Fear of Failure.

I am someone who spent a large portion of their life not trying because if I tried I would never have to fail. 

It sounds completely ridiculous and really it is. I decided at an early age that my older sister (by 4 years) was the smart and pretty one so I would have to find another niche. It turned out that mine just involved gradually getting fat, lazy, angry, bitchy, mean, loud, opinionated and very rarely turning up to class. When I did turn up, I really needn't have bothered as I managed to get myself in far more trouble being there than not. 

I managed to create a sad reality where I was the victim, my sister the perfect heroine and to try at anything wasn't an option I even considered. Then I was given the choice to essentially be kicked out of school or go overseas by myself for a year as an exchange student. So that's what I did and after that year was over, I was traumatized into a much better (or at least less pathetic) human being. 

Nevertheless, I still to this day live in constant fear of my potential. I was told so often by teachers and parents that I was absolutely brimming with the stuff but that my attitude got in the way of utilizing it. I think Dylan Moran's sketch on potential is hilarious and true. If you never go near your potential then you can live in the hopes that it could actually be a palace, filled with glorious snobby women, faffing around but what if you went to use it and it turned out it was just a sad little kitten, sniveling in a dark, cold corner?

I've been fat for more than half my life, longer than I've been crazy even (well diagnosed at least, who can really even pinpoint the beginnings of crazy?). Now that I'm well on the way to not being that version of myself (16 kilos less and counting), I'm proud of my efforts but petrified of what I might be when that fat suit is removed. What will be left?

I don't have expectations of a sudden modeling career blossoming into existence, I simply fear attaining my first massively important life goal ever. I've never done that before, apart from working to get into Fine Arts School, my goals have felt so unattainable and therefore at a safe and acceptably far away distance. 

So what happens when you achieve something you thought was impossible for yourself? I'm almost halfway through finishing my study so that at least feels like it's at a comfortable distance still. Most of my life aspirations were sabotaged by my mental illness for such a long period of my life but these past 4 years of relative mental stability have opened up doors for me that I thought were locked to me forever. All the professionals had advised me that I would forever be on heavy mood stabilizing and mood lifting drugs, that my life would always feel either numb or powerfully intense (without medication) and thus inhospitable for 'normal' life. I gave up on having a career that I could care about, a person I could fall in love with, children I could connect to, because to have those things I would have to be on those drugs and when I was on them I couldn't feel passion or true feeling for anything.

So, with a shit-ton of therapy, an incredibly supportive family (beyond supportive really) and a partner who risked his heart with a crazy person, I have the life I gave up on a long time ago, without the meds. The insane thing is that I'm really fucking happy and yet still scared shitless of getting cocky, reaching too high and screwing it all up. Deep down I still feel that if you never really try or care enough about anything then you can never truly fail or lose it all. 

I Am Fat (if you try to tell me otherwise I will sit on you to death).

Instead of telling you my weight I'll tell you my BMI is 30.5 (clinically obese). I'm a very tall person, with big boobs, no arse and no hips but a large belly in-between. I also have PCOS (Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome), am Insulin Resistant (pre-diabetic) and am a recovering Compulsive Binge Eater.

So those are the stats that I'm working with here, not that they actually mean a lot when put them in a list like that. It's a lot like the total of your student loan, it's there, you're aware of it, you fear it's wrath but it's not actually sitting next to you on the bus. Or if it is then it's that smelly guy with the beanie who you hope won't talk to you. 

I always thought that my Bipolar would be my 'undoing' but it turns out that my weight is the lurking threat that I have only recently had the courage to look at. Before I was able to be drug-free and mostly mentally stable, I was in survival mode and often my biggest real goal of the day was getting out of bed and into the shower. 

I feel like I wake up every day of my life inside a fat suit. I'll take this opportunity to say that, yes I know I'm not massive (I've been told most of my life that I'm not "that big", thanks to genetics I look okay but feel heavy and sluggish) and plenty of people have it much, much worse. However, I'm still going to complain and that is my right. Once you tip the scale to 'obesity' on the BMI I think the one thing you do get to do is label yourself as fat without people telling you you're not "that big". They mean well but honestly, the only thing it makes me feel is guilty for expressing how I feel, which as far as I'm concerned is the most important part. 

Tomorrow I am starting the 'Couch to 5k' program. Partly because I like the idea of commiting to just three days a week but mostly because I don't want to die of diabetes or whatever horror my Doctor wants to warn me about next.

I am terrified. Not of the health warnings but of the running part. I take quiet pride in my successful attempts to avert P.E in school (the best one was my manipulation of the heart scan I had to get when I was 15 for a heart murmur, that I turned into a full year of not being 'able' to run). Any exercise freaks me out, I feel like everyone is staring at me but most of all I fear failing myself once again in an attempt to create a healthier version of me. 

Wish me luck. I'm not kidding myself, I wrote this mainly so I don't have the gaul to chicken out tomorrow.

I fail at arguments.

When I argue I get angry, I get upset which means I cry, which means I get flustered, which means I forget what I'm saying and end up as a crumbled up, confused mess of me, on the floor. Not pretty. 

It must be frustrating to argue with me, perhaps even as frustrating as it is to be me. Luckily I met someone who is immune to tears, he stays solid as a rock amongst my snotty gurgles but when I inevitably lose my point/the plot line and begin to rattle out something ridiculously off-topic or incomprehensible, he gets pretty pissed off and rightly so.

Don't get me wrong though, I would never purposefully do this and yes I do realise that that's not much consolation since it still happens under my watch (even my own consciousness), however what exactly is the magic trick I'm missing here? How does everyone else manage to keep the bunny stuffed in the hat until the big reveal? 

Obviously the bipolar bears of us/me are more inclined to have our emotions jump on any and every possible roller-coaster ride they can muster but there must be some sort of technique that doesn't include counting to 10 backwards (my multitasking skills leave much to be desired) to calm the fuck down? 

Or am I forever destined to fail every argument due to the default emotional stroke-like symptoms that get me sent off for 'pulling a Hollywood' on the field during every match?