Where have you been... all my life?

I've been here.  STILL here!  Still me.  Still trying.  It's been far too long since I've shared a slice of my life with the internets, so I decided to fire up my keyboard.  I know you've all missed me (and by you all, I mean no one, because I don't have any followers.  Just needed to remind myself of that!) so here goes nothing!

There have been a lot of changes in my big life lately.  Most notably, my Miffy is in school.  Real school!  That means my two little birds have both flown the nest, and I have copious amounts of ME time!  Woohoo! *sad trombone*.  I'm not dealing with it well.  I had huge plans of coffee dates (hot chocolate for me) with my girlfriends, and vigorous workouts at the gym after morning drop off at school, but we're two months in and it hasn't happened.  Why, you might ask?  Because I can't let go.  I wasn't ready for this change.  I need my baby here because she makes me feel needed, and wanted.  So, what's the easiest way to fix my hurt?  Follow her to school!  Which I did, and do, every single morning.  I volunteer (sometimes ALL day) at my daughters' school.  Being needed, and wanted is huge for me, and I bask in it.  Big time.  On the days that I'm not needed for the whole day I just come home and watch the clock until it's time to go and get my girls.  I knew it was going to be a rough transition for me, as I have spent the last 9 years at home with my sweet girls, and not nearly enough time doing anything for myself.  I just don't know how to.  You may roll your eyes, but it is 100% true.  All I think about all day is picking up my little darlings and never letting them go.  I have attachment issues, amirite?  Yesterday I stood outside Miffy's classroom and secretly watched her reading with the teacher.  I couldn't tell if my eyes were watering from pride, or sadness.  The lump in my throat was almost painful.  Obviously, I was crying for both reasons.  I can't believe she is growing up so fast.  I don't even want to get started on Beansie.  Every time I look at her she looks older.  It makes me sad, happy, proud, and sick all at the same time.

Even though I'm spending my days in a place where I know I'm needed, I still feel pretty worthless on a minute to minute basis.  Spoiler alert!!  I'm still fat.  I know, I know...  you're shocked!  ;)  I just celebrated my 35th birthday, which means I have spent approximately 17 years being too fat, and hating myself.  That's a really, really, REALLY long time.  Will this be the year for me?  I have the time to devote to myself, I am back at Weight Watchers for the eleventybillionth time, and I have a great support system of friends surrounding me.  Is it going to work this time?  Who knows.  I can cheer and scream "Rah! Rah! Yes! It! Will!", but that's probably not going to be accurate.   The best I can give you right now is that I will try, and the most I can hope for right now is that someday I will be happy with me, and I will love me.  Deep down that's all I want. Well, that, AND to be able to wear a pair of tall boots.  Impossible to find any that fit my calves.  Blargh.

I'm still standin'...

...but barely!  I'm here, and I'm still fat.  What matters is that I'm here.  It's been a long time since I've posted anything, so I thought I might fire up my keyboard this afternoon and get back into the swing of things.

Not much has changed.  I am a creature of habit and comfort, so this is no suprise.  I had a decent spring, losing about 20 more pounds, and getting really close to being down 40, but in true Skinny Girl fashion I ate most of it back on over the summer and into the fall.  I'm reverting back to my old food lover tricks, and it's making me mental.  Physically I feel like crapola, which in turn makes me feel like crapola mentally.  In my defence (can't believe I'm even defending myself) I do have some sort of mystery stomach issue that is slowly killing me (ok, that's a little bit dramatic, but I'mma go with it).  I've been through some testing, and I'm waiting to see a specialist, so hopefully within the next few months we can get to the bottom of it.  In the meantime, my doctor wants me to try either a gluten-free diet, or an elimination diet.  You'd think I'd be psyched for this.  Actual instruction from a medical professional, telling me to change my ways.  Have I done it?  No.  Why?  Because as previously mentioned, wallowing in self-pity is my thing.  Oh, and I fucking love food.  That too.  My food addiction is going strong.  I wake up with good intentions every single day, but inevitably my love of food takes over.  It should be easy to remedy - just don't buy junk food, right?  Wrong.  I can bake.  Also, it's not always sweets.  It's food in general.  I can stog my fridge with yogurt and carrot sticks and I'll still find myself something shitty to eat.  I am really, really, really creative.

Anyway, I'm back to it.  Accountability is the word of the day.  I'm vowing to go back to the gym, and vowing to eat properly.  I begin and end every day with those same thoughts.  Some day it will happen, right?

Ouch.

So the gym didn't go as planned.  xD (<-- this is a closed eyes laughing face, in case you didn't know!)

I'm a super social person, so I do usually enjoy any time I have out in public.  Social anxieties aside, I usually manage to get by no problem.  If left to my own devices I would simply go to the gym to chat with random people.  (Un)Fortunately, I was meeting KT there, so she made me work.  I started out on the treadmill.  After I walked briskly for about a half an hour, I got off and made my way over to the floor for some weights.  I hate doing this stuff because I always feel like people are watching me, and I look like a complete maroon.  And ultra-maroon, even (thanks Bugs Bunny)!  Regardless, I started with some medicine ball crunches (I'm really trying to target my abs.  Snarf.) and then I reached for a kettlebell.  As soon as I raised it up, I felt a lightening bolt through my back and down my legs.  I slowly put it down, sat down on a huge exercise ball and fought back the tears.  I had such high hopes for myself yesterday, and now they're gone down the tubes!  I made it home, in massive pain, and I was up the entire night.  Luckily I got some good drugs this morning, and hopefully it will work itself out soon because felt really good while I was there.

Hey... who took my picture?  

Here's the "funny" part - While I know it was the kettlebell that set off my back, I have to wonder whether or not my walking on the treadmill had anything to do with it.  Any time I think someone might be watching me I hold myself very stiffly.  In my head I look fabulous, in real life I probably look like one of those competitive speed walkers that looks like their legs are popped out of joint, and they're trying really hard to not crap themselves.  I am 99% sure I had my butt stuck out, and I was probably doing more of a modified "fashion runway" walk, then a "get your ass moving and exercise walk", so that probably didn't help.  I was "walking" pretty fast, and I went for a half hour straight.  I probably loosened up some joint down near my pelvis, and that's when it all went wrong.  Just goes to show that trying to look sexy isn't always the best idea.  And really, who was watching me anyway?  If they were, I'm sure they weren't thinking "wow, look at that graceful supermodel strutting her stuff while she watches the real estate channel on the treadmill tv."  Not to mention I am a sweaty mess when I work out.  Last year I started up with a personal trainer, and she was all "maybe you should bring a towel with you next time, and keep it handy."  What?  You don't want to help me exercise when I'm drenched with perspiration?  Why not?  I'm such an idiot!!



So hopefully this won't last long.  My immediate plan is to be back at it next week.  I didn't even get to make any nicknames for any of the gym goers, but I promise to try harder next time!

Fix me.

I need to go to rehab.  Is there a fat camp for adults?  If I could stand being away from my girls I would totally go.  I wish I could find someone that could fix me.  There must be some professional out there that's looking for a pet project?  It should be me.  A dietician, a personal trainer... anyone.  And yes, I see the fatal flaw in my logic here - I am fully aware that the only person that can fix me, is me.  I just like having someone to look after me I guess.  This probably stems from my childhood somehow.

Today feels like an O.K. day in my world.  These are few and far between, so I'm going to try to make the most of it.  I had a great phone chat with my friend KT last night, and she always makes me feel better.  She's going to go to the gym with me tomorrow evening, which I'll be sure to start documenting.  I like to give nicknames to other gym goers, so I'll do my best to get some sly pictures of them. Isn't that terrible? She's also going to start calling me periodically to see if I'm eating properly!  I think this will be good for me and I hope I don't lie about it. :P  Maybe I should just give her log-in information for my My Fitness Pal account?  I think that might do the trick.

So far today I had some toast, and a slice of cheese.  I was off to a good start until my oldest daughter, who I call Beansie, requested something for her sore throat so I made her a chocolate milkshake - which led to me having my own milkshake.  Alas, all is not lost.  It is still early in the day and I am trying to be optimistic.

Check out this little tidbit I saw on a friends facebook this morning:

And since it's a snow day, what better time!  I realize it's not a huge workout, and certainly isn't enough to make a difference if I just do it once, but maybe I can squeeze it in a few times today.  :)  Beansie and Miffy (my youngest daughter) can do it with me.  

Cross your fingers!  

O.P.P.

Other Peoples' Perceptions.  Of me.

Sometimes (alright, often) I think I need my head examined.  I like to think I'm an intelligent, rational person, but there are a lot of moments where that rational is lost.  I care waaaaay too much about what other people think, or in my case, perhaps what I think people think.

Last night, for example: I'm the only sober person at a house party.  My husband (who I'll call Marc, since that's his name) and I were invited to a birthday party for one of my pseudo-girlfriends.  We chat regularly and do hang out, but I'm not a regular part of her group.  Nevertheless, we were excited to be included (as I always am).  I'm fighting a sinus infection, so I opted out of the drink to be the designated driver, and let Marc get his party on.  The evening was going great, I was being my "funny, confident, outgoing" self, and then the inevitable happens - the sex talk starts.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not a prude...  the issue I have (particularly when I'm sober, and others are not) is that I get reeeeeeeally self conscious because really, who wants to hear gross me talk about sex.  Obviously you get a mental picture in your head when you're listening to these stories (right??), and I can guarantee that no one wants my fat ass to be a part of their mental picture.  So I sit there and laugh, and giggle, and har-dee-har-har along with everyone else's stories, while I hope and pray that no one  looks at me and remembers that I'm disgusting.  In my slow-motion dream sequence everyone is throwing their heads back in joyous laughter, and then they look at me and it's like a big record scratch, and everything stops.  That awkward silence, and finally someone changes the subject.  This brings me back to my first thought - rational.  Would this really happen?  Not likely.  Do I really think it would happen?  Not really.  It could though, so the fear is there.  The scenario is not entirely impossible.  Once again, fat ruins my fun.

Let's talk about my husband.  He is cute, and he's not fat.  He's a little bit of a hunky-hunk, if I do say so myself.  We've been together for half of our lives.  Est. 1995, to be exact - back when I was a 34DD, and a size 28 jean.  So, he's had the hot me.  This is a picture of us from 1997.  I realize I'm not a stick (as I've never been, nor will I ever be a size 2.  I do like my badonkadonk.  I just want it on a smaller scale), but this is who I picture in my head.  For the record, I wanted a much sluttier dress, but my mom wouldn't let me get spaghetti straps on account of my hooters.

Big ups to 1997!

Remember those booths where you used to be able to print your own greeting cards?  He made one for me once that was kind of a jokey tabloid looking page, and inside he wrote "You're so hot you burn my hands"...  I wish I had kept it, but at least it's still burned into my memory.  I cling to these kind of memories like white on rice, because it just reinforces that the skinny girl is real.  She isn't just something I made up.  I was hot.  That's why he was with me.  Well, that's not the only reason obviously.  I do know that much.  But I know when people see us together now they must be thinking "why is HE with HER?"...

I have a lot of strange behaviours.  If we're out at a bar for example, I always encourage Marc to go dance with other girls, and then I pretend I think it's hilarious.  In reality, I think I'm doing it just so he can have a chance to be around someone sexy.  Someone smaller.  Someone he could pick up if he wanted to.  Someone who could give him a lap dance without looking like a freak show.  It's not normally strangers that I direct him to.  A lot of times it's my friends, so I know it's safe, but it still gives him a little bit of "this is what it would feel like to be with someone normal sized."  That's really weird, right?  Seeing it here in black and white sounds really, really pathetic.

I think I need to put a sad face emoticon in here this morning.  :(  Can you sense the worthlessness?  It's actually painful for me to read this.  How would I feel if I knew my daughters hated themselves as much as I hate myself?  Ouch, baby.  Very ouch.

Lying in bed, just like Brian Wilson did.

Do you know that song, Brian Wilson, by the Barenaked Ladies?  There is a line in it where they sing "I had a dream... that I was 300lbs...  and though I was very heavy, I floated 'till I couldn't see the ground."  I remember listening to it back in junior high (singing my fool heart out, natch) and thinking "Ew, 300 lbs?  That's, like, so fat."  Yeah.  *thumbs down*

I'll never forget the day I stepped on the scale and saw that ominous number.  A three.  It's a gross feeling, and I hope you never have to experience it.  To make matters worse, it was at a Weight Watchers meeting, and to add even more insult to injury the last two numbers weren't zeros.  I remember looking at the lady and thinking "what does she think of me?  Why did I do this?" as I fought back tears.  The lump in my throat felt like IT weighed 300 lbs, and I quickly gathered my things and moved on.  I came home and looked at my husband and all I felt was guilt.  I felt sorry for myself, but even more sorry for him.  He didn't deserve a 300+ lb wife.  Who wants to be married to someone who is as wide as they are tall.  Yuck.  Alas, this wasn't my first time at WW.  I had joined numerous times before.  Before this most recent attempt I had another memorable first weigh-in - I got on the scale and it said 292. *sad trombone* I was disgusted, and again, crying.  The lady was very comforting and tried to soothe my pain by telling me I was doing the right thing, and that I "would never see that number again."  At least she didn't lie to me!  I appreciated her faith in me, and I am embarrassed that I let her down.  A complete stranger, really, but guilt is my thing.

I never imagined that this would be my life.  Sometimes I feel like I'd rather be an alcoholic because at least then I'd be drunk instead of obese.  Obese.  What a terrible word, and a terrible category to be in.

Aside from self-loathing, the thing I hate about myself the most is that I'm afraid of so many things.  I know in my head that it's stupid, but I still can't shake it.  Most of the things are silly, like driving a go-cart, or being afraid to climb a ladder to get in a pool because I'm scared I will break it.  I only got in my friends' pool twice last summer because of it.  I spent most of my time standing on the deck watching everyone else have fun, because I wasn't sure how I'd get out of the pool, and if someone saw me break it I would die 1000 deaths.  The first time I allowed myself to get in, I told my friends flat out "If I break your pool ladder, I'm just going to get my stuff, and leave.  Don't talk to me, don't look at me, I don't want anyone to say anything.  I'll just get in my car, and go home."  And honestly, I was probably only 5% joking. I had to put it out there because the awkwardness if it happened would have been unbearable for me.  At least if I break the ice first, it's not as bad.  I hate going into regular clothing stores that don't sell plus size clothes.  This usually happens to me around Christmas and birthday season when I'm shopping for someone else.  When I take my items up to the cash they'll be all "oh, did you want to try these on first?"  "Ooh, good idea!  Let me go try to squeeze my ass into these size 2 dress pants.  I'm sure they will fit perfect."  Do they honestly think that I don't know I'm fat?  Do they think I am completely oblivious to the fact that I won't fit into their clothes?  Ugh.  Hate.  This goes for the old "Would you like me to start a fitting room for you?" spiel as well.  Obviously I will not fit into even your largest size, which might happen to be a 9.  Thanks for coming out though.

I do have other fears that aren't as silly, like being afraid that people won't want to help me because I'm fat.  If my car broke down, I think I'd have to stand on the side of the road for hours because people would laugh at me as they drove by.  Everywhere I walk I go super, super slow because I am terrified of falling.  There is really nothing funnier than someone falling down, but when that person is fat, it makes it all that much funnier.  I can't handle that.  I work so hard at putting up my "I can laugh at myself" façade and I think something like that would completely tear it down.  I wouldn't want all my hard work to go to waste.

So, back to the song.  "Somebody help me, I couldn't see the ground, somebody help me, I couldn't see the ground..." is so true.  I can't see the ground, but it's not because I'm floating like Brian Wilson.  I'm planted a little too firmly on the ground, unfortunately.

Got my mind on my breakfast, and my breakfast on my mind...

My thoughts revolve around food from the minute my eyes open in the morning, to the minute they close at night.  Like a lot of fatties, I don't just eat out of hunger - I eat out of boredom, and most importantly I eat  because food is delicious (duh). Ever since my skinny life was so rudely interrupted there aren't a lot of things that I get pleasure from.  I hold myself back from things that I love because I'm self-conscious, and that in turn leaves me with little to do with my precious time.  Food is my escape.  

I woke up this morning vowing that I would try my best to eat sensibly today.  It's 10:42, and so far so good.  I've had a huge glass of water, and an english muffin with wow butter.  Great, right?  Just to give you a sense of how my head works these are the things I've thought about eating in the last 3 hours: The big bag of mini-eggs in the cupboard, taking my frozen phyllo dough out and making an assortment blueberry and apple turnovers, ice cream, hash browns and hot dogs fried up in a pan with about a half a cup of butter, a chocolate milkshake, pancakes and breakfast sausage, a hamburger with sweet potato fries (which coincidentally was last night's supper) and perhaps the most desperate of all - an Aero bar that I put in the freezer after it melted in the car last summer.  I'm holding on to the hope that since I'm writing it here, I won't give in.  I already have my meals planned for the rest of the day, and I'm planning to try to do some quasi-exercise later on.  I say "quasi" because I just can't make myself do traditional exercise. I'll probably just dance.  It's kind of my thing.  I'm tracking my food, so that is a start.

Unfortunately I am a "big picture" type of personality.  I have a hard time trying to stay focused on small goals, and get frustrated when I think about how long it's going to take me to get skinny.  I often fall back on the old "what's one more day of eating [insert random junk food here]" excuse, and that one day turns into a week, and then a month, and then a year, and here I sit (literally.)  I am wasting my life away.  There are so many things I would love to be doing, but I just don't have the courage, or the energy to do them.  I think this is the worst part of all of this for me.  I always said I wasn't that kind of person.  Back in university I had overweight friends that wouldn't come out to the bar with us because they were too embarrassed.  I scoffed at them, and shook my head.  Look at me now!!!  (It's 11:21 and I just ate a pancake.  That wasn't in my plan for the day, but I'll track it because I said I would.)

So happy Thursday to me.  Another day, another effort.  I'm thinking I'll dig out my old Weight Watchers books and maybe I'll track points this week, but don't be heartbroken if it doesn't happen.  I make no promises, especially to myself.