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.

What's Eating Gilbert Grape?

Remember that movie?  Seems like a random title for a post, eh?  It's a regular Wednesday evening and I'm watching my husband play Xbox Kinect tennis, wallowing in self-pity.  As the video playback is running I'm watching him swinging his arms into nothing, and there in the corner of the screen sits what would appear to be Jabba the Hut in a red t-shirt...  or (and here's where it comes in to play) perhaps the mother from What's Eating Gilbert Grape.  Just substitute the bed for a forest green recliner.  Are you picturing it?

Remember when I told you I was funny, way back in my first post?  Well I am, but sometimes it comes at a price.  And that price, unfortunately, is my dignity.  95% of my humour is self-deprecating.  I do it because I want people to see me not as "that fat girl", but instead to see me as "that funny girl."  I'm not stupid.  I know how people think, and I know that the first thing they think when they meet me is "wow, she's fat."  They don't say it, but the thought is there.  One of my favourite quotes is "It doesn't matter how pretty my face looks, the only thing people see when they look at me is a fat girl."  - author unknown.  Just kidding, I'm the author.  I really feel that that's true.  This is where I turn on my personality plus.  Yeah, I might be the fat girl, but I'm also hella fun to be around because I try super, duper extra hard to be hilarious.  Whatever it takes, I'll pretty much do it.  It's probably not good for my self-esteem, but since that's already way in the negatives it really isn't going to hurt, is it?

Why yes, I'd love to wear that tiny bra over my gigantic hooters for the entire night.  Anything to make you like meee!!

I had a paper journal once.  My counsellor told me it would be a good thing for me to do.  I bought myself some post-its, and a nice hard cover book, and I filled the pages with self-affirmations, and mantras that I could read over, and over, and over again.  "I am worth it!", "I matter to people!" "I am pretty, no matter what size I am!"  "I can do anything I set my mind to!"...guess what I wrote on the cover?  "This journal makes me feel like a huuuuuge douche."  And it did.  I am a terrible liar, and saying that shit to myself was no exception.  I would read the things I wrote and roll my eyes so hard they almost left my face. I chucked it in the garbage.  Being nice to myself is not a skill I have mastered.  I'm really not entirely convinced that a lot of people are good at being nice to themselves.  I'm just particularly good at being bad to myself.  A lot of the time I will preface my ideas, or things I have to say to people with "I know this sounds dumb", or "I feel like an idiot saying this", and the like.  It's pretty bad, but let me tell you, I think I'd have an easier time putting down the crack pipe than I will quitting this habit.

So, this is the question I leave with this evening:  Am I worth it?  I want to say that I am, but you know that I don't believe that.  That being said, I will measure my worth by the number of people standing around to watch as I'm lifted out of my house by a crane.  I hope you're one of them. (Take pictures if you must, but please know that I will untag them on Facebook!)  (And see, again, self-deprecating!  It's a sickness!)

Hi.

As the title of this post says - hi.  I'm fat.  I hate it.  I can't get over it.  If you don't care about any of the things I've just said, perhaps this isn't the place for you.  I wouldn't want you to waste your precious time reading the inane postings of a depressed food addict.  I know, I know... it sounds like insane fun, but trust me, you'll be disappointed.  Don't get me wrong, it's not all bad.  I just think the majority of my postings will be full of self loathing, and complaints - which I know you're dying to read.

Bottom line:  I am unhappy.  Wait, let me clarify a little. I am unhappy with ME.  I have a great life -I'm a stay at home mom (which I love!) I have a handsome husband, and two beautiful daughters.  They are the highlight of my life, without a doubt.  There are things about myself that I do like.  Want me to list them?  No?  How unfortunate for you.  Here they are:  I'm funny, I'm caring, I love to talk (mostly about myself, so this blog thing is fantastic for me), I love doing good deeds, I'm a great eye brow waxer, I can dance, I (think) I can sing, I am a decent cook, etc, etc.  I'm sure I could continue but listing the 10000000 things about myself that I like are all overshadowed by one LAARRRGE (no pun intended) thing.  I'm fat.

I wasn't always fat (hence my blog title, duh).  I used to be thinner, or as I like to refer to it - in great shape.  Unfortunately for me, even though I can look back now and see that I looked great, I still thought I was fat.  The problem with having a huge set of cans in the 7th grade is that you wear big baggy sweatshirts to hide them, and then everyone thinks you ARE fat, and that's all you hear. Trust me, that shit stays with you for life.  In a sea of flat chests, and no hips, there I was looking all 18.  I wish I could speak to 13 year old me so I could tell myself to wear something a little tighter, and hold my head a little bit higher (I'd also tell myself not to get that Demi Moore in Ghost haircut.  Bad choice.)

I can't pinpoint the exact moment when it all went down hill, but it's been a steady decline for the last 15 years or so.  I like to think that it started when I graduated high school and went off to university.  This sounds like every other fat girls story, right?  I'll try to mix it up a little.  The fact that I had freedom, and could do whatever I wanted wasn't a good fit for me.  Not only was I shoving every piece of food in a 5 foot radius into my face, I also was sleeping my days away, not going to class, spending hours on the internet (which made me really cool, because back in 1997 the internet wasn't as awesome as it is now.) As I'm sure you can imagine, I didn't have a very successful year.  I've come to learn that I need someone to be accountable to in all facets of my life, not just with eating.  I'm very much a "bury my head in the sand" type of person.

I've tried to lose weight.  You name it, I've tried it.  I've been to counselling, I've tried Weight Watchers, I've done diet, after diet, after diet.  I can behave for a little while and have moderate success, but the inevitable always happens.  2011 was a decent year for me.  In January I decided it was time to get serious, and I lost almost 40 lbs by the end of August.  9 months was a record for me, and I was feeling awesome. People were noticing changes in me, a lot of health issues I had were disappearing, it was fantastic.  For some reason, that switch that had stayed on for so long managed to turn itself off, and I fell back into my old habits.  That brings me to today.  Every morning I wake up and tell myself I will exercise, and I will eat right, and then I promptly make my way to the kitchen to eat a massive piece of leftover birthday cake from my husband's birthday party on the weekend.  Every day I tell myself "what's one more day"...  It's working out really well for me.  Not.

So, I am the skinny girl, interrupted.  Interrupted by the fat that has taken over my life.  Interrupted by the self-hatred that haunts me on a daily basis.  Interrupted by my laziness.  In my head I see a hot, curvy chick with a great rack.  When I look in the mirror I see an ugly, fat blob who needs her poor husband to help her pull up her spanks, and fasten her gigantic, painfully un-sexy, beige bra.  I hold on to the hope that someday that skinny girl will be back again, and I'll be able to hang on to her and never let her go.  There is nothing I want more in this life than to love myself.

Skinny fat girl trick #1 - Learn good camera angles.  Above is always best, never take a picture from below.  If you have an iPhone the forward facing camera is a godsend.  P.s.  I love mascara.