Self-Destruction

It’s amazing to me that, while our bodies possess hundreds of survival adaptations, we also carry within us tendencies to self destruct. Physiological and biological processes, along with instinctual behaviors, increase our longevity or help us adapt to changing circumstances. A flight or flight response is triggered when the body senses threat. Fat storage commences if the body senses starvation. Sweat to cool us down. Antibodies to common viruses. Endurance running. The body is amazing. 

And the body is perplexing. If we are full of remarkable adaptations designed to get us through life on this unpredictable planet, why are we also full of tendencies to undermine our survival? I became acutely aware of my self-destructive tendencies when I first quit drinking. I started listening objectively (instead of obeying) the voice in my head that was very invested in my daily wine habit and remarkable at creating all sorts of twisted logic in order to get me to cave. Persistent. Tenacious. Petulant. Cunning. A possible nominee for Best Dramatic Actress, that one was. Why is my own body working against me? 

Since then, I’ve noticed this tendency in a number of situations (not all my own) and am no closer to the answer. In general: Why do we crave that which does us harm? On a cellular level: why do our own cells start mutating and destroying healthy cells? Why are our bodies the site of so many epic, and often fatal battles? 

Now, in the second half of my forties, I am again feeling betrayed by my body. The hormones that used to be balanced and efficient are now too abundant, or lacking, or a baffling combination of the two. The energy that used to flow freely now seems blocked or otherwise unavailable. Sweat, which used to visit me on hot days under the arms or when I was active, now coats my face at night in bed or talking to a colleague in a climate-controlled room. My moods, which were so much better once I quit drinking, have now returned to the realm of the unpredictable and dark. “What’s wrong?” my daughter asks. “Nothing,” comes my automatic reply. “Everything,” my silent response. I feel defeated. Like this unwelcome burden has been dropped into my lap and is suffocating me with its sedentary malaise. 

Why does the body turn against itself? 

Then I admonish myself for yielding to “the feelings” labeling them as self-pity. I am in good health, generally. Health is wealth. There are so many fighting battles that are chronic or will end in defeat. Mine is apparently normal, though no one gave me the memo. 

“It’s not fair,” protests a guest at my mental pity party. “Ha!” laughs the cynic, who was of course not invited. “Who ever said life was fair?”

So it goes on like this, me a lonely figure in an ocean of desperation, bicycling my legs because, what’s the alternative? Solutions circle my mind and either self-pity, or cynicism snatch them up and discard them. 

“Maybe I’ll start practicing yoga every evening.”

“You’ve never managed to be consistent with yoga.”

“Maybe I’ll stop eating sweets.” 

“Did you check out the Crumbl flavors this week??”

“Maybe I’ll get bloodwork done and start some sort of hormone therapy.” 

“They say synthetic hormones cause cancer.”

Then, the mean girl arrives at the party (also uninvited). “You’ve never been this fat!” “Look at your double-chin in that picture.” “All the other moms still look cute, and look at you, frumpy and dumpy.” 

I could go on, but I’ll spare you the drama. 

I feel like my victory over alcohol was short lived because by the time I was able to stand in a place of health and well-being, this chapter of change began. I now find myself struggling with a lot of the same issues that previously plagued me: extra weight, mental anguish, lethargy, unpredictable moods. Once again wearing dark colors and trying to disappear. Back then, my own actions were landing me in the pit; now, I feel like someone swiped the ankle and caused me to fall. Will I ever climb out once again and feel at peace?

Why does the body turn against itself? Adding this to my list of unanswered questions.