I'm Not Cut Out For Full-time Work

I'm conscious of where I'm at. If I weren't, I think I'd be back where I started.

But I'm about 10 pounds back up from where I figure my "good weight" is (260).

I'm 20 pounds up from where I was, though.

It's hard to accept that my focus has gone in other places, and my health takes a back seat. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around it. I don't know how long it takes to adjust to a new job? For me? Probably forever.

I'm a complicated person. I realize this. I feel like I have personal stuff to get in order, but life keeps happening, so personal stuff doesn't get in order.

But maybe it never does.

So, my new job - I have a love/hate relationship with it. Fancy that!!! Me?! Yes.

I love the work, the feeling of helping people, being helpful, and being in my element. But I hate that it consumes my life, and that my world, 80% of it, all revolves around WORK.

From 5am, to 5pm it's work. I'm either there, or planning to be there.

Get up, get ready, go, work, come home, unpack, pack for the next day, lay out clothes, try to come down from the day.

REPEAT.

It's taken its toll on me, and I'm miserable.

It's a weird misery.

I feel useful and valuable (at work), but I'm worthless in the areas that are important to me (my home life).

The most important - to me - is the home life.

I can be replaced at work. I can't be replaced at home.

I only have a few years until my kids are all out of the house. Though they need me less than they used to, they don't need me tired, ornery, and useless.

I feel caught. I've got a fantastic job (I really do - I landed a job in my niche with a great company), which is why I didn't turn it down. But it was more than I wanted - which is why I'm regretting it.

I pray that it's not all for naught, and that God will send something my way. I really do. I don't care about how hokey that sounds. I'm hanging on by a thread daily. I feel regret, embarrassment, fear, when I think of moving on from this position. But I also feel trapped by where I am.

I don't want this to be me.  I want to continue taking care of myself and the people around me. I want to figure things out. I'm 40. I'm on the top of the hill riding down and I don't think I'll have myself or the world figured out in the next 20 years, but I dn't want to look back and wonder where they all went, either.

Dangit

I did it again.

I feel bad for anyone who has to share space with me today. Me and my gas. I feel myself rearing up on that monthly friend and the cravings were intense. It's weird, how the body works. I have to put my willpower in check here, and ask it to man up, though. Period is no excuse.

The shame is, that, for each of those three candies I've consumed - I've drank a glass of wine.

Whaaaat?

Yeah. I said that. I'm being honest because it's either that - or you don't hear from me.

I need to look at what is driving this.

HORMONES. For sure. Undoubtedly. I could ignore that, but hormones have caused women to murder their own children. I can't do anything about the hormones directly, I guess. I can take the prozac (I didn't this month), but prozac isn't a hormone. It's an SSRI. I wish they could make an anti/pro hormone pill that works similarly. I've taken progesterone, and it magnified my issues. I've accepted... well, I'm accepting this is an issue for me and I need to figure out how to work around it.  I'm not sure if holing up with a bottle of wine and a bag of Russell Stover is the way to go.

Or is it?

STRESS. That's another one. Although, I've recognized that and am trying to deal with it better. Today was a rough day at work. My boss was not in the office, but she barked at me through email like a nagging disease, constantly sending me commands. I typed up a manuscript that she wanted done, completely formatted it - and then she sent me her "revised, updated version" even though it was past the deadline for such things. I was passive aggressive and pretended I didn't get the email until about 45 minutes before I had to leave. I know that's not right, and it's not helpful. I used to be so direct with people, and now I fail to do so.

I worry about feelings, consequences, and what people think of me. If you asked anyone I know, they would not identify that as a concern with me, but I think it's something I inherited from my mother, and you know the older you get the more that stuff starts to creep out? Well, there it is. I'm becoming her, and I really don't like it. Love her, but celebrate our differences.

Whoa. This third glass of wine isn't going down so easy. And I'm not craving the candy anymore. I think I've hit my wall. I've got a million and one things to do, too (dinner, laundry, checkbook balancing, bill-paying)... but I wanted to check in here and keep myself accountable.

I'm still under calories, by the way. And instead of indulging food-wise, I ate a huge tomato salad with homemade ranch dressing. If I can balance it, I'll go for a walk tonight. All is not lost.

Help Me Through This Week

Each week presents its own challenge. This one is moving my kid back to college.
School shopping.

Emotions. That's what it is.

I don't mind the kids going back to school, but I also love having my kids around. I'm not excited about my college-aged kid leaving again, because I know that some day he'll be out on his own and I won't have him here eating dinners, taking showers, sleeping under the same roof as us. I know that will be true eventually for all of them, and I'm not looking forward to it. I really cherish these times.

This weekend we went to the park and just watched our big kids hang out with each other. If I could have stopped the world and hung out at that place in time for infinity, I'd be content.

Life is a racing train and there's times you want it to speed up, and others when you're hitting the brakes trying desperately to slow it down.


Emotions:
I'm doing better. I'm hanging in there. I'm not as sharp-edged, angry, quick-tempered as I was a week ago. I need to talk to my doctor about this PMS as soon as possible. It's so horrible. Awful. When I'm not feeling that way, I look back and kind of shudder at how horrible it feels.

Still, emotions are what often drives me. Drives my food/eating, my exercising or non-exercising.

Eating:
I've slacked off a lot. Not tracked my calories or water, not intentional exercised. This week I have to push myself to keep on track. To gain would make me miserable. I don't want that to happen. I've been keeping pretty low-carb and on track that way, but have let a few things pass my lips I shouldn't have - but I brought my own food to my girl's dinner, and didn't cheat there. Victory.

Drinking:
I also slipped and had a 1/2 a beer. It's been MONTHS since I've had a beer. But that 1/2 beer was enough. It was tasty, and then I moved on to my Zevia cola. I was happy about that. I made a point to myself NOT to be drinking - not to celebrate, and not to numb pain. Whatever I'm feeling, I want to feel. I had a few glasses of wine at my girls' dinner, so I really didn't need to be having anything again the next night.

Goals:
I don't have any lofty goals right now besides simply wanting to make it through the week with grace. I want to walk. I want to eat right. I want to keep my composure and not lose it when I drop my kid off at school. I want to not be nervous and anxious and worried.

I plan to read my Bible more this week and lean on that rather than my food and my drinks. I plan to focus on the blessings in front of me. I do have many.

Anyway, I'm OK. I'm hanging in there, and trying to refocus myself.  I'm not saying things have gone from crappy to perfect - but I'm trying to catch myself.

Somehow I Survived

I'm back from camping. I had a really nice time; it was great to get away.

Only, I'm not feeling well. I don't know if I caught a bug or ate something off. Or... if I'm just worn out and a bit dehydrated. I may never know. My muscles ache and my tummy isn't doing so well.

But I had a really nice time. It was HOT-HOT-HOT the first couple days. I felt like I could never stop sweating. Strangely, I got used to it, though. I tried to stay in the shade as much as possible (I get sun sick). I felt a bit like a pariah at times, while everyone sat in the sun, and I stayed off under the table umbrella.

I didn't swim, either.

My anxiety/self-consciousness made me think that my kids probably thought I was a slug. At one point one of my sons made a comment about me sitting around all day, and I felt a bit bad about it. I don't know if he was joking or not (he said he was), but it made me self-conscious a bit, and kind of hurt my feelings.

I was doing the best I could.

I was cooking for everyone constantly, and hung out in the shade to do it. I didn't swim because it would have been too much work. I had my period, and... just - I find swimming too much work most of the time. There you go.

I don't know how I made it, but I did. I hate heat, I am miserable on my period and the two of those things should have sent me for the nearest hotel. I really am thankful that (somehow) I survived. And enjoyed myself. I wish I could be the kind of person who throws on a bikini/swimsuit, and is in and out of the pool all day, not worrying about drying off, getting dressed all the time. But it just isn't me. Life would be easier if it were, though.

I feel like I'm a very difficult person. Too many phobias, too many hangups.

__________

I weighed myself this morning, non-official, and was UP FOUR POUNDS. I don't think I ate that much at all this weekend, and totally stayed on track with my eating (except I had some drinks). I didn't hike, and wasn't too active, so maybe that's part of it. I don't know. But I don't think that's truly a gain - I'm hoping it is the extra water retention. Either way - I'm a bit nervous for my Wednesday weigh in.

Now, just to get rid of these leg cramps. Ugh. I take magnesium, which is supposed to help, but it doesn't seem to be. I don't know why I have them, but they're annoying.

Fat Ladies Break Chairs

I took my son to his dentist appointment. He wanted me to come in the room with him. Not a big deal, I can do that.

But when they took him to his chair, and showed me min, I almost died. It was a director's chair. You know, like, the most unstable looking chair on the face of the earth, besides a flimsy plastic lawn chair.

I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but I also didn't want to sit on it and have the legs give out on the chair like a newborn calf.

I know that chair's capacity wasn't no 260 pounds. More like 190. But I sat in it anyway. No fancy sitting, just straight down, hands on lap kind of thing.

It didn't break.

Then I noticed. Something that I've been noticing for a while now.

MY ARMS REST ON ARMRESTS.

This might not be a big deal to most people, but when I was 330 pounds, armrests were torture. They dug into the sides of my legs, pushing on my varicose vein, making my leg go numb after not too long. It consistently happened. Not only uncomfortable, by squeezing my fat more compactly, but painful.

I remember this happening before to me. It was monumental. It is now happening with more frequency. In that post I linked, I also wrote this:

I am finding that I'm still somewhat frightened of losing weight. As much as I enjoy being able to fit into the clothes I have (gosh it feels fabulous), I'm still scared. I'm super excited, though, to have the scale dip below 250. That will be exciting. 238, 100-pounds down will be pee-my-pants hoorah. It will also probably be quite a while, though, because I'm enjoying summer and all of the fun foods, drinks BBQs, sporting events, all that good stuff.

That was in 2010, three years ago. It's been a long, slow ride, with many ups and downs for me. But I see that 338 on the horizon, and I do want to catch up to it.

All the changes I've felt on this journey of mine I've felt before when I've lost this weight.
I'm ready for some new ones. For some of those changes that bring me back to 20 years ago -- something I haven't felt in a long, long time.

THAT excites me. Being able to stretch farther because there is less fat in my way excites me.

The thought of running and playing excites me.

Motivation... Why Hello, There You Are

I thought I'd lost my motivation.
I don't know why. Brain playing tricks on me.

I had a very busy couple of weeks, and here we are in the space between Thanksgiving and Christmas. What I was expecting, I don't know.

A few days I've been too busy to track my food, and that's a tool that has proven useful for me. It is useful because it is a strong indicator of what I've taking into my body, and it holds me accountable. I'm realizing that the daily tracking carries over to help me on my days where I am unable to.

The more I track, the more I educate myself and reinforce the boundaries of what exactly my body needs to function, to lose, and what is too much.

What gets hard for me is when I lose that "crutch" and have to kind of wander the wilderness without it. It frustrates me a bit, and plays with my head.

The days I'm so busy that my tracking can't be done - or isn't perfection - leave me feeling like it was a fail day. If I'm on vacation and can't get to a place where they have internet so I can track my foods - I have my own mini breakdown (on the inside). I am out of sorts without my SparkPeople. Why oh why can't there be an app that can run without internet?

So far I haven't completely blown it. But I teeter just a bit. I can feel it. I don't like that I'm so married to an app. I really don't. But... some people are married to the gym and if they don't hit that (bike/weights/treadmill) they feel incomplete. It isn't just that feeling of being incomplete for me, it is more the concern that that feeling will lead me into a pitfall.

It is the one sip for the alcoholic.
The one flirt for the incurable cheater.
The sneaked cigarette for the smoker.

Right now (and maybe forever or a very long time), I need to be accountable. I know my weaknesses, and I know that tracking my food has been IMPLEMENTAL in my weight loss. I'm not saying I like it, enjoy it, or hope to do it foreverandever. I like to dream that someday I will just know my limits. That might just be dreaming.

I also know that my strict black-and-white policies that I set for myself don't allow for a lot of wiggle room, and are also probably not the healthiest approach at all times. One bad day doesn't have to be a set up for a bad weekend or week. I am learning that. Or I am able to cope a bit better at that. I am able to cope a bit better with not losing one week. Mainly that is because right now I'm so freaking happy with the fact that I'm in a better place than I was.

Today I weighed myself and I had to repeat it because I was at 274. I often weigh back in on Wednesday and sometimes Friday. At any rate, I hope that sticks. I'd love to hit 269 in the next month. It won't be easy with all the eating and gatherings to go to, but we shall see. Again, this is why I'm semi-happy with just maintaining. Most people (including myself) expect to gain over the holidays.

Tiny, Little Miracles

Sometimes a day can be summed up in tiny miracles.

Kind of like counting One Thousand Gifts, and the gift is gratitude for the capability of simply hanging on.

There are times when I have felt so desperate. I wasn't sure if I could make it through the day, and would have visions of running my car off the road. I think when I was at my heaviest, I was completely overloaded, physically and mentally. I ate to fill me up, but I was hollow with no bottom, in many ways.

That person isn't really gone. I've worked and struggled to win my mind battles. Sometimes --most of the time-- it works. I win. I'm still here. I'm fighting the fight. But there are days, and sometimes those days span into weeks - or months.

I was there not too long ago, sitting in (yet another) psychiatrist's office, giving The Background, wondering what he will make of me, at least the me that I show him. He prescribed a pill, I said I'd think about it.

I haven't filled it yet.

I don't plan to, honestly. But it's in my back pocket of arsenal, should I need.

When you're in a cloud like that and it is dark, it's hard to see life without that filter. Quite honestly, I'm not sure that filter is ever completely removed from my eyes. Maybe for moments, those times when I feel complete joy and presence of God. It's rare, but it happens. Many times I see pain, deception, twists and ruts in the world and in people. In myself, mostly.

As I went about today, overwhelmed in a way that, on many other days would completely overwhelm me, I thought small.

I put lotion on today.
I did my hair.
I... showered.
I put in three loads of laundry.
Answered emails.
Ate in.
Stretched.
Did a short workout.
Put away my clean clothes.
Ran downstairs to grab a bottle of tea.

Little, minute things. I am thankful, and appreciate that I did them all. There are days when I don't do any of those things.

I'm lazy, tired, fatigued to the bone, unappreciative, filling my face, not caring if I can afford lunch out and grabbing it anyway, waiting for someone else to put my clothes away, too lazy to run a flight of stairs for something I want.

Every now and then I take a day where I don't do much and just enjoy being "off" for the day. I'm not talking about those days. I'm talking about the days where the filter is so heavy that nothing appeals, nothing matters much, and everything was specifically calculated to irritate me. Those are not good days.

For the here, right now, I am very thankful for the tiny, little miracles that fill my time.

Saggy Skin Is My Scar

I was visiting Escape from Obesity, as I do from time to time (I don't have time to read many blogs - I wish I could). I read a post, then read the comments. Then re-read the comments, then responded to the comments, then added an addendum to my response. Most frighteningly, to myself, I went back to read through the comments, hoping there were more.

And there were.

The comments were on the post, What Happened To Me. They are both worth a read.

I have to admit the whole saggy skin issue bothers me.
Scares me, maybe a little.

I have issues with it.

And I have some of it already.

Even though I've hovered under 300 for years now, I was over 300. Almost 340, to be exact. The loss of the 40 pounds left me with some skin on my inner thighs. It never bothers me, unless I take a hard look at it when I'm naked. I only do that when I feel like bothering myself about it.

I look at it, and I think two things. I think it looks grouse. I think it will never look good or normal. Ever, ever, ever. And then there's a little part in my head that is kind of proud of it like, dang - I've lost so much weight I've got some saggy skin.

Liken it to a battle wound, a scar, perhaps. My saggy skin is my scar. Like a soldier come home from battle, escaped with not major wounds, happy to be home, a scar the only outward sign of where he has been. My scar.

Not as romantic, surely. And, depending on how much I lose, probably not very sightly. But it's almost like a loose piece of clothing (if I let my head thing nicely about it).

My arms, saggy.

Belly, saggy.

Some of this is age and bad skin. But a great part of it is the expansion and deflation that has happened to me.

I'm really worried about my stomach. I'm worried about my face, but I'm really concerned about my tummy. See, when I run (which is rare, but happens) - it... well, it flaps. I mean, audibly.

Gosh, it's so NOT funny, and it's so NOT going to get better. And I so DON'T have the money to pay for any type of removal, either.

I hope there are girldes specifically designed for flaps. It would be disappointing to lose a bunch of weight only to be debilitated by the saggy skin.

Weigh In: 276

I was FINALLY ASKED IF I'VE LOST WEIGHT.

That's one of my goals, to have someone ask if I've lost. Chhhheeeee-eck. Down. Unfortunately it was the same person who asked me last time (my sis-in-law) when I set that as a goal. So... I'm going to wait for someone else to ask me. But it was good to have someone notice something.


I weighed myself THREE times today. First it was 276. Then, I went to the bathroom and it went to 277 (what the fudge?) - then I did a final weigh in and it was back at 276. That's where I'm keeping it.

If it's wrong, the scale will remind me of that next time. And I'm due for a period again, so I'm sure it will remind me with blazing fury.


I don't know if that's success or not. Maintaining through a brutal food-laden holiday. Somewhat of success, I guess. I really could have gotten on that train Wednesday night and rode it bareback through Sunday. Maybe even through Monday. Then I would tell myself that I'd skip the weigh in, for shielding horror's sake, and wait until next week. Then next week, decide to wait one more because of my period, and allow two weeks to fly by, and who knows where I'd be.

It's not far-fetched. In fact, when I really think about it, trying to lose (or maintain) through the holidays is... pretty bold. Cocky, you might even say.

Well, I'm feeling cocky. I am fine with my maintaining of 276. Sure, I'd like to have dipped to 275 this week, but oh well. I didin't. I didn't shoot up to 280, which would have been devastating (and could have easily happened).

I'm back on track, counting my calories. Though I'm tired of it, novelty worn off. The desire to lose weight hasn't, so the discipline of monitoring my intake is still there. It's tiring and annoying and one more thing to do. But, it's also gotten me some results.

I feel better. I'm more confident. Just those two things alone are worth it.

I'm still determined to get below 250 here. To show myself that my 265 wasn't the lowest, and isn't. That I CAN do it. I'm scared. I am. Trying not to let the fear stop me. Fear of success, fear of failure. Fear of change. Of being pushed outside my comfort zone. Lots of fears.

THIS WEEK:
This week my challenge is going to be that I am busy. We have a large event being planned for the weekend and I'm one of the people in charge of it. I will be busy preparing. That might be good (because I'll eat less, be busy), or bad (because I'll be stressed and will eat). I'm hoping for the first option.

I also have some emotional stress I'm dealing with, so I'll want more than one glass of wine on occasion. I love my wine. I do, I do.

Finally, my period is coming up. Sometimes that brings on cravings that are, frankly, non-human. I've never really mastered that problem.

Mind over matter. Keep mind from getting too tired so it can continue the good fight.

Hello 2012 JOY

I don't really know what I weigh right now. Could be somewhere around 295. It doesn't matter really. I'm uncomfortable, depressed and miserable in my own skin. But what else is new?

So, that's not really why I'm writing. I'm writing because it is a new year. New Years bring on a battery of emotions for fatties and fitties alike. Wanting to change, renew old vows of fitness and better eating... all that fun stuff.

I'm not exempt.

Not at all.

I'm scarily still motivated, even though my recent stint of eating well and exercising didn't budge much on the scale. Go figure. But still, what I am thinking about right now, as I ponder taking the financial and meaningful jump into the world of paid fitness memberships is - JOY.

Yeah. JOY. I keep reading blogs and posts of people who have lost HUGE amounts of weight and feel great and blablbla and why can't I be like them is the question in my brain most of the time.

I'm not JOYful at all. I'm rather a negative, depressive person. There's a connection there. It seems almost easier to change the body than the brain. For people who just make bad food choices, getting on a simple path of eating well can bring on (nearly instant), satisfying results. But for people like me, who eat more with the brain, the heart--emotions... it isn't just about "sensible choices." Which leaves me to wonder if I try to change the brain, then maybe I can find some success in my body (and life) as well.

I also have to give fair thought time to wondering if I just flat out like being a negative depressed person. What a joy I must be to be around, eh? But my joy (or learned comfort) is in misery. And when I'm happy, wondering when the next misery might come. Not wanting to start off the new year saying, "It's going to be a GREAT one!!!" because what if it isn't? What if it is laced with a cloud?

Because it is 2012 and I'm unhappy about a whole world of crap,  channeling my misery constantly. I have legitimate things to be unhappy about. Severe crosses to bear.  My spirit is messed up. I focus on that misery and miss the JOYS that come my way. I allow myself to smile, and enjoy a moment, but I don't really bask in it. I'm afraid to be happy. I'm wired to be negative.

No fitness blog worth reading is channeled in negativity. None. There is no success. That's where the fatness comes in. Connection? Must be.

So maybe my NYR needs to be one with less of a weight-related slant and more of a positive/joy related slant.

Happy no matter frigging what. You can be miserable, but then when someone comes along to cheer you up, you fight it because that misery is comfort on some level. You don't want to smile, you want to cry and whine, and kick and scream and pity.

What kind of life is that? Where have I been short-changing myself to partake in such misery constantly? Is it just me and I need to settle and that is just who I am and be Scrooge? Or can choosing JOY change a person?

What if I didn't satisfy that pity party for a while?

20 Pounds

I guess I'll write it out since it makes it all the more real. Not that a summer spent in stretchy pants doesn't make it pretty freaking real. Jeans that feel like they are cutting off circulation; real. Shoot, my own skin feels tight on my body. Reality.

I know how I gained it. Same way I lost it, just the opposite. I lost sight of caring, really. Food was more important. Dear God, I HATE this. I'm so tired of it. The struggle. Being thinner really is better than the food I've eaten to put on weight. I know it is. I remember how it felt. How good it felt to put clothes on and have them be loose. Everything felt good.

I knew the struggle would come back. Bit by bit, slice by slice, day by day. It's always there, like a crack-addict. It was easier to quit smoking, I tell you. Easier! I haven't smoked in over a decade. Don't really miss it, either. But then I don't have to smoke five cigarettes a day, no less no more. I have to eat.

I also have to buy food. I have to balance checkbooks. I have to make dinners, keep schedules, earn money, clean house, fix broken things, wash my hair, bathe my dog... sometimes - MOST times - it is just flat out easier to not care what I'm eating. Hard enough to make meals that are nutritious, delicious and cost efficious (not a word, but it's a rhyme-ier way of saying "efficient" so let it go)!

Here I go grumbling again.

I feel like a broken record. Like an addict that keeps falling off the wagon, over and over and over.

Maybe I needed to gain this weight to appreciate what I had. Not that I didn't appreciate it. I did. Oh how I did. Shopping for clothes at the thrift store. Fitting into them so much better.

I have to remember what I liked, what felt good, how good it felt... or I'm going to continue heading down the path of self-destruction.

I was less self-conscious.
My clothes felt great.
I felt great.
I had more energy.
I didn't worry about where I sat.
I was more comfortable.

This was just 20 pounds. Twenty. Simple. Pounds. Right now I am the opposite of all of those things. Even though I'm not nearly as heavy as I was at my highest weight, I've been on the other side of 270 and it felt happier there. I was closer to 250 than 300. I liked it.

I want to go back.

Stress Eating

I've had SO much going on over the last couple of weeks. Life changes, family challenges, work. It doesn't matter, though, as if I were unique. We all have these things happen. We all experience the challenges and joys in life. I'm not looking for pity. I'm reflecting.

I did well for a bit there, biking a lot, walking a lot. Being active, eating sensibly while still enjoying the fruits of summer. And then the stressors hit. I ate because it was easier than thinking about it. I ate, because it was comforting.

I can be sure that the scale would reflect my "comforting" if I were to step on it today.

But the real reason that I come here at midnight to pound out a quick post/note to self is to document the fact that:

I've had fast food for 3 days straight (eeeew).
Today, on a day of massive stress and sadness I made popcorn with butter and salt, ate brie with honey and a yummy crusty bread. Drank half a bottle of wine.

... and I yearn for more.

I found myself doing the weirdest thing ever. Instead of reaching for the 6-pack of Hershey's chocolate bars I have stashed in the cupboard for s'more making, I grabbed a bag of lettuce, ripped it open, put a few handfuls in a bowl.

Ate a leaf of lettuce. Chewed.

Totally skipped the dressing. No olive oil and vinegar, no Ranch, no nothing. I ate that baby naked. And I liked it. I could probably stuff the whole bag down my throat if I wanted to. I just... I wanted to chew. I wanted something. And I got it from a bag of lettuce.

My Addiction To Food

My addiction to food both disgusts and amazes me.

I love food in good and healthy ways. But (sometimes) I use it in ways food is not intended to be used. Don't go all mind-in-the-gutter on me. I mean that there are times when I can prepare my oatmeal and walnuts, pack a shake for lunch and a piece of fruit and use food to nourish my body. This is fine, good, and controllable. But when I come home, whip up some waffles, reheat some pork chops and gorge, it doesn't feel good.

It doesn't even feel right.

Strangely, I cut out all the fat on the chops, and was reasonable with the waffles, but it was a big production of food-making, planning, anticipating... and then a frenzy. I ate fast and hard, like I've seen my kid do (and don't like because it is a reflection of me). I enjoyed the sweet, salty, chewy, buttery flavors mixed together and washed down with ice-cold milk. I knew I wouldn't journal my food because it was already a failure.

I caught myself gobbling.

It's disgusting.

I finished off with one more small waffle, lathered with peanut butter. I totally didn't need it, and could have powered through, not eating it. But I did. I wanted it.

I tell myself I'm fine, but I'm not sure if I am. Either by habit or by emotions that I've blocked, I managed to cancel out my thoughtful eating this morning with a few minutes of feasting. I feel full. Heavy with food and drink. Satiated. Disappointed in myself. Wanting to shed the pounds I've gained (about 7). Wanting to get past the goal I made months ago.

I'm not letting myself do it. Why?

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.

Manure Hits Fan

My emotions are tied to my eating. I know and recognize this. Part of my (gag-cliche-gag) journey in all this is facing things head on, sacrificing my pride, and relearning.

I've done good. 70 pounds down, not shabby. But the last couple weeks I've been sliding. The scale hasn't much reflected it, but the way I've been eating has, and the scale is sure to follow. OK. That's a lie. The scale isn't going down. That's how it is reflecting. I'm no longer losing. I'm maintaining, and soon I will be gaining.

I could wax poetic for a bunch of paragraphs, but I'll just claim the truth of it and work with that.

So here it is: my depressed and anxiety-prone adult child is living with us again. For four years we went through, (dragging us with) a nightmare with her as she entered her teen years, barreling through them with drugs, alcohol, risky behavior and excitement, with disregard for everyone around her. I haven't healed from all of that yet, and now we find her back with us. I still have kids in the house who are not grown, which sets off a whole different dynamic.

I'm scarred, and not yet healed from the trauma that we went through. Having her here again has re-opened wounds. The only good thing about having her home is that we know where she is at night, and we know she's not out on the streets doing who knows what. Been there, not easy, but you learn to live with it. I'm not saying it's right or good or even going to "work" letting her stay here in the long run. I'm just saying it is what is now.

Through all those years I never went to counseling. I survived, I got through. I learned and grew as a mother and a human being. I suffered. A lot. More than I care to think of right now. I believe I have a some PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) from all of those years of trauma, lies, fear.

Just as I started to find some peace and healing, acceptance... it comes crashing down again. I've been taking Xanax, occasionally. I went to a counselor for the first time two weeks ago. I'm anxious and irritable, depressed. Feeling the stress in nearly every corner of my world.

I feel horrible, complaining like this, which is why I haven't said anything about it. But today, as I looked at my nearly expended calories, felt stuffed to the gills, poured a Guinness (drank half, then poured it out), climbed in my car for a chocolate run (with a kid in tow to run into the store for me -- I look a hot mess), came back and ate 200 calories of Hershey's (half of that in the car, and half on the couch, still within my calorie range) - and then within a half-hour decided to completely blow it, made an egg bagel, slathered with butter and a dash of grape jelly (I never eat this crap, so I know I'm on a binge), eat it furiously and sit down to type this? I know I have to face it, claim it, name it, pray about it, give it up to God -- whatever I can do to not be consumed by it.

This is where the tough part comes in, honey. And it is tough. Because the most wicked saboteur is not friends, family, commercials, celebrity or anything else. It's SELF. And I was wondering when it would kick in. I was wondering when my willpower and drive would fail. And it is now. When the manure hits the fan.

If I can't keep on the path, despite my unhappiness, then I have problems. I need to face this problem, whatever it is at the root, dig it up and get rid of it.

I don't know how yet. But I'm standing in the hole with a shovel, ready to cut into the root, or pull the dirt over my head.

Whaap

I know it's not exactly what anyone wants to hear about when they visit a blog, but I'm pretty sure I'm getting my period soon. I hope to God I am. Not because I don't wanna be pregnant (secret is, I'd love to have another baby, unfortunately vasectomies tend to work in the other direction), but it would explain why I feel like walking around with a rolled up newspaper, bonking people over the head with it.

Whaap!!! Whaap!!! Whaap!!!

Lovely.

267

I've maintained 269, so I can' mark that as "official" -- but I've also LOST 2 MORE POUNDS!?

Something is just not right. Maybe it is that I so much worry about failing that I figure I will. Maybe I'm so accustomed to getting on the scale and being disappointed when the numbers go up, up, up (or stay the same). I don't know what it is. I'm happy and thrilled, but scared.

I'm 1/2 way to my goal. Wow.

If I can lose the first 70, I should be able to lose 70 more? Right?

I'm not going to worry about that right now. Daily progress, daily battles.

This holiday weekend I had a couple days where I took in too many calories (think fireworks, cheeses, bread, beer...). At least I think I took in too many calories. I didn't count them and I didn't regulate what I had eaten. So I figured it would be one of those weeks where the number either rises or doesn't budge.

At any rate, I'm trying to think of what is helpful to me at this point, and what is facilitating change.

• Journaling my calories. Paying attention to portions. It seems super simplified, and it is. But, for me, it's a true snapshot of how I'm eating, what I'm spending my calories on, and where I could improve. I use sparkpeople.com, but there are many other programs.
• Tracking my exercise. Reality check for me, and often it is motivation. Yesterday I was burning with heat, but still called a friend to meet up at the dog park and take a little walk with the dogs. We walked at a slower pace, for about a mile. But that mile was better than me butt-sitting on the couch. I'm more purposeful in my movement. Cleaning, walking... just to get more burnage of calories in.
• Eating pre-packaged meals. I'm not big on prepared meals. I've compromised because my weight loss is important; they've been a lifesaver for me. So much of my overeating and bad food choices is based on circumstance (busy, tired, can't think up a proper meal). Supplementing a meal a day, especially on the days where I'm down to 300 calories and I need dinner, has helped.

Speaking of movement. I think I have more energy.

My clothes fit much better. I still visualize myself as a 300-pound woman, though, rather than one who is closer to 250 than 300. I know I'm not up at 338 (that was a long time ago). My brain is still having a hard time keeping up with my body changes. My shape is the same, just smaller, which may confuse my brain.

I've gotten a lot more compliments recently. My mother noticed yesterday. My husband keeps telling me that I'm smaller. My kids haven't said anything. It will be interesting to see when/if they do.

In about a month we're supposed to go on a camping/canoe trip. I'm a little nervous. I don't wear shorts. I haven't even tried on my swimsuit. Just recently I wore my first sleeveless shirt. It doesn't make sense to me that at 338 I was resigned to being fat and finally got myself to the point of not caring what anyone else said - I was going to live my life and enjoy it. And now I'm 70 pounds lighter and am concerned about wearing shorts?

Oy.

I'm at the lowest weight I've been at in over 10 years (or more... I can't remember!!!) and I should be enjoying myself, my body and my family and not worrying about these things.

Today I will choose to be happy about where I am, where I've been and the hopeful goal of having to buy new clothes this fall. I can't wait to go down a pant size.

I Feel Great

I weighed myself and I'm 270. But I'm not going to change the weigh-in from before, because I'm pretty well convinced I'm going to get there within the next week or so. If I don't, then I'll reluctantly change it and suck it up. But I really think I pop a Dulcolax (ahem) and make it to 269. Sorry if that's grouse, but hey.

I've been doing OK, actually. I was a little worried there for a bit because I wasn't journaling or exercising at all (after I got the stomach flu). I thought, Oh here we go... motivation gone, to return whenever? But it didn't turn out to be that way, thankfully.

Right now I'm about 30 pounds down from my February weight and I feel good. I feel great, actually. My highest weight was 338. I was buying my clothes online and had gone beyond the normal accommodations for a fat person. No longer able to buy pants in the store, hard time fitting into chairs and stalls. After getting down to 298 and riding around there for a while, I was teetering on feeling more normal, but still finding myself the largest person in the room, and feeling huge.

Now, at 270/269 I feel much more "normal" in my body. I can shop off the rack. I fit in chairs better.

[digression]

Today I was called into my boss's office and asked to take a seat for a quick conference. Normally I'd perch on the edge of the seat because the armrests were too narrow for me, rather than appear like a pig stuck in the fence, taking notes. For no reason, though, today I slid right back, utilizing the armrests.

What?!

Yeah, baby, yeah.

[/digression]

It's definitely not the end of the road, my goal, or where I want to be. I was wondering today if I could hang out here comfortably for a while, maintain, and let my body settle. I worry too much weight loss is setting myself up for disaster. But I'm not quite ready to maintain at this point. Maybe another 20 pounds and I'll hold that for a couple months. We'll see. I don't really know.

I am finding that I'm still somewhat frightened of losing weight. As much as I enjoy being able to fit into the clothes I have (gosh it feels fabulous), I'm still scared. I'm super excited, though, to have the scale dip below 250. That will be exciting. 238, 100-pounds down will be pee-my-pants hoorah. It will also probably be quite a while, though, because I'm enjoying summer and all of the fun foods, drinks BBQs, sporting events, all that good stuff.

...

On another note, I walked 3 miles yesterday and almost 2 today. I love that I have more energy.

The Bonus Of Feeling Like Crap Is That You Lose Weight

I've been sick. Friday my sis-in-law came over for some wine and brie, and I ended up spending almost as much time on the toilet as I did sitting with her and my husband.

Appetizing. I know.

Saturday I pretended to feel better (that's what I usually do), went to some graduations. Came home. Felt gurgling.

Sunday I was laid out cold all day. Bathroom, couch. Couch, bathroom. Bathroom. Sleep, sleep, sleep. A little World Cup, when tolerable. But mostly for background noise to know that I was still alive.

Misery.

Yeah, so on top of having my period, I've got some nasty food poisoning or stomach flu. Nice.

I don't puke, haven't for a couple decades. But wished desperately that I did. I was so nauseous and it wasn't leaving my body fast enough. Monday, better, but not much. Popsicles, a few bites of food here and there. Today I tried getting in to work for a little bit and was not successful. Brought stuff home to do, but still haven't gotten around to it. Using most of my energy just to hold down the fort, get kids to the movies, take the dog out. I feel better, but waves of ick hit me and then I'm like, and why are you up and around acting like you feel OK?

I hate feeling sick. I'm a hypochondriac, so I just like to be better, but also I hate that it ties me down. But, looking at the bright side, I think I lost a couple pounds. Better take a picture of the scale, 'cause I'm sure my appetite will come back raging like a beast and I'll put it back on.

I've been sucking down popsicles, fruit, and today a doughnut. Craving simple carbs, apparently. My mouth wants to eat, but my digestive system is sluggish. I did try some jambalaya, though (hot and spicy - yum). Soup would do me some real good, but I've got nobody but myself to make it and myself is tired.

Oh, I'm Still Kickin'

I suppose after my last post it might be assumed I jumped off the wagon and into a warm vat of gooey chocolate. With caramel. Pecans, extra please... oh, and vanilla custard. Whipped cream. And a cherry.

Wha-- Huh?

I'm sorry, was I drooling?

One of those days, I guess. :)

Thanks for the sweet, supportive comments in that last post. I'm still dealing with the stress. Trying not to eat/drink it away/pill-pop it away. I sure wish I'd be one of those freak people who exercise or clean like a nut when they're stressed out, rather than turn to food. At least it's productive. I like to drink sometimes, but wouldn't want to be drunk 24/7, so that is good. The pills, I'm scared of getting addicted to, and they apparently have a decent street value because of their ability to charm.

So I'm working on walking on the sidewalk, not the curb, and definitely not right down the middle of the street waiting to get hit. There are times when I don't know how I do it, but taking it day by day helps. And then it messes you all up, too. But whatever. I'm not trying to be all pity party me, "I've got stress" woo-hoo. It is what it is. I realize the whole world out there has pains of its own. Mine are not unique. Maybe I will get into it more sometime, maybe not.

The good news is: I LOST 2 MORE POUNDS!!!

I'm not entirely sure how it happened, really, but I guess even when I'm pigging out now it isn't to the level of pigging out from a few months ago, and, for the most part I'm eating within my boundaries. It was scary there for a few days, though, because I wasn't sure if I was taking a one-way trip off the wagon or what.

My body has settled pretty well where I am. I could, technically stay here for a good year, letting my body adjust. But I think I really would rather sit at about 250-something, or below, then what I'm at right now. I don't feel like stopping just yet. I'm slow, but somewhat steady. My pace allows me some mess-ups, but not too many. Today I'm kind of taking one, and maybe tomorrow. Graduation parties, end-of-year stuff... we'll see, though. We'll see.

One thing I have to say, though, that bugs the living bagoodles out of me is that my husband is now pulling his belt a couple notches tighter. His pants are looser (looser than mine are). He has visibly lost weight, no questions about it. No waiting for people to ask, "Have you lost weight?!" No fat-blogging, calorie-counting. Nothing. This happens, literally EVERY time I am being conscious of my eating and working towards being healthier.

When I say it bugs the living bagoodles out of me, I mean you could take each one of those letters, pretend they are glass, and smash them on the ground screaming, and that might equal the frustration that I feel when this happens. And I poo-poo you not, it happens EVERY TIME. I don't know why it happens either, but it's not fair and it needs to stop.