Pushing through (self-imposed) barriers

This weekend I got up and went to a gym class. 

It was so hard it made me cry. 

It made me hate myself, my body, my life. Not for the first time this year I felt like there was no hope. No point. I should just give up. 

I came home afterwards and got into bed, and cuddled my new soft toy Noah the whale. I stayed in bed lying there, listening to the same piece of music on repeat, and did nothing. Did some thinking and some dozing, but mostly I just lay there. 
And when I got up to eat, I told my sister how I felt. I didn't feel much better, my mindset wasn't suddenly "oh what a wonderful world we live in." It was more a grim acceptance. This is life. We are lucky enough to have been given it, and it is ours to do with what we will. My body is damaged and I must do what I can with it. 

That grim reality both fuels and quenches the fire of life within me. It tells me that "this is my life, I can do anything in it, I can be anything." And it also whispers softly, "No. All you are and all you ever will be is a speck of dust in this wide universe."

I felt similar tug-of-rope feelings in the month after my granddad died. "Life is precious", it shouted. "You might die any day so live the days you have with all that you can give them."
"No", it whispered. "Everyone dies in the end, that is the only guarantee in this world. Everything you do is futile."

So these imaginary voices tussle and so I get no further. 

I have aspirations of grandeur. That I will contribute to this world in a way that I will be remembered for. Somewhere, I and my achievements will be noted down. 

Not everyone can go down in the history books. But surely we can all be remembered by someone, for something.

I need to refocus my attention and energy on things I can make a difference to. To the lives of my family and friends, to the local area, the bits of volunteering I can do. And doing my job to the best of my ability.

But that leaves me with no answer regarding my body. It's damaged; is it beyond repair?

I guess I have to keep trying. And I'll note down my achievements so that somewhere, they're written down.

A List of Dislikes

I have a new tattoo.
It hurt like a b**ch to have it done.
It dislikes a lot of things.

For example, it dislikes bending over in certain ways.
It dislikes walking too fast (I haven't even attempted to run). It dislikes stairs, and taking steps down off the kerb. It dislikes most movements, actually.
It dislikes the pressure of the wind. It dislikes a hand in a coat pocket on top of it.
It dislikes clothes against it. It dislikes me putting on these clothes, and taking off these clothes. 
It dislikes being touched, even when it's getting covered in soothing, moisturising cream. 

But I absolutely love it to goddamn pieces. The less it sticks to my clothes, the more the pain decreases, the more I fall in love with it.
Is this the way to love your body? By drawing on it with needles? 

The night before I got it done I dreamt I overslept and missed the appointment. When I then woke up before my alarm, I decided to get up, just in case.

But also that night before I started to panic about whether it would look good. Not that the design would look good, but whether it would look good on me. Whether I should have lost weight before having it done, so that my body would look better. 
As it turns out, I like the way it sits just before the curve of my hip. 
And when I showed my sister when I uncovered it for the first time, she said "You're so skiiinnyyy." Which I wasn't expecting. 

If the remedy of body dislike is to tattoo it with the things you love, then I will continue to cover it. 
Except maybe not on my ribs next time.

Perhaps I am simply trying to exert some control over my physical entity, which continually denies me control if you look to my headache as an example. And also because I just can't seem to stop eating these bourbons.