When I first started blogging—not this blog, but one I kept before, and the one I kept before that—I often didn’t tell the truth. I wrote what I thought people would want to read, or more to the point, I wrote what I thought people would read and pat me on the back for. The blog I wrote before this one, which has since been deleted, I was extremely honest. I went into some very gory details about myself, physically, my body, my (poor) hygiene, my bad habits. But despite going into all those gruesome details, I still lied about certain things. There were things—believe it or not—that shamed me more than talking about my gross lack of person hygiene.
Such as my failures, and when I gave up. My emotions, and when I hated myself. I’d explain “this is the terrible thing about me I am going to fix” and I might follow up and say “this is how I am doing fixing it” if it were going well, but I would neglect to write about when I failed. I would sidestep things I didn’t want to admit to myself. Things that I’ve begin exploring in this blog.
It has made me realize how much I lie, and not even to others but to myself! Logically you’d think that there is no need to lie to yourself, what does it matter if you know the truth? At least in my case, I lie to myself infinitely more than I lie to anyone else. I don’t want to admit these truths to myself.
I hit on one example when I talked about not noticing my acne clear up in a post a few posts back. But since going to therapy I’ve had to admit out loud, and thus to myself, a few truths I’ve tried to keep hidden, even from me. As such I am slowly getting better at admitting these to myself as I discover them—and discovering them in general.
There are a lot of them.
Exercising wont get easier or fun, I just need to do it, and stop whining.
I’ll never lose weight if I don’t stop snacking and going over my calories.
And there is no excuse for going over but my own mental weakness.
Spending all my time away from work curled up in bed with my ipad isn’t doing me any good.
I’m never going to get better as a writer or an artist if I don’t write or draw, a LOT.
I need to decide what is important to me. Being lazy, or being the me I want to be.
There is no magic cure, I just need to do better if I want to be better.
There is no excuse for not drinking more water.
There is no excuse for eating that slice of cheese while standing in the kitchen out of sheer boredom
There is no excuse for why I’ve stopped going for walks at lunch.
My novel wont write itself.
I can’t have a solar powered tiny house and an AC. It aint gonna happen (at least not right away).
I’ll never GET a tiny house if I don’t start spending money more wisely.
Building a Tiny house wont be easy. I can’t get frustrated like I always do. I need to be patient and do it right.
Practice takes time, I won’t get better overnight.
I don’t need to get rid of my PC or cancel my Hulu account to change how much I sit on my ass doing nothing. I just need to fix it.
The biggest lie of them all, and the one that incorporates everything above, is the lie where I try to ignore the cold, hard truth. The truth that the only thing stopping me from being the me that I want to be…is me.
There is nothing wrong with me. I’m probably not depressed, I’m not broken. I am lazy, but that isn’t an illness or problem that needs some outside cure. All of my attempts to shut down my computer, to set reminders for myself to do things, even to write this blog and go to therapy—in the end they don’t matter, because the change wont happen from the outside in. The change comes from inside. If I want to change something about myself I just need to fucking do it. Not whine about it, not wonder why I’m not doing it, not make excuses for not doing it, not forget about it and just berate myself later when I fail to do it. I need to just do it.
I want to write a novel? I need to start writing. Not having an idea isn’t an excuse. Not knowing what to write about is not an excuse. Not believing that my writing or my ideas will ever be good enough is not an excuse. All that also applies to my art, and why I’m not drawing or sculpting daily. It’s because I am choosing not to.
And that is another great lie we tell ourselves. We tell ourselves that we aren’t doing something. I’m not writing. I’m not drawing. I’m not exercising. Why not? What’s wrong with me.
The truth is I am doing something. I am actively choosing NOT to do something. When I climb into bed with my ipad to watch TV, it isn’t that I am simply not writing. I am actively choosing not to write. My body doesn’t work independently from my mind. So there is no excuse at all, ever, for not doing or saying exactly what I want at any giving time. Everything I do each day is a choice. Whether I chose to act, or to not act, it is still a choice being made.
I lied to myself. I’d tell myself that I have weak willpower, that It is hard, that getting in shape is hard, that making myself exercising is hard, that saying no to candy and junk food is hard. That making myself write, or draw, or sculpt is hard. It’s not hard. That’s the secret, that’s the truth. All I have to do is make myself act. And if I choose to curl up with my iPad and a TV show instead of going for a walk, I need to own that. I need to accept that I’ve made a choice, and that the choice I have made is to stay the lazy fat slob I’ve always been.
I am not going to make that choice.
And I don’t need to cancel my Hulu or Amazon account. I don’t need to set reminders to do things, or make challenges to try and force myself to do something. I don’t need to take these drastic measures I am always prone to. I just need to stop lying to myself, to accept my own power over my own actions and my own life, and just fucking do it.
I am already the person I want to be. I just need to start acting like it.