April 14, 2006
I realize by now that I'm not a dependable blogger and that's okay with me. When I say that I am doing this for myself, I really am for the most part. I like having my own little online presence and one place to keep the thoughts and events that I think are worth documenting. It wouldn't be worth it to me if I felt guilt for not having updated in many weeks. Of course, my audience is so small and I know you're either a) my friend or b) accustomed to my lack of updates so that helps too.
I wrote awhile back on my feelings about my weight and felt strongly that it was time for a change. I still feel that way, although nothing has changed dramatically on the outside to prove it. Typically, this would bother me but I've been doing a lot of reading, writing, and soul-searching over the last few months and I've started creating again.
Do you believe that if you tell yourself you aren't any good at something that eventually, you will believe it?
I do.
And that's what I've been doing for many, many, many years. The fear of failing has been too great for me so I've lied to myself to lessen the disappointment of not doing the many things I'd like to do.
This includes activities like cooking, creating art, decorating, singing, writing, cleaning, dressing myself, dating, mothering, and losing weight.
I realize that all this time, I've filled my mind with phrases such as,
"I can't cook."
"I don't have a very good eye for decorating."
"I never know what looks good on me so I just wear black."
"I'm not that good of a singer."
"My writing is okay but my grammar sucks and I think everything has basically been written about so I wouldn't have anything original to say."
"I'm not a very good housekeeper."
"I'll never have another child. I don't think I'm very good at parenting."
"I'll never stick to a diet."
"That guy has absolutely none of the qualities I'm looking for but he's interested so I should go out with him anyway...I'm probably just too picky."
"One day, someone will realize I'm a fraud."
I have an excuse for everything. I'm so fucking sick of it too. I don't cook for my son and I don't cook for my family because I've been filling my head with the, "I can't cook." mantra since I was a young child. In my family, my mother and oldest sister have been the cooks. My son has heard me say it also and so he says, "eeewww, you're gonna cook?!" as if his life is ending. He doesn't really even give anything I cook a chance because he already believes that it is going to suck. Granted, I'm not very experienced with cooking. But, I can learn. That's where I've gone wrong. Instead of just saying that I need to learn more about something, I write it off as something I "can't" do.
The cooking is just one example. You could substitute cooking for any of those other activities and the paragraph would still be the same.
I also firmly believe that this self-deprecation has been my crutch -- my reason for not succeeding beyond my goals or dreams. I've managed to just get by.
So, I've started creating things that inspire me to fill my head with positive words. I'm scrapbooking again, not just for my dog or son, but for me too. I've found that scrapbooking has all of the elements I need and like: photography, hands-on with stickers, paper, and embellishments, and journaling. I keep my eyes and mind open to ideas and lessons that are all around me.
Recently, I read an article in Oprah's magazine by Joyce Roche, the CEO of Girls, Inc. Joyce wrote a letter to her younger self and in it she explained that all those years, she had worked so hard, believing someone would "find her out". She said in her letter, "Stop it." and then listed many things she wanted her younger self to believe.
And that's where the photo in the mirror comes in. I was moved by the letter and printed many of her sentences on a sheet of vellum. Then, I stuck them to my bathroom mirror. Doing that was instantly gratifying and every single time I walk in my bathroom now and catch a glimpse of them, I feel like I can breathe and that I will be okay.
February 24, 2006
Today, I joined Curves. Yes, yes, I know it's not a "real" gym and that the founder gave a bunch of money to anti-abortion organizations some years ago (and probably still does but people seem to forget about things after the publicity dies down) but here's the thing:
When you weigh as much as I do, it just doesn't matter. I have to do what's best for me because my weight just isn't something to whine about over a pint of ice cream anymore. I've allowed myself to spiral to a place where I fear for my life. I know that diabetes, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, and quite possibly heart disease are on my horizon and I'm only 31 years old. Well fuck that. I refuse to sit around and die. I've already allowed myself to become someone I hate.
So, once I decided to get up, I knew that a regular fitness center would not work for me. I'd be embarrassed and humiliated. I hate when people say, "But the fit, skinny people at the gym don't care what you look like." or "The trainer doesn't judge you, he/she is just so excited to get to help you." You know, that's probably true for someone with 50 lbs or less to lose. When you need to lose over 150 lbs to just be considered slightly overweight, people notice you.
That's something new to me. Recognizing that people notice me only because of my weight is something I didn't think I had ever experienced. But now, I notice it all the time. I'm constantly tugging at my clothes, hoping I look half way decent. I feel peoples' stares at me as I walk across a room. I hate sitting down in public because I carry all of my weight in my stomach. For some reason, I think I look semi-decent when I'm standing up, but when I sit down, it all just comes bulging out of my center and I know...I just know that people look at me and think, "How can she breathe with all of that bulge? How can that be comfortable?" And I wish I could just take a pin and poke the air out of it. Only it's not air. It's fat.
I fear I've become the woman people loathe. I think people look at me and wonder why I don't try to do something with myself. I even sometimes think I was "let go" at my job because my boss obviously loves a cute young girl.
And then, I make a statement like that and wonder who is this girl I've become...I've become a girl that cries discrimination because I'm fat? Nope, that's going to have to stop. No whiners here.
I do believe that it all goes back to how big I've become. I cannot say the number out loud. I cried when they weighed me today. I was shocked. And then I didn't know if I should be shocked at how much I weighed or shocked that I had completely stopped caring about myself to the point that I truly had NO IDEA how much I weighed. I've gained 44 lbs. in a year. ONE YEAR. I wonder if I'm sick. That seems like a lot of weight to gain in one year. Shit.
I've been following Robyn's progress after WLS and I'm jealous of her. (I'm happy for her too though!) I wanted that surgery so bad, but I didn't want to have the surgery part. I wish there was a way to have the results without the surgery. Ha! Don't we all! (I think I found a blog where a guy is following the gastric bypass diet for after surgery -- only he didn't have the surgery. And he's been losing the weight. Anyone know that link?) The thing with me is that I was too terrified of being put under anesthesia. I believed that when my fear of dying because of my weight grew stronger than my fear of being put under anesthesia, then it would be time for me to have the surgery. I hadn't reached that point yet. Now, I have. But I'm without health insurance so that's no longer an option. Now, I do Curves.
I feel good about my choice. The women there were extremely kind and supportive. I felt accepted and encouraged from the moment I stepped in the door. I also think it will be good for me socially. Now that I'm strictly working from home, the opportunity for social interaction with adults is slim to none. Going to Curves three times a week will give me that and I hope with added energy I'll feel up to doing a lot more this Spring (I would love to be able to do some landscaping in my front yard -- it looks horrible -- but I can't bend on my knees for very long without them hurting. How pathetic.) Ah well, I know that with even just the exercise, I'll feel more capable of doing things and my energy level will increase regardless of what happens with the scale.
It's obvious to me as I re-read this entry that I also need to work on my self-esteem. I've never felt quite so negatively about myself as I do today and over the last six months or so. I literally cannot look in my eyes in the mirror. When I undress to take a shower, I will only look at my breasts in the mirror as I walk to the shower because they are the only part of me that I still find acceptable and respectable. Sometimes though, I cup them in my hands and wonder, "Are you just blobs of fat and I'm really flat-chested?" You see, I've always been overweight. I have no clue what I would look like weighing less than 200 lbs. I was a seventh grader when I surpassed 200 lbs and just beginning puberty. I don't know what my adult face is supposed to look like. Is that bizarre to anyone else? It is to me.
So, I'll be weighed again in a month and I'll see what happens when you sweat to the oldies with the anti-abortion supporters. (If I send a donation to a pro-choice organization, will that cancel out my indirect support of an anti-abortion organization? Maybe I'll do that anyway.)
January 12, 2006
One thing that I've rarely been able to resist is a lollipop or as I call them, suckers.
I don't know what it is about suckers but I can eat them by the handful. My favorites are Tootsie Pops. And I cannot tell you how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll in a Tootsie Roll Pop because I am like the owl in the commercial and only get to about five licks or so before I'm chomping into it. My teeth thank me, I'm sure.
But did you know that Tootsie Pops are evolving?
After decades of cherry, orange, grape, and raspberry delight (I never cared for the Chocolate Tootsie Roll Pop), they are adding new flavors. And good flavors at that. So far I've had the sour apple, watermelon and strawberry. I have to admit that I'm a huge strawberry sucker fan. Hell, I like all strawberry flavored candy, not just suckers.
The Tootsie Pop is also joining the legions of other Super-Sized candy and candy bars by coming in a Jumbo Pop size. I don't like that. I tried one and it hurt my mouth to wrap around something of that size. (Hello, Perverts). And the miniature ones they make, while cute and charming, cause me to eat 20 or so before I think I've had what equals one regular sized pop. So, I think I'll be sticking with the regular size Tootsie Pops for now but I do like the addition of new flavors.
My point is that suckers are one of those favorite things that I loved so much as a kid and carried it over into my adult life. I loved the big whirly pops you could get at DisneyWorld with the rainbow colors. I loved Charms Blow Pops and Ring Pops and Dum Dums! Who can resist a Cream Soda flavored Dum Dum? (Note: Did you know that you can buy a 30 pound case of Dum Dums for less than 50 bucks?? That's 1,800 pops!) I loved the cheap-o ones you could buy for a dollar that were all attached to one another in one long row of delicious, hardened, flavored sugar on a stick. Those were usually the best at Halloween, Christmas and Valentine's Day. Any other time I just felt ripped off for some odd reason. And I also really like chupa chups. What is that candy centered filling anyway? I never figured it out but I love those too.
And what other candy do you know of that is as versatile as a sucker? You can make anything into a sucker. Pacifiers, alien heads, whistles, baby bottles, and even genitals! And, they even make accessories for suckers like keychains and the little spinning thing that spins the sucker for you so that you don't even have to exert the energy it takes to move your tongue, it does the licking for you!
Yes, this is one of the thousands of reasons that I possibly weight more than all of the lollipop guild members combined.
This has been your insight into the mind of a fat girl on a Thursday evening -- suckers and munchkins. You're Welcome.
January 06, 2006
Tonight, I found myself watching an old episode of Oprah that I recorded a few days back. Oprah first interviewed a woman named Stacey when she weighed 550 pounds. After having gastric bypass surgery, she returned to the show, having lost 300 pounds.
The thing that really struck a chord with me was the total honesty this woman had about what being fat does to a person's emotional health.
I listened to her talk about how scared she was to fly because she knew she couldn't fit into the seats. She talked about how she couldn't clean herself after using the bathroom so she had to use the shower attachment. She had to shave her face each day because her hormones were so out of whack that if she didn't shave, she'd have a beard. People would either look at her and laugh or they would try to avoid looking completely. She talked about how isolated and alone she felt.
And I realized that I'm not quite to the point she was, but I'm well on my way. The truth is that even people who talk about being obese rarely mention the really humiliating side effects because, well it's humiliating.
I'm humiliated. I am out of control. I don't think I can do this. I don't even know where to start. Every day I tell myself that today will be the day that I begin, but then I wake up and don't. It looks so easy for other people (even though I know it isn't). Why is it so difficult for me to just fucking do it? I need help. I don't think I can do it alone but I don't think I have the courage to reach out beyond this little white box.
I think about my weight every waking moment of my day. I think about how I'm ready to go home after a couple of hours of shopping. I pretend that I'm just not much of a shopper but the truth is that my feet and back ache from hauling around my weight. My weight is the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing before I go to sleep. I'm consumed with negative feelings towards myself. I am convinced that if I'm not funny, no one would ever want to be my friend.
My son is embarrassed to be seen with me at his school. He'd rather be alone at school functions than to have me there. This is not an exaggeration or a moment of me being dramatic. He has told me several times that he's embarrassed.
I have PCOS. I don't think I'm very pretty. I settle for relationships that aren't healthy for me because I am scared no one else will come along. I isolate myself. I didn't attend my work's Christmas dinner because I didn't want all of the doctors that I work for to see me eat (I wouldn't have eaten very much anyway).
My bookshelf is full of self-help books and my old journals are riddled with pages and pages of new plans and renewed energy to get with the program. I need an intervention. I cry and cry because I just don't know what to do. Yes, I know to stop eating like a pig and start moving. Yes, I know to start making healthy choices and all of the other stuff. I'm an expert at how to lose weight. I just can't do it. I can't make it stick. I sabotage myself.
And now, I'm at my highest weight ever and for the first time in my life, I think I'm killing myself. I truly believe that if I don't get a grip with this, I'm going to die before I'm 40. And I have so much weight to lose, that I just feel defeated before I even begin.
Maybe I'm finally experiencing my rock bottom. But, I'm so terrified of failing that I'm having a difficult time even beginning.
The tears just keep flowing. If only they weighed something.
December 31, 2005
Hello World, It's me again!
Boy, this whole blogging thing didn't work out the way I wanted it too. I've had many things going on in my life that I really wanted to chronicle here but I just never made this important enough to update it.
But! I'm here now! And ready to party 2006 into existence. Not really.
The truth is that some parts of my life are great and some parts of my life aren't. I think that's probably how it is with everyone. We all have things we wish were a little different. We all think that life would be better or easier if only such and such happened.
The good parts are that I'm still involved with the man named Seth. Honestly, I don't know why I picked the name Seth for him because it just doesn't fit. You know how names seem to just magically pick people? Well, his name is Christopher and if that name doesn't fit him properly, nothing else will. He spent Christmas here with me and my son. For the first Christmas Eve in 9 years, I had a real living, breathing man in my bed. Merry Christmas, indeed!
We went to my parents' house and ate like the possessed. You know what I mean? You know how possessed people look all crazy with their glossed over eyes and their big slimey fangs and greedy hands...kind of like something out of Lord of the Rings. That's how we acted for two straight days. We gorged on everything from Beef Burgandy with rice to homemade rolls, to the most gloriously cheesy homemade macaroni and cheese you have ever laid your tongue on to homemade coconut cake (3 layers!) to peanut butter balls and Martha Stewart's chiffon cupcakes with creamy chocolate icing...it was just all too much.
We ate so much, in fact, that my son actually threw up in the back of Christopher's car on the way home from my parents. "Merry Christmas, Mom...Here's your gift...bleeccchhh" I don't think that I slept at all that night, so worried that my son would get sick again. You see, Christopher's snore is like that of the nightly foghorn from the ship carrying out the dead to the underworld. So, I have to wear earplugs in order to get any sleep. Therefore, I was worried that I wouldn't hear my son and he'd be crying for me and puking all over his flannel snowmen sheets and I would be completely oblivious to it. My point is, I realized that my son is never too old for me to stop worrying about him as if he is still 3 years old.
He's going to be 11 years old in three months. I can't believe that in August of 2006, he will be in JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL. I am only 31 years old. How did I end up with a kid in JUNIOR HIGH? I feel like I just left JUNIOR HIGH. It frightens me, truly. I can't think about it for very long or I get a panic attack. Girls are going to want to start calling him and he's going to start looking at his penis in a whole new light and I just don't think I'm ready for this next stage at all. God help me.
But you know, why do they send the kids to Junior High so quickly now? When I was in school, we didn't go to Junior High (or Middle School for some of you) until 8th grade! We were in Elementary through 7th. Even after I moved to Tennessee, we still were in Elementary through 6th. They've moved it back even further now and I really don't like that. It just seems that children are more innocent and easily controlled in Elementary school. They get this big ego boost on them and think that they are going off to the big, bad Junior High and they change. Kids become evil and it takes them a good three or four years to figure out they don't have to be evil. Maybe I'm just projecting my own horrible experience of Junior High on to him. Maybe it will be okay. There's one thing for certain, I have no other way around it so we'll have to get through it somehow.
Anyway, as I was saying before I went off on a tangent, there have been good things. Obviously I'm feeling fortunate for my son and Chris and my family. I'm also very fortunate that I've got a job now that allows me to work from home! So, I drop my son off at school and then go work and I'm able to pick him up from school each afternoon. I can't tell you how wonderful it has been to be able to be at home with him in the afternoons. I love that I'm giving him that now because I wasn't able to do that for years. So, yes, some very good things.
But there have been a few not so good things. My weight has sky rocketed to a size that only Nell Harper would understand. It's really gotten out of control. Something stupid has clicked in my mind that's given me the impression that I can eat whatever the hell I want to eat and god damn the person that tries to stand in my way. Well, you saw that list of foods earlier that we ate on Christmas. So just take that list and add a few more items on to it. It's been ridiculously stupid of me. I'm really taking a major risk with my life by just carelessly eating whatever I wanted. I've been consumed with consumption. I've been valiantly standing in the center of the National Obesity Crisis and raising my fist in a mighty salute to officially fuck off. And over the last month or so, I've gone on an all out gluttony fest by cooking treats and cookies and candies every day for 15 days straight leading up to Christmas. It's been fun and I've enjoyed it quite a bit but you know, I'm tired of hurting myself for the sake of stubbornness. I've been so insistant upon not caring about my weight and what people thought of me because I wanted to just be happy and free like my skinny counterparts who don't have to worry about consuming a 2 Cheeseburger Value Meal, Super-Sized with a Coca-Cola. I wanted to just know how it felt to be normal for once. And now I know. It feels fucking miserable and anyone who eats like I've been eating for the last year or so should probably consider a colonic.
So, I'm doing something about all of that this year. I haven't really decided exactly what I'm going to say or do, but this blog is going to be getting a makeover and some new toys and I'm going to just kind of blow this mother out. It won't be a weight-loss blog, but there will definitely be updates in a different kind of way. But here's the thing I've decided: I'm not telling anyone in my actual life that I'm changing my way of eating. I'm not going to discuss my choices with them or even let them know that I'm trying to lose weight. The reason for this is that I'm tired of feeling judged and policed by well meaning friends and family members. If I tell you that I am on a diet, and we go out for dinner and you see me order a cheeseburger and fries, I do not need nor want your eyes even slightly glancing my way as if to say, "Is that on your diet?". If I tell you that I'm on a diet, I don't want to have to justify my choice of plan. If I tell you that I'm watching what I eat, I don't want you to ask me every time you see me how much weight I've lost. Basically, I just want to do this and be left alone about it with no fear of slipping because of who is watching my weight also.
I realized that I would need to share it with someone though. I have too much going on in my mind to not let it out every now and then. So, I'm going to share it with my friends in the box. I don't think anyone's actually reading this anymore. If you are, would you say hi to me? But, It's okay that no one is reading it. I think if I keep updating, maybe people will come around more. It's worth a try.
Anyway, that's about it for me. It's New Years Eve. Chris is at his home in Atlanta and I'm in mine in Chattanooga. The sun is setting and soon it will be the dawn of another year. What will this year bring to you? What hopes do you have for yourself? Does the new year really feel like a re-birth, a chance to start anew, or do you refuse to give in to the whole new resolution thing? (By the way, I bought all of my research books on my new eating plan last week so that I wouldn't be a complete cliche.)
I wish you whatever it is you want most for yourself.
Joy
July 16, 2005
I know that you remember me; I am the healthy girl that is living inside of you, way down deep, buried under years of gluttony for all things sugar. You hear me, because I am healthy and happy and proud of who I am, so I tend to always put thoughts into your mind. I am the girl who weighs exactly how much she should. I am fit and can run at least a few miles without getting a cramp in my side. I am vibrant and beautiful and ALIVE.
You, on the other hand, are a mess.
You ate chocolate donuts for breakfast this morning, followed up with a cholesterol feast of pizza, “extra cheese, please” and a sweet tea. Then, for dinner, you ate mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce and a bowl of Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream from Bruester’s. Are you getting that there is a Cheese theme at work here? When is the last time you’ve had water or a vegetable? When’s the last time you ate fruit that wasn’t on one of those fruit pizzas you try to make yourself believe are healthy, but really, it’s a big sugar cookie with strawberry cream cheese fruit dip! You tell yourself these lies and you KNOW they are lies, but you keep believing them anyway.
I want you to know that I am not going away. You can stuff me full and I will still find a way to set you free from this prison you have created for yourself.
Do you know what your problem is? Your problem is that somewhere along the way between having your first period and earning your first paycheck, you decided I wasn’t good enough. You decided that it would be best to be ignored and invisible. You decided that you could not contain your sense of humor or semi-intelligence but you could contain your beauty. Eating was the one thing you could do that no one could take from you.
You would get so mad at your mother as a child. You would beg her for sodas and Lucky Charms and French Dip for your chips. She rarely surrendered. Visiting your grandmother’s house, she would have a freshly bought box of Lucky Charms waiting on you with a very nifty prize inside. You would eat ham and potato chips for lunch and you would dip your chips AND ham in the French onion dip. You adored your grandmother and you begged her once to, “Please, when you write your will, leave me your house and a freezer full of pudding pops.” She laughed at you and squeezed you tight and told you that she “adooored” you.
You’ve never had a meal that wasn’t happy. I remember when you were seven years old, sitting at the dinner table, watching your two sisters whimpering and moaning over the horrid green beans they were being forced to eat. Oh, how the abhorred them! But you, you sat there very quietly and watched your father become more impatient with them, telling them that they would sit at that table until they cleaned their plates. And you saw an opportunity to make Dad proud so you cleaned your plate and you held it up and showed it off as if you had just one the cup at Wimbledon. It worked though. Dad smiled at you and your Mother said, “See, Joy cleaned her plate! You can too!”
Your love affair with food didn’t end with green beans. Oh, how fortunate we would be if it had! No, no, you spent many an evening scarfing down cheeseburgers and French fries from McDonalds. It was bad enough that you worked there and had clogged greasy pores as a byproduct, but to actually eat the stuff! Disgusting! Then, when you met alcohol, there was never a drink that you didn’t like. Do you remember that time you drank all SEVEN of your favorite drinks within ONE hour at Senor Frogs and you had to be driven home by some very pissed off friends because you had gotten so totally soused after only 60 minutes? Yes, there was the Blue Bazooka, Sex on the Beach, followed by a Long Island Iced Tea, a Hurricane and of course, a buttery nipple chased with an icy cold Coors Light. I could hurl now just thinking of it.
After you had Jake, it just got worse. You are out of control. I don’t know if I am doing you any favors either. You walk around thinking that you look half decent on most days but then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror or you realize that your shirt gaps in the front when you sit down at your desk. Then, you always look really sad. Almost like you wish you could crawl inside of your skin and completely disappear. That’s what you’ve been doing for years. Hiding. Sure, we’ve had some fun. I’ll give it to you that for a fat girl, you know how to live. I just wish you’d realize that if you shed all of these layers of fat that you’ve been hiding under for so long that you’d be so fucking amazed at how fabulous life can be.
Drunk in St. Louis, Trying to conceal my double chin.
Self-Made Man 