I’ve misplaced my strut. Yeah, I know. Yesterday I was Ebony ‘Muthafuckin’ Farashuu and this morning I feel more like Ebony ‘DAMMIT’ Farashuu… LOL. Yesterday’s workout was great. I had so much energy that I went home and pulled all of the weeds out of my flowerbeds. I cooked a fabulous dinner, went to bed, and woke up sore as hell.
*Side note* Why do we say things like ‘sore as hell’, ‘hot as hell’, ‘cold as hell’…?
I mean, I can understand HOT as hell, but COLD as hell? Sore as hell? Silly as hell? What the hell?
Anyway, I need each and every one of my readers to join virtual hands and pray for me. Today is what I like to refer to as ‘Do or Die Day’. Today marks the dreaded third day of my workout. Historically, on days one and two, I am so gung-ho to work out that I am a bundle of energy and my pep levels are off the charts. On day three the soreness, stiffness, and discontent sets in.
Typically, I will feel so sore and tired that I will fool myself into believing that I can skip a day at the gym to give my muscles time to rest. One day normally turns into two and before you know it, I’ve either gotten sick, started my period, or become distracted by something else. To put it plainly, I become complacent. I just say ‘to hell with the gym, I’ll start up again another day’.
I need exercise in my life. As a sufferer of clinical depression, complicated migraines, and high blood pressure, exercise is critical to my mental and physical health. When I exercise I feel so much better. When I stop exercising, it’s easier for me to become sick or depressed. That’s just a fact of my life that I have to live with and I can no longer allow laziness to be my excuse. I want to live a normal, healthy life.
Recently I stopped taking the anti-depressant, Zoloft. The effects of Zoloft withdrawal can, at times, be devastating. When I began this medication over a year ago, I had no idea how highly addictive it would be.
I’m an open book and I don’t hide the fact that I had a failed suicide attempt in January of 2009. This is the reason I was placed on Zoloft. My mother was so upset with me for sharing that story in EKG Literary Magazine, but I had to let her know that God didn’t spare my life for me to keep quiet about it. He wants me to tell people how the knife that should have killed me wouldn’t cut, but only scratch. He wants me to let people know that he wasn’t ready for me yet and that he’d heard my cries for help.
I shared the story with a group of women I know and I was very insulted when one of them looked me in the eye and dismissed me by saying,
“Oh girl, you weren’t really cutting. If you really wanted to kill yourself you’d be dead.”
And then she went on with the conversation as if I hadn’t just told them that I had tried to slit my wrists. For a brief moment I regretting sharing my story with her and felt inclined to justify myself but, I heard a small voice in the back of my mind telling me that, although some people ‘claim’ to believe in divine intervention, they rarely acknowledge it unless they have a personal experience of their own. The people who need to hear my message will hear it and that is all that truly matters.
I haven’t picked up my bible in days. I haven’t had intimate conversation with God in days. I’ve spent so much time wrapped up in my own issues that I haven’t taken time to thank God for handling those issues in HIS time and not in MINE.
“Father, saying that you know my heart is NOT enough. I need to verbalize my heart to you and praise you through it all. I understand that anything worth having takes hard work and dedication, and unfortunately, sometimes there is pain involved, be it mental, emotional, or physical. As I sit here typing this prayer to you, I realize that a smile has just formed on my face. You’ve been so good to me and I’ve repaid your kindness with the complaining spirit of a spoiled child. How can I chastise my own children for not appreciating the sacrifices I make for them, when I sometimes forget the ULTIMATE sacrifice you made for me?”
WOW, looks like I’ll DEFINITELY be going to the gym today and pushing through any resistance that comes my way. My strut may be a little slower for the next few days, but it will definitely be back in full effect before I know it!
If GOD can sacrifice his SON to give us LIFE, how dare I refuse to sacrifice a few sore muscles in order to sustain that life?
He didn’t save my life with the intention of watching me waste it. God has a plan for me.
Well, Lord. I’m ready.
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