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.

Deflating

" I am sitting on the porcelain throne, dropping the deuce, and here to give all the fans a play by play..." -- Allan

Gotta be my favorite line from a blog in a long time. Was peeling through some archives, and couldn't help but feel the need to share that one.

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The other day we were at a family get together and I noticed my auntie-in-law had lost some weight (intentional weight loss, I have to note). I told her how fabulous she looked. "You bet your (string of obscenities) I lose weight," she said, "I lost seventy fricken pounds!!!"

I commended her again, while my head chewed on what a 70-pound loss looks like on her, also noting that I myself had lost 70 pounds. She did look good. Better. Thinner. She looked like a shrunken down version of herself. The same rolls, sags and pillows. Just... smaller rolls, sags and pillows.

Hmm.

That's what straight up weight loss does for you. Shrinks you. Doesn't tone or tighten you, it just takes the air out of the dough. That's... well, that's me. On a less obvious scale. She was maybe where I am now when she started losing weight. And I lost mine in phases of years.

But back to the whole shrinking thing. Right now that's all I'm doing. I'm shrinking myself. In the shower the other day I could feel that my body was smaller. My brain finally caught onto that, feeling my stomach, and noticing it was smaller than before. Shaving my legs, there's less surface. What a strange feeling. I'm not toning, not yet. I can't handle all that yet. One mountain at a time. But I'm thinking about it more and more, thinking I should set some kind of milestone at which I will start to tone. When I reach my goal weight?

My walks are getting longer. Instead of being satiated at 20 minutes, it now takes me about 40 to feel like I've gotten a good amount in. I enjoy my long walks, providing the weather is nice (nice meaning less than 80-degrees and shady). I struggle on the days when it is hot, especially if I have my hair blown out. But my walks are getting longer, and on my long walk the other day I started to think about the fact that I'm going to need to tone up this deflated bag at some point.

In addition to my walking, I'm adding on 3 sets of 50 situps 3 times per week. Not a whole lot, but some foundation work to get me going. My sagging tummy is my worst enemy, and there's no reason not to add that to my "todo" list along with my walking.

I'm glad to say I'm feeling those situps 2 days later, so I know I worked my tummy well.

30 more pounds and I'll have lost 100 pounds. It's not sinking in yet, though. Every goal I reach, I'm always looking for the next one. Right now I can't wait to be on the other side of 200 -meaning being under 250. I'm pretty well motivated to get there, but always wary of the obstacles that await.

365 Days of Exercize... I think today is day 33

Who knows what day I'm on. If I weren't so bloody lazy, I'd figure it out. But I think it is 33, and though I've contemplated quitting, I haven't been able to muster up the will to do so.

Not quitting reading. I'm determined to read the Bible through. But walking. Every day. Some days this week, out of fatigue and sheer lack of time, I walked in place for 5 minutes, and then later did the same. It wasn't even about the act of walking, it was about obedience, and doing it, regardless. And obidience, I have to say, sometimes SUCKS.

I'm finding that this has more to do with me and God than me and my fat behind. As I go through some of the most trying times of my life, I find myself leaning on the rock that is Jesus, depsite myself.

But I'm not a wussy. As much as I'd love to say that I am, surrender, and dive into a vat of liquor and high-fat-content food and not come out. I'm more defiant than that. Satan can't suck me down without a fight. I do believe the struggles of this world are not against flesh and blood but against the powers and spiritual wickedness of the world.

My Worst Enemy

I now am on Twitter. Who isn't? We'll see if I use it.

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Also, I'm feeling the least motivated I have in a long time. I'm also feeling very, largely fat. And sluggish. I'm not sure what to attribute that to. Could be my period. Could just be the resolution that I am going to spiral into a 500 pound mass of skin and fat that never leaves the house unless aided by a scooter.

What happened? What is happening to me? I'm sure people look at me and see a loss of self-control, probably something dirty. I see people looking at my flabby flop of a belly, too, more than I used to now that it is hanging down like dirty laundry. I hate it. I don't like my body. I can't stand it, sometimes, feeling trapped - claustrophobic - in my pounds of fat.

But, coupled with that, I'm also feeling resigned and scared. I think I'm scared to lose weight, lose what I've become and who I am. Talk about being a bipolar mess -

Oh.

Hmm. OK.

Lightbulb moment. Yeah sure, I'm a bipolar mess, but I think I know where my balls went. They cozied up to a dastardly beast called STRESS.

I can pretty much peg my descend into having a belly that droops like baby in a sling, and a weight-gain of 20 pounds - it happened this past year. The most STRESSFUL time I've had in my entire life. Like being attacked from all sides, to the point where I think I'm lucky I only abuse alcohol instead of consider it my life-blood.

Yeah, stress. I should be incapacitated by booze or my own girth, at this point, but since I gained 20 pounds and am pressing buttons on my wardrobe, I trip it up in my mind that I have failed and that I'm one cracker away from a scooter and a nurse cleaning between my folds.

Wow. What a wussy I am, sometimes. Seriously. Instead of focusing on what I've held together, I let the light shine on how I've fallen apart.

As cliche as it is, I'm my own worst enemy. My mind and the tricks I let it play.

Ephesians 6:12

12For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

I need to armor-up more, and not be defeated so easily.