It Must Be Nice To Be Thin And Beautiful

I know I already wrote an entry today. But I have two things to say.

One, I'm just going to put this out there. I can never purchase these Russel Stover Sugar Free Caramel & Crispies ever again. I mean, maybe in emergencies. But the last 2 times I have I've eaten the entire bag in one sitting. The truth of that led me to feeling guilty, which led me to Facebook, which led me to feeling even worse about myself.

Which leads me to my second point. Some people are literally just freaking blessed. Some days I get so frustrated. Like an addict born into a life of pain and constant avoidance. It must be really nice to be thin, and just to have been that way. To slip on a bathing suit and not have to worry about stretch marks, saggy skin, and everything else that comes along with being a lard-o for years. 

To not have to think about food all the time. To eat and enjoy in moderation because you just don't crave it. To be someone that doesn't overdo it constantly, or have to think ahead, plan your meals, count your calories, and say, "no thank you" every second of the day.

It's not just that I'm fat. I'm fat and have issues surrounding it. I have cravings that are akin being a heroin addict, I'm guessing. Although it's easier to attain my drug. I just have to walk 10 feet into the kitchen. I'm forced to cook it, think about it, make it, buy it - on a daily basis.

While I'm having this pity party, I'll take a cherry on top of my sundae. 

I'm good with things. It's something I can't change, but I can manage.

But, really - I hate it. My eating, food, avoidance of food, body issues, body thoughts, jealousies of others - it follows me in a constant manner. It is the thorn in my side that God gave me. I can't imagine how free it would be to not have it. Like someone who was lame their who life and given two healthy legs. Or a blind person who could suddenly see.

That is how being free would feel. I really can't imagine it. I can't imagine how it feels to run around in a bikini and not think about it. To wear short shorts and sleeveless shirts and not think about it. My upper thighs and arms are fleshy, saggy and hideous. No matter what weight I get to, I'll never know that freedom or that comfort.

I'm just making myself angry. But sometimes I really feel cursed.

Down Day

I don't know if I'm sick, or fighting something, but I've been off for days. Feeling like I'm dragging, tired... just worn out. Still haven't presented with a full-blown cold, like my husband, which makes me think my body is fighting it off. I have had sinus headaches for a good 5-7 days now. Advil has been my friend.

I did not do a good job of tracking --or eating-- from Friday on. I wouldn't say I went buckwild, but I was clearly not into tracking my calories or thinking much about it.

Not good. But, I think it was just mental fatigue, and physical. Like I said - I've been so tired.

However.

One of the local gyms was advertising low rates for membership... and I joined. I haven't gone yet, but I joined under the good rates after missing out on the last time they offered it. I was thinking I might go today, but haven't been able to scrounge up the energy. I'm just worn out.

I kind of regret signing up, at the same time. I'd love a treadmill in my own home, in privacy, where I could work on getting into some running. I really, truly, honestly, don't know if I have the balls to try that right now in front of other people. Maybe that will change, or come with time. My thinkin' has been stinkin' lately.

I think there's an inner fear of what I'm doing and where I'm going with this weight loss (again). I know the average Joe might read this and think I am insane, but for me there's more to my weight issues that strait up ignorance of my food consumption. I'm more than aware of what I eat, and how I don't move my body, and why that reveals itself on the scale. Got it.

This mental stuff is a killer, though, and it creeps up when least expected. So I have to bat it down. I'm not thinking of doing another "free" day, and I'm not really craving food even, it's more of a want to just curl up under sheets and sleep for days. To not think, not worry. To be relieved of some of the stress I carry around all the time.

Right now I'm going to make a choice to enjoy the quiet of my house, the comfort of my sweats and doggy. The kids aren't due home for two and a half hours and there's no reason why I need to spend that in a funk.

I will weigh in on Wednesday.

I Have No Friends

That doesn't sound good.
But it is true.

I really don't.

I have my husband, who I tell most everything to. There are positives and negatives to that. Positive, because we are close and I at least have one person to vent to. Negative because I start to see him as a girlfriend and not a husband.

I guess on the outside you would think I have a lot of friends. I have people I see regularly. I'm friendly, know people almost everywhere I go, can talk with almost everyone there is. Yet, when I have a moment when I want to pick up the phone, call someone and cry-- there's nobody to call.

I'm sure this is a burden for my husband, too. So as much as I wish I didn't have to talk to him about things, I'm sure he wishes the same, too. To some extent. Some of it (a lot really) is parenting stuff, which is good to discuss with your spouse.

My mother is there 50% of the time. If I call and really really need to vent to her, she'll listen. She'll be there. But she can be hot and cold about it. She's moved away, and phone conversations are nothing like face-to-face.

It's a sick position to be in. I feel entirely alone, even though there are people all around me.

I've lost a few pounds.

Yay.

Ask me if I care. I do. I care. It would just be more discouragement if the scale were going up instead of slightly leaning downward. So that's a HUGE positive. I have so much discouragement in my life right now that I don't really need more.

If you've read this at all you'd know that I have ups and downs and fight depression a lot. This is one of those times. This is a time where I'd love to hole up with a bottle, pills or something and go into a coma for about a month.

Finances.
Family.
Fatness.
Hair.
Fears.
Friends.
(And lack thereof.)

I guess along with blessings come pain and trials. My finances are horrible. We can't keep up. School costs, food, gas, bills, cars... they are engulfing us. My husband will work extra just to make ends meet. Surely we aren't alone in that. I feel like a widow, going through all of this alone. I'm thankful for him taking on extra work, but I'm paralyzed by the overwhelming task of doing everything else.

It's not a good day today. My goal is to keep my head up. Period. That's it. To not jump off a cliff. To grasp the positive with bloody fingers, and not let it slip out of my hands.

I have family to worry about, kids to feed. A body of abundance, well fed and nourished. A car to drive to the store. A stove to cook dinner on. A bed to sleep in, washer to clean our clothes. Lotion to put on my dry skin. My mother is alive. 

My blessings are bountiful. My blessings are bountiful. My blessings... bountiful.

OMG I'm Two-Ninety-Threeeee!!!

Well. Technically I'm 292. But it didn't rhyme, and at this point... whatever.

I weighed in on my Wii and was literally disgusted. I can't believe it.

I wish I were anorexic.

Decisions, Decisions

I'm around and kicking. Every time I feel like updating, I change my mind.

Not a whole lot going on.

Except that I'm doing pretty crappy. Emotionally.

Life has been difficult. I've been dealing with some things that, in my little bubble of life, people don't seem to have to deal with. Maybe it is my slant on life. Maybe I'm a little depressed and have a skewed interpretation of digesting my circumstances. On one hand I feel like hunkering down with a bottle of booze and the saltiest fried food the world can imagine up for me, and doing myself in with a big, ol' pity party, table of one. On the other hand I feel incredibly blessed, and am thankful for the lessons and learning I am learning about life. Hopeful to chip away at my cynical exterior to reveal a better, more loving me.

I tend to flip-flop quite often.

Today I choose booze. I also chose to pop a Xanax. Not at the same time. But I'm obviously choosing to damper my emotions with something. Too bad it isn't a treadmill. Or a bike ride. Good thing it isn't a pizza. Happy medium of sorts.

I find that my lows are rather low. My highs are rather middle-of-the-road, and my potential to seriously need an anti-depressant are... viable.

But.

Yeah.

Here's the thing. I tried one (Celexa), and quit it after 2 days. By day 2 I was having flashbacks of why I actually quit the drug years ago in the first place. See, back then I went on it for a year or so, just to get out of a slump. Nausea, jaw tension and lack of desire for bedroom activities were an issue. Oh - and sweating like a pig. But, emotionally I was in a better place. If you call flatlining a better place. OK, OK. "Flatlining" is a little strong. But, I just remember not feeling... me. Feeling a bit hindered emotionally.

Either way, I got off. Moved on, and did OK.

And then a couple weeks ago I felt myself slipping and tried it again. After two days of headaches, nausea and fear I stopped. Even though I've been slipping for a couple years now.

Talked with my psychiatrist (I say "my" but I've only seen him once and then followed up with a phone conversation a couple weeks later) and he said I should give the Zoloft a try (since I already had a bottle on hand, prescribed from my primary care doc months ago). I took that for 2 days and stopped it, too. It was better than the Celexa, really. I didn't have the same side effects right off the bat. But I did have a nagging concern that I was building up in my body something I might not like, and if I didn't - I'd have to wean myself off of it. And I've heard that weaning off Zoloft is akin to stopping heroin cold turkey. Nice.

You really don't need to know all this, but guess what? Here it is.

And with a trip to a winery planned for the weekend, I really didn't want to be in anti-depressant land. Silly? Maybe.

Again, here I go with the flip-flop, wishy washy. I want to do this on my own. I want to do it without the meds. They scare me a bit. But they could improve my quality of life.

Decisions, decisions.

On the weight front... I've maintained. Fluxing between 266 and 267. Go me. Good deal. I'd really like to lose, though.

275

I weighed in the yesterday and it say 274. I about fell over. I've been so bloated an miserable (IBS) that I was certain I was gaining weight. It didn't reflect on the scale, but I'll tell you when your pants start cutting off valuable oxygen to your brain, you start to wonder if you've overindulged too much.

Horrible feeling. But I had to keep my head. Even though I had bookclub and other fun eatery occasions over the weekend. Even though there's some weird little thing in my mind that really would rather me just slide back up, than continue to go down.

So much of what I'm going through is mental. Physically I can conquer more than I think. Mentally, emotionally -- that's where my difficulties set in. If I continue tracking my calories and movement, I'm fine. But if I think too long on the whole weight thing, the clothes and the way they fit. The fact that I continue to go down?.. I start to lose my mind just a little bit.

No. Probably not normal. I realize that.

And I'm not saying I'm not happy about it. But, in a way it all feels like a lie. Like, sure, I'll lose some weight - AND THEN I'LL PACK IT BACK ON. Fear of failure, maybe. Fatbloggers (or "fitbloggers" if that makes you feel better) die off like a bad germ at a Purell convention. Half my link list has stopped updating or dropped off the map. Most of them making such remarkable progress, too. Inspiring.

Weight loss is one beast. If you can conquer the weight loss part, there's a whole new world of maintenance. I hear it is worse, actually.

Also, if you lose a significant amount -- like over 100 pounds, people notice. And, God forbid, you gain it back, people will notice that too.

Stinkin' thinkin' though, and I have to stay away from that thought pool. Not even drip my toes in to see how it feels. Walk past it, look at it and shrug it off. Deceptive. Waiting for failure.

But, I'll tell you, when I weighed in yesterday and saw the 274, I immediately knew I wouldn't record it as my weight. I knew I'd re-weigh again, until I got the result I needed (which wasn't 274) and use that. Weirdness.

But, hey. I'm creeping closer to 259 than 299, now, right? Interesting. Presently, I'm pretty focused on 269. It's only 6 pounds away. A month or so. That would put me 1/2 way to goal. Crazy talk. Just crazy. I literally can not believe I'm almost there. I don't believe the scale, I don't really believe my pants (but mostly I don't believe the scale).

I just have to focus on what I can: calories. And ignore what inhibits me from getting to the goal(s) I'm aiming for. But how do you ignore yourself?