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Monday, May 13, 2013

Hollow



Artist Chad Hagen captures it nicely
I feel hollow.  I have no other way that I can think to describe it. This is the point where I do not cry any more, I just sit, stare and breathe because that is all that I can do.  I have fidgeted around this place enough that there is nothing left to pick up, nothing left to clean.  I cannot do any more; all I can do is sit here so I am going to write you. 

Once more I am blogging to from a hospital room.  This time it is St. Francis hospital and it is my husband who is fighting.  I sit here and watch him sleep and I think about what brought us to this.  Simply put, it is addiction.  We are addicted to a lifestyle that is deplorable.  We are self destructing and what is even more sickening is we are bringing a child down with us.  It has to stop and it has to stop NOW.  My husband is 32 years old and on Saturday he experienced a cardiac event while driving to work.  If he had not decided to go to the emergency room, if he had chosen to push on through and open the book store, if he had not had the good sense to listen to his body…… he would have had a heart attack, and he would have died.  This is happening to us at 32.  They put three stints in his heart today and now we face the future.  There is no more fixing this later.  We either fix it now or there is no future.  So this is it.  No more hoping we are going to get better, either we will or we are gone.  I have surpassed my original weight to reach an embarrassing 270 pounds.  Hubby is sitting somewhere much higher than that.  I can blame it on stress, that’s an easy out.  But no matter how much stress I am under, I still have a choice I can make every time I decide to feed my body.  We are not giving our bodies nutrition; we are stuffing ourselves with poison disguised as comfort food.  It makes us feel better, it cheers us up.  The food has become this glorious release, in a sense, a freedom from the things that bring us down in life.  Yet, when things are going well, we celebrate by eating.  I have come to believe there is no rhyme or reason to it.  There is no magical answer to why we do this or why it is so very hard to stop.  The only answer I have at the moment is that we must stop, and that is enough for me.