Under the Food Microscope Tuesday, Jul 28 2009

I was reading back through some of my old food journals.  It was extremely eye opening to see how much crap I actually eat. 

That’s about to be fine tuned.

Anyway, I thought you might get a kick out of seeing some entries.  These are 3 actual days that I plucked out of my food journals, just for you.  Enjoy.

A Good Day

8am.  1/2 cup natural oatmeal with 1/2 cup raspberries. 1 cup lite vanilla soymilk. 1 small banana. 2 poached eggs.  11 pts.

12pm. 2 apples.  1 piece of Laughing Cow lite cheese.  4 pts.

2pm.  4 grilled chicken strips with honey mustard.  Chopped veggie salad with lite dressing.  6 pts.

5pm.  Grilled tilapia. 3 red potatoes.  Steamed asparagus.  7 pts.

8pm.  Rice krispie treat.  Nonfat chai.  4 pts.

A Less-than-stellar Day

8am. Frosted Strawberry poptart.  1 piece of turkey bacon.  Coffee with half and half.  12 pts.

11am. 1 bag of Sunchips from hospital gift shop.  And subsequent small stroke when I realized the empty bag was 3 servings.  12 pts.

3pm. Lowfat yogurt.  Handful of grapes.  2 pts.

8pm. Protein bar.  2 graham crackers.  1 piece of muenster cheese.  6 pts.

A Shot-it-to-Hell Day

8am.  Meet friends at Denny’s for breakfast.  Intend to order poached eggs, but instead order the French Grand Slam.  And Grand Slam is right.  In one meal I Grand Slammed myself right out of the rest of my daily points.  35 pts.

2pm.  Justify that coffee is wisest due to the large break-feast.  Succumb to the wofting scents of Starbucks, and instead order a macchiato.  6 pts.  The barista offers free lemon cake.  It is accepted and devoured whole.  6 pts.

6pm.  Spot the boxed mac-n-cheese in cabinet.  “Oh, the kids would love this…” annnnnnnnnnnnnnd, it’s prepared.  Take a few bites.  Eat a bowlful.  Lick the serving spoon.  12 pts.

10pm.  Friends stop by with pizza, beer, and a movie.  Oh boy.

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Naked and unashamed Friday, Jul 24 2009

If you have issues overthinking relationships, or making more out of a friendship than it is, then let’s talk shop.  Please rent the movie He’s Just Not That Into You.  It is worth watching, if for no other reason, the barrage of hotties.  (I am Gigi.  The completely clueless one.)

So I have been trying to give My Friend his space.  But when I thought about being away from him, I immediately noticed myself breathing faster, panicking that he’ll forget me, scrambling for something manipulative to do.

This thought alone told me right away how dillusional I can be about relationships.  This sent me into a tailspin of self-loathing, and I went for a run to chill out.

I cried throughout the run, and then drove to the drug store to buy them out of Snickers.

I sat in the car with my head in my hands, begging God to help me drive home and not go inside the store.  I left without the Snickers.  But I realized in that moment that I was replaying in my head the exact moment that My Friend stepped into my space the previous evening.  He was probably a foot away from me, and for the first time, I just looked directly at him without backing down or sweating or freaking out.

He was facing me.  And though I sensed his apprehension, I felt peace.  I didn’t want to run.  Or get mean.  Or passive aggressive.  I was in that moment and felt the freedom and peace to just be.

Yet later I wanted to binge-eat chocolate, Hoover style?

The initial closeness is becoming more comfortable.  It’s what I perceive as the looming rejection that sends me reeling.

I am my own toughest opponent, after all.

Time to team up.

353/254/199

P.S.  

FYI.  Your comments containing derogatory statements, vulgar language, links to other websites, or specific names and information about my personal life are deleted every single time.  I have a Blackberry, and receive immediate notification when there is a new comment.

Take it easy.  These are my own personal thoughts and experiences, and if I didn’t feel comfortable sharing them, I wouldn’t be writing about them.

And the bottom line is, I do not need or want advice.  From anyone.  That’s why I have a therapist.

Peace out.

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It could all be so simple… Thursday, Jul 23 2009

Suddenly everything is very peaceful.

A little too much so.

My son is back on his medicine.  Our household is therefore functional again.  My ex is on his way out of the country.  So I am therefore functional again.  No strange men at my doorstep.  No drama from friends or at work.  Just one teensy-weensy issue, that ain’t so teensy-weensy.

My Friend.

He’s in hiding.

And I don’t know how to fix it.

I saw him last night for the first time since Saturday, and for the first time, possibly ever, I just let it go.

So I had lunch with my best friend today.  She challenged me to leave him alone for 2 weeks, and let him process whatever he’s dealing with.  You have to understand that this goes against everything in my nature.  I am one of those cuckoos who will text a person 2 dozen times a day if I am wondering where they are or what is up.  I literally have no shame in that department.

I am also a gigantic control freak, and I always tend to think I can fix things.  And people.  The other part of all this is that I’ve truly had to examine why it’s so important to me to be friends with this man.  And if I’m truly honest, I am very fond of him.  Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry fond.

Perhaps you are overjoyed that I am even capable of still feeling this emotion.  But there’s one thing standing in the way.

Reciprocity.

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Deafening Silence and Stolen Kisses Wednesday, Jul 22 2009

This has been one hell of a week.

At the end of last week, I wrote about my past, and the basal causes of why I binge eat.

Saturday I had a bizarre conversation with My Friend. 

Sunday I received some negative feedback on my blog.  From several sources.  I started curling up like a wounded animal, at least internally.

Monday I ate almost an entire cheesecake, had a friend over to medicate me Bob Marley style, and laid in my bed the rest of the night.  Crying.

Tuesday was insane.  My ex’s brother’s family left yesterday to return permanently to Mexico.  They do not have greencards.  I will likely never see them again.  It was an emptiness I still can’t explain.  They stopped by here on their way out of town and it really freaked me out.  I sent texts to a couple of girlfriends.  No response.  I called My Friend to come save the day, but he didn’t answer his phone.

I was feeling outcast.  I felt out of place with my ex-in-law family.  I didn’t know which friend to turn to because I felt so wacked out and alone.  And I once I realized it had been 3 days since I’d seen My Friend, I felt shut out.

My psyche started going into panic mode.

I sent up one last flare before I hit the self-destruct button.

No response to any of my phone calls or text messages to my circle of 911 friends, including My Friend. 

Blast-off.

Granted, I didn’t binge eat.  I drank 6 shots of Svedka and sat down to watch The Haunting of Connecticut.

But the best/worst part is what happened next.

About 10pm, there was a knock at my door.  I peeked out and it was this guy I’ve talked to a few times.  He has friends in the neighborhood.  We’ve talked several times when I’m out walking with my kids.  He’s hot in such a bad way.  He’s probably 6′3″, 190 pounds,  with muscular arms and a gootee.  He’s easily got 300 phone numbers in his cell phone, and is generally just a silver-tongued bastard.  He knows exactly what to say to say to the ladies.

So last night I open the door, and there he stands.  He asks to come in.  I just look at him for a minute before he just steps in.  I stood directly in his way.  Well, I’ll be damned if that man didn’t step right up and grab my face with both hands, and kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before.

Unfortunately I let that go on a little longer than I should have before I stopped it.

 The Hedonist in me was satisfied for a split second.  But I could feel the bile rising in my gut.  I told him to leave.

I cried for an hour after he left.

Now I know what you’re thinking.  Wasn’t I scared?  Didn’t it strike fear into my heart that he might overpower me?

No.  8 years ago I couldn’t protect myself.  Now, I can.  Those Martial Arts classes at the gym haven’t been for nothing.  I could drop him like a hot rock.

And I can’t help but think all of this is happening for a reason.

The good thing about the scandalous kiss is that I learned to stand up for myself.  That even when sexually aggressive men step in and take that which is not theirs, I can stop them and say….

….that’s mine.  And you have no right to take it.  Now get the hell out.

I didn’t exactly slay the giant.  But I did take a knee cap as a souvenir.

It’s time for me to go see a therapist.

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Pandora’s Box Tuesday, Jul 21 2009

In Greek Mythology, there is a story of a woman named Pandora.  She was a woman of seduction, and had received a large jar and the instructions from Zeus to keep it closed.  Her curiosity got the best of her, and she opened it.  This action is said to have brought forth all sorts of evils and pestilence.  But it is also said that at the bottom of the jar (or box) lay hope.

I am feeling a little Pandora-esque today.

I realize that I have no boundaries when it comes to writing.  I also realize that not all of my readers may be comfortable about the things I have written about this past week.  But you have no idea the amount of courage I had to muster to get these things out in the open.  And how much it is going to help me grow. 

It has thrown my world into a bit of a tailspin.  My readers have quintrupled.  Some of those closest to me are concerned about me making something so personal so public.  People at work have approached me about it.  My ex’s family is “outraged at the allegations.”  All I have to say? 

Deal with it.

I have unleashed a veritable can of whoop-ass on myself with all of the feathers I have ruffled with my Coming Out and Pretty Wings entries.

But guess what?  No matter, no mind.  Because first and foremost this is about my own personal journey, demons, and healing.

So let me fill you in on the past few days.  Since those two entries, I have received tons of feedback.  Some good.  Some not so good.  Some real.  Some crock.  

But of course I’m kicking myself because of my honesty the past few days.  And by kicking I mean medicating.

I won’t go into the gruesome details.

But basically if I have been able to get my hands on it, it has been eaten.  Or smoked.  Or limed, salted, and shot.

I have no idea how I got here.  How I am so f%&#ed up that I can’t be close to anyone without medicating with whatever substance is available? 

Feeling naked in front of your readers? 

Eat a cheesecake.

Feeling uncomfortable in the gaze of someone who really knows you?

Have a few shots of tequila.

Unable to talk to your co-worker about the ghosts of your past?

Sneak outside for a smoke break.

Or even better yet?

Get over yourself.

I’ve always thought that my greatest fear and subsequent pain was because of loneliness.  The absence of romantic love in my life.  My inability to allow myself to be truly known.

Horseshit.

The truth is that my greatest fear is being known and rejected.  Sure it’s hard to put yourself out there, and have the person say “no thanks.”  But how much harder is it to put yourself out there in honesty, have the naked truth out there, and then be rejected?

Perhaps all of these insecurities don’t fit into your box for me.

That’s okay.

I’ve got Pandora.  And remember what was at the bottom?

Hope.

And thankfully for me, and all of us, hope tends to float up.

I’m counting on it.

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Pretty Wings Thursday, Jul 16 2009

I came out yesterday finally confessing the worst part of my story.  It is true that I married the man who raped me.  But the best part of the story is that I put an end to his control and abuse.

Here is the Reader’s Digest version.

We worked together at a bar/restaurant.  Most of the females working there wanted him.  He was sexy and charming.  Boyish.  A little metro.  Occasionally I would see him at parties and he would flirt with me.  I laughed it off because I just didn’t take him seriously.

I’d spent my entire life in the church leading worship music and working in the mission field.  It had been important to me to remain pure until marriage.  That is until about 6 months before I met this man.  I had left the church and was just plain being loose, running with people I had no business spending time with.

One night at a party, I was actually trying to catch the eye of another man.  I was a size 14 at the time, and thought I was pretty hot stuff.  I had purchased a new outfit, laid out in the sun for several days prior, and gotten a mani/pedi.  I looked good and I knew it.  By midnight or so, I’d had waaaaaay too much to drink.  I went outside to get some air.  He followed me outside and immediately started kissing me.  He pulled me into the backyard of this person’s house, where it was dark and quiet.  I was literally too drunk to fight him off.  And he raped me.

I had always thought of rape as this violent, horrendous cat fight.  Screaming and kicking and biting and eye-scratching.  It wasn’t like that.  I was drunk.  And weak.  And though I resisted, and said no about a dozen times, he was stronger than me.

I was devastated.

More with myself than with him.  I didn’t leave the house for 3 days.

But once I did, I saw my girlfriends from work.  They said they heard we’d slept together, and said how lucky I was to have been with such a hot guy.  His friends approached me and teased me about ‘hitting it.’  The next night I had to work with him.  He followed me outside and apologized.  He said he didn’t realize until he had gotten home that I was a virgin.  He was very kind about it, and appeared to be sincere.  He even teared up.

And I bought it.

He started doing sweet things here and there.  Leaving flowers on my car when I was working.  Sitting at the bar and talking to me when I was closing down.  Telling me I was beautiful and that he wished we could start over.

No man had ever done those things for me.  Or said those things to me.  So again, I bought it.  We started seeing each other.  Sleeping together.  Spending time with each others families.  And I saw a sweet, albeit very young, man.

Within 6 months I was pregnant.  He became very controlling.  And mean.  And eventually borderline crazy.  He didn’t even want me going out with my girlfriends.  I allowed myself to become a prisoner in my own home, because I believed his lies that no man would ever love me for who I truly was.  My friends begged me to leave him.  So I started lying and saying that everything was fine.

Our daughter was born shortly thereafter.  By that time I had already gained 100 pounds.  I justified that it was because of the pregnancy.  But I was binge-eating everyday because I was in so much emotional pain.  And once I started putting on the weight, I noticed that he was less and less sexually aggressive.

I was doing my best to passively push him away.

I was miserable.  But I couldn’t leave him because of the guilt I felt.  And my self-confidence was gone.  I truly believed, by May 2003, that he was it.  He was all I was getting.  I had failed God, myself, and my family, and my punishment was that I would never know real love.  So I just agreed to marry him.

A year later our son was born.  And I reached my high weight of 353.

Now, 5 years later, after all sorts of abuse, immigration battles, infidelity, (on his part, not mine) bankruptcy, and our son being diagnosed with Autism, I have learned what I am capable of.  I lost myself for a few years.

But I’m back.

With a damn vengeance.

Yes, he raped me on June 3, 2001.

Physically.

And continued to do so for the next 7 years.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Financially.

And almost spiritually.

He wrote lie after lie on my heart.  Told me I wasn’t good enough.  That no one else would ever love me.  That I was lucky he ever took notice of me in the first place.  He added lies to that paper of my heart every single day for years.  And slowly it doused the fire I once had in my soul.

But somehow the very last flicker of flame left inside of me caught spark to that paper of lies.  And burned it to ashes.

And the phoenix emerging from this pile of ashes is one beautiful creature.  Whatcha think ’bout these Pretty Wings?

I will never, ever allow myself to be victimized again.

353/247/199

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Coming out Wednesday, Jul 15 2009

Today began the slaughtering of my last 48 pounds.  I have been a lazy, lazy sloth the past month.  Eating processed garbage instead of eating clean.  Skipping the gym and sleeping too late.  Drinking coffee to kill the hunger pangs and sometimes eating nothing at all for breakfast.

I mean seriously. 

Sure I weigh less than I did 2 months ago, but I’m not in as good of shape.  I was lamenting these things to My Friend last week, and being the ex-army brat that he is, he simply said:

“Boot camp.”

If he was trying to strike immediate fear into my heart, it worked.

I asked him if he would consider joining my gym and keeping me accountable to working out regularly.  I knew it would be difficult for me to put myself in such a vulnerable situation, but he’s the best person to do it.  He knows me, I trust him, and he’s been wanting to get back into shape, so it’s win win all around.

I was simply looking for a workout partner.

He one upped me.

He offered to be my personal trainer.

Today was our first “meeting.”  He showed up at my house, and I immediately asked what we’d be getting into today at the gym.  He simply said, “We aren’t going to the gym.”

He drug me out into my backyard and kicked my butt.

Army style.

2 hours of stretches.  Calesthenics.  (or however you spell that)  Ab work.  Cardio.  It was even harder than working out with Hot Isaac.

I hate jumping jacks.  And I mean hate them with a passion.  So what does My Friend ask me to do?  25 jumping jacks….in slow motion.

I was not happy.  I faced him and did all 25 of those jacks, boobalopes flying everywhere, and I realized……

I have lost my damn mind.

Immediately following, we did this shoulder strengthening routine that turned my arms into jello.  I couldn’t keep my arms up.  But he insisted that I do so.  He came over and got right in my face.

I immediately started breathing faster.  He had his hands on me.  I couldn’t look him in the face, it was terrifying.  I just stared at the ground. 

Neither one of us said anything about it.

Until later.

We were in the car, and I asked if he noticed that when he was right in my face that I wouldn’t make eye contact with him.

He just smiled.  So I knew he had noticed.

It is more and more clear to me every single day how I have used fat as a shield to keep men away from me.  And now that there is not all that fat shielding me, this is why I adopt the Tae-Bo position if a man I don’t know gets too close.

But what happens when it’s a man I do know?  And who knows me?  And one that I trust?

It’s too much. 

I can’t make eye contact. 

I feel myself on the verge of tears. 

I start sweating.

And slowly, but surely, I crumble inside.

I can sit here all day and lie to you and myself by saying it’s because I’ve never truly been in love.  Or that I’m scared to be known.  Or scared to trust.

But the naked ugly truth is that my virginity was taken from me when I was 28 years old.  And not by choice.

I was raped.

And within 22 months I had packed on 120 pounds.

I have not talked about this until recently.  I met Kim, who is a fellow blogger with struggles very similar to mine.  She is the one who brought this out of me.  In the past 2 weeks I have shared this with my mom and some of my best friends.

And My Friend.

And now I’m sharing it with you, my readers.

For years I blamed myself.  But I am learning that I didn’t deserve what happened.  It doesn’t matter that I had on a tight shirt, or had too much to drink, or made eyes at the guy all night before he did it.

He still didn’t have the right to violate me.

The worst part of this story?

2 years later I married him.

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My space or yours Tuesday, Jul 14 2009

I have a 2 foot radius around my body that I call my space.

Not the website.

My space.

This area belongs to me.  There are very few people allowed inside of this space.  If you step in without being invited in, you can expect one of three things:

1. Me stepping way back.
2. Me looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.
3. Me foot in your gittles.

But seriously, Kim and I were just talking about this subject this past weekend.  What is with men who think they are so sexy that they are just invited into your space to be however sexually aggressive they want to be?

Ew dude.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Here in the last 20 pounds lost or so, I’ve had to learn how to deal with sexually aggressive/inappropriate men more than ever.  (This is what skinny bizzles have dealt with all these years?)  Let me give you some examples of their brazen, nasty behavior.

Now granted, according to my friends, I totally give off the urban vibe with my sense of style, loads of jewelry, head scarves, and raspberry patchouli perfume.  Because several of my much thinner friends have told me that things like what I’m about to tell you have never happened to them.

1.  It’s no secret.  I think black men are hot.  Perhaps it is because I receive so much attention from them.  (Thank you boys for your love of the thick woman.)  Boris Kodjoe, Shemar Moore, Tyrese, Taye Diggs.  Meoooooooooooooow.  Anyway, recently I stopped eating peanut butter.  Not because it’s bad, but just because I can’t eat it in moderation.  One day for shits and giggles I tallied up how much I had eaten with a spoon.  It was over 1/2 cup.  Ouch. 

Anyway, an acquaintance heard me talking about it, and he asked why I would stop eating such a great thing.  I told him it’s because I can’t control myself.  So he asked if I had ever tried “chocolate” with my peanut butter.  (He’s black.)  Only he kept on with it and on with it and on with it.  He must have said “chocolate” 100 times. 

Please.  Trust me dude, you don’t have anything that would ever compare to a Reese Cup.  So get over yourself.

2.  I went into a Mexican restaurant to get some take-out.  It’s the place I used to frequent with my ex.  I was greeted by this tiny little Hispano at the cash register.  This little dude was about the size of Speedy Gonzalez.  I could have fit him in my purse.  So he says, “Where is your husband?”  I told him we had split up over a year ago.  He said, “So now I can have a chance?”  I looked at him with a straight face and said, “No, you never had a chance.”  Luckily even though I am rude, he has a sense of humor.  Anyway, as I was leaving he said “I have something for you, and I promise you’re gonna like it.”

Please.  I’m not into Vienna Sausage.

3.  I was in line at the liquor store, buying a bottle of vodka for a friend’s party.  As I was paying, a young husky black man walked up behind me and said “You headed home with that Svedka?”  I turned around, smiled, and said “Yes.”  He stepped right into my face and said “Well why don’t you take me with you?”

Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally?

I am not very good at responding in these types of situations.  Sometimes I load on the sarcasm.  Sometimes I get mean.  Sometimes I just get nervous and start sweating.

My Friend thinks it is hilarious to watch me blush and stammer.  He practically rolls on the floor laughing when I pout about it.  But he says that I really need to let go of my anger and aggression toward men.  Which honestly I have had for as long as I can remember.  Anytime a man approaches me in that Rico Suave sort of way, I almost immediately adopt a martial arts stance.

And I have had to dig deep to discover why.

Throughout this journey I have had to unearth terrible truths about myself, including how I could possibly have justified gaining 120 pounds in less than 2 years.

The truth is about to come out, people.  And it is going to set me free.  Well, free-er.

Stay tuned.

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Biker Bettys everywhere, eat your heart out Sunday, Jul 12 2009

My weight July 2001:  232 (lowest recorded weight as an adult)
My weight July 2004:  353
My weight July 2009:  247 (as of this morning)

I am 15 pounds away from my lowest weight.  8 years ago before I had kiddiepoos, I was at 232 and a size 20.  I have been saving my size 20 jeans since then, trying them on every so often to measure my progress.

3 months ago I couldn’t even get them over my butt.

This morning, they fit:

 

Now granted this looks like I morphed into liquid and then poured myself in.  And don’t even get me started on the cameltoe.  But I’m in.  I just won’t be wearing them in public for a hot minute.

48 more pounds to my initial goal.  Wootie woot!!

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Surreal Sunday, Jul 12 2009

Okay, so I’ve lost 107 pounds.

But every single day I still think that every one of those pounds is still on me.  I think I won’t fit through that tight space.  Or in that small booth.  Or on the roller coaster.  Or in that size L shirt.

But I do.

And honestly, sometimes, it just freaks me out.

3 months ago I bought a shirt without trying it on.  I loved the freaky print and the material, AND it was $8.  So I thought, what the heck.  If it doesn’t fit, I’ll save it and dream of thinner days.

Sho nuff, it was too small.

It’s been in the closet ever since.

This morning I spied it hanging there in all of its tinyness, (hey…tiny is subjective) so I pulled it out and tried it on.

Fit perfectly.  Even a little loose.

I stood in the mirror staring at myself.  I remembered trying to tug and pull and suck it in to get the silly thing to fit before.  But regardless of my efforts, I still looked and felt like a haggis. 

But today there is room leftover.

And for some reason, it was almost confusing.  I just looked at myself.

Did someone sneak in here and exchange this for a larger size?

Why can’t I look at myself and see what’s really going on?  I’m changing.  My body is shrinking.  No one is exchanging my clothes like some warped thief in the night.  But every once in a while when I catch my reflection, or see a photograph of myself, I think….

Hmmm, that girl sort of looks like me.  Wait…..that IS me!

It makes me feel more than just a little nuts sometimes.

Friday morning I was having coffee with My Friend.  He had just finished reading my blog for the first time. 

He was quiet for a few minutes. 

He sipped his coffee. 

He looked at me with those compassionate eyes and said, “I don’t like the way you see yourself.”

Me neither. 

Then he specifically pointed to the part in my last blog post where I said:

Your Friend isn’t interested in you because you’re a cow.

You ain’t havin’ sex in that body with noooooooooobody.

You can’t wear that sleeveless shirt in public.

He pointed to the first line, the one about me being a cow, and said nothing.  He just looked at me with this pained expression on his face.

I sort of half bit my lip in girlish shame.

Next he pointed to the second line, the one about sex, and said “What IS that?”

I said nothing.

Then he pointed to the third line, the one about the sleeveless shirt, and said, “Why not?”

I thought for a moment and then said “That’s the way it all plays out in my head.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then said “Well, we’re gonna change all that.”

It was the first time I have ever felt so vulnerable and known without being scared.  And I think that’s just because I feel safe.  And accepted. 

I often tell people that being extremely overweight is the best way to close yourself off.  As big as you are, you can disappear in broad daylight.

It is the ultimate hiding place.

My Friend pointed to another line in my blog entry, and said, “I love this.  I love it.”   It was the line:

I am losing this weight because it shields me from the intimacy that scares me so much.  And I want to finally have that.

It’s okay and good to come out from the hiding place.

Some of us just need an usher.

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