Self Esteem

Mom wants to take me shopping.

I hate that I need new clothes because I’m bigger

I hate that it’s my own lack of self control that brought me here

I wish I didn’t need the clothes, but I have fewer and fewer options the more I gain.

Kohl’s is having a huge sale tomorrow morning. We should probably go, just to save the money.


I hate it when people stare at me. I think I’m ready to be rid of the cane. I don’t want anyone’s pity, I just want to be back to normal.

My face is definitely swollen, but it’s not my fault. Or is it? Could I have done better at limiting myself from food? Certainly. Would it have been wise considering my mood and pain levels? Doubtful.

I hate that I still doubt whether my pain is worthy of a painkiller. I hate that it gets worse at the worst possible times and that other times I feel fine for no reason.

I hate that I research to gain control, but that my research typically makes me feel even more out of control.

I hate that I don’t want to tell my friends how I’m really doing because I’m afraid they’ll remember me being down during this whole thing.

I’m scared that I’m relapsing. So scared. I’m pretty sure I’m not, but still.

My hands hurt right now, but not bad enough to take a painkiller. Well maybe. If I don’t get drowsy soon, I’ll need to go get a sleeping pill. Oh, who am I kidding---there’s no way I’m going without meds of some sort tonight. I wish joint pain was a slightly more common side effect of prednisone, then they’d believe me.

I’m angry at God for not making this easier, but I’m afraid to seek Him out because He might do something that hurts worse. Reading the Bible seems very hard these days; I honestly don’t know where to start. Amy Carmichael’s “If” just makes me feel guilty. My novels are hard to hold (lame excuse) but I’m just tired of it. I was going to type “I don’t know what to do” but I do know. When you don’t want to pray, pray. When you don’t want to read the Bible, get reading. I just hurt. I don’t feel like I can handle anymore (He can handle it) and I’m afraid that’s what I’m going to be asked to do.

I don’t feel beautiful. I don’t feel treasured by God. Sure, he loves me, but for some reason I don’t feel like he’s calling me precious these days. I know He’s been carrying me through these past few months, but it sure as heck doesn’t feel like it tonight. I’m scared shitless that I’m going to swell again. And God would still be sovereign. But by not letting me get a glimpse of Aslan, I’m faltering. Maybe that means Aslan asked for greater things of Peter and Edmund and Susan, but Lucy got to bury her face in his mane….her reward seems greater. I know the circumstances are different for everyperson, but I’m so tired of not understanding mine. Of not knowing if it’s safe to plan or dream just in case I get worse or just continue to still be debilitated by Prednisone.

I want to take my life back. I want to drive tomorrow, but I wanted to drive today and woke up knowing it wasn’t going to happen. I want to wake up tomorrow with a normal person’s energy—not hyper, not frantic, not lethargic, just normal. Normal person’s energy, normal person’s appetite, normal person’s pain levels, mood swings. Normal.

I hate that I’m whining, I hate that I can’t be positive right now (well, I could, but that would take too much energy)

I just want to be happy, to be able to do what needs to be done, and to be okay with where I am and where I’m going.
Sue me.