Love in a Touchdown

Chapter 3

Do I hate what I look like? Yea, I definitely had to come to terms with my appearance, and even now those thoughts are so intrusive. Tormenting me and being a constant reminder of who I am. It's not that I think I'm ugly per-say. I just hate the way I resemble him. I see his eyes. Maybe not the hate he had in them, but the shape and the color were an exact match. My brother is lucky, he looks like my mom. While I would definitely trade spots with him, I wouldn't. He wouldn't handle it well, I barely do at my age. To look in the mirror everyday and be reminded that I look like the man who almost destroyed my life. But I am not him. I am not like him. I can't lose sight of my family, not the way he did. If he ever saw us in the first place. 

The weight from football was dense and muscle, but it still made every doctor tell me I was overweight. That I should be about forty pounds lighter and I should start doing Weight Watchers. Yup, no reason they wanted to check the actual BMI because that would tell them they were wrong. That the expectation I was supposed to like every twig bimbo in high school was inaccurate. The broad shoulders that make it hard to find any feminine clothes that fit right. Either I can't fit my shoulders in them OR that they fit like a crop top even when they are supposed to have the right size to cover my belly button. I would always have to go up a size just to get my arms into the goofy fabric. And then it wouldn't be form-fitting and it would be baggy in all the wrong places. I started wearing guy clothes simply for that reason: which meant that girly clothes were out of the question.

Then I move on in the mirror to my arms. My least favorite part of myself because I instantly feel the shame. The weight of the choices that I made, not my sperm donor. The pain that I inflicted because I was desperate for anything, control. It may not be very noticeable to the naked eye unless pointed out, but I saw every line. I saw every memory and every time that relieved in my mind. It was the regret and weakness I felt for it. The choices I thought would feel better at the time. This was my fault. Why wasn't I stronger? Why couldn't I have been stronger? I had to push the negative thoughts aside... it was time to get ready for bed, because sleep was a fight every night so I liked to get a head start.

There was a subtle nagging pulling me from the happier times. I shook my head, attempting to drown out the irritation. Shoot, my alarm. That is what was pulling me from the one decent dream I've had all week. That one sliver of calm and lack of restlessness that I felt almost every night. It was an amazement to me how I functioned on three to four hours of sleep each night. But you know what I've learned? You go on autopilot when you struggle with sleep. Once the 3-4 hours becomes the new normal it is as if your body adapts and learns to live on what little it gets. Almost as if you get any more your body might malfunction. If I get six hours I'm normally overtired the rest of the day. And I definitely can't remember the last time I got eight. Probably because I haven't in so long it has been erased from my memory.

The temptation to turn off my alarm and go back to sleep lingered in my mind. To hold onto one dream, but with my luck I would start with nightmares or not be able to fall back asleep even though it was minutes ago. The more you cling to sleep the more impossible it becomes. On the other hand, what would skipping one workout do? On a Saturday morning after a game? Hmmm. Honestly, I am a committed football player, I attend all practices and games, do the recommended weekend workouts, why not skip once? But that is the danger of a secured workout schedule: If you skip once, what makes you so sure you won't skip again?  And I also know what would happen if I did skip: if they didn't see me at the gym- the guys would worry even more than they already are. Right, but what makes this time any different than any other time you want to skip and never end up actually skipping?  The dream. I don't want to lose the happiness I felt from it. I don't want to lose the glimpse of peace I got. And that made me tear up to even think about. Knowing I couldn't hold onto something that was simply a figment of my imagination.