I am sick.
I HATE being sick.
I was so sick that I actually stayed home from work yesterday, and then I left after about 3 hours today. Ugh. More time sitting on the couch.
Being sick is sucky in general, but I really REALLY hate the food cravings I get when I'm sick. When my throat hurts, I want to stuff my face with milkshakes. When I have a fever, I want to load up on stuff like buttery crackers and bread. When I'm sick to my stomach, Sprite is the only thing that does the trick (and none of that Diet Sprite crap).
Being home alone with a full fridge and stocked pantry is very difficult. I've really tried to make sure we have plenty of healthy snack options, but when I'm home sick I can make anything unhealthy. I've been mixing whipped cream with hot cocoa mix, and stirring actual peanuts and Hershey's syrup into peanut butter. I can't stop myself.
I'm hoping this dose of NyQuil will knock me out so I can stop eating. I missed weigh-in yesterday and I would hate to go to Weight Watchers next week and find that I gained 15 pounds.
At least I think I've lost a pound or so of mucus...ewwww....
28 February 2013
26 February 2013
100 Miles
I signed up the for 100 Mile March.
Ahh!
Now, it's not exactly 100 miles at once...because then I would just die. But you're expected to walk/run/jog 100 miles throughout the month of March. My company is participating and was asking for volunteers, so I got all optimistic and signed up.
Then I tried to ACTUALLY walk, and now I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do it at all.
There are 31 days in March, so if I walk right around three miles every day, I'll be able to do it.
Unfortunately, there's a huge disconnect between that math and what I can actually do.
I picked up my treadmill from my girlfriend's brother's house (because I obviously was never using it!), plugged it in, and hopped on. I started for the first minute or two thinking "Wow, this may actually be do-able!" By the third minute, I was panting and my lungs were burning, even though I was walking at roughly the same slow pace I'd do strolling through a museum. So slow, but so painful.
By the fifth minute, I was wheezing and if my girlfriend had been able to hear me, I would have called to her to bring me my inhaler.
And by the eighth minute, I couldn't breathe, my heart was pounding through my chest, and my teeth were hurting like I was about to have an asthma attack. I turned off the treadmill and collapsed in the closest chair.
I ONLY WALKED .2 MILES.
NOT EVEN A QUARTER OF A FUCKING MILE.
And I was DYING.
I mean, it's no secret that I am lazy and I hate to exercise. I haven't been able to trust my heart or lungs enough to really do much of anything. I really try to avoid moving at all if I can help it.
But I thought I could at least WALK!
Back before I got sick and had my heart surgery, I would get up in the mornings and go for a nice brisk walk. I was hitting around a 15 to 18 minute mile, depending on how many times I broke into a jog. So when I turned on the treadmill yesterday, I figured it would take me maybe 20 minutes to walk the first mile, and hopefully I could get through three miles in a little under an hour.
WRONG.
If it takes me eight minutes to get through .2 miles, each mile will be 40 minutes. That means I'll have to spend 120 minutes, or two whole hours, walking every night to do this 100 Mile March.
I just don't know if I can do it.
I'm determined to try, but I'm going to try not hating myself if I can't do it. I'm going to try hard. I haven't been using my daily inhaler with any regularity for the past few months, so I'm going to start using it again. It's not like losing weight is going to regrow my damaged lung tissue. But an inhaler along isn't going to get me through 100 miles.
Tonight, I want to try to hit at least .5 miles. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to do a full mile.
Maybe not, but at least I'll be trying.
23 February 2013
So You Had A Bad Day
Feeling better today. Thursday was just a shit day overall (and it didn't help that I forgot to take my Xanax in the morning, and I didn't have any with me...I feel sorry for all of my employees because I know I had my Bitch Face on all day). By the time I got home, I was so run down and weepy that I just took a Vicodan and my Xanax and let my girlfriend bring me black bean roll-ups for supper while pretending nothing had happened.
I also must be PMSing because I'm sniffing out chocolate around the house like Toucan Sam with Froot Loops. Plus, I've gained around 6 pounds since weigh-in Wednesday. I did eat a lot Wednesday for my birthday (and drink a lot...although I did count all of my Points) but there's no way I could have eaten enough to gain 6 pounds. I'm blaming pre-menstrual bloat. Otherwise, it's got to be a mystery goiter or something. Ugh.
I'm definitely back over 250 pounds right now, but I'm going to give it a few days before I weigh in again and panic. I just don't need that stress right now.
In other news, I was really good today and only ate a tiny slice of cake at my family birthday party :) I also planned ahead and saved enough Points.
But now I'm hungry again, craving chocolate, and bloated like a hot air balloon. Oh, the joys of womanhood.
On top of all the other issues, I was really missing Rob. Someone had posted a note on his Facebook memorial group page, and it sent a new wave a grief over me. I miss him every day, but some days are harder than others. It's been a year and a half since he died, and he's still the only person I yearn to talk to when I'm having issues I don't want to talk to my girlfriend about.
I also must be PMSing because I'm sniffing out chocolate around the house like Toucan Sam with Froot Loops. Plus, I've gained around 6 pounds since weigh-in Wednesday. I did eat a lot Wednesday for my birthday (and drink a lot...although I did count all of my Points) but there's no way I could have eaten enough to gain 6 pounds. I'm blaming pre-menstrual bloat. Otherwise, it's got to be a mystery goiter or something. Ugh.
I'm definitely back over 250 pounds right now, but I'm going to give it a few days before I weigh in again and panic. I just don't need that stress right now.
In other news, I was really good today and only ate a tiny slice of cake at my family birthday party :) I also planned ahead and saved enough Points.
But now I'm hungry again, craving chocolate, and bloated like a hot air balloon. Oh, the joys of womanhood.
21 February 2013
"The Dark Still Nurses Its Secret"
So, it happened. The thing I've been dreading for so long.
My girlfriend found out how much I weigh.
She also knows how much I've lost, which means some pretty simple math will lead or has led to the realization that I started out over 300 pounds. Which means she knows how fat I was...and am.
I'm so sad right now.
She was scrolling through my birthday photos on my phone, and I suddenly remembered the photo I took of the scale at 250 pounds. I tried to grab the phone back, but I could tell she saw it. I burst into tears, started sobbing, and she came over to hug me and tell me it didn't matter and she loves me anyway.
That doesn't help.
I am so ashamed. I'm so ashamed that I got to over 300 pounds. I feel like since I kept it a secret from everyone, I didn't have to really deal with it. I started Weight Watchers, dropped below 300 pounds, and I've been working really hard ever since then to distance myself from that weight.
I should be really proud that I'm under 250 pounds now, and I did feel proud about it yesterday. That was, until she saw the picture. That changes everything. I feel like I can't even be happy about getting down to under 250 pounds, because the shame of being over 300 pounds is now so fresh. I had put it behind me until she saw the picture. Now she knows, and even though she didn't say it, I think she's got to be disgusted by me now. How many people can actually eat themselves to over 300 pounds? I put on every single ounce myself. Bite by bite, I ballooned up to 304...and I could have let that information stay in my past, if she hadn't found that picture.
I mean, I always knew eventually that I would tell people how much I weighed and how much I had lost and they would do the math and know how much I started out as, but I had hoped that wouldn't happen until I was under 200 pounds finally. I'm so far away from there. I feel too close to 300 pounds right now. It was starting to feel far behind me, until now...now, I just feel like the same big slob.
I'm just so, so ashamed. So embarrassed. So sad. I made her go to bed before me last night, and I snuck under the covers after staying up crying in the dark for a couple of hours. I pretended to be asleep when she kissed me goodbye this morning. She texted me, and I haven't been able to bring myself to text her back. I just can't look at her now that she knows that I let myself get to over 300 pounds.
And the saddest part was that my birthday was so great yesterday until that happened. Now, I can't even think about my birthday without feeling that stomach-dropping fear and anguish that hit me when I realized she had scrolled back too far and got to the picture of the scale. The picture that wouldn't have existed if I wasn't so stupid and vain. When everyone at work this morning asked me how my birthday was, I lied and pretended like it was fine. It wasn't fine. It was fine until she found the picture, and then it was ruined.
I honestly don't know how I can go home today. I can't face her. I can't look into her eyes and risk seeing her disgust.
Before I made her go to bed, I told her to never talk about it again. I told her to forget and pretend like nothing ever happened. But what's done is done. My secret is out. She knows.
I plan to keep going and trying to lose weight, but I feel like my motivation has been stripped away. After being so happy yesterday after weigh in, I didn't expect to be so sad today.
My girlfriend found out how much I weigh.
She also knows how much I've lost, which means some pretty simple math will lead or has led to the realization that I started out over 300 pounds. Which means she knows how fat I was...and am.
I'm so sad right now.
She was scrolling through my birthday photos on my phone, and I suddenly remembered the photo I took of the scale at 250 pounds. I tried to grab the phone back, but I could tell she saw it. I burst into tears, started sobbing, and she came over to hug me and tell me it didn't matter and she loves me anyway.
That doesn't help.
I am so ashamed. I'm so ashamed that I got to over 300 pounds. I feel like since I kept it a secret from everyone, I didn't have to really deal with it. I started Weight Watchers, dropped below 300 pounds, and I've been working really hard ever since then to distance myself from that weight.
I should be really proud that I'm under 250 pounds now, and I did feel proud about it yesterday. That was, until she saw the picture. That changes everything. I feel like I can't even be happy about getting down to under 250 pounds, because the shame of being over 300 pounds is now so fresh. I had put it behind me until she saw the picture. Now she knows, and even though she didn't say it, I think she's got to be disgusted by me now. How many people can actually eat themselves to over 300 pounds? I put on every single ounce myself. Bite by bite, I ballooned up to 304...and I could have let that information stay in my past, if she hadn't found that picture.
I mean, I always knew eventually that I would tell people how much I weighed and how much I had lost and they would do the math and know how much I started out as, but I had hoped that wouldn't happen until I was under 200 pounds finally. I'm so far away from there. I feel too close to 300 pounds right now. It was starting to feel far behind me, until now...now, I just feel like the same big slob.
I'm just so, so ashamed. So embarrassed. So sad. I made her go to bed before me last night, and I snuck under the covers after staying up crying in the dark for a couple of hours. I pretended to be asleep when she kissed me goodbye this morning. She texted me, and I haven't been able to bring myself to text her back. I just can't look at her now that she knows that I let myself get to over 300 pounds.
And the saddest part was that my birthday was so great yesterday until that happened. Now, I can't even think about my birthday without feeling that stomach-dropping fear and anguish that hit me when I realized she had scrolled back too far and got to the picture of the scale. The picture that wouldn't have existed if I wasn't so stupid and vain. When everyone at work this morning asked me how my birthday was, I lied and pretended like it was fine. It wasn't fine. It was fine until she found the picture, and then it was ruined.
I honestly don't know how I can go home today. I can't face her. I can't look into her eyes and risk seeing her disgust.
Before I made her go to bed, I told her to never talk about it again. I told her to forget and pretend like nothing ever happened. But what's done is done. My secret is out. She knows.
I plan to keep going and trying to lose weight, but I feel like my motivation has been stripped away. After being so happy yesterday after weigh in, I didn't expect to be so sad today.
20 February 2013
Under 250 Pounds...FINALLY!
This is the best birthday present EVER!!!
I actually took today off for my birthday, but I had my girlfriend bring me to work briefly so I could weigh in at Weight Watchers. I knew I had lost this week (according to my lovely new scale, at least) but I wanted a concrete number before I went out for lunch. I needed to decide if I should have a margarita...well, I'm glad I went because I ordered a large margarita and didn't feel bad about it at all :)
I was down 3.2 for the week, for a grand total of 54.8 pounds lost. That brings me down to 249.2 (from my starting weight of 304 on August 8th, 2012).
I was afraid I would never be under 250 pounds again. For so long, I just assumed that I would always be over the maximum weight limit for everything--lawn chairs, step ladders, inflatable rafts, hammock chairs, ziplines. Now I can officially zipline! I can sit in a lawn chair without feeling like it's going to immediately crumble under my weight! This is AWESOME!
Since my Weight Watcher's goal weight was set at 250, it was time for me to pick a new goal. I thought about 243 because that will be a loss of 20% from my starting weight, but I want to be a little more ambitious (without going too wild!). I set it at 225 pounds. That doesn't feel so far away right now, which is why I think it's a good goal, but it's also a LOT mentally.
I haven't been 225 pounds since the summer I graduated high school. I was at 230 pounds at graduation, started the Atkins diet while I was killing time before college, and I got down to just over 210 pounds. Then college started and, well, the Freshman Fifteen hit me hard. I fluctuated between 220 and 240 for years. If I can get under 225 again, I feel like I can go all the way :)
Oh, and today I saw the girl who inspired me to start Weight Watchers--she hit 125 pounds lost! Hey, I'm almost halfway there!
To Vegan Or Not To Vegan
I've been struggling with a bit of a moral dilemma for a few days, I'm not really not sure what to do.
Bear with me as I try to sort myself out.
I've been a vegetarian for more than a decade now. I gave it up for New Year's one year, so I started January 1, 2003. Never once have I looked back. Sure, I get cravings every now and then for certain things, like popcorn shrimp or bacon (BACON!!!!!!). But I'm usually able to talk myself down from those cravings by either grossing myself out (shrimp=fish=nastyfishysmells, etc) or making a vegetarian alternative (my version of tofu bacon=amazingly delicious!).
One thing I haven't been able to live without is cheese. I LOVE cheese. I've already waxed poetic about my love affair with cheese (and the complete meltdown--shame on my pun--I had when I tried eating fat free cheese for a week.
I was actually a vegan for the first three months after I stopped eating meat, but I survived mostly on beer and sunflower seeds. Not exactly sustainable. I caved, devoured some nachos, and I've been chowing down on cheese ever since then.
It took longer to work milk and eggs back into my diet, and I still wouldn't reach for a glass of milk or a plate of scrambled eggs if there was something more delicious in front of me, but I definitely haven't held back from the milk and eggs. They're on our grocery list every week. I don't think twice before whipping up a quiche, fried egg sandwiches, hard boiled eggs, egg salad, etc. I'm the designated deviled egg maker for both my family and my girlfriend's family, so it's not uncommon for us to get three 18-packs of eggs around Easter and Thanksgiving.
My mornings aren't complete without some light yogurt, too. And I have Smart Ones ice cream pretty much every night. Whipped cream is one of my favorite desserts. I can rarely pass up FroYo in any form.
Which brings me to my struggle: I feel REALLY bad about still eating eggs and dairy. I ignored it for a long time (like, 9 years long...) but then I made the awful mistake of watching Vegucated on Netflix.
Oh. My. God.
I am no stranger to PETA, and I've seen some of the most disturbing animal videos out there. But in Vegucated, when they show the baby chicks being ground up alive...I cant. I mean, I seriously can't. I can't even go there.
So I did the best thing I could--I started researching. I already have a weekly food delivery service, and they offer dairy and eggs that are organic, free range, local, etc. Everything I thought I wanted...until my research commenced. I contacted the dairy farms and the egg producers available through the service, and asked what I thought were pretty simple questions. I mean, these aren't factory farms. I know what goes on there, and I want no part of it. I was trying to talk to the "good guys," relatively speaking.
I asked the dairy farms:
1) I realize this is a dairy farm--what happens to the male calves after they're born, and how long are calves allowed to stay with their mothers after birth?
2) You say the cows are not fed antibiotics. What happens to them when they have an infection?
3) When a cow is eventually unable to produce milk, what happens to her?
The first farm responded:
1) Some of our male calves stay on the farm, to be used as breeding stock, and the rest are sold to other farms, for breeding or meat production. We have relationships with a number of farmers whom we work closely with to pass our calves on to, so we trust that they will be well-cared for.
2) If one of our animals gets an infection, we use natural supplement injections, like Vitamin C, echinacea, and garlic, or external salves to treat the infection. Typically this intervention is sufficient. In the rare case that a cow would need more medical help, we do use antibiotics, but then we sell the cow to another non-organic farm.
3) When our cows stop producing milk we typically use them for the 100% grassfed beef that we sell in our store and cook with in our restaurant.
3) When our cows stop producing milk we typically use them for the 100% grassfed beef that we sell in our store and cook with in our restaurant.
So that didn't bother me too badly. I understood that this was supplier of meat and dairy, so I expected that they killed some of the cows. No shocker there.
The second farm responded:
1) The calves stay with their mother for about a week after they're born. Male calves are sent to auction.
2) The cows are not routinely given antibiotics, however, if they have an infection they are given antibiotics so that they can get well. Because their milk isn't included with the rest of the milk, they are removed from the milking herd, and milked separately until the infection clears up and the required withdrawal period has passed. The cow is then returned to be milked with the rest of the herd.
3) When a cow has reached an age when their milk production is finished, they go to auction.
Oooookay, well, I don't like the thought of the cows going to auction because I know where they end up. I know how traumatic it is for them to be shoved into a truck (I am definitely one of those people who cries on the highway every time I pass a livestock carrier) and then turned over to some butchers for a devastating death. But...it's a little easier to imagine them going off to a nice little auction, with an old timey caller and some little 4-H kids clutching their money and placing their bids. A total fantasy, I know, but it just seems like having the cow sent off to a euphemistic "auction," I would be oh-so-slightly less directly responsible for the cows dying every time I buy a bottle of milk.
The last dairy was actually a co-op--they responded:
Because organic farmers don’t use certain “tools” like antibiotics to treat illness or artificial growth hormones to increase milk production, animal comfort is the key to their success. Organic farmers must prevent illness and stress on their cows by providing for their nutritional, physical and even emotional well-being. On an organic farm, successfully meeting cows’ needs can mean the difference
between making a living and going out of business.
Cows must have access to the outdoors, sunlight, fresh air, and pasture to graze on fresh grasses. The amount of time depends on the time of year, the weather, the feeding program of the individual farmer and the regional location of the farm. Confinement operations are prohibited in the cooperative. Cows must have clean, dry bedding and cannot be forced to live on concrete. Living quarters must allow enough space for the cow to get up, lie down, groom and interact with other cows, and inhumane practices such as tail docking are not allowed.
Thanks also for your question about what happens to male calves when they are born. In general, dairy farmers would rather have a heifer calf than a bull calf so that they can grow their herd.
Farmers either raise the males as steers for the organic meat market or sell them to other organic farmers that specialize in beef. Like organic milk, organically raised beef also receives a higher price. And, of course, as long as people buy veal, some bull calves will be sent to veal operations. However, we want you to be assured that male calves from the farms in the co-op do not end up in confinement veal operations. There are specific animal care requirements within organic standards that prevent farmers from raising calves in confinement conditions, and because organically-raised calves are more valuable it would not make financial sense to sell a bull calf to a conventional veal operation.
OH HELL NO! They did not just try to justify veal to me! No. No way. Not interested in anything coming from them--the thought of veal makes my stomach churn. Ugh. Too bad, because the beginning of the email was going so well...happy cows, sunshine and emotional well-being...they just totally lost me with the veal.
So the first two dairy options aren't ideal, but they sound a lot better than the last farm. I was hoping to have more luck with the egg farm. I researched their website and then asked:
1) You mention that the hens "arrive" at the farm. From where do your hens originate, and how are they transported?
2) I realize this is also a meat farm, so the female chicks are likely raised for meat. But what happens to the male chicks?
3) You say the hens are not fed antibiotics. What happens to the hens when they have an infection?
Their response:
Thanks for getting in touch. We appreciate your interest in learning more about your food source.
1) Usually the laying hens arrive to us as day old chicks from a hatchery. They are transported through the USPS.
2) The baby chicks come pre-sexed so we receive 95+ percent females. We keep the few males we receive as roosters for the flock. The said truth is that chickens are bred by hatcheries to either be efficient layers or efficient meat birds then the opposite sex is simply disposed of. The only solution is to breed for dual purpose chicken breeds so that females can be used for eggs and males for meat. However, this equates for less efficient production and will mean much higher production cost for both eggs and meat. Unless consumers are willing to pay $6 to $7 per dozen for eggs and $10-$12 per pound of chicken then I cannot raise and sell a dual purpose breed. Would you be willing to pay this much for your eggs and chicken?
3) Chickens with sickness or infection generally is not a problem because of how we raise them. We simply never administer a drug or antibiotic to them.
I gave you an honest answer to your 2nd question. I'd love to get your thoughts as this is a conundrum in our modern food and agriculture system that both consumers and farmers simply want to avoid discussing.
OH JESUS WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?! The day old chicks are SHIPPED IN THE MAIL?!?!?! And the "opposite sex" chicks are "SIMPLY DISPOSED OF"?!?!?! WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!?!?!?!?!?!? (This is another instance where the use of an interrobang would be immensely helpful.)
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. I can never eat eggs again. Of course, I happened to read this email on my phone while I was getting ready to go into work, so I ended up walking into the office a sobbing, mascara-streaked mess.
DISPOSED OF?!?!
I was so totally sickened.
Listen, I know not everyone is a sappy animal lover. I know for some people, ignorance truly is bliss and they honestly don't want to think about where their meat comes from. But I thought I was doing a GOOD thing by not eating meat! I thought that a decade of vegetarianism was wracking me up good karma points, and I thought that having eggs for breakfast instead of sausage was actually saving animals' lives. I had NO IDEA that my eggs were killing other baby chicks. I thought that, since the eggs were unfertilized and since hens lay eggs all the time anyway, it was like...well...like sperm or something. No harm, no foul. Nothing sacrificed.
I had no clue that every male chick was DISPOSED OF. I feel deceived. I know it's my own fault--I didn't ask the right questions before. The answers were right there, I just needed to ask and I didn't. I lived in quiet stupid complacency and, because of me, little fluffy baby chicks were being ground up like they were nothing at all.
Once I stopped crying long enough to see my screen, I was finally able to answer the question posed in the egg farmer's email. I wrote:
I would love to have the option of purchasing completely ethical eggs, regardless of the cost. I would be happy to pay $1 to $2 per individual egg just to have a quiche once a week. Again, I realize I'm not the average consumer. I think you'd be surprised to find how many others share my values, however, and I hope that you will take this into consideration.
Thanks again for your honest answers. Farms like yours are a far cry from industrial farms, and I do applaud your efforts. If you have any other thoughts or questions for me, I'd love to hear them.
I haven't heard back.
I did find someone just a few streets over who raises chickens in her backyard and sells their eggs. She feeds them organic feed and table scraps, treats them like pets, and doesn't kill any baby chicks. Once I can stomach eggs again, I'll probably go over and pick some up.
But my dilemma is this: is it really worth it? Is it really worth the pain I'm causing, just to chow down on eggs and cheese and FroYo? I've really tried to be kind to animals and live my life ethically, so it only makes sense to give up animal products altogether--however, I think giving up cheese is just going to drive me to other unhealthy foods to fill the void. I seriously love cheese. And the three months I was vegan were horrible for me. I have to force myself to eat vegetables, so I basically always hated everything I ate. I don't want to turn to that awful vegan cheese or processed soy hotdogs. I want to continue to have my yogurt and Smart Ones and whipped cream and the occasional egg salad sandwich, but I don't want to cause animals to suffer because of it.
I just don't know what to do.
I've managed to lose over 50 pounds on Weight Watchers now, and the only week I considered giving up was the one week I was on the Simply Filling plan--that's because I ate only fat free cheese, and it was fucking disgusting. I don't want to give up cheddar. I don't want to cause suffering, but I also don't want to suffer myself. I don't want to sabotage my weight loss efforts by forcing myself into an overly restrictive vegan diet, but I can't crack an egg right now without seeing those little chicks being ground up alive.
So what the fuck do I do?
16 February 2013
50 Pounds! Celebrate!
Down 3 pounds! Therefore...
I've officially lost more than 50 pounds!!!!!!!
I'm at 252.3 pounds. I've lost a total of 51.7 pounds. So that means...I got my 50 pound token from Weight Watchers!
50 pounds is a LOT! When we went to Cancun, I brought about 20 outfits and 10 pairs of shoes (yes, seriously, and we were only there for four days) and I was certain that my bag was going to be over the weight limit for checked luggage. It was the biggest suitcase I own, and I had to have my girlfriend help me lift it into the cab and onto the scale at the baggage check desk, but it came in at 43 pounds. I lost MORE than my giant suitcase full of crap!
Or, more than an entire bale of hay! (Yes, the list of equivalents is still getting much use.)
I've been looking back through a lot of old pictures, and I can tell a big difference in my face. My cheekbones were hidden for so long, and my chin just sloped down to my chest like a fanny pack of fat strapped around my neck. It's nice to look down without feeling the resistance of my chins squishing back up.
I ordered a pair of tall boots and, although they didn't go all the way up, they went much further up my leg than they would have six months ago! They're slouch boots so I'm keeping them anyway--and when I wore them to work on Thursday, I actually felt a little sexy. That's a far cry from where I was in August, when I hated even waddling down to the mailbox because I was embarrassed of what our neighbors might think.
Now that I'm so close to 250 pounds, I can't wait to hit that goal. I'm glad I hit my 50 pound loss, but getting down below 250 pounds is even more important to me. I remember being 250 pounds. I can't remember being any of the weights I reached from 250 through 304 (and possibly beyond). 250 pounds was always my "panic weight" where I'd freak out and start taking Trim Spa or snorting Adderall until I was back down to 240 or 230.
Now, I'm trying to get to 250 from the other side (the healthy way)--and I'm almost there!
12 February 2013
So Close
Tomorrow is weigh-in. ::Insert dramatic music here::
I don't want to get my hopes up (too late!) but I think I actually lost a couple of pound this week. And a couple of pounds would put me at a 50 pound weight loss! I don't want to get too excited (again, too freakin late) but I MIGHT get my 50 pound token tomorrow to put on my Weight Watchers keyring!
When I checked my bathroom scale, I was at 252.8 pounds. I started at 304 pounds in August. It's been slow going, but I AM still going, which is better than I've ever done in the past.
I wore an off-the-shoulder top to work today and I couldn't stop staring at my clavicle in the mirror. I love being able to see my clavicle. It was buried under inches of fat for way too long. I have a damn fine clavicle if I do say so myself :)
(Oh yeah, and I love saying clavicle. And patella. And xiphoid process. Best-named bones in the body!)
I went overboard on Jell-o shots this weekend and thought I was going to end up gaining weight. From Sunday through today, though, I've been really good about making smart food choices. I even ditched the 100 Calorie Packs for some fat free pudding--one Point lower, and pudding takes me longer to eat than a couple pre-packaged cookies. I've been eating fruits and veggies, drinking plenty of water, and I even made my mashed potatoes with spray butter. I KNOW! I made my girlfriend's full of delicious fatty stick butter, and just used 1/2 tablespoon of real butter in mine. It was still pretty good. Not AS good, but pretty good.
I just want another loss tomorrow. Even if it's just 1/10 pound. I don't want to go back over 260 pounds. I'm so close to losing 50 pounds! I just want to get there. And then get under 250 pounds. And then...well, I'm focusing on tomorrow.
I don't want to get my hopes up (too late!) but I think I actually lost a couple of pound this week. And a couple of pounds would put me at a 50 pound weight loss! I don't want to get too excited (again, too freakin late) but I MIGHT get my 50 pound token tomorrow to put on my Weight Watchers keyring!
When I checked my bathroom scale, I was at 252.8 pounds. I started at 304 pounds in August. It's been slow going, but I AM still going, which is better than I've ever done in the past.
I wore an off-the-shoulder top to work today and I couldn't stop staring at my clavicle in the mirror. I love being able to see my clavicle. It was buried under inches of fat for way too long. I have a damn fine clavicle if I do say so myself :)
(Oh yeah, and I love saying clavicle. And patella. And xiphoid process. Best-named bones in the body!)
I went overboard on Jell-o shots this weekend and thought I was going to end up gaining weight. From Sunday through today, though, I've been really good about making smart food choices. I even ditched the 100 Calorie Packs for some fat free pudding--one Point lower, and pudding takes me longer to eat than a couple pre-packaged cookies. I've been eating fruits and veggies, drinking plenty of water, and I even made my mashed potatoes with spray butter. I KNOW! I made my girlfriend's full of delicious fatty stick butter, and just used 1/2 tablespoon of real butter in mine. It was still pretty good. Not AS good, but pretty good.
I just want another loss tomorrow. Even if it's just 1/10 pound. I don't want to go back over 260 pounds. I'm so close to losing 50 pounds! I just want to get there. And then get under 250 pounds. And then...well, I'm focusing on tomorrow.
11 February 2013
PSA: Kroger's Great Value Tortilla Thins Full of Delicious Lies
I feel the need to make a Public Service Announcement: the Kroger Great Value/Private Selection Tortilla Thins Tortilla Chip nutritional information is grossly incorrect.
The nutritional label states that a serving size is 1 ounce, or 22 chips. I have weighed out 1 ounce from three separate bags now, and it's only 9 or 10 chips.
BOO!
22 chips is more like 2 ounces. That's more than double the Points, calories, fat, carbs, etc. ARGH!
I kept buying the Thins because I could have SO MANY with each meal--seriously, some brands have, like, a serving size of 7 chips. We have gotten bag after bag of the Tortilla Thins because there is a HUGE difference between having 7 chips and having 22 chips. 7 chips with salsa is a light snack; 22 chips with salsa is a meal. 7 chips with melted cheese is a side item; 22 chips with melted cheese is a dinner platter.
I'm so disappointed with Kroger. I tried to call and email them about it, but they just brushed me off saying they'd look into it. This was a few weeks ago, and the bags haven't changed. They don't seem to get it. I mean, 9 chips versus 22 chips is a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE. I was calculating the wrong Points for months. But aside from my own petty complaints, this could have serious health repercussions for people.
A diabetic closely monitoring carbohydrates knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 18g and 36g of carbs.
A heart patient monitoring sodium knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 75mg and 150mg of sodium.
And anyone monitoring fat or calories knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 140 calories/7g of fat and 280 calories/14g of fat.
And anyone one Weight Watchers knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 4 Points and 8 Points.
This is really dangerous misinformation.
And I'd venture to call this false advertising as well. I was purchasing a product specifically because of the information presented on the label, and it was incorrect. I like the Tortilla Thins because they're good, but I BUY them because I thought I could have 22 per serving for 4 Points. LIES.
Anyway, I've been thinking of this every time I see the chips, so I wanted to share. I'm now really careful to weigh out my food instead of going by the product label, but it would be nice to live in a world where you could actually trust the packaging.
Naughty Kroger!
The nutritional label states that a serving size is 1 ounce, or 22 chips. I have weighed out 1 ounce from three separate bags now, and it's only 9 or 10 chips.
BOO!
22 chips is more like 2 ounces. That's more than double the Points, calories, fat, carbs, etc. ARGH!
I kept buying the Thins because I could have SO MANY with each meal--seriously, some brands have, like, a serving size of 7 chips. We have gotten bag after bag of the Tortilla Thins because there is a HUGE difference between having 7 chips and having 22 chips. 7 chips with salsa is a light snack; 22 chips with salsa is a meal. 7 chips with melted cheese is a side item; 22 chips with melted cheese is a dinner platter.
I'm so disappointed with Kroger. I tried to call and email them about it, but they just brushed me off saying they'd look into it. This was a few weeks ago, and the bags haven't changed. They don't seem to get it. I mean, 9 chips versus 22 chips is a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE. I was calculating the wrong Points for months. But aside from my own petty complaints, this could have serious health repercussions for people.
A diabetic closely monitoring carbohydrates knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 18g and 36g of carbs.
A heart patient monitoring sodium knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 75mg and 150mg of sodium.
And anyone monitoring fat or calories knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 140 calories/7g of fat and 280 calories/14g of fat.
And anyone one Weight Watchers knows there's a BIG ASS DIFFERENCE between 4 Points and 8 Points.
This is really dangerous misinformation.
And I'd venture to call this false advertising as well. I was purchasing a product specifically because of the information presented on the label, and it was incorrect. I like the Tortilla Thins because they're good, but I BUY them because I thought I could have 22 per serving for 4 Points. LIES.
Anyway, I've been thinking of this every time I see the chips, so I wanted to share. I'm now really careful to weigh out my food instead of going by the product label, but it would be nice to live in a world where you could actually trust the packaging.
Naughty Kroger!
08 February 2013
Healthy Surprise Subscription Box
I got a Healthy Surprise in the mail.
Unfortunately, it wasn't a very good surprise. Not for me, anyway.
I've been a little, um, obsessed with subscription boxes lately. It started with BarkBox. Then I signed up for Loot Crate. Then Healthy Surprise. I'm currently waiting for BirchBox.
But the one I was TOTALLY MOST EXCITED ABOUT was Healthy Surprise. I loved the idea of getting a big box of snacks every month, full of things I'd never think to try at the store but I just might love. I was looking forward to sampling new things, branching out of my snack rut, and filling my cabinets with organic/vegan/gluten free goodies.
Sadly, it just wasn't for me. At least not on Weight Watchers.
I mean, one of the granola snacks was 9 Points! That's a whole meal for me. Most of the snacks were full of seeds and nuts--super healthy stuff, but also really high in Points.
I love that there were only a few ingredients in each product. And if I was, say, a hiker, I would be totally thrilled to fill my backpack with the chewy energy bars and dehydrated raw foods. For me, though, I just don't need to consume that many Points for a snack.
I'm pretty bummed about it. It's such a good idea, and for anyone looking for high-calorie, nutrient-rich, all-natural food, I would HIGHLY recommend it. The box came within days of me placing my first order, there was a wide variety of products, and the things I did try were totally delicious (like the almonds! YUM!).
The insert that came with my first box said to count ingredients, not calories. I definitely understand that. For people looking to eat healthier, that's always a good thing. But for someone who is still trying to lose more than 100 pounds, it's just not going to work for me.
I was hoping it would be a good addition to my weekly food delivery service but I'm going to have to cancel. Boo.
Now I need a new subscription box to sign up for! :)
Unfortunately, it wasn't a very good surprise. Not for me, anyway.
I've been a little, um, obsessed with subscription boxes lately. It started with BarkBox. Then I signed up for Loot Crate. Then Healthy Surprise. I'm currently waiting for BirchBox.
But the one I was TOTALLY MOST EXCITED ABOUT was Healthy Surprise. I loved the idea of getting a big box of snacks every month, full of things I'd never think to try at the store but I just might love. I was looking forward to sampling new things, branching out of my snack rut, and filling my cabinets with organic/vegan/gluten free goodies.
Sadly, it just wasn't for me. At least not on Weight Watchers.
I mean, one of the granola snacks was 9 Points! That's a whole meal for me. Most of the snacks were full of seeds and nuts--super healthy stuff, but also really high in Points.
I love that there were only a few ingredients in each product. And if I was, say, a hiker, I would be totally thrilled to fill my backpack with the chewy energy bars and dehydrated raw foods. For me, though, I just don't need to consume that many Points for a snack.
I'm pretty bummed about it. It's such a good idea, and for anyone looking for high-calorie, nutrient-rich, all-natural food, I would HIGHLY recommend it. The box came within days of me placing my first order, there was a wide variety of products, and the things I did try were totally delicious (like the almonds! YUM!).
The insert that came with my first box said to count ingredients, not calories. I definitely understand that. For people looking to eat healthier, that's always a good thing. But for someone who is still trying to lose more than 100 pounds, it's just not going to work for me.
I was hoping it would be a good addition to my weekly food delivery service but I'm going to have to cancel. Boo.
Now I need a new subscription box to sign up for! :)
06 February 2013
Total Loser
I cannot believe it. I actually lost this week!
I lost 5.6 pounds! And that's even after my all-inclusive (read: all-you-can-eat) vacation :)
I'm now at 255.4 pounds, for a total loss of 48.6 pounds. I'm almost to my 50 pound token from Weight Watchers!
Really, the 5.6 pound loss this week isn't quite as impressive when I remember that I gained 4.8 pounds last week. My ankles were swollen and I was on my period, so the dramatic drop this week is not really so dramatic.
Still, I'm almost to 50 pounds lost! That's pretty awesome.
I moved desks at work today and found a photograph someone had taken in May 2011. This picture is BAD. Like, I had blocked it from my memory because it was so bad. I thought I looked cute that day. I remember feeling pretty and breezy. OH MY GOD. I look like a hippo caught in a shower curtain. I don't know how I ever felt pretty when I looked so obviously horrible.
I can't stand knowing that somewhere out there is another copy of this photo. I mean, when I started Weight Watchers in August 2012, I weighed exactly 304 pounds. That's a lot. I know. I assumed that was my heaviest weight but I hadn't weighed myself in so long, there's no way of knowing. After looking at this picture, I'm positive that I weighed more than 304 pounds. Like 350 pounds. It doesn't seem possible that I could lose almost 50 pounds without knowing or trying
(especially since I've been fighting so hard to lose the 48.6 pounds I've shed in the past six months) but that picture just cannot be of a girl who weighs 304 pounds. Then again, I'm terrible at guessing weight on myself or on anyone else. So who knows? All I know is this: I looked disgusting, I look much better now, and I never want to look like that again.
On the upside: it makes a good "before" picture!
I lost 5.6 pounds! And that's even after my all-inclusive (read: all-you-can-eat) vacation :)
I'm now at 255.4 pounds, for a total loss of 48.6 pounds. I'm almost to my 50 pound token from Weight Watchers!
Really, the 5.6 pound loss this week isn't quite as impressive when I remember that I gained 4.8 pounds last week. My ankles were swollen and I was on my period, so the dramatic drop this week is not really so dramatic.
Still, I'm almost to 50 pounds lost! That's pretty awesome.
I moved desks at work today and found a photograph someone had taken in May 2011. This picture is BAD. Like, I had blocked it from my memory because it was so bad. I thought I looked cute that day. I remember feeling pretty and breezy. OH MY GOD. I look like a hippo caught in a shower curtain. I don't know how I ever felt pretty when I looked so obviously horrible.
I can't stand knowing that somewhere out there is another copy of this photo. I mean, when I started Weight Watchers in August 2012, I weighed exactly 304 pounds. That's a lot. I know. I assumed that was my heaviest weight but I hadn't weighed myself in so long, there's no way of knowing. After looking at this picture, I'm positive that I weighed more than 304 pounds. Like 350 pounds. It doesn't seem possible that I could lose almost 50 pounds without knowing or trying
(especially since I've been fighting so hard to lose the 48.6 pounds I've shed in the past six months) but that picture just cannot be of a girl who weighs 304 pounds. Then again, I'm terrible at guessing weight on myself or on anyone else. So who knows? All I know is this: I looked disgusting, I look much better now, and I never want to look like that again.
On the upside: it makes a good "before" picture!
04 February 2013
Delicioso!
Mexico was fantastico!
It was a little overcast and rainy, but it was still 77 degrees out--unlike the snow and -15 degree wind chill back home! We were directly on the ocean, with a view over poolside tiki hut bars and the rolling turquoise sea. The combination of cloudy weather and a gorgeous view from the balcony proved a little dangerous--I ordered room service six times in four days.
Whoops!
People were handing us free drinks from the second we got on the plane, on the bus to the resort, in line at check-in, at every meal, and even in line at the airport before the flight home. I told myself that I'd only drink one day to keep myself from going too overboard on sugar and alcohol, but in that one day I managed to drink over 100 Points Plus worth of frozen adult beverages.
Again...whoops :)
I tracked every single thing I ate, but I went over my weekly Weight Watchers points by a pretty remarkable 115 Points. HA!!! I knew it was going to be bad but I wasn't quite prepared for that much ridiculousness.
Still, I did track. And I swam and walked and moved around. And I'm forcing myself to go to weigh in on Wednesday.
I may have been bad, but fuck it--I was on vacation, and I didn't go off the rails completely.
Plus, there's this: my seat belt fit on the airplane. Like, it easily fit. Sure, it was let out as far as it would go, but it fit comfortably. And I wore a bathing suit in front of my coworkers without dying from embarrassment. We took a ton of pictures and I only had to delete a handful--including all the full body photos! I walked up and down bus aisles without having to squeeze my ass between the seats. I sat in folding chairs without fearing I would crush them.
No matter what the scale says on Wednesday, I'm still one happy camper.
It was a little overcast and rainy, but it was still 77 degrees out--unlike the snow and -15 degree wind chill back home! We were directly on the ocean, with a view over poolside tiki hut bars and the rolling turquoise sea. The combination of cloudy weather and a gorgeous view from the balcony proved a little dangerous--I ordered room service six times in four days.
Whoops!
People were handing us free drinks from the second we got on the plane, on the bus to the resort, in line at check-in, at every meal, and even in line at the airport before the flight home. I told myself that I'd only drink one day to keep myself from going too overboard on sugar and alcohol, but in that one day I managed to drink over 100 Points Plus worth of frozen adult beverages.
Again...whoops :)
I tracked every single thing I ate, but I went over my weekly Weight Watchers points by a pretty remarkable 115 Points. HA!!! I knew it was going to be bad but I wasn't quite prepared for that much ridiculousness.
Still, I did track. And I swam and walked and moved around. And I'm forcing myself to go to weigh in on Wednesday.
I may have been bad, but fuck it--I was on vacation, and I didn't go off the rails completely.
Plus, there's this: my seat belt fit on the airplane. Like, it easily fit. Sure, it was let out as far as it would go, but it fit comfortably. And I wore a bathing suit in front of my coworkers without dying from embarrassment. We took a ton of pictures and I only had to delete a handful--including all the full body photos! I walked up and down bus aisles without having to squeeze my ass between the seats. I sat in folding chairs without fearing I would crush them.
No matter what the scale says on Wednesday, I'm still one happy camper.
03 February 2013
Daddy
I can blame my weight on a lot of things. I know most of the fault is my own. No one held a gun to my head and made me gorge myself on cheese and chocolate for 30 years.
Still, like a lot of heavy people, I believe that a great deal of my weight issues have been tied to my parents. Between the bad genes, setting bad examples, rewarding us with food, forcing me to clear my plate but rarely making me eat vegetables...it's no wonder I was chubby by the time I was in kindergarten.
My mom is the one who cooked dinner every night loaded with carbs and butter. She's the one who gave us Poptarts for breakfast and Lunchables, Capri Suns, fruit snacks, Cheetos, and Little Debbies in our lunches. She's the one who is overweight and who everyone says I look just like. She's the one who eats stacks of chocolate chip cookies for breakfast every single morning (not kidding) and then wonders why she can't control her diabetes.
But my dad is responsible for more emotional baggage than my mother could ever dream of inflicting.
I called this blog "My Weird Luck" for a number of reasons. I do have weird luck--not necessarily bad all the time, just strange. My life has taken many unexpected turns over the years. I've come through raging fires where I should have burned in my bed, and heart issues that no one expected me to survive. I've lost those closest to me in tragic and mysterious ways. I've been faced with bizarre obstacles and managed to get through one way or another. I would attribute much of it to weird luck. Maybe the stars were aligned strangely the day I was born.
But mostly, the name of this blog is an homage to Sylvia Plath, one of many poets whom I adore and admire. The line comes from her well-known poem, Daddy.
(Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.) That poem sums up a lot of my feelings for my father. He's in my life and still with my mother, but sometimes (okay, most of the time) I think we'd be better off without him. I KNOW my mom would be.
I think he does love me. I just think his cruelty far outweighs his capacity to love.
Take this as an example: My parents have been married for 31 years. One of my earlier memories is of my dad telling me (around 5 years old) and my sister (2 or 3 years old) that my mother was like a vacuum cleaner because she would eat anything in the house. What kind of man makes comments like that to his children about their mother? That's when I started to learn how highly my father prized physical beauty and despised weakness. Fat, to him, is one of the most disgusting forms of weakness. To elaborate on the scene I just mentioned: this was when my mother was around 26 years old and weighed maybe 140 pounds. He constantly commented on her weight, and she was a third of the size she is now. Now, he doesn't even touch her. He won't divorce her, but chooses instead to keep her with him under his constant judgement. He doesn't even bother to hide his disgust of her.
When my parents were dating, my dad apparently used to sing Meatloaf's "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" to my mother. He told her every day that it was how he felt. "I want you, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever going to love you." I cry every time I hear that song on the radio, because it makes me think about just how shitty it would be to live with that kind of emotional abuse for 31 years. My poor mom. No wonder she loves chocolate so much.
My dad's judgement definitely doesn't end at my mom.
When I was younger, he was more direct in his scorn and derision. He would comment on my weight, on the food I was eating, on how I was dressed. He was cruel. He was violent. He scared the shit out of me. But mostly, he was just kind of a dick. Of course, I never stopped starving for his attention and approval, and I foolishly thought that if I tried hard enough, he'd eventually magically become a good guy. That obviously never happened. Like, true story: when I was 10 or so I was looking for a Father's Day present. He's a terrible person to shop for because he just buys himself anything he sees that he wants (and he still makes my mom beg for enough money to fill up the car with gas, or to pay for her doctor's bills--as sick as she is, he limits how many doctors she's allowed to see and he cancels appointments if they're going to be expensive). Anyway, I couldn't find anything for him so I bought him a t-shirt for Father's Day that said "World's Greatest Dad." I really though that I couldn't go wrong with a gift like that. HA! Not only did he make a point to tell me that it was a dumb present, but he actually returned it and used the money to buy himself a big can of cashews. Not even joking. Ugh, that's a bad memory. So his cruel comments don't stop at my mom, and they don't stop at even my weight. He can make me feel like shit about pretty much anything in the world.
Now that I've learned to assert myself, he makes more passive aggressive remarks about strangers. "Look at that fat pig over there!" or "God, I can't believe that woman is going to eat that whole meal--I'm getting sick just looking at her!" (Oh, yeah, he's fucking racist too. That's a lovely combination, right?) I've stopped even trying to keep my mouth shut--when he's being nasty and rude, I tell him so. But that doesn't stop him, and it never will.
As disgusting as his thoughts and actions are, it's his attitude about weight that's had the most impact on me personally. Everything else I can deal with in my own way--I'm proud to support equal rights for everyone, I loved how depressed he got when Obama won TWICE (!!!!), and I crushed him by pursuing a Women's Studies degree. I've marched on Washington, I came out as a lesbian at age 18, and I never back down now when he tries to pick a fight about anything.
Except my weight. Partially because I know he's right--I am a fat failure--and partially because it's embarrassing to have anyone call me out about it. At least everyone else is polite enough to quietly ignore my skyrocketing weight. But not him.
My dad has always faced his own struggles with weight. When he was in high school, he was fat. According to him, though, he basically 'willed' all the weight off. Determination, willpower, and a jump rope--he claims that's all you need to drop 100 pounds. Well, maybe for him.
When he was older, maybe in his 30s, he started gaining weight again. He had bushy facial hair and looked like a mountain man. Our neighbor called him "Big Daddy" because he looked like a large reproduction of her own dad.
Then, he got self conscious and started working out again, cut back his portions, and lost weight. Now he wears an XL shirt where before he was pushing XXXL--and he loves to remind everyone about it any chance he gets. He never misses an opportunity to talk about how little he eats, how much energy he has, how long his bike rides are.
That just pisses me off. I don't want to hear about how awesome he is or how I just need to have the determination to lose weight. I fucking hate self-righteous people, and even more so when they're such dicks about everything else.
My dad, though, really knows how to jab the knife in.
Listen, this is a person I would hate if I met him on the street. He's obsessed with Nazi propaganda, he's an unabashed racist, he's heartless and cold and cruel. But he's still my dad, and in the way that all little fat girls do, I still seek his approval more than I seek anything else in my life. It's shameful to me how proud I am when he recognizes me when I get promoted at work, and when he brags about my professional accomplishments. I feel incredible guilt every time I smile at his compliments.
He knows how much his approval means, and he knows how much he hurts me. I think in his sick way he thinks he's helping...but he's not. Not at all.
Still, like a lot of heavy people, I believe that a great deal of my weight issues have been tied to my parents. Between the bad genes, setting bad examples, rewarding us with food, forcing me to clear my plate but rarely making me eat vegetables...it's no wonder I was chubby by the time I was in kindergarten.
My mom is the one who cooked dinner every night loaded with carbs and butter. She's the one who gave us Poptarts for breakfast and Lunchables, Capri Suns, fruit snacks, Cheetos, and Little Debbies in our lunches. She's the one who is overweight and who everyone says I look just like. She's the one who eats stacks of chocolate chip cookies for breakfast every single morning (not kidding) and then wonders why she can't control her diabetes.
But my dad is responsible for more emotional baggage than my mother could ever dream of inflicting.
I called this blog "My Weird Luck" for a number of reasons. I do have weird luck--not necessarily bad all the time, just strange. My life has taken many unexpected turns over the years. I've come through raging fires where I should have burned in my bed, and heart issues that no one expected me to survive. I've lost those closest to me in tragic and mysterious ways. I've been faced with bizarre obstacles and managed to get through one way or another. I would attribute much of it to weird luck. Maybe the stars were aligned strangely the day I was born.
But mostly, the name of this blog is an homage to Sylvia Plath, one of many poets whom I adore and admire. The line comes from her well-known poem, Daddy.
(Go ahead and read it. I'll wait.) That poem sums up a lot of my feelings for my father. He's in my life and still with my mother, but sometimes (okay, most of the time) I think we'd be better off without him. I KNOW my mom would be.
I think he does love me. I just think his cruelty far outweighs his capacity to love.
Take this as an example: My parents have been married for 31 years. One of my earlier memories is of my dad telling me (around 5 years old) and my sister (2 or 3 years old) that my mother was like a vacuum cleaner because she would eat anything in the house. What kind of man makes comments like that to his children about their mother? That's when I started to learn how highly my father prized physical beauty and despised weakness. Fat, to him, is one of the most disgusting forms of weakness. To elaborate on the scene I just mentioned: this was when my mother was around 26 years old and weighed maybe 140 pounds. He constantly commented on her weight, and she was a third of the size she is now. Now, he doesn't even touch her. He won't divorce her, but chooses instead to keep her with him under his constant judgement. He doesn't even bother to hide his disgust of her.
When my parents were dating, my dad apparently used to sing Meatloaf's "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" to my mother. He told her every day that it was how he felt. "I want you, I need you, but there ain't no way I'm ever going to love you." I cry every time I hear that song on the radio, because it makes me think about just how shitty it would be to live with that kind of emotional abuse for 31 years. My poor mom. No wonder she loves chocolate so much.
My dad's judgement definitely doesn't end at my mom.
When I was younger, he was more direct in his scorn and derision. He would comment on my weight, on the food I was eating, on how I was dressed. He was cruel. He was violent. He scared the shit out of me. But mostly, he was just kind of a dick. Of course, I never stopped starving for his attention and approval, and I foolishly thought that if I tried hard enough, he'd eventually magically become a good guy. That obviously never happened. Like, true story: when I was 10 or so I was looking for a Father's Day present. He's a terrible person to shop for because he just buys himself anything he sees that he wants (and he still makes my mom beg for enough money to fill up the car with gas, or to pay for her doctor's bills--as sick as she is, he limits how many doctors she's allowed to see and he cancels appointments if they're going to be expensive). Anyway, I couldn't find anything for him so I bought him a t-shirt for Father's Day that said "World's Greatest Dad." I really though that I couldn't go wrong with a gift like that. HA! Not only did he make a point to tell me that it was a dumb present, but he actually returned it and used the money to buy himself a big can of cashews. Not even joking. Ugh, that's a bad memory. So his cruel comments don't stop at my mom, and they don't stop at even my weight. He can make me feel like shit about pretty much anything in the world.
Now that I've learned to assert myself, he makes more passive aggressive remarks about strangers. "Look at that fat pig over there!" or "God, I can't believe that woman is going to eat that whole meal--I'm getting sick just looking at her!" (Oh, yeah, he's fucking racist too. That's a lovely combination, right?) I've stopped even trying to keep my mouth shut--when he's being nasty and rude, I tell him so. But that doesn't stop him, and it never will.
As disgusting as his thoughts and actions are, it's his attitude about weight that's had the most impact on me personally. Everything else I can deal with in my own way--I'm proud to support equal rights for everyone, I loved how depressed he got when Obama won TWICE (!!!!), and I crushed him by pursuing a Women's Studies degree. I've marched on Washington, I came out as a lesbian at age 18, and I never back down now when he tries to pick a fight about anything.
Except my weight. Partially because I know he's right--I am a fat failure--and partially because it's embarrassing to have anyone call me out about it. At least everyone else is polite enough to quietly ignore my skyrocketing weight. But not him.
My dad has always faced his own struggles with weight. When he was in high school, he was fat. According to him, though, he basically 'willed' all the weight off. Determination, willpower, and a jump rope--he claims that's all you need to drop 100 pounds. Well, maybe for him.
When he was older, maybe in his 30s, he started gaining weight again. He had bushy facial hair and looked like a mountain man. Our neighbor called him "Big Daddy" because he looked like a large reproduction of her own dad.
Then, he got self conscious and started working out again, cut back his portions, and lost weight. Now he wears an XL shirt where before he was pushing XXXL--and he loves to remind everyone about it any chance he gets. He never misses an opportunity to talk about how little he eats, how much energy he has, how long his bike rides are.
That just pisses me off. I don't want to hear about how awesome he is or how I just need to have the determination to lose weight. I fucking hate self-righteous people, and even more so when they're such dicks about everything else.
My dad, though, really knows how to jab the knife in.
Listen, this is a person I would hate if I met him on the street. He's obsessed with Nazi propaganda, he's an unabashed racist, he's heartless and cold and cruel. But he's still my dad, and in the way that all little fat girls do, I still seek his approval more than I seek anything else in my life. It's shameful to me how proud I am when he recognizes me when I get promoted at work, and when he brags about my professional accomplishments. I feel incredible guilt every time I smile at his compliments.
He knows how much his approval means, and he knows how much he hurts me. I think in his sick way he thinks he's helping...but he's not. Not at all.
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