Running just isn't want it used to be when I was in High School and during my first two years in college. I used to long to go for runs almost every single day because it allowed me time for myself to self care, to be out in the world, to test my physical fitness.
Now, it's so hard to even run three miles.
I went for my three mile run or something of the sort at the park nearby my house. As soon as I got back and took a shower, my Aunt calls and asks if I want to drive down to Santa Clara to have lunch with her and also to pick up two packages. I don't hesitate to agree.
I also invite my Dad to come have lunch with us because we were going to have lunch anyways.
However, I always have an issue whenever I go home and there are other people there other than just my Dad and me because my Dad ends up talking to my relatives in Tagalog or Illocano and I just sit there or I go somehwere else. It's really annoying to me.
I'd like to join in the conversation, but I realize sometimes that there's a reason why there are different languages. People speak in different tongues based on comfort and as well because they're not talking to you.
Next time you ever hear someone speaking another language other than "Murican English, don't be rude and tell them to speak in English.
They were never talking to you.
Anyways, I know it's kind of a misunderstanding and obviously my Dad wants to talk to me, but I mean the only meaningful, and I'm defining this as something that had impact on me which can be negative or positive, is the statement he said about me sleeping too much and how my cheeks are puffing up. In short, I'm interpreting what he said is that he called me fat.
Weight is something that I struggle with a lot. Even though I have an athletic build because of years of running, a lot of times I feel like I have an eating disorder and that I am way too paranoid about my weight for my own good. I have a lot of anxiety attacks unfortunately and these get heightened when statements like these touch my ears.
What happens to me is that something grabs my tongue and forbids me from speaking. Anger scratches the bottom of my throat. In short, Irritation claws its way up my stomach and onto my face.
Unfortunately, I snapped a quick statement back to my Dad when he asked me why I don't sleep before I go back to Berkeley. It was a simple, I'm not going to sleep because you called me fat.
I then took my leave back to Berkeley with fumes running out of my ears.
A lot of times, I wish my Dad would just say Sorry to me, Apologize. But he doesn't. Small things should not be stressed too much over, but when these small things are compacted with post-college depression, seasonal depression, general depression, loneliness, heartbreak, and shaking anxiety, these small things just make me explode.
Fitting how an explosion in me happens on the 4th of July.
There is always a bang that goes off.