Salisbury.Fake Life

Let’s Talk Loss

The following post discusses weight related issues as well as some disordered eating. If these topics are triggering for you, please do not continue.

My body has not felt like my own for about a year now. More than a year, really, but I don’t feel like being technical. I’ve mentioned before how I lost weight, and while I’m still not at the goal I wanted for myself, the getting there has been more of a challenge than I think I let myself believe it would be.

No one ever talks about the ugly side of weight loss. We see the photos of slimmed down people, and sometimes they briefly mention how hard they’ve worked, but I rarely see anyone go too far down the discussion of exactly how hard they work. I’ve been trying to lose three pounds for about four months. I’ve been in calorie deficits, and picked up my exercise, and I know how to lose those last three pounds, but it is just not happening.

This is discouraging because I still see myself as overweight. But the worst part about it all is I no longer know my body like I used to. When I was about fifty pounds heavier, I knew my limits. Now, I feel soft and squishy in places I didn’t notice before because there’s a tightness in the skin when you have so much heft. Sitting down is painful for me because my ass is disappearing and my bones touch the surface of what I’m sitting on. I jiggle when I walk, and I feel it. I’m sure I did before, but I didn’t feel it, and now that I can, I know it’s more pronounced and people can probably see it.

I can’t eat like I used to. This may be a good thing for some, but as an emotional eater, sometimes I have a painful need to binge and I can’t because I get fuller faster and the emotional satiation doesn’t happen. So I overeat anyway, and then end up wanting to vomit to relieve the pressure on my shrunken stomach.

The stretch marks on my thighs look like turkey neck skin when I scrub my body after a run, and I get grossed out with the wobble they still make when I take a powerful step because I don’t move slowly anymore. I’m not a fast person, but I became one because there’s a need to leave myself behind even more so now.

My lung capacity is greater, but I still ache and creak and I notice it more and more. Each time I have to shift myself in my seat because my knees are aching, or my hips are tighter or whatever the reason, I notice it and it angers me.

I am angry at this body. I am angry that it isn’t what I want and yet I am terrified to lose it. The continued loss of who I was, the destruction of the person I thought I was, it’s not just physical. It’s excruciating to see what I’ve limited myself to because I didn’t think I was worth the time to learn.

How many things have I shuttered closed in my head because I believed I was too fat? Too massive, too bloated, too gross to ever be considered beautiful?

I am angry at this body because it’s making me learn to love it.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized, writing

Bent Yet Golden

This is going to be a personal one, so if you’re not up for feelings, please skip this post. I won’t be offended.

My favorite thing to do in the beginning of spring is drive home with my windows down. Daylight Savings Time swung us back to the sun being up when I leave work and because of that, I get to experience the most beautiful time of the day. The golden hour before sunset. Have you ever driven at a high speed with your hand out the window and the sun beaming itself directly into your eyes? Terrifying. And yet, stunning.

It makes my eyes water.

It burns them.

Tears whip down my face with scalding accuracy that only happens when I cry for myself, which never happens. I am beautiful in that hour. That drive home. I am just as stunning as the sun because nothing matters. I am between the earth and the sky and the brilliance of the light is pulling me together. Holding me on its shoulders so I no longer have to hoist the burdens I place upon myself alone.

It’d be easier to let others see how hard I work to keep myself steady. How fiercely loyal I am to them, dedicated to make sure they live the lives they can with as much ease as possible. No one should ever feel inferior. I will let myself be trampled if it means someone else is able to shine.

Does that make me sound like I view myself as a martyr? I don’t. I don’t want anyone to see me.

And yet, I want to be known. Life really is one great big paradox and I still keep trying to solve it.

The rush of air fills my lungs, much in the way running steals it away. It pushes into me, through my nose and mouth, sometimes choking in its eagerness to give me life. To fill me to the brim with the desire to be more.

To become.

To exist within the world I see.

To be the bold, golden beam of light for others.

The buffeting wind on my skin, the promise of further breath. The sweet grass coming in along the side of the road, baking in the sun all day, letting go its almost saccharine scent as the light fades.

As I slow down to turn onto my street, I understand what it means.

Salisbury.Fake food, Life, Weekly Update

Challenge Yourself

Well, well, well. I kind of disappeared, didn’t I? I got the book finished to a point. It’s being read by betas right now, and I’m doing my second to last round of edits, the final round being when I go through for typos and minor grammatical things. But then it’ll be ready for the “fun” things. I’m going to self-publish, which will be a post for another time, but rest assured the moment it becomes available, I will let y’all know.

Today I wanted to talk about how my January went. Yes, I know it’s March, and yes, I know I could have posted this last month, but I neglected everything last month. Not just this blog. My personal journal suffered, my friendships suffered, I didn’t spend much time with my family. I got the whole book typed up, printed it off, and that was incredible. I got to see my book printed for the first time. Actually took a selfie with it, which should tell you how excited I was about it, because I never take pictures of myself.

Proof

But that’s all February. I’m here to talk about January. I’m an ambitious person, and I decided to start this year out with a bang. Challenging myself to not one, not two, but three different “challenges” just to prove I could. Veganuary, a pantry cleanout, and a no-spend directive.

Veganuary

This one feels like a no brainer for me, because I’m already mostly vegan, I just get a little emotionally attached to cheese on a difficult day. For the month of January, though, I try to avoid even that and see how I can be creative in the kitchen. It’s something I’ve participated in for the last three or four years, and I never really talk about it to people because as I’m sure I’ve said here before, I don’t judge people on what they eat. It’s not my place. Hunger is a prevalent problem everywhere, especially in places with famine or drought, and I’m not about to go after someone for spending .35 on a box of generic macaroni and cheese versus 3.99 a pound for cauliflower. The cost of living is rising, too, so I think it’s okay to give ourselves a little grace nowadays when it comes to eating what we want. And I drifted away from January again. But that’s okay, because I can segue into the next challenge. It added a new dimension of difficulty to my food choices.

Pantry

I have several items in my pantry (shelf stable) I’ve had in there for more years than I’d like to say. Rice, lentils, quinoa, that kind of thing. Since I was working on Veganuary I had to find interesting ways to utilize the stuff I already had. I didn’t do well the first week because most of the items in my pantry are things you have to cook to add to other things, or flavor well, and while I was doing my best to keep my head above itself, I had a bunch of residual holiday depression lingering in the back of my mind. I ate the convenience foods first, and then when I ran out of those, I ate the easiest to cook things like pasta and nutritional yeast. I did lose about five pounds in the month of January because I wasn’t eating much of anything.

No-Spend

I didn’t have an easy way to segue into this, so pardon the abruptness, but for this challenge, it was more to see how I could go without fast food. I have such a dependence on easy solutions, and I struggle to allow myself the satisfaction that comes from accomplishing something requiring effort. That goes so deeply into more than just a no-spend requirement. It delves into the appreciation of self I seem to constantly find myself striving toward. I was about to go on a horrible tangent on the word choice of “strive” but I’ve already diverted from the main topic of this paragraph already. So, for the month of January, I didn’t want to buy anything. No groceries, no fast food, no toilet paper (it’s just me in my house, so don’t worry, I was fine with what I already had), nothing.

Discussion

So what did I learn? I already touched on my dependence on cheese, and my dependence on easy, but to take it further, I learned how quick I am to fall into old habits. I did end up spending a bit more money at Target after the challenges ended, but I was absolutely out of everything. As one would be. And so with a restock of supplements and vitamins, household cleaners, and other various things, it became apparent that my relationship with money has been chaotic at times. I’m not going to go too far into that because that’s a different level of personal I don’t know I want to share on the internet, but it was interesting to me to see what became “oh, I’ll stop at Target on the way home so I can grab this snack, this thing, this something else, and blah, blah, blah.”

What is the point? The point is, I want to go back to the questioning of “do I really want this or is this an impulse?” It’s something that fits just about all facets of each challenge. How quickly do I turn to comfort foods because my emotions are so high and food functions as a punishment instead of a comfort? Why don’t I consider the efficiency of shopping for things all at once over random stops several times a week? How do I utilize what I have already to keep myself fed and content?

Several things to consider. And I leave you with that, for now. I have plans for blog posts more frequently now that the book stuff is kind of slowing down. I hope you are having a good day or week whenever you read this.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, writing

From My Journal – Language Update

Hey, there friends! Happy New Year! I’m behind my own arbitrary posting schedule already, but that’s because I gave myself the deadline of January 31st to finish the first book of my series. I also decided that I am not writing with the expectation of becoming a best seller, but more for myself because I love telling this story so much. And that is pretty much where I find myself this evening as I scurry around for a post.

I’m doing a few challenges this January that I’ll talk about in February, but one of the things I’ve challenged myself for the entire year of 2022 is to read more. As with many writers, I find when I read more, I write more. And better. Obviously not on this blog because of the run ons, the inconsistent punctuation, etc, etc. The beauty of this blog is again, I’m writing for myself. I was going to start this year with a book dump of some books I recently finished reading, but I decided to go for a journal update. The last spreads I have to get done before I start the dictionary for the language I’m creating are the plot outlines of each book.

So, the photo for today is a look at the beginning of the dictionary for Moartean. I got the A section for English done last week, and that felt pretty cool. My strategy is to go through a “learner’s” dictionary and pick words that I think the Moarteans would use. The biggest thing for me is trying to figure out which ones could be used multiple ways. Moarteans are interesting people in that they are simple when it comes to words, but complicated when it comes to expressing themselves. Some words can be used interchangeably, while others are kind of “what is this person trying to say to me?” It’s an fascinating thing where I look at words like, “alert,’ and “alarm.” They mean similar things, but have different applications that require context. So, do I make them interchangeable? Or do I apply context to them?

I know it’s extra to create a language. I know not many people would want to do such a thing. But it makes too much sense to me, and incorporating some of it into each book, with the third book having the most in it, feels ridiculously satisfying. I created a prophecy using the language and reading it out loud makes the nerdy part of my brain tingle in a way that it rarely does unless I’ve spent an entire day writing or working on writing things.

I know I post a lot of things motivating people to believe in their goodness and their worth, and that will still be a thing, but this year I’m going to try and incorporate more of what I love into this blog. It’s still a lifestyle blog, but writing is what makes me feel the most real. I know that sounds so pretentious and cliche, but I don’t do a lot of appreciation of myself. Seeing the world I’ve created in my head over the last decade come to life on the page is a feeling I don’t think I have the words to give you. If I could pass the brightness to you, so you could get a glimpse of effulgence I feel after wearing my neck out from being hunched over a notebook for a day, I would give it to you. I would love to share that joy with you.

And that’s a small look into my last few weeks, creativity wise. I hope your year has started well, and I hope you are being kind to yourself because you deserve kindness. I’ll see you soon with a look at some of the books I finished already this month.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized

Merry and Bright

I’m going to just come right out and say this, I’ve been struggling. This blog isn’t going to be about how or why, because I’ve already talked about those things. But it’s going to be a promise to myself that next year will be different. It’s going to be different because I won’t let this year continue into that one.

I got sick and had to stop running for a bit, and since the winters are cold in Indiana, I’ll be running in the gym more, but I’m going to keep up with that. The good news is one day I’ll be okay. And that’s what I want to give people at the end of this year, something to look forward to. There’s that quote I’ve said a few times about everything is okay in the end, and if it’s not okay, it’s not the end. But there’s always a moment where we want it to be the end, when we’re definitely not okay, and we desperately want to be.

And that is my firm belief, that we will be okay. We will find a way to maintain contentment, and every now and then feel that pinch of happiness that makes us wonder why we don’t feel that way all the time.

It’s going to be okay. I wish you and yours a happy holiday season, and if the holidays are especially difficult for you, know that you are seen and known and loved. I don’t need to know a thing about you to know you are worth loving. Be safe, keep holding on, and remember that the sun will always rise tomorrow.

Until next time, friends.

******salisbury.fake will return in January 2022*******

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

33

If I appear to have lost my zeal for posting on here, I haven’t. I’ve decided to approach this blog as more a tool for myself and less a desire for validation from strangers on the internet. It’s always been for me anyway, but to those of you who’ve been reading my nonsense, thank you. I do appreciate you being here. Cliche as it may be, it’s nice to know someone out there sees the things I say.

So that brings us to today. Today is my birthday. I turn 33. Holy frickin’ cow, dudes. It always catches me off guard and it always hits me in the face at the same time. Never one to appreciate attention on myself (which is where my need for validation on the internet becomes an internal eternal struggle), I’ve never been a fan of my birthday. I’d much rather spend it doing things with others and helping them. So I took some vacation time, hahaha. I am a firm believer in the idea that no one should work on their birthday. I realize that comes from a place of privilege and I wish it didn’t.

Every month in my bullet journal, I pick a quote to kind of guide my thoughts, and this month I chose something out of one of my very favorite books, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery.

“If someone loves a flower of which just one example exists among all the millions and millions of stars, that’s enough to make him happy when he looks at the stars. He tells himself, ‘My flower’s up there somewhere . . .’ But if the sheep eats the flower, then for him it’s as if, suddenly, all the stars went out. And that isn’t important?”

I chose this quote because while the obvious reminder is that the little things matter and what’s important for someone else may not necessarily be important to you, it’s more a reminder of going back to the things that matter. I love this book enthusiastically. It’s a classic, and it’s such a lovely little tale about learning the way the world is, and it reminds me to think about what truly makes a difference in my life.

So, what’s been different this past year? I think the thing that startles me the most is the change in fitness. I began running, something I talked more about last blog post, and I stopped eating so much and I lost about 40 pounds. I’m not to my goal yet, but hey. I lost 40 pounds. It’s easier for me to keep up with Caboose, and it’s easier to jog after a piece of paper I dropped in the parking lot. I have a new way of controlling my thoughts, which is probably the most important thing about running for me. I’ve set a goal with one of my best friends to run a 5k next year. For the fall, though, because running in summer sounds like a fresh hell, or maybe a hot hell. Either way, a pass for me. But last year I wouldn’t have even considered such a thing. I would have thought it impossible.

Finding balance has been tough. Finding a way to shut out the bastard that lives in my brain and coax the small child forward who wants to be everything and anything is difficult as all get out. I hear a lot that I’m strong, and while I appreciate that, I don’t think people really know how exhausting that is. Mentally, I’ve not been well. The month leading up to my birthday is one of the hardest of the year for me because quite honestly, I’m always surprised I’m here. Kind of a “well shit, now what?” moment. And every year, I remember “oh yeah, keep breathing.”

I was going to go camping this year, but I decided not to because the idea of the effort took so much energy. Just the thought of it. I’m still going to go to my favorite park and hike, because that’s the thing I look forward to the most every year. The picture for this post is from a few years ago, but it’s the only one that I like of myself. It reminds me that I’m insignificant in the best way. That the world is so, so vast and I am so, so small in it, but that doesn’t negate my importance. I am necessary. I am a vital part of the system I created around myself, and I did that without even knowing I had.

So, the point of this post really is to just mark another notch on the bedpost of life. I survived another round, and I’ll survive until the next one, the sun willing. But it’s going to be more than survival. It’s going to be living. It is such a cliche to say there’s a difference between survival and living, and while yes, I know, it’s obvious, it is another thing entirely to fully realize that.

Paint your sunset. Read that book you’ve read fourteen times before and it still makes you weep at the end. Watch the entire season of a bad show in one day. Smile at babies. Give flowers to your mom, or your dad! I’m sure he’d like it. Tell someone you haven’t spoken to for years that you remember something specific about them. The world is so full of life and you have the right to have it.

Let yourself have it.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Keep Breathing, That’s The Key

Inhale: two steps

Exhale: two steps

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Footsteps pounding on the pavement. It hurts a bit on the fourth minute, but the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth are easier. By the end of it all, my lungs are full, yet empty. I breathe in and out, feeling the air expand in my chest, and the life within is foreign. The accomplishment is odd. And yet I’ve done it. I’ve finished a running goal. Now on to the next one.

I turn thirty-three at the end of this month. We’ve discussed how I struggle with enjoyment of my birthday before, but this year it’s a little harder to approach it. My brother told me a few weeks ago about the death of a young man we grew up with. This young man was my brother at one point, although we weren’t close after middle school. I have so many memories of playing, running through the neighborhood, causing chaos that only ten year olds can. His birthday is October 8th. He never made it to thirty-three.

While sometimes I feel a bit like an imposter, like it’s not fair that I get to see thirty-three but he doesn’t, it doesn’t feel right. But that doesn’t make sense, because I should see thirty-three. Ten years ago I tried to end my life. You always hear those people who come out afterward and say, “oh, think of all you’d have missed!” like that’s supposed to help you feel better. I’ve said many times on here that it doesn’t get better, it gets easier to carry. I have the mental strength of a bodybuilder on steroids, but the days when I’ve stepped on a metaphorical Lego are almost debilitating.

I would have missed graduating college. I would have missed seeing my family grow, with my sister-in-law, and then the birth of my niece. I don’t know that Caboose will ever know just how much she saves me. How she puts me back in my place. That I am important and necessary.

And I am. I am important and necessary. Not just to Caboose. Not just to my family, or my friends (more people I would have missed out on had I been successful ten years ago). I am important and necessary to myself.

Breathe in, fill your lungs. Hold the breath there until it leaves you in a rush.

Do that several more times. Do you feel it? Do you feel the life?

This is why I love running. I was terrified of it for a long time. I know that sounds so ridiculous because it’s fitness and it’s movement and good for you. But when you’ve spent so much of your life telling yourself you’re not worth the effort, all exercise feels impossible. Terrifying. Daunting. Like you’ll fail before you even start. So I gave in to that. I stopped myself before I could see what I can do.

Back in May, I couldn’t even jog a full minute. Now, I can run the full first week on the Couch to 5K program, and not be winded afterward. Do you know how utterly earth shattering that is for me?

Breathing in. Breathing out. Watching my chest rise and expand. There is life inside.

I don’t know how to be the person who can run 8 minutes. I don’t know how to like myself. I’m trying to learn, but it’s painful. It’s absolutely gut wrenching. Because now I’m seeing the bullshit. Now I see where the thought patterns begin and the ease with which they settle into my lungs. The place I freed.

Breathe in breathe out hold it don’t let go you’re okay keep breathing.

The place I will be okay. Feeling every muscle in my body, my feet on the earth through the soles of my shoes. My arms as I move, are they swinging too much? Am I too rigid? The control. I have control. I will be free. I can be free.

I just have to keep breathing.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Weekly Update

Bolt Madly Toward Yourself

While I wish I could claim credit for that phrase in the title, it comes from an article written by Chuck Wendig (I’ll link it below, should you be so inclined to read it). It’s been on my mind recently, just that phrase, because I always hear people saying to chase dreams, and while I agree we should go after worthwhile endeavors (you decide what’s worthwhile, I guess), I think we should instead chase after ourselves.

Not in an “oh-shit-there-I-go-again-better-stop-me,” kind of way, but more of an “I’m-actuallly-kind-of-cool-what-else-have-I-missed-by-hating-myself?” kind of way. I’m not saying it will get rid of the insecurities we plague ourselves with, but once you get past all the reasons you’re terrible, maybe you’ll see you aren’t actually terrible.

I’m not an art success by any stretch of the imagination, but I want to become a watercolor artist of sorts. I want to do tiny paintings, and so I’ve taken steps to start practicing. As well as practicing hand-lettering because I think it’s cool when people do that kind of thing. It takes practice and sometimes I’m so much of a defeatist that when I don’t get something on the first try, it’s suddenly garbage and I don’t want to do it.

Bolting madly at ourselves is a way of saying enough is enough. It’s a way of grabbing hold of your own shoulders, metaphorically, and staring yourself in the eyes and seeing that you aren’t the bile pile you somehow convinced yourself you were.

It’s a challenge. To the things that keep you up at night. To the people who planted the seeds of discord in your heart. It’s a direct refusal to be anything less than who you are and while that sounds so damn simple and stupid out loud, let it sink in. Because we are more than what we let ourselves tell us we are. I believe it wholeheartedly. It’s why I’m still kicking. Literally fighting for myself because I never have and I’m tired of seeing the same disappointment every time I have a set back in my progress.

This is a month I’m focusing on my goals a bit harder. I want to prove to myself that I am capable of changing my habits, changing the things about me that keep me from being who I want to be. I write in my journal about it so often, and I get irritated that I keep slipping back into the “comfort” of who I am right now. Not bad, but not what I want.

I challenge you to do better for yourself. Start doing something that makes you feel real. Hopefully that’s nothing harmful to you or others, but I’m not your mom, so I can’t tell you what to do, really. But you owe it to no one but yourself to start seeing yourself as real, as important. As worth the time. I promise I’m working on it more.

Until next time, friends.

The link to Chuck Wendig’s article is here:

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2012/01/17/25-things-writers-should-start-doing/

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized, writing

Poem I Wrote for a Boy, But Now Give to a Man

I never told you,
but when the sky is blue–
the kind you find on marshmallows
in Lucky Charms–
I have to take a picture with my eyes
and imagine you can see me.

You know,
I never said this when you were here,
but you made life breathable again.
It’s gotten hard to breathe
and I don’t know what to do.

I read recently that nostalgia lies to us about the people who’ve died. How we spend so much time remembering the good about them, and not really thinking about all the ways they’re awful. And it made me wonder, well what’s wrong with that? Why do I need to remember the ways a person hurt me when I want to be happy with the memories of them that bring me joy? I’m not offering them sainthoods in their next life, I’m offering myself respite from the grief of loss.

I’m fine, really. This week’s post is a poem I wrote back in 2013 and it was originally for my friend Robbie, but as I read it, I thought of Henry. It’s almost unfair how much of my creative processes get devoted to him, but if he’s been the reason I still write, or paint, or give light to the world, I don’t think that’s wrong.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized

Acceptance

A small backstory for this is I lost a friend of mine a few years ago when he took his own life. For the longest time it crushed me because I was worried I didn’t do enough to help him, to keep him. His birthday is today, and in the past I’d become a useless mess because I didn’t want to face the overwhelming sadness. I miss him most especially today. The piece below is something I wrote last year for him. There’s sadness today, but also joy because I got to know him even if it was for a short time.

Acceptance

It takes a lot of effort sometimes to remember the good moments when you’ve lost someone really close. Sometimes the grief is more than a wave. It’s a vacuum and you can’t feel anything but the pressure of that loss, the pressure of the absence of the person you loved. They can’t make jokes about how innocent you were. They can’t send you twenty-five YouTube videos of their favorite metal songs for you to wake up to. They can’t stay up until all hours of the night just because they love the sound of your voice.

You romanticize these moments. Look back on them with a fondness you never felt while they were here. Because they were here. You didn’t need to remember them fondly yet. You could keep talking even though your throat was sore and the birds were chirping and oh shit, man, I gotta work in four hours. I’ll talk to you later.

You gave so much of your love without knowing you had and now there’s nowhere to put it. So it bubbles over and leaves you with a displaced mess of smiles for boys with an Irish lilt to their voice, for those friends of yours now who ask if you want to talk about history, or go into why you’re slacking on your writing. You no longer hear that beautiful voice, but you remember the way it filled your heart with a hello, hey, I missed you.

It’ll be all right, you tell yourself. And it is. It’s absolutely okay. But sometimes it’s okay to miss them and accept you’re still sad about it.

written july 27, 2020

I watched Bo Burnham’s “Inside” last night and it’s kind of stuck with me in a big way. It rendered me speechless, but it was 2 A.M. and I was lost in remembering Robbie, lost in the sound and art of “Inside,” lost in wanting to just create forever. The world can often feel too large and yet still too close all at once and it’s so easy to get stuck in a loop of existing. Letting the world slide over you while you try to come back to what you’ve worked so hard to become. It ends up feeling like nothing.

But there’s a moment. A last ditch effort, that sniff of “not yet, I can’t give up yet,” and it propels you forward for a moment and lets you feel real. Like you’re invincible and everything is yours.

On my drive home at the end of summer, when the days start getting shorter, and the sun hangs lower in the sky at 7 p.m. The gold covers the earth and for a half hour I am okay. I see the world as I love to, without the filter of what keeps me up at night. It is striking and stunning and it is mine. That is the world I exist in with Robbie. With Henry. With all the ones I love. It’s the rush of air coming in through my windows, in the breath of sweet grass baked in the sun all day. I am the realest I’ll ever be and it is enough.