I don’t really…

Came to a couple conclusions a week ago, both of which are hard to admit.

1. I say I love coffee, but I really don’t. 9-10 cups a day isn’t love, it’s self-abuse. I’ve been so stressed out from health and life issues, that it’s become a crutch. When in doubt, I just pour it down my throat. I also know it’s a potent, powerful appetite suppressant, which explains why I haven’t been all that hungry as of late. Lately, I’ve been posting pictures of coffee to Facebook with lyrics from the Barenaked Ladies’ “Alcohol.” (There’s a time and there’s a place where I can choose to walk the fine line between self-control, and self-abuse…)

2. Maybe I don’t love running marathons, either. I’ve just felt a compulsion to race them, even though I get no joy out of them as of late…. I get a sore right ankle instead. And with friends calling me a “machine,” and “a freak,” and telling me I “can do all the things,” it just became an expectation. “Bob’s gonna run a few marathons this year, we know.”¬†And if I don’t really love it… why am I doing it right now? See my earlier point about walking the fine line between control and abuse.

And maybe this all winds into an obsessive personality. The coffee, the eating, the marathons… lately it’s become an all or nothing proposal. All black and white, no shades of gray. It’s really hard to fix, even with a therapist.

What do you all do?


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Bob Cowles Bob Cowles
I am 35 years old, from Muskegon, MI, I live with my dad... and I have 4 cats. Other than that, I'm a runner, baker, foodie, and I love dining out.

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