319 Part 1 (April 2009)

Pounds, that is.  That is exactly how much I way as I write this. Now, I am 6’ 6” tall. WOW, was that a justification? So, I am a tall fat guy. This story is not one with an ending, as of yet. It barely has a beginning. It is about discipline, and I have none, especially when it comes to two major areas of my life: my weight, and my music.

I was born with a natural physicality. I was not an elite athlete. I was not fast, or overly strong. I couldn’t do pull-ups. But I could run medium distances without much effort. I could start running, then stop at some point 6-8 miles later and go on with my day as if nothing happened. I did it when I chose, or didn’t. It was something I could do but didn’t do it all the time (like being double jointed). I never followed this ability. I never became disciplined in the art of running.

I was also born with an insane, obsessive love for music. At 14, I began playing guitar. As soon as I had a few chords under my belt, I began writing my first songs. It was then that I found I had an ability to write songs. My passion for music is the passion of writing. I can play guitar, bass, piano, and sing. I have taught myself all of these; but like the running, never became disciplined about playing or writing. I write or play when I want, or not. I don’t practice scales. I don’t work on technique. I don’t do 100 takes to get a guitar line just right. When it becomes uncomfortable, I stop.

Both of these examples grow out of a lack of discipline. This is something I never learned to do growing up. School was goal driven: if I took so many units and took these sets of classes, I was given a degree. That is not discipline, at least not self-discipline. There was a semi-dictated trajectory of events, of which, if I availed myself and had decent grades, gave me a diploma. I can follow a guideline. When I have to set the course to better or change myself, I am out!

So, here I am: 40, a decent songwriter that does not practice, a 319-pound man that smokes and does not exercise. It is for these reasons that I beat myself up daily. They are the hardest things for me to conquer. And they are the things that, as I sit here writing, I have no clue how to begin overcoming. They make me hate myself for not living up to my potential.

The truth is: I don’t know where to begin. There are so many elements that, together, would solidify my scattered mind.

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About ~Drew

I am a survivor of childhood torture. Each day, I put one foot in front of the other, moving forward. To do any less would spell my own destruction. My music/poetry/prose deal with the devastating effect of this kind of abuse on a human being: me. My experiences/thoughts/ideas/misconceptions are exposed here for all to see. Here. I am lain bare, naked, hidden only be the cloak of anonymity.
This entry was posted in depression, dreams, introspection, reflection, therapy. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to 319 Part 1 (April 2009)

  1. Shana says:

    I got into running, or what most people call power walking, and having some sort of daily exercise in my life propelled me faster down the route of becoming a non-smoker. I had been working out daily, and then I caught the flu. I was literally unable to do anything but chug Nyquil for about 1.5 weeks. Which meant I was physically unable to smoke. When I started feeling better I realized that I was more than halfway there –since the physical addiction is usually over at the 2-week mark. I used that flu as an opportunity to get a jump start on the quit-day. Then, the daily exercise helped and reminded me not to smoke on the daily. After killing myself on a run and feeling how miserable my lungs became and how they burned, the last thing I wanted to do was smoke. So I ate an early dinner, took a sleeping pill, and went to bed early to ward off any late-night cravings for either food or cigarette.

    You have to be a friend to yourself, and figure out what will work best for you. Chances are you will have to attempt a few different paths before finding the right one. Those are pretty words for saying you’ll fuck up a bunch of times, but don’t give up. It’s not a race. Just figure it out. You may have to get clever with yourself.

    Good luck!

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