the treadmill today, ate wheat chex & blueberries for breakfast, a salad for lunch, and then blew it all to hell with 2 pieces of chocolate satin pie for tonight's dessert.
Speaking of biology and other health-related topics: I never used to dislike the 3rd week of the month, but alas, my "expected period date" is looming, so my brain is starting to....you know...go there.
Do I feel any different? (See the sparkle of hope)
I don't think I'm as irritable as normal (Another sparkle)
Are my breasts starting to develop those darkened veins? (Maybe, maybe)
Oh crap, look that that giant zit on my thigh. That is typical PMS (See hope fading fast)
For the life of me I can't remember how I felt around the same time when I was pregnant with N. Probably because I was toodling around Iceland...talk about distraction.
I am trying to just say, whenever I start on this circular train of thought, "You can't control this," and somehow, at least right now, this week, this moment, it all falls like icicles.
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