Still 318

Still 318.

Well, technically 317.8 but I think that's cause I pooped right before I weighed myself.

I can't decide how to feel about this.

One day I'm pissed that I weigh so much. I get mad at myself, at the fact that ice cream exists, my genes, anything. I torture myself with thoughts about what I might look like if I wasn't so big. I think about other people that have amazing weight loss stories and I envy them. I hate that my clothes don't fit, that I have to look for things with more than one X on the label and that ordering online is the only place I can find clothes without fucking sequins on them.

I think about how I look when I'm out and about with other people that are smaller than me. Do I look like a freak? A giantess of lard? Does it even matter that I showered and at least tried to look decent? Am I just destined to be the fat girl stereotype? What must others think about me?

Other days I don't care. I don't mean I'm apathetic, although I have those days too. I mean I like myself, and I like how I look and I have ice cream for dinner without beating myself up about it. I look at people with amazing weight loss stories and think, 'good for them,' instead of wishing I was in their shoes. I feel good in the clothes I have on and even smile at my reflection in the mirror as I get dressed. I don't even look at the labels.

I have fun when I'm out with my friends. I laugh and joke and enjoy myself. I don't care what others think about me because I know it ultimately doesn't matter. I feel good on those days.

I argue with myself.

If you would lose weight, you'd feel so much better!
If you ate that ice cream/toast/pasta, it would taste amazing and why not enjoy food?

If you were smaller, you'd have more energy!
If you didn't take that hike/ski trip/other random sporty activity it would be fine because you sincerely like curling up in your chair with a book over those things anyway.

If you didn't weigh so much you'd be able to find more of a selection in the clothing department!
If you give a shit. People so don't care about what you're wearing. You know that.

I just want to be ok with who I am one hundred percent.

I like my insides, a lot actually. After years of ongoing support, kindness and encouragement from friends and family, I am out of the darkness that haunted me predominantly in my 20s. I know and believe I'm kind, caring, funny and honest. I know that people trust me and that I'm loved.

The outsides...well...sometimes, like I said, I'm ok with them. But I'd say it's at a 50/50% right now on how I'm going to feel about my appearance on any given day. Not gonna lie, hormones play a part. If my period is close, I might change my clothes 8 times before leaving the house. And I usually will end up in my standard uniform of a black v-neck and jeans.

Still 318 and every day I feel different about it. Maybe that's ok. I don't know. I can't decide.

Being an Empath

So quickly things can change.

I've been learning more about what it means to be an empath and it kind of sucks.

You feel fucking everything. When someone you care for hurts, you hurt too. If they are angry, sometimes you get angry too. It's a weird thing to be-empathetic.

I'm not always a fan.

Empathy: the psychological identification with or vicarious  experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitude of another

Or....

Feeling everything about everyone all at the same time as 
feeling your own feelings. 


I sometimes wish I didn't feel things so strongly. It would be so much easier if I could just be logical for a day. If I could ignore all the parts inside of me that are begging to cry or curl up on the corner of the couch and pretend I'm all alone. 

I don't even want to be around my cats when I get like this. I become so withdrawn and sad. I make myself watch cartoons and eat food-though the junk food seems easy enough to consume.  I go to bed early because I feel emotionally exhausted and then toss and turn all night. 

I don't have a reason to feel sad. I'm in a great relationship-truly, he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. There isn't anything wrong but it feels like everything is. 

I don't know if its because I'm extra empathetic or if I'm just conquering a dark spot. I don't know what it is but it sucks and I just kinda wish I could stop feeling it for a little while. 

I want to know what it's like to not feel this way all the time.

She Hulk

I'm annoyed. Irritated. Frustrated. Pissy. Sad.

I have a checklist that I go through before I finally admit I'm going through a bout of depression.

Are you PMSing?
Did you change something in your diet?
Have you been smoking too much pot?
What kind of stresses are you currently dealing with?
Is it the annual date of something tragic?

In other words, I try to find out what the fuck is wrong with me because even now, 20 years later, I refuse to accept that diagnosis. 'Patient shows severe Anxiety/Depression; Borderline Personality Disorder'

Hell of a label.

I know, don't limit myself to that. I'm more than my mental illness. (Christ. Even writing 'mental illness' pisses me off.) Still feels like a label.

I don't want it.

Today might just be a bad day I suppose. It started off pretty gnarly. I woke up around 3am, crying uncontrollably. I woke to my fella gently saying over and over that it was ok, that he was here and that brought comfort but it didn't make the dream fade.

I keep seeing bits of it flashing in my mind throughout my day.

I starting cleaning the house. I used elbow grease and five different cleansers to get rid of bathroom grime and bring distraction. I took out the garbage and straightened up the living room. I did normal things.

I went to take a shower and the faucet came off in my hand. I stood there, naked and sweaty from chores in summer heat and got pissed. A frustrating situation sure, but for a split second I wanted to rip the whole wall down.

I tried to fix it, couldn't and got irate just in time for my fella to come home for lunch. I took a few breaths, a shower and apologized for acting like She-Hulk.

After he went back to work I sat in my chair and cried. It wasn't like the sobbing that woke me this morning. These tears had no point but to escape and it brought me no relief.

I walked outside, took deep breaths under the trees and it did nothing. I didn't even water the yard today.

Today was no different than last Thursday.

I'm not PMSing.
I've done nothing different with my diet except eliminate Ben & Jerry's as a food group which I'm pretty sure is a good thing.
I actually cut back smoking pot. Wasn't doing anything for me-couldn't even relax me.
Money or lack thereof is always a stressor but it's not any worse than it has been for awhile now.
It's the middle of July and I can't think of anything that is the anniversary of something awful.

I feel irritated. I feel frustrated. Pissy. And sad. I'm not sleeping well and I don't care about anything.

I just have depression.

Texting with Dad

Dad is on Facebook. Last night he commented on a post I made recently regarding my distaste of those fucking yellow minions and wished we could just be over them already:

"No Sh--"
and then, "I hate sea lions."

Fair enough.

He probably misread 'minion' as 'sea lion' because beer. Kudos for being conscious of the swear even though I hardly care about such things. Especially from him. We have a joke that he tells people he doesn't know where my 'fucking mouth' came from.

It gets a giggle.

He also posted a response to a welcome back for my uncle (his brother) that has just come back to visit.

"Awe wonder!! Ain't it great ?  Love it. Keep on keeping on. Old people rule !"

Seeing his posts on Facebook amused me and reminded me why I admire him so. Clearly he's having a good time enjoying life, with or without beer and I love him for it. I sent him a text and below is the conversation we had.

"I love you dad!"

"Love you too kid!!
You are my kid you know."

"Oh thank god! I had been suspicious of the mailman for years!" (Sarcasm is also something I might have learned from him.)

"L. O. L. !!!!"  (I love that each letter is capitalized and separated with a period, emphasizing the laghter.)

"And you are very much my dad."

"I know that!! Love you."

"I love you too silly old man."

"Leon (his brother) is out he's been up 34 hours."

"Jesus! That's too much! Why?"

"Just having too much fun."

"That's a good reason I guess. :) "

"We do that shit."

"I know it. It's good for you"

"We had crab&cheese& walls walls sweets sandwich's. So now we're done. Love you good night"

"Sounds delicious? Rest well daddy. Love you too!"

Three minutes passes where I sit in my chair smiling at our exchange. The phone buzzes and it's dad once more.

"I meant Walla"

I know :)

No Talking

Why does our brain talk to us when we yearn for silence?

I just wanted to watch tv for a bit before I went to bed.

My brain decided to play an ugly 'what if' scenario instead.

What will happen when dad dies? 

I wouldn't know it had happened. Not right away. I'm sure someone would call me...but who? When? How long after?

How would he die? Accident? His heart? He's not sick like mom was-it could be anything.

Would they know which number is mine in his phone?

Who would I call first? How would I even begin to plan a funeral or wake or whatever it is that you're supposed to plan? He did everything for mom's service. I was too numb.

Who would I call to ask for advice? Who would rumble kind words to me when I needed to hear them most?

What would I do without him?

Would I be ok again? It took a long time after mom.

My brain made me look at the phone, again and again, waiting for it to glow with a call. I started checking it again and again, sure that it had just buzzed. The call about mom came early in the morning but you never know.

I know as I get older, he does too and for every moment I cherish with him, I anxiously let time go. We all end but the mere thought of dad not being there chills me.

We talk often and sometimes he sounds more tired than I'd like. If he coughs more than the cigarettes usually trigger, I imagine the worst.

Why? Why does my brain do this shit? I am realistic. I know anything could happen, at any time and that's about all I know. The only thing inevitable is change they say.

It's the severity of the 'what if' that bothers me so. I imagine everyone thinks about death at times. It's everyone's last chapter.

So vivid for me, this terrible thought. And all I wanted was to watch a little tv. But it stays. 

I know I could call him now, if I needed to. I could make sure he was snoring in his chair in front of a sports channel, but I'm almost sure he is. If he's not sleeping, he's hanging out with friends. He's drinking and laughing and having a good time being young at 73.

He's not worried that the phone will ring at any moment, devestating news on the other end. He's living his life and dammit, I must try harder to do that too.

He's taught me so many things. To live. To enjoy life and make the most of it. To do what makes you happy.

Don't worry so much, he'd say.

It feels like my brain is against me. It won't let me have peace. It shrieks at me with everything that might go wrong in a tidal wave of anxiety and it usually starts with thoughts of his death. It mixes in with memories of losing others I love. And it stays.

318

I'm putting the number out there.

318

That's my weight.

It's only a number.
It does not define me.
But.
It is too much.

I had my picture taken yesterday with a group of friends. It's happened before. I was showing it to my fella later and it occurred to me that while I was smiling and happy, I was a lot bigger than my friends. Even my head looked bigger and that weirded me out.

I threw away the stash of chocolates I had in the cupboard and when we went shopping, I got fruit instead of ice cream. Is going cold turkey on the sweets a bad thing? I don't think so. But it's scary.

Eating sweets is something I really like doing. I like the crunch of an M&M or the soft gooey middle of a brownie. I like the cold smooth texture of ice cream or the warm crumble of a cookie. I am a fan of sweets. My body is not.

I have low back pain. My feet and knees hurt. I have pain in my wrists and elbows, shoulders and hips. I don't run because it hurts. I don't jump or walk fast because it hurts. I snore and have digestive issues.  I am not particularly healthy. I have decent blood sugars at the moment but diabetes and heart disease were prominent in my mother. I am at high risk and have been diagnosed as 'borderline diabetic' before.

Why didn't I do something about it then? I don't know. I guess I didn't think it was that bad. Borderline is not actual I rationalized.

I can't do that to myself anymore.

I've never shared my weight before. It's a big fucking number and I'm not particularly stoked about it. So I gotta try and do something about it.

Last night, I lay in bed with my fella and believed him when he told me I was beautiful. I thought about the picture of me with the girls and of that number. And I promised myself to try.

Maybe if I have that number out there, out for others to see, I'll feel more likely to try and change it.

I don't want to change it because I feel like society hates the way I look or because Oprah thinks I can't wear a crop top. I don't want to change because I want to please someone else. I want to be healthy and live.

I've remembered what life can hold for me and I want to be around and run and jump and live the hell out of it.

318. Yes, it's a big number. But it is not ME.

First up, the sweets elimination. I will allow myself only one day per week of partaking in yummy things. Since my fella has this regimen (that he created for himself long ago) the chance of it being a bit easier to follow is high.

I've already cut back on carbohydrates because his diet calls for it* and that's been relatively easy. I still have toast in the morning with my coffee but I don't have to have it slathered with jam.

*I did NOT change my diet because he told me to, pressured me to or because he hid the bread. I recognize that it's not healthy to have carbs as the main source of food and consciously made the descision myself to cut them back. 

I'm not going to weigh myself freakishly often but enough to hold myself responsible. I have goals and they are not numbered.

I want to sit in an airplane seat and be comfortable. I want to sit in chair and not worry that my hips will spill over the sides. I want to cross my legs at the knee, not just the ankle. I want to run.

I may not always feel so positive about this and I recognize that. I may have days where that number is bigger than it is now. I just want to try. Really try. For me.

Snowing

Ever been snowed? I mean, like when you meet someone and you think they're amazing-a real gem-and then later you realize they're just awful?

I've hired a couple people that have snowed me. One guy came into his interview wearing a suit and tie. He laughed and answered the questions with enthusiasm and promise. I hired him with confidence. Within a week I realized I'd made a mistake. He would suddenly not feel well on days when a football game was on. He would have a back injury in the middle of the week and then be fine the next day. When he was at work he'd wander the aisles, touching product but never actually doing anything. I found out after I fired him that he used to cat call women as they walked by the store-claiming he was 'drumming up business'.

I promoted someone that ended up stealing from us. 

I promoted a girl that was stoned all the time. 

I hired one guy that I ended up firing after a month because he did nothing but sit behind the counter. The rest of the team celebrated his departure. 

The first person I ever fired was a 60 something year old woman. She and I had been working nights together for months and had many a conversation about life. I knew deep down she wasn't a very good employee but now suddenly I was her boss and expected to do something about it. 

The day came when I had to sit down with her and explain why she couldn't work with us anymore. I was a wreck. I was shaking, crying and felt absolutely terrible. It was 2 weeks before Thanksgiving, she was an elderly woman that lived alone and had recently confessed that she had nothing-not even enough money to pay for heat through the winter. And I was about to fire her. 

She seemed angry at first, then quickly let it go. She actually ended up comforting me before leaving the store. 

The staff hated me for awhile. They had no problem telling me how unfair they thought it was that I'd fired someone who had been with the company longer than me. Someone that in fact had helped show me around the store, given me countless rides home and been one of the few people to show support when I'd been promoted. 

I didn't blame them. I hated me too. I battled over whether I'd done the right thing or if I'd succumbed to the clutches of a coporate way of thinking. I lost myself for a little while and nearly quit a handful of times. I listened to staff tell me they thought I was a shitty leader, that I didn't know what I was doing. I believed them. I heard them say often they didn't want to work for me. 

Eventually I pushed through the negativity. I befriended and clung to anyone that seemingly understood what I was going through as a very new, very scared manager. 

I learned how to respond to harsh criticism with a tough skin. I learned how to tell someone to fuck off without saying exactly that. I learned how to hire. And to fire. I learned how to help others see when they should move on too. I became a mentor and a good person. A strong and effective leader that still had a heart. I found balance. 

So much of what I learned as a manager has bled into my everyday life. I still make mistakes and get snowed from people, but not like I used to. I listen to my gut, my intuition. I pay attention to my feelings when I first meet someone and how I feel after I've spent time with them. I give people a chance to be who they are and then decide if I want to 'hire' them. We choose our friends, our people as we get older and how wonderful that I've learned how to do just that. 

I have a wonderful support system of friends and family and friends that are family and it feels....warm. No chance of snow. 

Surrounded

I am surrounded by love. I have friends, family, my fella...and yet I still worry that I'm not going to be accepted by...who? That random person in the store?

I wish I didn't have these thoughts. They make life very challenging sometimes.

Going into a bakery or an ice cream parlor makes me anxious. It feels like all eyes are on me, wondering what the hell I'm doing in there-certainly I don't need a treat.

Walking through the clothing section in most stores makes me uncomfortable. I can't even look at the smaller sizes. Instead, I rifle through the brightly colored floral patterned bedazzled tops and jeans that evidently is the preferred style for plus size women. I often end up in the men's section, selecting a tshirt that's usually black.

Meeting new people is hard sometimes. It's not as bad as it used to be-especially here it seems people are a bit more accepting-but it's still hard.

Going to events where a nicer type of dress is suggested-like the ballet or a play or even a really nice dinner out-spikes the anxiety. I never feel like what I'm wearing fits the way it should. It feels like everyone is looking at my clothes and thinking, 'Oh that does NOT look right on a girl her size'.

I choose things like plain black dresses and shirts because it's difficult to find something wrong with them. I rarely wear shirts without sleeves because I feel like my upper arms are one of the more disgusting parts of me. I used to wear shorts more often-I actually liked my legs. But years of being on my feet and the birth of varicose veins along with cellulite and scars have changed my mind.

I don't always feel this way about myself. I get up and get dressed and go out in public, meet people, smile...I function. I don't often feel ugly anymore but I did for a long time. It's a feeling I was used to feeling and that's hard to change.


I don't always think people are judging me. But sometimes, when I'm sitting in a bar and I've just had to move the table so I can fit in the booth...

I struggle with remembering that I am loved and accepted by the only people that matter. My friends, my family, my fella.

And my cats.

What Life Means to You

"Life"

The pursuit of happiness
exploration
adventure
and love

Joy

Birth
breath
sucks

Depends on the day

Irony

Springtime
the lion
king
all the animals
Circle of life

Bop magazine
Ring pops
Lip smackers
Wet 'n wild
Nail polish

Turtles

The game
of
dearly beloved

We are gathered here
to get through this
thing
called
a gift
a treasure
the game
Breathing.

Bruce said
baby
I said
death.

Being
the bible

Cereal

Something that a lot of
people
take for granted
But
It's actually
A very precious
Thing

Love

Water

The breath
of life
is
Love.


*This poem was created from the answers of friends when asked, "When you hear the word 'life' what is the first thing you think of. #Lovewins