Coming out of the dark Friday, Nov 20 2009

The past few days I have been remodeling my bedroom.

Writing is therapeutic, it’s true.  But demolishing and rebuilding things is therapeutic as well, in a completely different way.

But both of these activities cause me to remove all of the garbage, assess the flaws, see the potential, and start fresh.

Working on this project alone has given me a place of retreat.  Time to think and refocus.  I have harnessed the binge monster.  My eating habits are regulated.  I have taken a walk and/or run on the elliptical machine every day.  I have removed all romantic interests from my life.   My friends probably wonder if I finally moved to Jamaica like I’ve been promising for so long.  I’ve been spending so much time alone, that I’ve had no choice but to self-reflect.  And refocus.

I’m enjoying my retreat.  I like it here.  It is a good place to visit.  And It is bringing me back to a place of peace.

I will pray that this time I decide to live here.

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Rambling Tuesday, Nov 17 2009

My head is all over the place right now, you’ll have to forgive me.  I am fully aware that these blog entries of late make little to no sense, and have no flow, rhyme, or reason.  But I promised two people that I would write, regardless of the content, so here I am.  Writing.  Writing is so therapeutic for me.  In fact, I’m convinced that’s why I can’t write when I’m self-loathing and punishing myself.

And sometimes I really do miss listening to myself ramble about inane horseshit. 

So here we go.

It is both painful and embarrassing for me to admit that my destructive eating habits boil down to my fear of and the rejection of men, but there it is. 

The ugly truth.

I, my friends, am a hot mess.

I am wildly neurotic, excessively analytical, extremely manipulative, and  obsessively controlling.  These 4 qualities are enough to drive any man to drink; they have surely driven me to that point and beyond.  But the bottom line is that the flip side of those qualities are wildly endearing.  Neuroticism can be displayed as thoughtful attention to detail.  Overly analyzing things is often seen as a quest for knowledge.  Manipulation?  Please.  Most people don’t even know what’s happening.  And a controlling nature can be seen as strong.  Independent.  Feisty.

I am thankful that my most evil thought life stays in my mind.  And that I’m able to at least semi-gracefully control my evil nature.  (Chili incident aside, please.)

But there is one thing that I can never seem to control.  No matter how hard I try.

And that is my need to be loved.

I love being loved.  Yes by my friends and family, but sometimes moreso by complete strangers.  Such a hideous truth.  But a real one, nonetheless.  I love it when people, who have no obligation or committment to do so, just love me because I am fabulous.  And honestly, so many people do, that I’m spoiled rotten.

So when I come across someone who doesn’t flock to me, I’m intrigued.  Challenged.  Almost offended.  Do I want to know what it is about me that does not interest them?

Not really.

I just want to win them over.

Analyze that.

I do this most often with men.  I tend to shoot for the ones who I know are just a bit out of my league.  Most are easily wooed with my sense of humor.  In a short time I can generally best their friendship.  Within a few months I’ve proclaimed my love, and tah-tah, no more friend.  Which honestly, I knew from the beginning.

But here is the sick part.  The truly sick thing that I am just recently learning.

I do this to myself on purpose so that I can punish myself for not being good enough.

Last spring I thought I had it beat.  Pride cometh before the fall, after all.  But what cometh after the fall? 

Picking myself back uppeth.

That’s what.

Strong day today.  I stayed within my Weight Watcher’s Points, ran on the elliptical in the morning, went to wish a friend a happy birthday, put two coats of primer on my bedroom, drank all of my water, took my vitamins, and shaved my legs.  I should feel like a million bucks.  But do I?

Nope.

But that’s okay.

I’m still in end-flail funk.  But it is this type of self-loving behavior that will bring me right out.

Am I feelin it?  No I am not. Not one single bit.

Doesn’t matter.  This is what I call “fake it til I make it.”

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Humble Pie Monday, Nov 16 2009

Okay folks.  Time to face the music.

I weighed myself this morning.  286. 

Ooooooooooooooooooh boy.

How did I get here? 

Bingeing.  Plain and simple.

But I’m going to face this in a very low-drama, non-hysterical way.  I am addicted to food.  And medicating myself with it when I’m hurting.  I know full well when I am shoveling those calories into my mouth what I am doing, but in my mind, I talk myself into it.

Who cares?

Just stuff yourself, no one will ever love you anyway.

I’ll start over tomorrow.

For some reason, when I’ve been hurt, and I don’t mean something small, I mean deeply wounded, I just tractor load the food into my mouth like you wouldn’t believe.

On September 1st I was eating appropriately, walking every day, and doing yoga.  Then I started dating again.  Attention from men sends me into a frenzy that I can’t explain.  Psychosis is probably putting it lightly.  I started spending my time worrying about appearances and messing with men and their details, and my health fell more and more to the wayside.  By the end of September I was at 260.

October was worse.  One night I remember I had three different men call me.  They all wanted to see me.  I was making excuses left and right, but no one would listen.  They all wanted to come over.  I turned off all the lights, locked the doors, turned my music on loud, and ate everything in the house.  Everything.  Even things that didn’t taste good.  Out of curiosity, the next day I calculated the calories.

12,000.  Yes, you heard me.  Twelve.  THOUSAND.  In case you’re wondering, that’s almost 4 pounds of fat in one day.  Now it is clear to me how I can easily gain 22 pounds in one week.

Today I sit here before you, completely naked.  Tears pouring down my face.  Heart in my hands.

I never claimed to be healed.

Or right.

Or perfect.

I’m still just as effed up as you and everyone else.

Today’s a new day.

353/286/200

 

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Nearing post-flail Tuesday, Nov 10 2009

I have never posted an actual journal entry before.  My journal entries are my inner monogue, un-edited and sometimes truly maniacal.  This blog entry is rated:  R, for adult content.  This is an actual journal entry, not a typical blog entry.  And not edited at all.  Beware.  Comments are also turned off, because I really don’t want to hear it right now.

…

It’s taken me a month to admit this, but I’m terribly depressed.

And I know exactly what has caused this in me.

The acceptance and rejection of men. 

It disgusts me that it is so important to me, but I have to be honest with myself or I have zero chance of ever being able to permanently change.  I don’t want to think this way.  I hate it that it means so much to me when a man thinks I’m truly amazing.  I hate it that I cannot STAND being ignored.  I hate it that I will text message and call a man 100 times if he’s ignoring me, but when he’s paying attention to me, sometimes I barely respond.  I say that I love winning the attention and affection of a good man, but then my evil-psychotic twin takes over, and I spend all of my energy waning for the affections of the man who doesn’t want me.

I am starting to believe that men as a species are driving me clinically insane.

I truly believe, now more than ever, than my propensity to binge eat is plain and simple, the way that I punish myself.  For not being good enough.  Or after doing something I know I had no business doing,.  Or for being too attractive one day.  And my fear of sex.  And the potential intimacy associated with it.  It’s the only reason I can figure for my odd weight gain/loss cycles.  When I’m interested in a man, I move in slowly.  I make it known.  We spend time getting to know each other.  When I see he just wants to be friends, I befriend him with the intent of making him see how amazing I am, and thereby falling madly in love with me.  So I do what I do.

I conversate.

I cook.

I dote.

Sometimes I sing.

I bake cookies.

And pay attention to details.

And lavish surprises on him when he least expects it.

But every single time over the past 15 years, that I’ve displayed this behavior in a friendship, it has ended in unrequited love.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Sooooo Tenderoni didn’t want me.  At least not the way I wanted him to.  So I’m trying to be happy being his “sister,” but I’m not doing so hot.  And every single time he ignores my texts, doesn’t return my phone calls, and doesn’t come through when he says he will, it kills me slowly.  I should have already learned that this man is truly never going to “come around.” 

A couple of months ago, I decided I needed to truly move on, so I started “dating”….and THIS is what I get?  All these different guys coming at me at once, and it really sent me over the edge.  Two rejections, a dozen offers of sex, an STD scare, and a patridge in a pear tree later, I’m back up to 274 because why?

Because it’s safe in here.

Funny how this armour of fat becomes so much safer with each 25 pounds.

(One time I put on 22 pounds in one week.  I mean, I can really put it away.) 

Let’s get really real here.

It is during my times of infatuation with a man, self-love and quest for spiritual health that I find I care most about my physical health.

Then I find out he is not interested, or no longer interested, and all the sudden, I look down and I’m 28 pounds heavier.  Then I beat the hell out of my psyche for allowing myself to put so much weight on so quickly, which only makes me feel worse.  And when I feel bad, what do I do?  I eat.  Until I get so depressed I’m practically a vegetable, and then I get a glimmer of attention from another man and start to metamorphasize into healthy Angie again.  I mean seriously, when the fuck is this insane behavior going to end? 

I’ll tell you when.

It’s ending today.

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Amy Bart and a piece of my heart Monday, Nov 9 2009

Yours truly, Halloween night.

And yes, I did the braids myself.  Wootie woot!

I admit I am obsessed with taking pictures of myself.  Perhaps I like the absence of the double chin.  Perhaps I like the way my eyes glow as though I’ve had 3 cosmos and a large cookie.  Who knows, all I know is that I will stick my camera phone in my own face in a heartbeat if I think it will turn out well.  Or make someone smile.

I mean this isn’t exactly a good photo.  What am I even doing with my mouth?  My eye makeup is all wrong, and my age spots might as well be standing at attention while saluting my very large…..

ah, who am I kidding?  I don’t even care.  I still love it.  Because I can! 

On a totally unrelated subject, about a month ago I started receiving comments on my blog from a woman named Amy.  She signed her comment with her blog address, which usually means that a person is just trying to self-promote.  So I left it, but I didn’t actually go to her blog to read it.  Since then, she has left a few more comments, and this past blog entry, practically wrote me a love letter in the comment section.  So I thought, I have to check this chick out.

Soul mate alert!

Upon my arrival to her home page, I immediately looked for the link to her story, as I always do.  Imagine my surprise to find a beautiful, healthy, 150 pound woman.  I mean, if I saw this chick-a-tee-ta in a public place, and heard her say one word about her weight, I would projectile vomit all over her shoes.  She looks like someone who has been thin her entire life.

But she struggles.

Just like me.

And she busted her sweet ass to lose 85 pounds.

Her battle isn’t any easier than mine just because she “got thin.”  She still struggles with binge eating on a regular basis.  The desire to medicate with food didn’t magically go away.  And as much as I may resent her if I saw her on the street, eating a cupcake or tractor loading 10 fistfuls of gummy bears, the reality remains.  She struggles just like I do. 

150 pounds or 250 pounds.  The demons are still chanting.

Amy Bart took a little piece of my heart today.  Lesson learned on being a judgemental windbag.

You can read Amy’s treasures here:

www.amybart.wordpress.com

 

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For Real Wednesday, Nov 4 2009

It takes me about 60 seconds to derail.

And sometimes not even that long.

I’ve taken a real notice lately to my orally-fixated response to a crisis.  Or even a pseudo-crisis.

It is my immediate knee-jerk reaction, STILL, to eat something, drink something, or smoke something whenever something goes wrong.  I don’t act upon it the way I once did, but the thoughts and feelings about medicating my hurt are still there.  I’m starting to think they always will be.

Why does it take me so long to admit that I’ve lost motivation?

Pride.

That’s all it is.  Freaking pride.

This year I have experienced things I’ve never experienced before, and it’s grown me up in ways I never even knew possible.  I know that everyone experiences their own crap, but I’ve really gone through it emotionally this year.  It took the loss of my grandmother to teach me how inately selfish I am.  By nature.  It took the unrequited romantic interest of a great man to teach me that while sex can be a great thing, it’s not the only thing.  But unrequited love still hurts.  Also, the past 2 months I have gone out with 9 men.  I have also been waiting nervously to find out if my insurance company is going to pay for Zion to go to Little Star Center, a school for children with Autism.

These are the reasons I am all over the place emotionally.  And have put on 15 pounds in a month.

These are also my excuses for said weight gain.

We all have issues.  The trick is learning to deal with them without pouring a substance all over it.

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Happy Birthday my love Sunday, Nov 1 2009

I just survived an incredibly exhausting, fun-filled weekend.

This is what life is all about.

My daughter.  The little rat.  When I wasn’t paying a bit of attention, she took all of her 18 month old chubby cuteness, and sold it to this wild, bubbly 7 year old who now lives in my house.  What the hell?

Zoe decided a month ago that she wanted to have a birthday blowout.  She planned the entire thing.  From the food, to the dance contest, to the sleeping bag placement at the slumber party….she planned every last detail.  And while it was a good deal of work, it was a total blast.

By 8 o’clock Friday night, we had 2 dozen people in our house.

Mostly children.

We ate walking tacos.  And huge pieces of birthday cake.  There was a dance contest to Thriller.  And a makeover session, complete with manicures.  And tons and tons and tons of laughter.

My daughter and I planned a hum-dinger, if I do say so myself.  Our best friends, all together in one house, for a night we’ll always remember.

Zoe told me that her favorite part was her Aunt Carrie being there, because Carrie’s birthday is the next day and it’s something they always share.  (What 7 year old says this?)  While I have to agree with Zoe on the amazing, everlasting coolness of the Aunt Carrie, my personal choice for best moment was when Tenderoni walked in.  Because my ex was sitting right by the door.  Mwa ha ha…

Did I eat too much this weekend?  A-duh.  Yes I did.  But I also went for a nice long walk, did Hip Hop Abs with one of my dearest friends and our kids, and chased 7 year olds for 6 hours.  That’s gotta count for something.

Special occasions are worth the splurge. 

The trick is not doing it every day.

Back to moderation today.  Because I’m worth it.

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No Boys Allowed Thursday, Oct 29 2009

Last night/this morning I started the first phase of Operation Re-mobilization. 

I got up early today, drank 50 ounces of water, ate a banana, took my vitamins, did some a.m. yoga, and went for a run.

I did not love it, but I do feel great now.  And I will continue to choose this path of health, in all ways of my life, not just some. 

A few days ago on Facebook, I made the joke that I was going to switch teams.  Which, for those of you with no sense of humor, that means becoming a lesbian.  Several comments were left, as I’m sure you can imagine, but my personal favorite was from the husband of one of my lifelong friends.  He said, “If you stop playing in the minors, you will find that your current team is quite good.  No need to change teams, just start playing to your league.”

Ta-POW!!

I was totally blown away.  Because he’s right.  I’ve been tooling around with these tools for 2 months now. 

With men who are nowhere near my league, just to have male attention. 

His comment has been constantly running through my mind the past few days, and last night I just decided that I was going to get rid of all these silly fools.  So I did.  All of them.  The casual acquaintances I’ve gone out on dates with.  The freaky texters I’ve met online.  The fools who make time for me when it’s convenient for them.  And more than all, the man who has stood me up THREE times but still calls and sweet talks me into letting it happen again.

Bye bye bye.

I threw out several unhealthy items this morning.  But possibly the most unhealthy item I removed was all of the man candy. 

My personal favorite though, was the voice mail I left for Mister Stood Me Up Three Times.  I simply said this:

“At this point, you could show up with flowers, chocolates, and your dick in a box, and I would still slam the door in your face.  Lose my number.”

I’m back to ME.  No boys allowed.  Period.

P.S. Thanks Ryan and Katrina for the kick in the pants.  Love you guys.

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Getting Real Wednesday, Oct 28 2009

Years ago, had you told me that I would be completely comfortable in a 250 pound body, I would have laughed in your face.  I lived my life in shame and fear, and I believed that I had to be 150 pounds to be happy and self-confident.  Now that I have shed 120 pounds, gained back about 15, and continue to hover around the 250 mark, it’s a surreal place to be.  I’m comfortable in my skin.  I love my life.  I’m social, and happy, and dating, and living each day to the fullest and truly enjoying every moment of just being a fabulous woman. 

Perhaps part of that is growing older. 

Perhaps it is self-acceptance. 

Perhaps I am just hot and nothing can be done about it.  (tee hee) 

But the bottom line is that I love ME.  The strong woman I am, the sacrifices I make as a single mother, the beauty and light that I emanate just because I am fabulously happy, loved, and fulfilled.

So here’s my two part struggle.

At this point, I have to step up my game.  Because I’m okay with how I look and feel.  But I’m not okay with the potential health risks I am posing to myself in a 250 pound body.  Diets and Suzanne Somers and pills and all sorts of other stupidities exist to make us hot.  Attractive.  Sexy.  And that is all well and good.  But this has to become about health. 

Inside and out.

Mental.

Physical.

Emotional.

All of it.

It is all part of getting to a weight that is going to allow me to live in the highest and best state of health.  Screw the pant sizes, and the scales, and the nice little shift that my ample buttocks seem to make in pocketless jeans when I sache across a room.

This is no longer about appearance.  Though, I admit it feels good to look good, and that it is important to make ourselves the most fabulous versions possible of ourselves as women.

But now, this has to become about things unseen.  My heart.  My blood pressure.  The possibility of developing diabetes.  Or having a stroke when I’m 50.

The second part of this struggle, and I have to admit this if I want to grow, is that I am secretly terrified of coming up completely out of this fat suit.

Why?

I’m afraid of physical intimacy.

Every single time I get close enough to a man for him to come in for a kiss, my mind shifts to food.  The last date I had was with a complete narcissitic moron, who thought he was going to get a piece on the first date.  Puh-leeeeez.  He put the moves on, I made some excuse, and ducked out.

But what did I do once I got home?

I binged.

I didn’t even realize it until I was laying in bed that night, almost asleep.  But I started thinking about the events of the day, and I realized, that while I binge eat for several reasons, I think the most common is fear. 

Fear of what?

Physical intimacy.  With someone I truly love and care for.

I can do emotional intimacy all day.  This is why it is so easy for me to develop friendships.  And has also been my safe way of approaching males.  If I present myself in a friendly way, and get to know a man on a deep and emotional level, he will get to know the real me and love me through and through, and then the physical part will maybe not be so scary, IF it happens at all.  But if I just put myself out there as a prospective girlfriend, and the man is sexually attracted to me, then what?  I have to actually do it?  Without freaking out?

Oh boa.

There is oh-so-much to be done.

And oh-so-many therapy sessions to be scheduled.

Stay tuned, my friends.  Mama’s about to batten down the hatches.

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Ugh Tuesday, Oct 20 2009

This is the second time in 3 months I have had the flu.

Which really ticks me off because I eat well, hydrate, take vitamins, and exercise.

Granted, I work in an Emergency Room, and every Tom, Dick and Mary in a 100 mile radius has been coming in with the sniffles, but come on.  Twice in 3 months?  My body can’t take much more of this.

I don’t know about you, but when I’m sick, I’m a wastoid.  I will lay on the couch for days, without moving.  I am a humongous baby, and I know it.  When I’m sick, I want my mommy.  I want to veg out on the couch, watch movies, and sleep.  This is not an easy task when one is a single mother.

I am right at the end of this bout of illness.  I’m much better than I was a few days ago.  But I’m still weak, and listless, and just blah.  I have no energy to do anything.

On a lighter note, I am down 4 pounds.  But I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count when I haven’t been eating and probably significantly dehydrated.  I don’t get worked up about “flu losses” anymore.  Because as soon as I eat, it will come right back on.

Seriously, it is a chore to type this right now.

This morning it was all I could do to get up and get the kids ready for school.  Once I sent them on their way, I looked at the empty fridge, the piles of laundry, and the small mound of dishes in the sink, took a deep breath, and said “Ah, screw it.”

I’ll try again tomorrow.  I’m going back to bed.

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