In light of the physioLojik craziness let me again disclaim that it is irresponsible to practice any sort of regulated profession via messages posted to an online forum. My memory of our interactions has been to merely encouraged you to seek and maintain the help you need; whether through the ED when in crisis, or a therapist and psychiatrist over the long haul.
Also, I’m a licensed clinical social worker, not a psychologist.
All of that said, I’m glad you’re feeling better. I think this would be a good way to approach your eating, too:
Yeah, that’s an awesome disclaimer to make here and now, to be honest. And yeah, my apologies, I actually believed you were a psychologist. Thank you for the well wishes.
I definitely understand where you’re coming from. But - I have no idea where I’m at on either the axle deadlift, axle press, or SSB Squat, so it’s impossible for me to develop a training max for them (at least right now).
Bar x 10
165 x 5
215 x 1
250 x 1
270 x 1
275 x 8 + 4 (PR - rest-pause set here, blackout city)
230 x 8 + 4
200 x 8 + 4
165 x 8 + 4
135 x 8 + 4
Bar x 8 + 4
Tried Box Jumps, I’m already limping, scratched that so I didn’t faceplant.
Good workout today. It’s nice to really grind out reps on the SSB, it calms me the fuck down. I could have had 10 on the top set, but saved it for the rest-pause set of 4. @T3hPwnisher
Solid write up. Regarding calculating maxes, something I stumbled across that was one of those moments where I was accidentally smart was that, for figuring out 1rms for programming deadstop vs touch and go, both need to use a multirep set, since you can’t pull a touch and go for 1 rep. When you do that, you get different 1rms, and it makes calculations make more sense.
It’s always great to dive into what makes movements different. Language can hamstring us, as we handcuff ourselves to a word HAVING to mean one specific thing and then trying to make that thing match the word, rather than make the word match the thing. I do “dips” in my training, that if I shared them online, would get me roasted because they don’t look like a “proper” dip at all. But my pressing keeps going up while I do them this way. No point in changing execution to meet the name.
Basically, just do the part of the dip where you come out of the bottom of the movement. Really focus on blowing up the chest and shoulders rather than the triceps.
Ha, know that feeling. I finally went back to the dr/psych this fall and they told me i had IBS (which is shitty, heh) and that maybe I wasn’t depressed but bi-polar. Took medication, got an insane rash that could’ve killed me. Started taking a different medication, that had my moods flipping every few hours, felt completely fucking insane. Crying at my computer one minute, feeling ready to kill someone the next, feeling amazing the next. Needless to say, I stopped taking that too, still not sure what’s going on but I get the struggle.
While meanwhile I work with kids with bipolar disorder who are successful college students and highly satisfied with their meds after having been suicidal, eating-disordered messes pre-diagnosis/pre-medication.
Medication may or may not be helpful for any given individual, but “medication is just bullshit” is both wrong and a foolish attitude to take. Rather, “it wasn’t a good one for me, what are my options now?”
If a psych keeps offering problematic solutions, change docs, don’t give up on meds, assuming the problem was a serious one in the first place (e.g. BPD is making life impossibly difficult).
I still haven’t taken my Lexapro. I’d rather die than sell my fucking body to the government again. If I have to rely on a pill to be happy, I’ll take my heaping dose of reality and every last one of my anger issues and suicidal thoughts over the numb, brain-addled, emotionless (yet still severely depressed) state antidepressants put you in. I’m done being a guinea pig. If I die for this position, so be it. At least I feel like a human being again, panic attacks and all.
And do you know what I discovered? Antidepressants were my band-aid for damn close to a year. Now, I’m angry and I have every right to be. Look at where I came from! Look at what I’ve had to do! How fucked up is it that I have to order two fucking tasers off the darknet so my dad and I can protect my family from my brother because he just keeps getting worse? Tell me, how fucked up is it to be brought to the brink of murder and suicide countless times starting from when I was 10 until right now? How fucked up is it that by the age of 16 I’d attempted suicide 5 times and how fucked up is it that I can’t guarantee I won’t try again and succeed because existing without human connection (and lacking the skills to form it, because you never fucking had any) is akin to torture? How fucked up is it that my parents disowned me because they found out I thought I was part gay? How fucked up is it for a parent to feel nothing but hatred and jealousy for their children? This isn’t a pity party, it’s a rage rant. I get to go away from them, and they get to die alone. Maybe my mom will keep the dog’s corpse as a stuffed animal, but that’s within her rights, and it’ll probably make her as happy as she’s ever going to be, because I know I couldn’t.
18 years and I still don’t know what love feels like, and I’ve been working close to 24/7 since I was 10 as a third parent. I’ll tell a motherfucker exactly where it’s at with zero hesitation because now I can, and I’m no longer a complacent sheep who just accepts whatever the fuck life throws at him like some cocksucking little whore bitch.
“Yeah, Life, shove it allllllll the way down my warm, wet throat, pinch my nostrils closed, and blast another load down my fucking esophagus while you’re in there!”
No. Now, I see my mother for the vile fucking creature that it is, and I’d have no problem decking it into next week or taking a long piss on its grave given the opportunity. I don’t even afford it the decency of giving it human pronouns. That’s intentional.
Maybe I’m going crazy (and this is a seriously feasible possibility), but I don’t need to forget, I need to remember it all. I need to remember that I’ve only ever been taken care of by myself and for myself, and that there is not another human being on this fucking planet that has my back at the end of the day besides ME. I’m it. I’m grown, I don’t need a pacifier to deal with my circumstances. I’m a human being with a short temper and a sick mind. That doesn’t mean I can’t affect good in the world, it just means that I take zero shit from anybody under pain of death, and even then, I don’t care because I’ll die over respect, and if someone has a gun in my mouth you can be damned sure I’m gonna pull the trigger for them so they get life in prison, because I’m that fucking serious about my revenge. And yeah, I’m saying that stone-cold sober. I’m drug-free, too, and I love it, because now I’m the one in control.
Right, but on the other hand you could find something that doesn’t numb you, but that allows YOU more control over your thoughts and emotions. You’re not trying to numb or eliminate, but rather to harness. It’s great to have a big, ferocious dog, but until you can train it not to harm everyone in its path, including yourself, its value to you is reduced.
Meds and therapy don’t take away your dog’s ability to fight and defend, they merely help you to bring it to heel as needed.
No. Stop that. Seriously.
You’re a human being who has attitudes that could stand to be worked on. As does everyone. Your mind has its dark areas, but it also has its gleaming, bright, and beautiful areas.
As much energy as you have put forth to say that, I dare you to put forth that same energy and say the complete opposite. And then say it again, and again, and then become relentless in your pursuit to learn how to love yourself, and respect your mind, and your emotions.
You’re very angry. And I know the feeling. But you’re not alone. While we are online, you’ve still got us. You may not be able to see us, nor us you, but it’s okay. Care and support isn’t confined like that.
