I am officially a fatass. I can no longer deny it. After a long weekend at the beach, I returned to work today with sunburned thighs and a sunburned tummy. I thought that my loose fitting sundress would prevent any discomfort during the work day, but I failed to realize that my discomfort would come from my own body parts.
After sitting at my desk for about 90 minutes, I shifted positions. At which point I realized that my sunburned tummy and my sunburned thighs had made contact and the lotion I had carefully applied that morning was now serving as superglue between the two. The physical pain was intense, but the mental pain, as I realized that I had let myself get SO FAT, was even worse.
At that moment, I decided that I was done being fat. I came home today, armed myself with my weight watchers books, a new food journal, and determination. I have a wedding in less than a year, I have engagement pictures in just a few months. The rest of my life is great, but I am holding myself back by being overweight. No more.
I know that I am going to want to give up, I know that there will be days where I fall off the wagon, but I hope that by documenting my struggles & victories here, I will be able to stick to it in the long haul.
And at the very least, may I never have thighs that stick to my stomach again!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Dr. Pepper incident
I can't blame Beau for what happened to me. He nurtured my neuroses, and fed my addictions, but he did not cause them. He did encourage them though. Often.
Beau was very conscientous of his appearance. His hair was thinning, and after being around him just a few days, I could tell that it was a sore spot for him. To compensate, he took care in picking out his clothes each day, making sure his sleeves were rolled just so, he spent extra time on the weekends working on his tan. He was also very body conscious, and within a few weeks of knowing him, I realized that he spent quite a bit of time counting calories and watching what he ate. Having had body & self esteem issues my whole life, it is not surprising that his food habits started to wear off on me.
The first time we ordered pizza together, he used half a roll of paper towels blotting the grease off of his. I'd heard of this before, but had never actually seen anyone do it. To me, I figured that if you were going to eat all the calories anyway, you might as well have as much taste as possible, so why blot? Yet I didn't want him to think I was a total fat ass, so I blotted my pizza as well, as if I had done it my entire life--although my thighs told another story. Later, when he commented that he was only going to eat two slices, and save the rest for tomorrow (not "later" but tomorrow!!), I agreed that I was going to do the same, even though my brain was protesting loudly internally. Pizza had always been an "all you can eat & then some" food in my world, but I was not going to eat more than my boyfriend. Even if my outside appearance showed that I had clearly eaten more than him many, many times.
Then there was the Dr. Pepper incident; a truly pivitol point. It happened about a month into our relationship; I was staying at his house almost nightly, so we were spending our evenings together when I wasn't working. To say that I like Dr. Pepper is an understatement. I grew up drinking Coke & Dr. Pepper almost exclusively, with the occasional glass of Sweet Tea. But drinking water was not something that I did, ever I'll admit that I have an unhealthy relationship with caffeine. The real love affair started though when I realized, that after taking massive bong hits, nothing tasted or felt quite as good as a tall glass of Dr. Pepper, cold, but without ice. Being that bong hits were a nightly ritual, it followed that Dr. Pepper became a nightly ritual as well. Then, one night, as I was headed to the fridge to get my fix of the Dr., Beau made the most casual of comments.
"You know, I think you drink too much coke. Its really not good for you. And it is expensive" What my brain heard, was "Hey Fatass, lay off the liquid dessert or you're out of here." But my throat was really parched, burning, and I knew that the sweet, syrupy goodness would make everything better. On the other hand, I didn't want Beau to think I was fat; he might leave me. So, I decided to do something about it. I told him that I was going to get some water instead, and that is exactly what I did. My taste buds were pretty numb, so while I didn't get the sugar fix I wanted, the cool water did help my throat. I decided that it wasn't too bad and figured I could stand to cut the extra calories from my diet. And Beau seemed so pleased. It felt good.
That comment, and my decision, were much more than a casual interaction. It was as if a switch in my mind was flipped at that point. I no longer accepted myself. My self-worth became rooted in my appearance and the approval I recieved from others. My life was no longer my own.
Beau was very conscientous of his appearance. His hair was thinning, and after being around him just a few days, I could tell that it was a sore spot for him. To compensate, he took care in picking out his clothes each day, making sure his sleeves were rolled just so, he spent extra time on the weekends working on his tan. He was also very body conscious, and within a few weeks of knowing him, I realized that he spent quite a bit of time counting calories and watching what he ate. Having had body & self esteem issues my whole life, it is not surprising that his food habits started to wear off on me.
The first time we ordered pizza together, he used half a roll of paper towels blotting the grease off of his. I'd heard of this before, but had never actually seen anyone do it. To me, I figured that if you were going to eat all the calories anyway, you might as well have as much taste as possible, so why blot? Yet I didn't want him to think I was a total fat ass, so I blotted my pizza as well, as if I had done it my entire life--although my thighs told another story. Later, when he commented that he was only going to eat two slices, and save the rest for tomorrow (not "later" but tomorrow!!), I agreed that I was going to do the same, even though my brain was protesting loudly internally. Pizza had always been an "all you can eat & then some" food in my world, but I was not going to eat more than my boyfriend. Even if my outside appearance showed that I had clearly eaten more than him many, many times.
Then there was the Dr. Pepper incident; a truly pivitol point. It happened about a month into our relationship; I was staying at his house almost nightly, so we were spending our evenings together when I wasn't working. To say that I like Dr. Pepper is an understatement. I grew up drinking Coke & Dr. Pepper almost exclusively, with the occasional glass of Sweet Tea. But drinking water was not something that I did, ever I'll admit that I have an unhealthy relationship with caffeine. The real love affair started though when I realized, that after taking massive bong hits, nothing tasted or felt quite as good as a tall glass of Dr. Pepper, cold, but without ice. Being that bong hits were a nightly ritual, it followed that Dr. Pepper became a nightly ritual as well. Then, one night, as I was headed to the fridge to get my fix of the Dr., Beau made the most casual of comments.
"You know, I think you drink too much coke. Its really not good for you. And it is expensive" What my brain heard, was "Hey Fatass, lay off the liquid dessert or you're out of here." But my throat was really parched, burning, and I knew that the sweet, syrupy goodness would make everything better. On the other hand, I didn't want Beau to think I was fat; he might leave me. So, I decided to do something about it. I told him that I was going to get some water instead, and that is exactly what I did. My taste buds were pretty numb, so while I didn't get the sugar fix I wanted, the cool water did help my throat. I decided that it wasn't too bad and figured I could stand to cut the extra calories from my diet. And Beau seemed so pleased. It felt good.
That comment, and my decision, were much more than a casual interaction. It was as if a switch in my mind was flipped at that point. I no longer accepted myself. My self-worth became rooted in my appearance and the approval I recieved from others. My life was no longer my own.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Swimming with Sharks...
I met Beau barely a month after I moved to South Carolina. I had posted about my move on a message board that I frequented, asking for the best route from my suburban residence to my job in downtown. He messaged me, and after a few online conversations, we exchanged numbers. We talked a few times, and then set up a time to meet at a local bar after work. Our first date lasted 13 hours. It wasn't love at first sight, but more of a way to fulfill a need.
Beau was 5 years older than me. He was tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, a deep tan, gorgeous smile and that casual, Carolina fraternity boy confidence. He lived in a duplex in a historic neighborhood just a short walk from Little 5 points. I was starry eyed, still nursing wounds from my last relationship, and harboring dreams of calling my parents to tell them that I was happy, and I was getting married. I was instantly willing to do whatever it would take to make this relationship work.
I began compromising myself the first night that we met. After a few drinks at the pub, I went back to his house with him, even though I swore I wouldn't. Once there, we smoked pot, which I had done a handful of times before, but never on a regular basis. But I didn't want to seem like a geek, so I gave in, although I did have to admit that I had never smoked out of a bong. But I was a quick learner. I stayed all night, and I can honestly say that nothing sexual happened, but I had gone from a good girl to a not-so good girl in my own head.
Things progressed very quickly after that. Within 3 weeks, I was spending 3-4 nights a week there. Sage and her family always gave me disapproving looks when I came home after a few days with Beau, which only encouraged me to spend more time with him, to come home later and leave earlier. Again more compromise of myself & my values. Prior to dating Beau, my friends had always prided me on how I managed to balance relationships & friendships, never giving up time with friends to spend time with a boyfriend. Beau had changed all of that. I lived for him and his approval. And he lived to control me.
Beau was 5 years older than me. He was tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, a deep tan, gorgeous smile and that casual, Carolina fraternity boy confidence. He lived in a duplex in a historic neighborhood just a short walk from Little 5 points. I was starry eyed, still nursing wounds from my last relationship, and harboring dreams of calling my parents to tell them that I was happy, and I was getting married. I was instantly willing to do whatever it would take to make this relationship work.
I began compromising myself the first night that we met. After a few drinks at the pub, I went back to his house with him, even though I swore I wouldn't. Once there, we smoked pot, which I had done a handful of times before, but never on a regular basis. But I didn't want to seem like a geek, so I gave in, although I did have to admit that I had never smoked out of a bong. But I was a quick learner. I stayed all night, and I can honestly say that nothing sexual happened, but I had gone from a good girl to a not-so good girl in my own head.
Things progressed very quickly after that. Within 3 weeks, I was spending 3-4 nights a week there. Sage and her family always gave me disapproving looks when I came home after a few days with Beau, which only encouraged me to spend more time with him, to come home later and leave earlier. Again more compromise of myself & my values. Prior to dating Beau, my friends had always prided me on how I managed to balance relationships & friendships, never giving up time with friends to spend time with a boyfriend. Beau had changed all of that. I lived for him and his approval. And he lived to control me.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
where did I lose myself? (part 1)
I'm not sure who I have been the past, oh, seven years of my life. Perhaps because I have been many people in those years, just none of them myself. It started in an attempt to find myself. I had been through quite a bit before I embarked on this journey-my Dad was diagnosed with cancer & lost his job, my college career was a spectacular failure, and I was in a ton of credit card debt. The most logical thought was to get away from it all. I was going to follow this band around, and somewhere along the way, I would figure out who I was and "fix" myself.
I can barely recall the girl who started this journey. I know she was lost, scared, & afraid. I remember packing all my worldly belongings in my dilapidated SUV, and driving 10 hours to South Carolina, to live with the family of a high school friend. I think I had roughly $250 to my name at the time. No credit, no bank account, nothing to fall back on. But I was hungry for change, and determined to prove that I could make it. I jumped into work, taking jobs as they presented themselves-- clinging to them as if I were a drowning person, and they were my life raft. And, in a way, they were. They kept me afloat, kept me from having to return home, gave me a purpose to my life. Then I found what I thought was a bigger life raft, a relationship to throw myself into. But what I really did was throw myself, bleeding, into a tank full of sharks.
I can barely recall the girl who started this journey. I know she was lost, scared, & afraid. I remember packing all my worldly belongings in my dilapidated SUV, and driving 10 hours to South Carolina, to live with the family of a high school friend. I think I had roughly $250 to my name at the time. No credit, no bank account, nothing to fall back on. But I was hungry for change, and determined to prove that I could make it. I jumped into work, taking jobs as they presented themselves-- clinging to them as if I were a drowning person, and they were my life raft. And, in a way, they were. They kept me afloat, kept me from having to return home, gave me a purpose to my life. Then I found what I thought was a bigger life raft, a relationship to throw myself into. But what I really did was throw myself, bleeding, into a tank full of sharks.
Monday, December 8, 2008
well, how did I get here?
My pulse was racing-through the open door, I'd seen them drive by three or four times now. Repeating to myself," be calm, be calm," I casually picked up the baggie, tapped the powder into one corner, and tied it shut as I walked to the kitchen. My mind was on autopilot now--open the cabinet, sugar canister down, make a hole..almost done. Then my thoughts were interrupted by a whiny, obnoxious voice "Oh no! the police just drive by! Hiiiiiiiiiiide it!" Like a bull in a china cabinet, she came parading into the kitchen, "Not in the sugar jar! that is the first place they will look. put it in the flour. oh no! what are we-"
SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I yelled. I couldn't help myself. Her voice was like nails on a chalk board to mind, which was having enough trouble staying on task. Of course, that only made her cry, the rest of the girls rushing to her side, looking at me like I'm the biggest bitch ever. I am conscious that I exhale loudly as I make my way back to the living room. I unroll the twenty (never snort with anything smaller than a twenty, it's bad luck), and place it in my wallet. I think its mine, but really, at this point, who cares. Pick up the photo frame, clean the glass with a finger, and place it back on the shelf. Shut the door, turn the 3 deadbolts. Overkill? perhaps, but a drug addled mind is often a paranoid mind. As I plop onto the couch, I realize that it no longer looks "vintage" & "hip" to me, but merely tired and old. Then I realize I feel that way not only about my couch, but myself as well.
How did I end up here? I look around the room as if I am just seeing it for the first time. At first glance, it is so fucking cool (lemons in a 3 ft tall glass vase! a green velvet Victorian fainting couch! a red Ikea dining table!), but if one pauses to really look at the elements, you realize it is just a bunch of old and/or overpriced shit masquerading as a life. Of course, this "shit" currently includes my gaggle of girlfriends, who are, at the moment, no longer crying or sending my death looks, but instead debating, at a breakneck speed, whether they should wear boots or flip flops tonight, as they don't want to look like they are trying too hard. And for once I realize that no matter which we chose, it will be painfully obvious to everyone else that we are trying very, very hard.
I want to scream that I want out, but no one would hear me anyway...
SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I yelled. I couldn't help myself. Her voice was like nails on a chalk board to mind, which was having enough trouble staying on task. Of course, that only made her cry, the rest of the girls rushing to her side, looking at me like I'm the biggest bitch ever. I am conscious that I exhale loudly as I make my way back to the living room. I unroll the twenty (never snort with anything smaller than a twenty, it's bad luck), and place it in my wallet. I think its mine, but really, at this point, who cares. Pick up the photo frame, clean the glass with a finger, and place it back on the shelf. Shut the door, turn the 3 deadbolts. Overkill? perhaps, but a drug addled mind is often a paranoid mind. As I plop onto the couch, I realize that it no longer looks "vintage" & "hip" to me, but merely tired and old. Then I realize I feel that way not only about my couch, but myself as well.
How did I end up here? I look around the room as if I am just seeing it for the first time. At first glance, it is so fucking cool (lemons in a 3 ft tall glass vase! a green velvet Victorian fainting couch! a red Ikea dining table!), but if one pauses to really look at the elements, you realize it is just a bunch of old and/or overpriced shit masquerading as a life. Of course, this "shit" currently includes my gaggle of girlfriends, who are, at the moment, no longer crying or sending my death looks, but instead debating, at a breakneck speed, whether they should wear boots or flip flops tonight, as they don't want to look like they are trying too hard. And for once I realize that no matter which we chose, it will be painfully obvious to everyone else that we are trying very, very hard.
I want to scream that I want out, but no one would hear me anyway...
Saturday, December 6, 2008
I just snapped
Yesterday, I effectively committed "webicide." I'm not really sure what happened; even today I feel like I was outside of my body, watching what I did, but unable to control any of my actions.
I woke up feeling pretty down, and quickly fell into a black hole of darkness. My life over the past two and a half months has been one string of disappointments after another. I had to move back to my hometown, into my parents home. I have been unable to find a job; I am either overqualified or under qualified for the few jobs that are available. The man I am madly in love with does not want a relationship. I am trying to get back into school, but I am having trouble with getting my advisor to complete the paperwork needed for financial aid. I have no friends in this town, and very few in general. Around 2 p.m yesterday, all of these pressures seemed to converge at once and the pressure was just too much.
I wanted to numb myself from everything, and I needed to tell someone, anyone how much I was hurting, But I had no one to turn to. The only people I have "talked" to in the past month were my "friends" on a message board related to a band, and through my facebook page. So, without thinking, I posted a thread on the message board, saying "Goodbye," and nothing more. I changed my facebook status to the same. Then I logged off, popped an ativan, and headed to bed.
I thought that I was in the darkest place I could be in at that point, but I continued to slip into darker, murkier waters as the hours passed...
I woke up feeling pretty down, and quickly fell into a black hole of darkness. My life over the past two and a half months has been one string of disappointments after another. I had to move back to my hometown, into my parents home. I have been unable to find a job; I am either overqualified or under qualified for the few jobs that are available. The man I am madly in love with does not want a relationship. I am trying to get back into school, but I am having trouble with getting my advisor to complete the paperwork needed for financial aid. I have no friends in this town, and very few in general. Around 2 p.m yesterday, all of these pressures seemed to converge at once and the pressure was just too much.
I wanted to numb myself from everything, and I needed to tell someone, anyone how much I was hurting, But I had no one to turn to. The only people I have "talked" to in the past month were my "friends" on a message board related to a band, and through my facebook page. So, without thinking, I posted a thread on the message board, saying "Goodbye," and nothing more. I changed my facebook status to the same. Then I logged off, popped an ativan, and headed to bed.
I thought that I was in the darkest place I could be in at that point, but I continued to slip into darker, murkier waters as the hours passed...
Sunday, September 28, 2008
cleaning my side of the street
I am leaving Atlanta tomorrow. My life has become unmanageable. The only way I can take care of myself now is to go home, regroup and and take it one day at a time.
I really wanted it to work, I wanted it to work more than anything, but when it came right down to it, it just wasn't.
My livng situation & my job were making me physically ill. When I would wake up in the mornings to go to work, I would get so upset I would throw up. Every time I would have to leave A.s house to come home on Sunday afternoons, I would throw up. I haven't had more than 4 hours of sleep per night in over a month. I only stayed here because of A, and my unhappiness is harming our relationship more than the distance could, I think.
I also realized that trying to stay here and tough it out is pointless right now, because A and I cannot make any plans for the future right now. I would like to look forward to moving in together, getting engaged, getting married, and having kids, but the truth is, it just isn't in the cards right now, for the following reasons:
-A is focused on his recovery, and I am focused on mine
-A has not finished school
-A does not have a job
-A is currently living with his parents
-I have no savings
-I have a HUGE amount of debt
-I have no credit
-I don't know what I want to be when I grow up
Looking at that list, it is easy to see that living another day of misery to "advance" our relationship would just be an exercise in insanity. So, I am going home. Hopefully, I can clear up my side of the street, and, if it is meant to be, A will clean up his side of the street. At any rate, I am cleaning up MY side of the street, and that is all I can do. The rest is out of my hands.
Just for today....
I really wanted it to work, I wanted it to work more than anything, but when it came right down to it, it just wasn't.
My livng situation & my job were making me physically ill. When I would wake up in the mornings to go to work, I would get so upset I would throw up. Every time I would have to leave A.s house to come home on Sunday afternoons, I would throw up. I haven't had more than 4 hours of sleep per night in over a month. I only stayed here because of A, and my unhappiness is harming our relationship more than the distance could, I think.
I also realized that trying to stay here and tough it out is pointless right now, because A and I cannot make any plans for the future right now. I would like to look forward to moving in together, getting engaged, getting married, and having kids, but the truth is, it just isn't in the cards right now, for the following reasons:
-A is focused on his recovery, and I am focused on mine
-A has not finished school
-A does not have a job
-A is currently living with his parents
-I have no savings
-I have a HUGE amount of debt
-I have no credit
-I don't know what I want to be when I grow up
Looking at that list, it is easy to see that living another day of misery to "advance" our relationship would just be an exercise in insanity. So, I am going home. Hopefully, I can clear up my side of the street, and, if it is meant to be, A will clean up his side of the street. At any rate, I am cleaning up MY side of the street, and that is all I can do. The rest is out of my hands.
Just for today....
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