A little darkness, a few facts

I'm trying to think of a way to say this and also be loving to myself; after all, I've been working on loving myself lately. I've practiced looking in the mirror and loving what I see. I've been sharing pictures of beautiful, healthy meal choices with my dear sisters. I've been listening to those sisters' advice--we all have great, loving feelings to share with each other. Defending your sister against herself comes naturally for us; yet, when no one's looking, I judge myself with rules fit for no one. I am without mercy when it comes to me.

I need to get out of the dark spaces of my mind and into the places that shine, warm and welcoming.

(I know I've read somebody who wrote something like that. I'm just paraphrasing)

So, the facts (something I'm good at):

1. My feet hurt - I've written about this before, but for me, when I am wincing with every step, it's always a sign from my body that it can't carry this much. 
2. I'm not yet ready to show my weight chart, but it clearly shows why my feet hurt. I'm 45 pounds above my (quite modest) goal weight, which is the weight I was when I was at the height of running 5k's regularly.
3. I've been drinking too much - Pretty much every day, heavily a couple times per week. I use it to cope with stress, and like it does, alcohol later makes me feel physically abused.

Solutions: 

1. For feet: ibuprofen. There's nothing more to be done until I get some of the weight off that is killing my feet. 
2. For weight: food & exercise. I don't have a choice (see #1). I must eat good food in reasonable amounts, and start with modest cardio and strength training (3x/week for now). 
3. For drinking: I'm giving it up for the month of July (started 2 days ago). I need to see what it's like, see how I feel differently both in my brain and in my body. 

Thank you for reading this, and please help me in whatever way you feel you can. Like most of us, I have trouble asking--but I need help. If difficult conversations aren't your thing, no problem--ask me about facts: Are you still not drinking? What workouts are you doing? What are you eating? I'm always up for tough conversations though, and I don't mind answering hard questions. I'll do whatever I have to do, because I love my life and I am worth it. 

Thank you.

Good Luck, Last Frog

I did something strange the other day. I "released" or "let go free" my last frog. I'm ashamed to say that I didn't take him grandly to a pond where he might find friends, nor back to the ditch where he was hatched. No, I let him go in my front, urban yard, on a rainy morning. I can't really follow my thought process to logically get to the "let him go--right here" outcome. But here are a few facts, not all of which definitely influenced, but could have influenced my improbable, illogical action:

Fact 1: I was hungover. I had trouble later that morning making other seemingly normal decision, such as whether to turn left at a green light w/no arrow.
Fact 2: Tayan and Zene had been gone for a few days, and I missed them.
Fact 3: It was raining very hard, and our cloudy front lawn looked as cool and inviting and full of tiny bugs as it possibly could.
Fact 4: I had been afraid every morning for awhile that Last Frog (finally named him this just now) would be dead when I checked on him, and I had started to fear that the ants I had been feeding him weren't--enough, I guess.

Whatever the impetus, I took the lid off the cage that I had revered for the last few moths, which I had pored for hours over, watching the tadpoles develop, reading about what they might be and how I might best raise them, watching them react to their artificial, natural-like environ... I took the lid off, caught the little guy, and let him go. I pictured him sinking down the long grass to the soil, which to his perspective looked much like the backyard looked to the shrunken kids in the popular Rick Moranis movie--only, he would feel at home there, finally, and would be able to easily, perhaps adventurously, find small insects that would help him to grow and be successful.

Now as I sit here 2 days later, I realize that the grass has grown quite long from all the rain, and it needs to be cut. And there are no sweet little ponds, or brooks, or even puddles to escape to in my 10'x10' patch of grass that is surrounding by unforgiving concrete.

I'm left wondering why, and coming inexorably back to the inkling that I loved my little frog, yet feared being the one thing that could and would keep him alive. I didn't trust myself to that task, and so like many houseplants, a hamster, and a large handful of hermit crabs have experienced in the past, I let him go to his own devices, such that they may be.

Good luck, Last Frog. I'm sorry I thought of that endearing name for you too late--maybe a cute name would've saved your life from me, caretaker and master of your likely death.