Examples?  With pleasure:

• One guy wrote on his profile that he was 6’4″.  When we met for lunch,  he was actually 5’4″.  When I questioned him, he said it was a typo.  A-hem.
• A man I dated for several months, in his original profile wrote, in his own words, that he is a “hopeless romantic with a penchant for the extraordinary.”  Translation:  He is a narcissistic prick.
• Another dude stated in his profile that he’s been single all his life.  In reality, he wasn’t even single when he was dating me.  His girlfriend was very kind to point that out to me in very loud terms.

When you get into a relationship with someone, you get to know them.  Yet during the process of falling in love, we are putting on airs and hiding who we truly are.

I don’t see the point.  I don’t want to deceive a person into loving me.  I want that person to love me for real.  I am not and never will be a Stepford Wife.  I am a real woman, who has made a million mistakes, and will probably make a million more.  I am beautifully flawed, and proud of the things I’ve accomplished.  I have a lion’s courage, and a soldier’s heart.

I have hidden my true self from my men in the past.  Falling in love was fun, but once the true person was revealed in each of us, we ran for our lives.

So I say just throw it all out there in the beginning.  Everything.  Just go for it.  Show up for your first date in warm up pants and a hoodie.  Don’t bother shaving off that 2 month stubble.  Kick your shoes off with wild abandon to reveal extremely unpedicured toenails.  Hand over your journals.  Cry about your ex.  Ask to borrow 50 bucks.  Hell, fart during dinner for all I care.  Just be yourself.

Because trust me, if that person sticks around after that mess, they’re probably not going anywhere anytime soon.

Huh.  It’s a becoming clear to me why I’m single.

And you know what?  I like it that way.

I just deleted my profile.

But other people’s opinions don’t really matter when it comes to what is best for me.  Only I can make that decision.

I have many friends with weight struggles, all unique in their own way.  Each person has battled the bulge differently.  Andrea chose gastric bypass surgery and the treadmill.  Jason uses Weight Watchers and runs.  Kristin counts calories and works out 5 days a week.  Carrie had lapband surgery and hired a personal trainer.  Kim utilizes moderation, has several trainers at her disposal, and at 200+ pounds has run races and done triathalons.

The one common denominator in all of these is that every person participates in some form of physical exercise.

I really have no excuse to not exercise.  Honestly, it is sheer laziness.

Let’s just call a spade a spade.

We are just simply overweight as a society because we eat too much and exercise too little.

We all have different stories.  And issues.  And reasons for why we are the way we are.

I am honestly content these days in my skin.  I have learned to love me.  And others.  It took years of therapy and journaling and maturing, but I finally feel truly free. I am no longer tied to that anchor of caring so much what you think about me.  For so long that’s the only thing I cared about.  But once I got past that place, I was able to see how much worth I intrinsically have just because I am unique.

My sister and I differ in our weight struggles, in that I binge-eat but she just eats too much.  These are two very different things.  My food issues are emotional, hers are indulgent.  But she has lost 60 pounds with a disciplined diet and regular, rigorous exercise, amidst the affliction of a back injury.  She is in constant pain.  Standing, sitting, sleeping….everything she does hurts.  Yet she still gets up, shakes it off, and works it out.  She attends yoga classes, receives massages, and truly takes care of herself.  She doesn’t make excuses, she just does it.

Andrea was heavy her entire life.  After Roux en Y gastric bypass surgery, she lost 130 pounds in 10 months.  That was almost 7 years ago.  She has had two children since, and to this day maintains her healthy weight.  She is truly the poster child for Roux en Y.  She and her husband are very active with their children, and she feeds her family a very healthy, balanced diet.

Kristin is not someone I would have ever considered to be overweight, but there is one great reason for that.  Consistency.  She has always maintained a healthy weight, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less.  These days she counts calories strictly during the week, loosens up a little on the weekend, and exercises an hour before work several days a week.  She is the most fit I have ever seen her, and she just turned 37 years old.  She has the legs of a 22 year old woman.  Impressive.

There is no secret formula.  No one has our thinness contained in some magic pill or new fad idea.  Our bodies are our own temples, our own responsibility.  If I need to lose weight, I am the only one who has the power to change it.  I can make weak excuses all day long about my poor slow metabolism, or my boohoo exhaustion from being a single mom….but at the end of the day the bottom line is that I eat and drink too much, I don’t exercise enough, and I need to get up off my ass.

Period.

So if you want to have lapband surgery, or join Weight Watchers, or run marathons….I say DO IT.  You do what works for you, and I’ll do what works for me.  And we’ll still be in it together.  I won’t judge you for your choices, and I hope you will extend me the same courtesy.  Let’s just do something about it, huh?

Better choices.

We’re worth it.

I want to thank all of you crazy so-and-so’s.

I love to ramble and apparently more than a few of you like to read about it.

But I am going to turn off the comment section for a while, because it is becoming too important to me.  I hope you understand.

Thank you for the warm welcome back to blogland.

Writing is very therapeutic for me.  I have kept these journals to myself for over a year.  But I want you to know that my absence was never an indicator of any type of failure.  Many times when a person stops blogging, we judge and think they “fell off the wagon” or just no longer care about the topic of which they were writing.

Neither of these is the case with me.

I just had to shift gears.

Seeing a therapist has been a huge part of my growth.  Irene was able to unearth YEARS of emotional constipation I didn’t even realize I had.  I have been able to work through many of the reasons I feel like I just don’t fit in this world.  I understand what types of situations set me off, and so I can more proactively steer clear.

I highly recommend seeing a therapist if you have any type of addiction whatsoever.  You will really come to know yourself.

I know myself now.  SOOOO well.  Maybe even a little more than I wanted to.

But I’m so glad I did.

It has brought me such freedom from two major things:

• The self-loathing I project on myself for every single failure, no matter how small.
• Your opinion on my choices.

My entire life I had thought of myself as a fat girl.  A diet failure.  And that affected everything else.

But what I’ve discovered is that I am not only out of control in that area of my life, I am out of control in EVERY area of my life.

Eating.

Drinking.

Sex. (SO happy to have added this back to the mix, though.)

My home.

My finances.

Until 3 years ago, I had just always accepted it.  Never even thought about it, really.

My day would always end with binge-eating or 2 bottles of wine.

My home was always a disaster, still is sometimes.  And I mean to the point where you have to step over things to get through the room.

There were times that I had the money to pay my bills, but I used it for other things; creating a financially disastrous situation… on purpose.

I pursued men that I full well knew were players and assholes, knowing I was going to get hurt in the end.

(So to speak.  A-hem.)

Then a friend of mine gave me a copy of  He’s just not that into you by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo .

This book woke me up in a million ways.

And brought me to the realization that it wasn’t just me “being fat” or “failing at a diet.”

I was just completely out of control.

And as strange as that sounds, it was fantastically liberating.

So now where am I?

Same mess.  Different day.

But now I understand my nature.  So when someone hurts me, I own it.  I get mad if I need to, work through it, and try my best to move on.

I have to coach myself.

I actually instruct myself outloud sometimes:

“You are NOT drinking that bottle of wine, missy.  Your feelings are hurt, take a bath, and go to sleep.”

“2 cheeseburgers and a milkshake is not going to solve the financial crisis that you created yourself, Ms. Thang.  Go home, have some chili, and read a book.”

“Pick up the laundry, put it away, and have a cup of tea.”

It is extremely painful to admit, but I hardly ever finish anything I start.  I have started no less than 7 business ventures.  My home is a collection of unfinished redecorating projects.  I have a pile of half-read books and abandoned diet plans.  I will spend 3 hours getting ready for a night out on the town, only to skip the finishing touches like shaving (um HELLO?!) and mascara.

This is not something I am proud of, but I am certainly willing to admit it now.

(Sidebar:  Seasoned readers will remember Tenderoni.  Initially a love interest, now like a brother.  I adore him and I’m so thankful to have discovered unconditional love through this pig-headed pain in my ass.  He has taught me SO much about myself, and he only pisses me off because he’s right.  I am so thankful for his presence in my life and the lives of my kids.)

The great and powerful Tenderoni was oh so kind to point that out to me how I tend not to finish what I start. Two summers ago, (God, has it been that long?) I bought him a rocking chair at an antique store for $19.  It had the potential to be beautiful with some serious sanding, some dark varnish and a coat of lacquer.  I showed it to him unfinished, and he loved the style.  I started on it that summer, but it was a bitch to sand by hand.  So I borrowed Tenderoni’s electric sander.  And then just never did anything with it ever again.

The other night we were having beers with some friends on my sun porch, and it got quiet.  He looked over at the unfinished rocking chair and said “Humph.”

I smiled sort of shamefully and said “Ohhhh, I’m sorry big guy.”

He jokingly postured himself with hostility toward me, and said loudly, “Yeah?  Well that’s been the case now every day for 2 years.”

The room fell completely silent.

And then everyone burst out laughing.

But he meant every word of that admonition.  And rightfully so.

I decided right then I was going to finish the chair, and finish it right.

Consider it part of my therapy.

I took the chair completely apart the next day.  I went to Lowe’s and bought all new gold-colored hardware for re-assembly, since all of the old bolts and screws were completely rusted.  I sanded about 1/3 of the pieces with an electric sander, and then finished them by hand.  I bought black varnish and spray-lacquer.

That was Monday.  Today is Friday.  I haven’t worked on it since.

If you thought I was absent from blogland because of failure, think again.  I haven’t failed.

But I haven’t won yet either.

I am, and will always be, a work in progress.

And I’m finally at peace with that.  Regardless of the number on the scale.

Identify.

Process.

Choose.

Heal.

It is my own personal brand of crazy.

I encourage you to find your own.

Not perfect, don't need to be. xo

So without further ado….ladies and gentleman….

Pandora’s Box.

It seems my toughest battles are the ones that never needed to be fought in the first place.  I mean truly, there is no reason for the war whatsoever, I just barge in and demand a boxing match and there’s not even anyone to get into the ring with.  So instead I beat the hell out of myself mentally for something that never even went down the way I imagined it.

The wounds of staying with an unfaithful and emotionally abusive man so many years run deep.

Get this.

Yesterday morning I woke up early, went for a 20 minute jaunt on the elliptical machine, made my protein shake and stretched out on the exercise ball.  A few minutes later Kevin called to tell me good morning.  I felt great.  Warmed up, stretched out, nourishing my body, and talking to my babe.

Nirvana.

Then my Castle on a Cloud  immediately time warped into hell when I heard a woman’s voice in the background.

I thought I was going to throw up.

I stammered around trying to find the words to ask whose voice I’d heard.  I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t make me sound like a possessive, paranoid whack-job.  So I said nothing.  Once the phone call ended, I sat and stewed about it for 15 minutes.  So I sent him a text.  I already knew he wouldn’t respond because he was at work.  So when he didn’t respond, I called his job.  I asked him if he wanted breakfast or coffee, to which he declined.  So instantly in my mind I start thinking …”oh what man doesn’t want breakfast or coffee brought to him?  Why doesn’t he want to see me?  Is it because the woman’s voice I heard this morning has already served him breakfast and coffee?  NAKED?  AN HOUR BEFORE I’D THOUGHT OF IT?!”

Oooooookay sweetie, let’s back the crazy train up.

I obsessed about it more and more.  As the day went on, I heard from him two more times.  Little did he know I was holding a silent grudge because of mystery woman.  I was literally mad.  I had convinced myself by 2:30 that he was full out seeing another woman, so I broke out the bread and olive oil.  I was about to dive in when I realized, “Booboo, you have created this entire scenario in your head.”

Kevin called me 5 minutes later and asked me to come see him at work.

I practically floated up to his workplace.  I was so happy again that my love wanted to see me in the middle of his workday.  As I pulled up next to his car though, I saw something that nearly stopped my heart.  Another woman.

It was his mother.

She jumped out of the car and hugged me.  We exchanged niceties about how nice it was to see each other.  Then she said “Baby, I wish you could have joined us for breakfast this morning.”

Come again?

Apparently Kevin had gotten up early to meet his mother for breakfast at Bob Evans.

Annnnnnnd…..scene.

See, this isn’t just about eating poorly or being too lazy to exercise.  Not for me, anyway.  I have deep emotional wounds that I am trying to heal with food.  But that’s like trying to cure cancer with Tylenol.  One is not made for the other.

This may all seem very crazy to you, and if it does, honestly, I’m glad for you.  I am trying to change my thought processes.  I don’t fully understand why I am this way, and I probably never will.  But I can own it now.  I know when I am hurting emotionally, self-inflicted or otherwise, that my first propensity is going to be to turn to food to medicate myself.

Now I just have to gather the will and the discipline to stop.

But what I’ve realized is that I don’t have to be binge-eating.

It can be anything really.

If I’m not binge eating, I drink.  If I’m not drinking, I call Mr. Hornball and he comes over to visit.  Once I’m post-coitus, you may find me doing yoga for 2 hours.  Or smoking 12 cigarettes.  Or listening to the same song 400 times.

Whatever the addiction, I am committed to it 100%.

Until I’m over it.  Then I switch to something else.

In every part of my life it is plain to see that I really am my worst enemy when it comes to loving myself through lonely and painful situations.

Here’s a perfect example.

The other night Kevin was supposed to come over for dinner.  I cleaned up the house, lit some candles, and turned on some Sade.  I made a beautiful dinner and had the wine ready.  15 minutes after he was supposed to arrive, I called his phone.

No answer.

I threw my phone into the couch pillows.  I could feel myself coming unglued, and instead of dealing with my disappointment and working through my hurt, I went to the kitchen and drank the entire bottle of wine in 20 minutes.

About 10 minutes later Kevin walked in.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m late.  Why weren’t you answering your phone?”

I picked up my phone and looked to see that he had called 3 times.  But my ringer was turned off.

In my mind, I can catastrophize an event faster than anyone I know.  I can make a mountain out of a mole hill in 60 seconds flat.  In my mind, he had found something better to do while having social hour with his family, met a gorgeous, sex-crazed woman on the fly, and made passionate love to her in the back of her Escalade, all while laughing that I was sitting home alone with a big pot of etouffee bubbling and crying into my wine.

In reality, he had to pick up his daughter from school and take her to her grandmother’s house before he could come to mine.

So literally over nothing, I medicated myself with an entire bottle of wine.

The upside?  The tipsy, silly dance we did to “September” by Earth, Wind and Fire.

I gotta get a grip.

I weighed over 300 pounds.  I was fucking miserable.  But food was my drug.  I used it to numb the pain of an unfaithful and abusive husband, a son newly-diagnosed with Autism,  and years of emotional constipation.

One afternoon I had gone shopping, and switched markets because the one I normally shopped was out of avocados.  I walked into the produce department and noticed the most intriguing-looking man. He was caramel-skinned, taller than me, and had long braided hair.  He was standing in the produce department and I watched him as he spoke to an elderly woman.  He was employed there, and was helping the woman find clementines.  I was stunned by his warmth and kindness toward her.  Mesmerized even.  He looked up in my direction and smiled.  I smiled, and quickly averted my gaze and moved on.

I immediately had a crush on him without ever even speaking with him.

I thought about him for 2 days.

I couldn’t get him out of my head.  I just kept imagining him in my mind….his kindness, the way he moved, the unique way he spoke…I thought of how long it had been since I knew the kindness and warmth of a man.  I longed for that.

So I waited as long as I could before returning to the market.

An entire 33 hours.

I grabbed a cart and started through the store.  Right past the produce department, I spotted him.  He was standing behind the meat counter laughing with a co-worker.  I walked past as though I was looking for something, and they both looked at me and smiled.  My crush said “How you doin’ today?”

My heart raced.  We exchanged nods and smiles.  I couldn’t say anything.  I was completely taken off guard.

How ignorant!

I went to the market with the intention of seeing this man again, yet didn’t speak.

Ugh.

Soon thereafter is when I started making a real effort to take off the weight.  One afternoon I was feeling particularly sassy, and I was longing for some male attention, so I went to the market to see if he was working.

(I know other women do this too, come on now.)

(And of course I loaded up on healthy food, to make a good impression.)

As I stepped into the meat department, I saw him talking to a female co-worker.  My heart sank.

(I am so ridiculous.)

I walked up to the meat counter and stood for a moment.  He didn’t acknowledge me at all.  He just kept talking to the girl.  But then one of his co-workers stepped up to take my order, and once I spoke, my crush looked directly at me and we made eye contact.  We both smiled.  I wanted so badly to say something but I said nothing.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It’s always fun to stand idly by and watch your body betray you.

I left the market once again without speaking to him.

Over the next couple of years I went into that supermarket every week.  I would always look to see if he was there, but I didn’t make eye contact with him more than a few times.  Once I started really taking off the weight, I would sass up and go to the market hoping he would talk to me.  We made eye contact several times and smiled, but never spoke.  But each time he smiled at me, my confidence grew.

Then about a year and a half ago, I went into the market, and he had cut off all his hair.  I stared openly, with the intention of being caught.  He caught me.  He smiled that sexy little smile and shyly shrugged and said “What?!”  And I said “You cut your hair!”  He smiled the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, as I shook my head disapprovingly at his new hairstyle of choice and walked away.

The first time I speak to this beautiful creature after literally years of admiring him, and all I can spout is “You cut your hair“?

Aye chingada.

But that display of confidence and playfulness started a chain of events that has changed my life.

Now, by this time remember, I had dropped 100 pounds.  I had divorced my cheating and lying piece of shit (now ex) husband, and dated A LOT of men.  My confidence was out of control huge.  I was comfortable in my own skin.  The weak, frightened woman who had noticed him nearly 5 years prior no longer existed.

Now that we had spoken, I started going into the market twice a week.  I stopped to talk with him every single time.  I knew it was probably just a crush, and would not go anywhere.  But damn, I could not stop myself.  When I had his attention I felt like the only woman alive.

This past winter I had gone into the market for lamb.  He asked why I needed ground lamb, and I said it was for a recipe for my diet.  He stepped closer to me and said “Why are you on a diet?”

I nearly proposed.

Turns out, they didn’t have any ground lamb, but he offered to order it for me.  I thought, ”Dear GOD, this is the perfect opportunity for me to give him my phone number!”  He took down my name and number, ordered the lamb, and called me 3 days later to tell me it was in.

But nothing transpired from that exchange.  I thought, well if he’d wanted to call me then he would have.  So I was waaaay bummed.

He didn’t ask for my number that day.  Or the next.  But about 2 weeks later the most amazing thing happened.

I was leaving the market, loading my bags into the car, and he drove up next to me.  My heart nearly stopped.  He asked where I was headed, we talked for a few minutes, and he told me to give him a call sometime.

We exchanged numbers.

It was quite serendipitous, I gotta say.

I thought, well here I won the attention of this beautiful man without being a stick figure.

Joy!

He called me that same evening.  We talked for an hour.  That same week, he came over to my house one evening for dinner.  We talked for hours on end.  I could hardly believe all the things we had in common.  We shared the same views on politics, religion, social issues….all of the important things.  I walked him to his car, and the moment he pulled away, he called me.  We talked for 20 minutes until he got home.

We have spoken on the phone and/or seen each other every day since.

His love has freed me from the lies that I am not good enough, thin enough, pretty enough, or just plain enough.  Having my love reciprocated and being with someone who adores me as I am has given me a freedom I cannot explain.  I am beautiful.  I actually believe that and no longer need anyone else to validate that for me.

But the catch is that the confidence has almost created a complacency about my weight.

Which again, is a very freeing place to be.  But a dangerous one as well, because I know this weight is unhealthy.

So currently I am seeking the desire and the discipline within my spirit to lose enough weight to improve my health.

Not for show.  Or for Kevin.  Or for a reunion, a wedding, or any other event in my life except one.

ME.

Those are the best friends to have.

This past Tuesday, it was late afternoon and I was really upset about something that had gone down the previous weekend.  Diane stopped by, and we talked for a while.  During that conversation she said something I have been thinking about all week.

“Angie, you have been stuck on Step One longer than anyone I know.”

We both laughed.

Hard.

And long.

But that has stayed with me all week.

DAMN if that hooch isn’t right again!

Step One is ADMISSION.

I will openly admit just about anything and everything.  I can be flighty.  And addictive.  And passive aggressively mean.   Commitment scares me.  I am lazy by nature.  My right armpit sweats profusely.  I drink too much, eat too much, and swear too much.  I’m not a back door gal.  This morning I listened to the song “What do I do” by Sam Phillips….no less than 12 times.  In a row.  I love a man who I cannot have, which only presents me a greater challenge.  Last Monday I ate 12,000 calories in one sitting.

The problem isn’t the admission.

The problem is the unwillingness to change it.

If it takes as many years to get through all the steps as it did the first one, I am going to be 73 years old by the time I am recovered.

Woohoo.

I was feeling a little sassy yesterday.  I had some sun on my face, I had cocoa-buttered my entire body, and I was having a great hair day.  The weather has been lovely, so I have been walking every day.  I am 16 days without incident on the binge eating, and otherwise have been eating fresh, healthy foods.  I have been drinking my water.

A++.

Mama feelin’ great!

So I’m sitting at my desk, entering some orders for one of the docs, and I catch the eye of this man sitting in the ER room in front of my desk.  He smiled, I smiled, we both looked away.  But when I looked back up, he was looking at me again.  I smiled again.  He smiled. 

Damn, he’s cute.  Okay, play it cool, sis.

So, in typical drama queen fashion, I pump up the animation when I answer the phone.  I am laughing, tossing my hair…..and everytime I catch his eye, he’s looking at me.  At one point he smiled so big he seemed to be almost chuckling.  I thought now surely this man is going to come over here and talk to me.

But in the mean time I kept on with the quick glances and the hair tossing.

After several minutes of this insanity, he left the patient’s room to get a cup of coffee.  I quickly ran to the bathroom to fluff and reapply. 

The moment I caught my reflection in the mirror, I saw what he’d been chuckling about.  Somehow I had smudged my eyeliner all the way down the left side of my face.  It looked like someone had clocked me with a bonfire weenie stick.

I laughed until I had tears running down my face.

THIS is exactly what I’m talking about when I talk about my perception of situations and actual reality being two completely different things.

I, of course, washed my face and returned to my desk.  A few minutes later he returned to the patient’s room.  As he sat down to enjoy his coffee, he looked up at me again.  I smiled and turned my head, and gestured to the left side of my face as if to say “Ta-dah!  Smudge free!” 

He laughed outloud.

I wish I didn’t love the attention of men so much.  Perhaps one day I will be free of the hold it has on me. 

But in the mean time at least I have a sense of humor.

When I began my weight loss journey, I was 11.  My paternal grandmother told me I was getting too fat.  She was dropping me off at home, and she reached over and grabbed my tummy and said, “This is starting to hang down.  If you want to find love someday, you will need to lose weight.”

I was heartbroken.

But I went on a diet.  I remember the first time I took cottage cheese and tomatoes to school for lunch.  I told my friends it was a special calcium-rich diet my doctor had me on to strengthen my knees.  They knew I was lying.  But what’s more, is that none of them even thought I needed to be on a diet. 

Because none of them thought I was fat.  And nor did I.  But I went on a diet because if grandma said I was fat, I must have been.  Shortly after this, I attended a slumber party.  The girls were all weighing themselves.  It was my turn, so I stepped on the scale.  

112 pounds. 

And the only girl there in triple digits.  I went home and cried for the rest of the day.  I felt so awful, and all I wanted was to feel better again.  I went to the kitchen and found a bag of mini chocolate bars.  I ate the entire bag.

Within the next year, I really started to rebel.  My grades went down, I spent all my time on theatre and music, and snuck out at night.  When dad was upset with me, I would eat to make myself feel better.  Thus began a lifetime of binge/starve patterns.  Whenever I would go to someone else’s house, I would sneak into the kitchen to find “forbidden” snacks.  Cookies, chips, chocolate, soda…and I would mini-binge.  The high from this was short-lived, though intense.  I see now that the high from sneaking was just as intense as the high from being full.  But then the guilt would set in and I would go days without eating.

I topped out at 264 pounds when I was 16.  I couldn’t even stand to look at a picture of myself.  I fell in love with one of my best friends.  He was a year older than me, and I adored him.  I saw how he admired thin girls, so I wanted to slim down.  My mom had lost quite a bit of weight on Weight Watchers, so my sister and I joined as well.  I lost 40 pounds very quickly. 

My friend left for college at the end of that year, and I never told him how I felt about him.  I missed him so much.  I started binge-eating again to comfort myself, and within a month I had gained 10 pounds.  About this same time I met my only high school “boyfriend,” (for lack of a better word) and quickly lost the 10 pounds, plus 10 more.

Retelling this horseshit is making me nauseous.  But I can see the cycle.

For 26 years now I have been binge eating, lamenting over men I can’t have, punishing myself for not being loved well-enough, and obsessing over things I can’t change.  My therapist is now helping me to overcome these habits.

And trust me, it ain’t easy.

Therapy is doing wonders for me.  Yes, I am a hot mess.  But for the first time, I am completely at peace with that.  As I recall these events from my life during therapy, I can plainly see many things.

I am happiest when I am oblivious of my flaws.

Up until now, I have truly been a child constantly returning to her pacifier.

I have always lost weight for someone else.  To make grandma happy, or become beautiful again in the eyes of my friends, or to ‘win’ the love of a man.

But when those people hurt or betray me, I use the very substance I forsook to comfort myself.  Thus gaining large amounts of weight in a short time.

Here are some perfect examples from the past year:

• I met Tenderoni during the holiday season, 2008.  I crushed on him for months, until I finally spoke to him.  We hit it off enormously, and started spending a great deal of time together.  January 2009 to July 2009 was one of the happiest times of my life.  My weight went from 292 to 246 in the course of about 4 months.  In August though, Tenderoni pulled waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back from me, with no explanation.  When I asked, he acted as though I was imagining it.  By the end of October I was back up in the 280′s.
• Around the beginning of November, Mark* started pursuing me.  He was no Tenderoni, but was tall, handsome, and well-spoken.  We laughed a lot together.  We spent time together for a couple of months, and my weight was back down to 265 by early 2010.  He dumped me, no-call no-show style, and I was back up in the 280′s by February.
• February 2010, I caught the eye of an older man, something I’ve never done before.  He started calling me, and I found that I really liked the maturity that came with a 50 year old.  Hence, since I was happy, my weight dropped 15 pounds almost instantly.  Soon after though, he pulled away.  I had those 15 pounds back on within 10 days.

March 2010 I began seeing a therapist who deals with eating disorders.  In a very short time I have learned my thought processes, why I think the way I think, and what sends me into self-destruction.  I don’t eat because I’m hungry.  I eat because I’m hurt and pissed off.  Like a little child pouting in the corner.  These are the behaviors I am trying to un-learn in behavior therapy.

Here is how I’ve dealt with life the past few weeks…as a semi grown-up:

• I’d had an awful night at work.  I was pissed off at the world over something completely outside of my control.  I came home, opened a bottle of wine, and drank half of it from the bottle as quickly as I could.  I went to the kitchen to get a block of cheese, crackers, and green olives.  I froze.  I put my hands on the counter, took a deep breath, and put the food back.  Then I dumped the other half of the wine down the sink, and as I did I spoke outloud to myself, “You are angry, and that’s okay.  Acknowledge your feelings and let it go.”  It worked.  I went to bed and woke up the next morning with only a mild hangover.
• A few weeks ago Tenderoni came over for breakfast.  It was the first time he’d been here in a hot minute, and we really had a great time together just laughing and talking.  It was such a good time, in fact, that I invited him over again two days later via text.  He didn’t respond.  After an hour of twiddling my thumbs, I stormed to the kitchen to make a salad bowl of cereal for myself.  Cereal poured, milk poured,…..and I realized what I was doing.  I walked away from it and did yoga instead.
• I have a new male love interest.  Last week he was supposed to come over one evening, but he didn’t show up.  I was crushed.  I went to the internet to have $30 worth of Donatos delivered to my house.  I had the entire order typed in, AND my credit card information entered, when I said outloud “What the f*#& am I DOING?!”  I chose to shower, shave, spritz and sizzle instead.  Turns out my new friend’s granddad had died that day, and that’s why he didn’t come over.

I know this is getting long, I’m almost done.

I am finally learning, at the ripe age of 37, to truly live one day at a time.  And if I can’t handle a whole day, break it down into hours.  And if not hours, then moments.  Each tiny moment that I choose to love myself, is a moment spent wisely.  If it is 1:19pm, and I get that overwhelming propensity to overdramatize and binge eat or drink, I say to myself, “Okay sis, let’s make it til 1:30.”  The majority of the time, that is enough time for me to focus and calm the hell down.

I am also learning that just because a person seems uninterested in me, or appears to be ignoring me, this is not necessarily the case.  But even if it is, I have to learn to process rejection without punishing and hurting myself.

Yet another lesson is that my catastrophizing and reality are two completely different things.  The situation may be something simple….such as that a man just forgot to return my phone call .  But in my mind, I have played it all out that he woke up, saw my phone call, called 10 of his buddies to tell them what a fat loser I am, all while having gleeful sex with a woman I’d like to strangle with my bare hands.

I am learning to tame the 10 year old drama queen living inside me.

Today I am 9 days without incident. 

One day at a time.

Or more like lukewarm.

Even with guidance from a licensed therapist, I can’t understand how my whole life has been this never ending cycle of self-loathing and destruction.  Somewhere, sometime, early on, I must have convinced myself that being rejected means I have no self-worth.  And not only that, but I need to be punished.  And medicated.

But those thought processes are starting to change. 

I get stood up a lot.  Perhaps it is me, or them, or the desperation in my voice, or the company I choose.  Who knows.  But it happens, nonetheless.  Quite a bit, actually.  In fact, one night this past week I was supposed to have company.  He called.  We planned.  I invited.  He accepted. 

9pm came and it went.  No call.  No show.

No dice.

This happens over and over and over again.  And not with the same man.  This is actually the 5th man in the past year who has stood me up.  Wtf?

The only reason I can muster for this cycle is the company I’m choosing.  Choosing.  Because until this year, no one had ever stood me up.  Now in one year, I have FIVE suitors who don’t even have the decency to call when they’re not gonna show?

Come on now.

It’s not them.  It’s me.

In some warped way, I must be doing this to myself on purpose.  Being dumped, rejected, stood up….these are all reason to self-loathe.  Self-punish.  And self-medicate.  But guess what?

This time I didn’t do any of those things.

I sat on my newly decorated sun porch, candles glowing, fire-pit crackling, Marvin Gaye in the CD player….all by myself.  The kids were in bed.  It was a perfect evening, about 70 degrees, no rain, light breeze.  I had a glass of fruity wine and was painting my toenails.  I smelled like peaches and vanilla from the shea butter I had slathered on after my shower.  My hair was sort of tousling freely in the wind.  “Mercy mercy me” started playing on the CD player, possibly my favorite Marvin Gaye song of all time.

I sat back and admired my sparkly silver toenails.

I took a deep breath.  And I realized.

He’s not coming over here.

So I started talking to myself.  Outloud.  “Well, he is obviously not worth your time.  You are a beautiful, generous woman, and he will never know what he missed this evening because you are never letting him do this to you again.”

I smiled.

I sat there, with a mildly crushed spirit, and just allowed myself to feel what I was feeling.  Disappointment.  Hurt.  Reminiscence.  Wait….where’s the anger?  No anger?  What the?

And it hit me.  For the first time in a really long time, I wasn’t angry. 

I was hurt. 

And that little child within me that used to throw a temper-tantrum, suddenly grew up a little.  I didn’t storm to the kitchen to find carbs for bingeing.  I didn’t throw my wine glass against the house and scream profanities.  There was no misdirected drama-queened fit of rage, throwing plates and screaming at the top of my lungs.  I just sat there, with a slightly crushed spirit and a peaceful smile on my face.

I took a deep breath.  And exhaled hard.

I really am healing.  One disappointment at a time.