Fitter, happier, more productive, not drinking too much

From deep within my psyche, I'm pretty much screaming at everyone. I would almost call it yelling for help, but not in a pitiful way. So not really yelling "for help." Just yelling. Because I'm not allowed to say anything about it in the present tense. I have a different term for it then. The problem is, part of the rules are that I can't talk about it. I can't do it in front of people, at least, not out loud. I can't even talk about why I can't talk about it. Isn't that insane? I mean, I can sort of talk about it, but there are certain words that are off limits. Now I'm pushing the limits a little, but I think it's good for me to write myself a little note about it. Oh, the more insane part is that I CAN talk about it when I'm not living it. Then, just like a switch, I'm not longer allowed to mention it. It's only a past tense issue, like it's okay and even worthy of pride to be a victor but it's not okay to be going through it. I know that's at least slightly quirky, if not abnormal, but that's how it is.

Slowly but surely, and oddly enough right on schedule, the old me is back. You can time it, almost, predict the return. Over the past few weeks, my habits have crept back up on me, and I have welcomed them like old friends. Old fears are happy boundaries, limits. My brain demands structure. And there's that love-hate relationship again. There are lots of things I won't be able to do anymore, things that just suddenly pop back up even if they'd seemed absurd for months, but there are many things that I'll do better. It's just that sometimes, it makes me feel pretty crazy and trapped. Trapped is the word I always used for it. When I feel trapped is when I start screaming on the inside. Because the me who was living a "chaotic" (not really, just by my standards) life had my own consciousness and personality at the forefront. The me I was my whole life before then had to always bury that, to remain under control, to do everything like I was "told" so life could go on smoothly. I mean, my consciousness is still controlling my body, obviously. It's just much more aware of everything I do and say, buried under layers of, uh, stuff- everything must be carefully thought out, rehearsed. So everything just takes longer.

And now I have hit the limit of what I am allowed to verbalize. Heh.

Good times, noodle salad.