That's how I feel about myself today. It started last night when I had to FIGHT myself to run 7 miles on the treadmill.
Then last night, I did something that I have not wanted to do. I measured Chakotay. I was dismayed to see that he has gained back almost all the weight that he had taken off. It's not his fault. I have completely and totally failed him. It's not good for him to be overweight like he is, and I haven't been able to do the right things for him in order for him to keep his weight down.
Like a person, I can offer all kinds of excuses - the weather HAS been miserable and it's been a struggle to get the dogs any sort of productive exercise. BUT his weight means that I have failed as a doggie parent.
Then I stepped on the scale this morning and I am still over 120. I wasn't overly upset about this as I have been in the past. However, I found myself thinking that maybe it's time to just face the truth. I can offer all the excuses and rationalizations that I want, but maybe I need to stop pretending that it is realistic or honest to keep saying that my top weight is 120 when, in reality, more days then not it's above that.
But the thought of raising my "red-line" number made me feel like I have failed at a goal. Compound my feeling of helplessness with yet another miserable snowstorm making me feel like I am never, ever, going to see nice weather again.
But the kicker - the news that brought me LITERALLY to my knees happened when I got to work this morning.
I maintain a Facebook page for work. I am Facebook friends on there with many former and current clients. And the first thing I get on this morning I am bombarded with RIP message for one of my clients. In a panic I began making some calls and was devastated beyond words to learn that one of my clients died of a heroin overdose last night.
He was going to graduate this program in 2 weeks. He was a brilliant mind - from a good family and had a Master's Degree. He had made it through a long term program and was working full time and looking towards the future. I don't know all the details yet, or how long he has been using again, but he did last night and it cost him his life.
This young man would have turned 30 this year. He was a runner. I ran in a couple of races with him last year. To watch him run was a thing of beauty. There are people that are good at running, but he was just a natural. He glided across the pavement like a gazelle. It was beautiful to watch. At one of my 1/2 marathons last year, he ran and his mother came up to talk to me afterwards and thanked me for all I had done for her son and she took a pic of the 2 of us together with our medals.
I've been in this business long enough to know that this is not about me. The fact is that some people DIE of their addiction, and there's nothing that can be done to eliminate that reality. But that has not stopped me from all day wondering what I could have done, could have said, could have done differently so that he would not have stuck that needle in his arm last night. What could I have done that would mean he was alive today?
It makes me feel like even in my work, I am a failure...