Vixxie has hit rock bottom

People ask me all the time how I am doing. Colleagues on the phone that I haven’t heard in a while, friends who I have not met up with for some time, acquaintances… It’s some sort of social curtesy to ask how one is doing, but nobody expects an actual answer. In fact, when you do answer anything else than “fine, thank you, how are you doing?”, people get uneasy around you and you can see them thinking “wait, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go”. So I’m always fine.

What I rarely get asked though is “how do you really feel?”. Well I’m not so fine, thank you for asking. I haven’t been fine for a very long time.

Mentally I’m coping. I usually have enough positive energy to remain sane through a day’s worth of ordeal.
But I haven’t been fine physically since the start of covid, and that’s a bloody long time ago now.

For me, there’s a pretty significant PRE covid and POST covid period.

PRE COVID – Before the lockdown on that fateful Thursday in March

I was in control. I went swimming once a week before work, I went to the gym three times a week – once for cardio and twice for strength. When I felt like it, I got off the bus a couple of stops earlier for a walk and some extra breath of fresh air in the morning. I was grossly overweight but fully functioning and perfectly content. I ate what I wanted but I controlled my portions and didn’t go overboard spoiling myself. I worked North of Antwerp, as a graphic designer for an global trading company in customer goods.

POST COVID – After the lockdown on that fateful Thursday in March

I sat on my ass all day and didn’t get off it. In April I got laid off half time “temporarily” due to the economical crisis, until the government decided they were done paying my salary instead of my employer – and then went back working fulltime again from home. I still sat on my ass all day and didn’t get off it. Then a second wave rolled in, a third wave too. The government was nurturing a traffic light relationship with mandatory telework and by the time we all got released from our shackles definitively in February 2022, my company announced its bankruptcy a month later, in March. Two years of life were completely pointless. Due to the restrictions of covid and not being allowed to shop together, N. was responsible for everything going on outside, and I was responsible for everything going on inside the house, minimizing the risk of infection. I set foot outside of my front door only twice in well over half a year: to get my shots of vaccine. That seems surreal, but that was my reality. I can’t even say I disliked it, on the contrary. I’ve always been content within the confines of my own home.

I could have walked around the block and the 5 trees in the ‘park’ like half of the town and call it a work out. I could have done a lot of work outs at home watching every fitgirl and her grandmother making revenue with routines on Tiktok, but I didn’t. I just waited. And waited and waited for the storm to pass, when I should have learned to dance in the rain. But I didn’t.

I was unemployed for 3 months but then found a job in the center of Antwerp as an art director for a creative agency. With that change, I expected somewhat of a normalization of my life. But I was in for a rough awakening. We went back to a three day office schedule, but I found myself dragging my feet every step of the way. Literally, physically, hauling myself from point A to B. And no step further. It took all of my physical and mental energy to get back into a three day office schedule, especially in a new work environment with new colleagues. I had a tough time adjusting. I kept afloat, but I was in constant turmoil.

6 months after, the creative agency moved office to another part of the city. For 4 months, I was “office-less” and reverted back to telework. I didn’t mind, and my broken body didn’t either. Then N. fell off the stairs and broke his leg, with a couple of months of complicated recovery as a result. I teleworked, with only 1 office day, to be able to cope with the increased amount of responsibility on my shoulders. I was supposed to go back to a 2-day office//3-day telework schedule afterwards, but kept finding excuses to skip them office days because it had become increasingly difficult to walk from the bus stop to the office location. Until yesterday, the first of February 2024, I ran out of excuses. I tugged and heaved myself to work and back home twice last week, and ended up in tears.

Because my body is completely thrashed from blatant neglect. Yes, I’m deeply ashamed.

  • I used to have one hurtey knee for years, that forced me to take the steps down one by one like a grandma. I now have two. Stairs have become a no go.
  • My ankles hurt so much I can only walk in specialized hiking shoes.
  • Over the years, I have developed lymph oedema in the legs. Got all sorts of medications and examinations done. No narrowed blood veins, no risks of thromboses or embolies fortunately. But also no resolution. My legs are swollen out of proportion because I am morbidly overweight, because of my sedentary life style, because of midlife imbalance of hormones and because of stress. The only bit of solace for my heavy legs are 24h/day compression stockings. I am 42 years old, for god’s sake.
  • I’ve gained a lot of weight on my belly and my backside, weighing down heavily on my spine. I have back aches if I have to stand or walk for more than 10 minutes.
  • Most of my mobility and flexibility is gone.

It obviously didn’t all happen at once. It gradually built up over time, discouraging me again and again in the effort trying to get some extra exercise going. Because believe it or not, I didn’t just wake up yesterday in the realization that I am fucked. It’s hit me often in the past too, to a point where all I can think about is the fact that I’m slowly crawling to my death. It’s not a pleasant thought.

So I realized I have two options.

  1. I roll my broken body into the river Schelde and end this miserable lifetime.
  2. I face the music and get back to a healthy lifestyle one day at the time, no matter of how many circles of hell I will have to descend through before I can crawl out of the crater I am in. I will do Dante proud lol.

My grandma had her first heart attack when she was 52 years old. That is not even 10 years away from where I am now. It’s a truly terrifying awakening.
So I chose the latter.

And I hate it. But I have to. I ran out of excuses not to.

And so from next week Wednesday and the other 11 sessions after that, I’ll have a personal trainer/physio to assist me in my conquest. I’ve strayed too far from the beaten track to be able to do it by myself this time. Sure costed me about half my savings but I’ve spent more money on much dumber things. On men, mostly. And we all know how that ended. I’m hoping that by being assisted by a professional taking over my food and training schedules for the foreseeable future, I will break out of my lethargy and build a good foundation to rebuild a healthy life for many more years to come.

Ugh. I got tired just thinking about it.

MORE RANTS, READING ON!