I'm sitting here with a heating pad on my ass, ichthammol ointment smeared in my crack, wishing for the sweet release of death...or bursting.
Yuuup, I have another motherfucking pilonidal cyst.
I'm starting to wonder if they're stress related, or if it's just some cruel cosmic joke to kick me when I'm down.
This one cropped up 2 days ago, so I know I have several days of agony ahead of me. This also happens to be the week my boyfriend dumped me, I miscarried, I blacked out drunk and slept with my ex, I lost my dog, I had to move back in with my other ex since I got dumped, I am dangerously close to spending the money I need to close on the house I'mtrying to buy so I can have a real place of my own, and I found out I'm getting a "promotion" which essentially just means way more work.
And just in case anyone cares, I've gained back almost 40 of the close to 100 pounds I had lost. So this is a tough time for me. Obviously. The pilonidal cyst is the LAST thing I needed right now.
So...fuck my life. I'm going to go cry myself to sleep. And anyone else suffering with a pilonidal cyst right now: brother or sister, I feel your pain!
I have not really tracked anything since the beginning of June. I tracked RELIGIOUSLY for almost two entire years, never missing a day, and I lost 97 pounds that way.
Now, in the span of around two months, I've undone the entire last year of effort. I gained slowly at first, still making good choices but taking a 'break' from tracking. Then I drank a lot two weeks in a row and still lost, so I decided that maybe drinking wasn't really so bad...so I drank some more...which led to lots of late-night nachos and ice cream...and lots of greasy morning hangover food...and now I'm back up to 226 pounds.
226 doesn't sound that bad to me, actually, under normal circumstances. It's the weight I stayed for most of high school, and I was really proud to get back to 226 after college. Now, though, after being down to 205 and SO CLOSE to hitting 200 pounds for the first time ever...it feels really shitty.
I've really let myself down.
But it's not just my health that I'm destroying right now. I broke up with my girlfriend of almost 9 years, I started dating one of my employees, I then proceeded to sleep with one of my best guy friends and two other coworkers, plus an amputee, and now I'm going on my second OK Cupid date tonight...and I'm sitting here eating chips and guacamole instead of the 94% fat free popcorn I was supposed to have, because my 'boyfriend' (the employee, who I think may be under the impression that we're dating exclusively...since he just dumped the TWO other girls he was seeing...) wanted to walk downtown to get Mexican. What a terrible idea. Terrible ideas all around.
Now my girlfriend (exgirlfriend I guess) wants me to decide if it's over for good or not. I have to move out if we're not getting back together, but she's really trying to make things work. But my employee/boyfriend is also pressuring me to be exclusive, which means I'll have to move out on my own since he lives with his kid and (oh god) wife (they're separated...have been for a long time).
I have no chemistry with my (ex)girlfriend, but our lives are amazing and perfect and supportive and incredible in every way. I have MAD chemistry with my employee/boyfriend but he is ACTUALLY insane and violent and scary and life would be terrible...sexy but terrible...
So I'm going out on these OK Cupid dates, trying to see if there's someone out there I can have chemistry AND compatibility with.
And in the meantime, I'm stress eating like a fucking idiot, I'm binge drinking, and I'm totally and completely neglecting my house, my finances, my family, my work...
You know, if someone came to me with these issues, I would tell them: "Whoa, bitch! Sounds like you need to be alone for awhile. Work on yourself first, then you can think about dating."
But since it's me...well, I'm going full throttle and just hoping I can get my weight back down and find what I'm looking for.
I hope at least one person reading the title of this post is now singing "Runaway train never goin' back, wrong way on a one way track"...
Man, whatever happened to Soul Asylum? Awesome fucking song.
It's been a weird few weeks of me basically making a fucking mess of my personal life, and it's also been a weird few weeks weight-wise. I hadn't gone a single day without tracking since I started Weight Watchers in August of 2012--even the days that I said I wasn't going to track, I went back and retroactively tracked everything.
Now...I haven't tracked anything for 4 weeks. FOUR WEEKS. At first it was because I drank a shit ton and didn't want to think about it so I called that week a wash and gave myself a break. It was my 10 year college reunion and I didn't want to deal. Plus I made some really bad personal decisions and it was just easier to check out for a few days.
Then the next week was Pride, so I totally overindulged. And also made more horrible personal decisions. Didn't track that week either.
Then...I went on a work trip. Made the worst decision yet. Accompanied by no tracking, too much drinking, etc. I'd been gaining weight (just a tiny bit) for the two weeks prior, but after the work trip I started losing even though I wasn't tracking.
Honestly, I don't know what else to say--I fell in love. With one of my employees. Who's a guy. Yes, I'm in an almost 9 year relationship with my girlfriend.
See? Bad decisions.
So...I'm head over heels, and I've been floating on a cloud for a week now. I have barely even thought about food. I'm on such a high that he's all I think about, he's totally in love with me too, my boss knows and we're straightening stuff out at work, and I'm planning on leaving my girlfriend when we get back from our trip to Denver in two weeks.
Whoa.
I haven't been in love like this since high school, my first love. Who I actually saw last weekend. She's still awesome. Yeah, my personal life is in FUCKING SHAMBLES and it's all my own doing.
So this is the first boy I've ever been in love with. God, I can't believe I wrote that. Never thought I'd be a cheater. Honestly, though, I think I've written before about my lack of sex life. In the past almost 9 years, my girlfriend got me off a total of 6 times. We're just completely sexually incompatible and I thought I could shut off that part of myself...it worked for awhile, but he awoke something in me and, well, he got me off twice in one night. I needed that. I feel sexy for the first time in...well, to be honest, since my first love in high school. So almost 20 years. I'm smaller than I was back then even, and happier than I've ever been. I'm completely addicted to the way he makes me feel.
Plus, I've lost like 10 pounds in the past two weeks. As of today, I'm down to 205 pounds.
That means I've lost a total of 99 pounds.
And I'm about to lose my girlfriend, my house, my dogs, my family, my friends, half of my stuff...and gain a boyfriend...who has a child and a mortgage and...a wife...they're separated (yes, I know for sure, I've met her and anyway I knew they were separated when I hired him two years ago)...oh my god.
I've ALWAYS been anxious. My parents have videos of me as a kid playing on a swing set, chattering about my fears. "What if I fall off and someone steps on me and my leg breaks off and then someone trips over it and breaks their head open and then I try to stand up and break my head open and we die?" "What if we're driving and an electric pole falls and hits the car and smashes us and we all die?" "What if I push the glider too hard and it comes and slices my head open and I fall down and a worm crawls into my head and lives there?"
I've dealt with my anxiety in a number of ways. When I was younger, I just cried a lot and freaked out all the time. In college, I used drugs and alcohol to help self-medicate. After the fire that burned down my dorm (with me in it), I was sent to a therapist who put me on Paxil. I only took that for a little while (it made me black out all the time when I drank, and I wasn't willing at the time to give up drinking). After my open heart surgery, I was put on a low dose of Xanax. For the last 6 or so years, I've taken a low dose of Xanax daily, but it's lost its effectiveness over the years. I mean, it didn't really REALLY help much anyway, but I guess it made me feel better. Anyway, I had to go in for a refill last month and my doctor decided to try putting me on something else.
My doctor (actually, she's a nurse practitioner but I've never met the doctor) told me that Zoloft would be a good choice for me, as the side effects aren't horrible and it's not addictive like Xanax. Being the anxiety-filled freak I am, I immediately started Googling side-effects and was horrified by the staggering volume of complaints linking Zoloft to weight gain. I almost didn't even fill my prescription. I was freaking out. But I decided to try it anyway. When I was on steroids back when I first started Weight Watchers, everyone said I would gain weight but my doctor said it was because of increased appetite, and as long as I watched my eating I wouldn't gain. The steroids messed me up a little, but she was right--I didn't gain any weight.
So when I started the Zoloft I figured I would just keep tracking like always, and I increased my activity a little. The weather's been nice so I've been walking more than ever, I've been working in the yard, taking long walks at work during lunch, swimming, dancing, moving all I can. I've also been eating fine. I mean, I'm still always hungry, but I'm tracking everything and working hard to stay under my Points.
But I FUCKING GAINED. And when I groaned on the scale, saying "I did everything right! I should have lost! Maybe it's the Zoloft..." my Weight Watchers meeting leader immediately agreed. She said she's seen too many people gain weight on Zoloft. Other people started chiming in--"It made me a fatty!" and "Stop taking it right now!"
I gave myself a few weeks to feel the effects, and I actually really liked what Zoloft did for me (it didn't help my anxiety so much, but it did keep my temper under control and made my reactions to things a little less extreme). I just couldn't deal with the weight gain. I was on Zoloft to help alleviate my anxiety, and gaining weight increased my anxiety exponentially. Not great.
So I talked to my doctor but now, as of yesterday, I'm weaning off the Zoloft and onto Lexapro.
We'll see what happens. But I will totally be stressing out about it, just FYI.
So this #YesAllWomen thing has gotten me thinking about my changing body. Listen, as a Women's Studies major, a lesbian, a card-carrying feminist, I think a lot about how my body is perceived in public. As a lifelong fat person, I think about it even more. And now that I've dropped almost 100 pounds, well, that just compounds the issue and makes me even more acutely aware of any eyes the fall upon me. So here's a poem I started a few weeks ago in the middle of the night and just remembered as I started reading about #YesAllWomen:
There is a particular fear
That comes with being female
It's not constant--not for me
In the land of the free but maybe
For my silent sisters elsewhere--
But it strikes at inconvenient times
All the typical fears are there,
Like strangers in the shower
Or followers in a solitary wood,
But other fears bleed in
Like on a crowded subway car,
The fear of fingers slipping up your skirt
Or walking alone anywhere,
The fear of a car stopping or
Another walker slowing, intent
On some unspeakable harm
Passing a group of men working,
Pausing at a red light beside
A car of boys, finding ourselves
Alone with any stranger
Our pulse quickens, we become
Prey that's picked up An alarming scent
We look brave, heads high,
backs straight, small smiles
I'm starting to feel like I understand why people enjoy working out, and it's kinda freaking me out. I thought it was seriously so fucking stupid when people would talk about how they love running, or how they miss it if they skip their workouts. I would roll my eyes when people would gush about the adrenaline rush of a good sweat, and felt real pity at the thought of these poor schmucks wasting their time at the gym. It seemed like telling people you like working out is the equivalent of saying you just can't stop getting an A+ on every test even though you never study. Like, shut up, fuck you, no one wants to hear about how perfect you are, jackass.
But...like...god this sounds so lame but I am LOVING walking or hiking every day! I'm logging more Activity Points in a day now than I was in entire week a year ago! I feel awesome when I'm sweaty and sore and tired but still pushing myself up stairs or over a hill!
In other words, I totally drank the exercise Kool-Aid.
To be clear, I was doing just fine losing weight on Weight Watchers without working out. In fact, I lost pretty much all of the weight I've lost (around 85 of the 95 pounds total) without working out AT ALL...literally barely moving. Go read my old blog posts, I was seriously a sloth. I've only lost around 10 pounds in the past 6 months--the time since my heart surgery, which is consequently the only time I've had the ability to be physically active. But even though I've only lost 10 pounds, I feel completely incredible. I'm walking faster, harder, stronger, longer. I'm dragging my girlfriend on several mile long hikes almost every night. I'm finding new ways to be active. I'm starting to plan our hikes the day in advance so I have something to look forward to.
I mean, instead of ordering pizza and watching a movie on Friday night, we go hiking and then go wander around outdoor art installations. On normally boring weeknights, we decide to meet after work for a long walk through town to go eat, then walk back to burn off our meals. For Mother's Day, we had a super healthy picnic and then took my girlfriend's family on a 3 mile hike around the art center. I NEVER would have agreed to that before, and I certainly wouldn't have suggested it! Yesterday, I joined the Garden Club at work and spent 2 hours literally shoveling shit, and instead of being miserable I just kept thinking about what an awesome workout it was. Today I'm so stiff and sore but instead of being annoyed, I'm proud and happy about it.
Living an active life is still pretty weird. I feel restless when I go a day or two without walking, and I'm even starting to get impatient with how slowly everyone else walks. Every now and then I get a burst of energy and feel like making a mad dash down the trail. Sometimes I actually do it.
I didn't think this would ever happen to me, but the more in shape I get, the more I want to get in shape.
It's honestly pretty awesome. Plus, it's earning me extra Activity Points so I can eat more, which is extra awesome. I hope I can sustain this level of activity...but I don't think that will really be a problem. My biggest real concern right now is whether or not my girlfriend will be able to keep up with me :)
I was so proud of myself last year when I had lost 95 pounds. I just knew 100 pounds was only a week away, and my next Weight Watchers goal weight was 199, which was totally achievable with fewer than 10 pounds to go.
I don't know if I've ever been more proud of myself.
But now...well, now I'm struggling just to stay under 220 pounds. I'm ashamed. I've been riding that awful roller coaster since September. A few pounds up, a few pounds down, more pounds up, more pounds down. I weighed in at 214 last week, which would be exciting if I hadn't gotten down lower than that MONTHS ago.
And now my doctor put me on Zoloft, which is notorious for weight gain. I fully expect to gain 15 or more pounds, which will be devastating to me. I feel like that will make me more depressed and anxious...so, like, what's the point of the Zoloft then?
But I'm still going. I'm still eating right and weighing in. And more amazingly (to me), I'm going on long walks and hikes every chance I get. It's hard to remember my life before my heart surgery in August. I can't believe that less than a year ago, I struggled to walk to the mailbox. Now I'm going on 4 mile hikes and feeling absolutely awesome afterwards.
So maybe I'm not losing weight. Yeah, if fucking sucks. But I am STILL PROUD of myself. Maybe not for losing weight, but because I am living an active life for the first time in so long.
So Easter and 4:20 fell on the same day this year.
Awesome?
NO.
I was so excited when I first saw that 4/20 (April 20th, or the official pothead holiday for the uninitiated) fell on a weekend. I always, ALWAYS take the day off work because, well, I can't really get my shit done when I'm assembling a gravity bong at my desk. So I was thrilled that I was going to avoid using PTO this year.
It wasn't until a week or so ago that I realized it was ALSO Easter. Fuck! My family is down with smoking (I actually buy from my aunt…awkward but I know she won't rip me off ha) but my girlfriend's family is very conservative. We convinced them to have Easter on the 19th so we wouldn't have to cut into our high times, so that was good.
But Sunday morning, after we had a great Wake N Bake and then opened up the Easter baskets we made for each other, the true implications of Weedster started to sink in. Namely: I would be stoned around MASS quantities of food ALL DAY.
If I wasn't on Weight Watchers, this would have been an awesome day.
On Weight Watchers, it became 24 hours of torture.
I mean, I was high and hungry at midnight. And then at 4:20am. And then when we woke up smoking at like 9am. And then again over and over all freakin day.
I was responsible for desserts at my parents' Easter gathering, so I made "Dirty Turtles" to share, which is just melted Hershey bars poured into my turtle molds with a bunch of very finely ground pot (almost a powder, thanks to my electric coffee grinder used solely for weed edibles) and topped with ground walnuts to distract from any pot crunchies. My family loved them, but I may have loved them a little TOO much because I definitely ate 5 of them. Whoops.
Then I got my Easter basket from my mom. Yes, I am 32 and get two Easter baskets still. It's awesome.
But even though my mom tried to be supportive by adding apples and oranges to my basket, I dug those out and went straight for the Snickers, Cadbury Cream Eggs, jelly beans, and all the other sugar packed in there.
THEN I gorged myself at dinner. I mean, like, I think I sprained my wrist with the weight of the mac-n-cheese casserole serving I gave myself. Plus candied yams, green bean casserole (with tons of extra cheese), yeast rolls, mashed potatoes, corn, broccoli cheese casserole, banana pudding, chocolate eclair cake, salted caramel chocolate pie…it was seriously a smorgasbord orgasbord. It was bad. I tried to count the points but I know I missed some stuff, and I still went over my points by at least 20 this week.
The silver lining is this: when I left my parents' house, my girlfriend and I drove out to a state park and had a completely amazing 4 mile hike. It was super strenuous--like, we climbed UP a waterfall, we had to climb ladders, we lost count after climbing more than 200 stairs…it was so hard but totally worth it. Plus, we got to get high down in the bottoms of canyons and crevices, so that rocked.
As ashamed as I was about eating so much for Easter (even worse than usual, thanks to having major munchies ALL DAY), I was really proud of myself for hiking afterward. I know I still gained weight, but at least I got a head start in working it off. I even earned 14 Activity Points to make up for some of the Points I went over.
It was a pretty good Weedster after all.
A this Easter vs. me last Easter. (Note: My lumpier-than-usual stomach is due in part of my ultra-hip fanny pack…totally worth it.) And I had already lost quite a bit of weight before last Easter. I’d hate to see myself Easter 2012…
I can eat a full and balanced and even hearty meal, lean back complaining how stuffed I am, and then literally begin thinking about dessert while still swallowing my last bite of food.
I know I've talked about this before but I guess I just wanted to confirm that nothing's changed. I haven't lost weight and suddenly, magically stopped thinking about food every second of the day. I've lost weight in spite of constantly obsessing about eating, but it hasn't gotten easier.
I do what I'm supposed to. I drink enough water to be certain it's not dehydration. I make sure I eat enough protein and fiber to keep me full. I eat good sized portions, I do the whole stop-rest-assess Weight Watchers thing to avoid over-stuffing myself while making sure I'm actually full, and I try my best to stay somewhat busy and keep my mind off food. Somehow, though, I still have food on the brain 24/7.
There's this dumb Buzzfeed quiz, Should You Have A Snack? It's more of a joke quiz, but I've been trying to make myself take it when I start thinking about dessert while chewing the last of my meal. The sole question is, "When did you last eat?" The first option is "10 minutes ago" (although it's usually only been like 2 minutes since I ate when I take the stupid quiz) and it answers, "In a little while." Which is a really nice way of saying, "You seriously JUST ATE, you fat fucking idiot, don't stuff your face when supper isn't even down your esophagus!"
Even when I take the quiz and know I shouldn't eat, I find myself craving something sweet the second I'm done eating. I think about food while I'm still consuming other food. I plan my meals for the next day (and usually pre-track) so I have something to look forward to and so I can go to bed happy.
Right now I'm stoked for work tomorrow because I have awesome roasted veggie and black bean burger leftovers waiting in the fridge. Then I have zucchini feta galette planned for supper...yum. And tomorrow morning when I'm struggling to find a reason to get out of bed (I've been open about my issues with depression and some days it really doesn't seem worth it to even wake up), I'll remind myself of the delicious lunch and supper ahead and I'll force myself up.
I think about food all during work. I can't concentrate when there are cookies or cupcakes nearby. When I think about my vacations, I find myself remembering the meals. If someone is passing out candy, I almost pass out from the anticipation waiting to see if I'll get any and, if so, what. I look forward to holidays primarily for the food.
So when people comment on my weight and ask me how I've done it or if it's been easy or what my secret is, I laugh and say, "Well, I am literally always hungry.' I say it as though I'm joking, but I'm dead serious. I'm hungry right this minute. A year and a half of hunger and deprivation could be torture and maybe it'll eventually send me over the edge, but for now it's worth it.
Why?
Because I'm enjoying life. Because I'm coming more alive with every tulip that pushes up in my garden. Because I'm going to wear tank tops and shorts without feeling like an elephant on parade (Disney reference!). And because today, it was nice out so we took a ride in the convertible with the top down and I didn't feel self conscious, then we went to the park and flew kites which required running through a field and I didn't feel like a hippo lumbering through the grass, then I played at the playground with my nephew without worrying I'd crush the equipment, and now I'm going to bed happy and slightly hungry but good-tired. I'll wake up hungry and probably sore, but I'll take that any day over the life I was living at 300 pounds.
Yeah, I'm hungry ALL the time. But you know what? I don't feel fat all the time, and that makes all the difference to me.
I've been on Weight Watchers since August 2012 and I can't handle being on a diet anymore. I'm tired of turning down snacks. I'm tired of driving past Dairy Queen without ordering a Blizzard. I'm tired of feeling tortured every time someone orders food or asks me to go to lunch.
So I'm quitting. I'm going back to eating what I want. I don't care if I gain it all back. I'd rather be fat and happy than less-fat and hungry. Today is the beginning of a new life where I eat what I want without feeling guilty.
Today is also the first day of April.
So, psych! April Fool's, suckers!
Although I am tired of passing up delicious food, there's just no way that I'd be happy back over 300 pounds. Not a fucking chance. Now that I know what it feels like to be able to move, to not always be the fattest one in the room, to shop at normal sized stores and not have people stare...I'm not giving that up easily.
For me, Weight Watchers isn't a diet. I do have to limit what I eat and make smarter decisions, but it's not a diet. It is, as they say, a lifestyle change. I don't feel like I'm dieting because I can eat anything I want. Just not as much as I want, and I have to make adjustments elsewhere if I know I want something super unhealthy. I need to have a smaller lunch, or earn some Activity Points.
The reality is that I'm a major overeater and if I were allowed to eat whatever I wanted, I think it would take less than 6 months to regain the 95 pounds I've lost. I have no self control and Weight Watchers helps me manage or budget my food. I already pre-tracked for today so I know if someone shows up with cupcakes or candy, I can asses if it's worth using my extra Points. If I wasn't on Weight Watchers, I would probably convince myself that waking yesterday made up for anything I ate today, and I'd end up having two cupcakes. My mental food math is full of lies, where Weight Watchers is full of harsh reality.
So no, I'm not quitting. It would be nice to go off the rails and pig out, but the consequences are too great. I'm not willing to let go of this healthy version of myself. Yesterday my dad called because he was downtown with my nephew so I left work, power walked a mile, and met up with them. We hung out and then I walked them the mile back to my work to give them a tour (including the fire pole, which my dad had to try...I've worked there 6 years and I'm still too chicken to try). The unexpected chance to spend time with my nephew was totally awesome, and I 100% wouldn't have been able to do that a year ago. My smaller size made that possible. Heart surgery made that possible. Weight Watchers made that possible.
Sure, I'm a little discouraged right now because I've been active and I'm still not losing weight at the moment. I'm actually still the same weight I was in October. That's depressing but it's my own fault--I've been going over my Points and I'm paying the price for that. It doesn't mean I'm going to quit. I just need to focus, get myself back under control, and remember that being this size makes my life a lot better than being 300 pounds.
It's been dreary and rainy, but I suppose I should be grateful it's rain and not snow. It still sucks.
Today we're heading out to the park. It's supposed to be in the mid-50s which sounds like a heatwave after this hard winter. We're even bringing the dogs to let them get out into the sunshine, despite the recent rains which I'm sure turned our trails into muddy Slip-n-Slides.
I'm looking forward to earning some Activity Points to make up for Friday's Italian restaurant pesto and mozzarella ravioli gorge-fest. And there are tiny tips of plants and flowers starting to emerge from the mud so, even though the weather sucks, I do know that spring really must be coming eventually.
I've been spending time at the cemetery a lot because it's so peaceful and the paved roads make it easy to walk even when it's muddy, and we go walking anytime the sun is out and it's at least 50 degrees. It's still not really springy, but I know we're getting closer. And closer to spring means closer to summer, my favorite season.
One thing (of the many millions) that's making me eager for warm weather is the garden club I joined at work. On Friday I went to the first meeting and now I'm so pumped. We have a big raised-bed garden at work, and for $25 you pitch in with planting, weeding, and watering, and in return you get ALL THE VEGETABLES YOU WANT!!! Amazing, no?!
We're planting all kinds of awesome stuff. Potatoes, corn, lettuce, carrots, eggplant, zucchini, bell peppers, hot peppers, cucumbers, berries, tomatoes, herbs, kale, squash, gourds, a ton more I can't remember, and maybe even grapes. I can't wait to be able to fill a basket with delicious, fresh, pesticide-free veggies...and I'm also looking forward to having an excuse to go out to the garden and spend a few minutes in the sunshine every day at work. Exciting!
I always wanted to join the Garden Club before, but I knew with my bad heart that I couldn't commit, and I didn't want my plants to die because I was unable to walk out there. Now that my heart is strong and good, I know I'll be able to help out and I will literally reap the benefits (terrible pun, shame on me).
We're planting the garden the first weekend after Mother's Day, and I can't wait. Summer can't get here fast enough.
To chase after my dogs and dash around the yard with their toys. To burst into activity and wind up giggling and flushed and breathless. To race my nephew to the playground at the drive-in without being embarrassed that everyone will be watching the fat girl flounder.
These are things I've missed without even realizing it. As my world begins its slow thaw after a desperately long and hard winter, I'm getting out more and testing the limits of my new heart valve.
On Friday after work, the temperature actually reached 60 so we took the convertible (with the top down!) to the park and hiked around places that I've only ever seen from inside a car. We hiked for 4 miles, passed through a bird sanctuary where the songs of dozens of species joined together in a rich cacophony, walked around the rim of a still-frozen lake where the ice was so thin you could see water rippling below the surface, and at one point broke through the trees to find an unexpected merry-go-round rusting at the edge of a picnic area.
I had thought merry-go-rounds were banned from playgrounds years ago, so I was excited enough to see it that I didn't care who saw ME. I sprinted to the contraption, threw myself in the middle, and held on as my girlfriend grabbed the bars and started spinning. A year or so ago, this wouldn't have happened. First, I wouldn't have even seen the merry-go-round because there's no way I would have been hiking. With 95 extra pounds and a heart valve that was almost completely grown shut, I wouldn't have even been at the park. I would have been home on the couch, enjoying the warmer weather through the window. And if I somehow was near a merry-go-round, there's just no way I would have gotten on. I would have been afraid of breaking it, afraid my girlfriend would be unable to spin it because of my size, and terrified that people would see me and whisper among themselves at the spectacle the fat girl was making of herself.
Being able to run to the playground and play without fear or shame was an experience I really can't describe to most people because they wouldn't understand. I felt joy. That's hard to put into words, but I felt free and happy and normal.
To me, he is the quintessential 1950s black-and-white tv blue collar family man. He could be a character in so many mid-20th century shows. The gruff but caring, hard-working, decent and kind and disciplined and stubborn and loving man with strong moral fiber and a dogged work ethic. Clean shaven with a crisp white t-shirt and shined shoes, a pocket knife always handy, two fingers missing from the knuckle after a run-in with an automatic saw several decades ago.
Papaw had a great love of Westerns, Johnny Cash, and traveling, and possessed a wealth of colorful stories involving guarding German prisoners of war following WWII. He married the love of his life, worked hard, and provided an idyllic childhood to my father and aunt and uncle.
At the funeral today they gave him a really touching military burial, complete with the guns and Taps and the flag folding and everything else that made me weep. I was also so proud, and incredibly impressed by the number of loved ones who came from all across the country to mourn his death and celebrate his life. The minister mentioned the size of the crowd and noted that even the staff at the hospital had fallen in love with him.
As surly and gruff as he could be, people genuinely and deeply cared about him. I know I loved him so, so much. Even old neighbors who lived on his street half a century ago came to express their love for him.
So many people liked him. He liked all of them back.
But Papaw did NOT like fat people.
He hated fat people and didn't mind saying so. Sure, some of us were privileged to have him like us enough to somewhat overlook our size, but for the most part he held fat people in serious contempt. He had a look that he'd give fat people, a look of disgust and accusation. He didn't like to sit next to fat people. When he ended up in the hospital last month, he would point out the fattest nurses and say, loudly enough for them all to hear, "There's lots of big nurses. I don't know why they're so big. Nurses shouldn't be so fat. Some are alright but they shouldn't take care of other people if they can't take care of themselves…"
The unfortunate problem is the the vast majority of my family is overweight. Like, basically everyone. So I don't know about them, but I'm always acutely conscious of my size around my grandfather. His disgust with fat people rivals my dad's, and that's pretty potent stuff.
Still, I feel grateful that he did get to see me making progress. He was impressed with how much weight I've lost, and winning his approval felt almost as triumphant as winning my father's.
I'm not religious and I don't know what I believe, but I do know that it's comforting to think that he's up in heaven right now, reunited with my grandmother and my uncle and great aunts and everyone else.
And if heaven does exist, and Papaw is up there watching, I truly hope I continue to make him proud by becoming a less fat person.
My workplace is always trying to be healthier (we have a great fitness center and trainer, free Weight Watchers, quarterly gift cards for healthy habits, only diet sodas in the vending machines, etc.). It's pretty awesome actually. So this year they're promoting the 100 Mile March again. The idea is just to commit to walking 100 miles over the course of the month of March.
Last year, since I had lost a good amount of weight (like 55 pounds) by March and I felt pretty good, I decided to try it.
I really did try, but I could only walk two minutes at a time before having an asthma attack and feeling like I was going to vomit.
I had no idea at the time that I was actually suffering from severe cardiac asthma and that my heart valve had grown shut and I was basically a walking heart failure bomb. I didn't find that out until June, and then had heart surgery in August to fix it. But in March, all I knew was that I sucked. That I couldn't even walk, even after losing so much weight.
It was seriously depressing.
So this year, to ramp up slowly and avoid such devastating failure, I'm making my own March. I'm doing a 30 Mile March.
30 Mile March?
Totally doable.
It's the 13th and I've logged right around 12 miles, so I'm perfectly on track. Between my Jawbone UP and my Map My Workout app, I'm doing a good job of getting extra steps in, along with taking short but trackable walks, like trekking a couple blocks with my employees for lunch, or walking around a cemetery while I wait for my girlfriend to get off work.
Even though the weather still sucks, we managed to take a great hike every day Friday through Monday last weekend. Sure, the trails were basically bogs and we had to slog and slide through six inches or more of mud in some places, but it was awesome to be outside DOING something.
I can't recall ever being in the woods before spring or summer. It's been cool to see the green moss peeking out from beneath the melting snow, and to see the trails without the curtains of leaves. The woods feel so open and bare without leaves. I kind of like it.
So I may not be confident enough for a 100 Mile March yet, but I'll do 30 miles. I'm ready for that at least. And I walked farther the first day this year than I did the entire first week last year.
Of course, I'm still bracing for another Polar Vortex to come through and freeze us all just as we're beginning to thaw.
But I can see grass! The snow is melting, the birds are chirping, I didn't wear a coat yesterday! It was actually only 40 degrees, but it's all relative. After this winter, that feels downright tropical.
And with the spring, I feel my motivation slowly coming out of hibernation. I've been aching to be outside, and tonight it's supposed to get up to the mid-50s so my girlfriend and I made plans to take a couple hour hike at the park, followed by dinner out. That sounds so magical right now.
I gained again at Weight Watchers (2.8 lbs, which puts me back at 214.8). I expected it but it still pissed me off. I was grumbling about it before all the people getting re-dressed around me (following the weekly weigh-in-public-stripping) joined a chorus of "I gained too..."
Then I didn't feel so alone and defeated. I realized that this winter has been like a huge hurdle to everyone trying to lose weight. It's so hard to eat less when every single biological instinct is screaming, "Eat more! Fatten up or you'll freeze!" Seriously, half of America has basically been hibernating for the past four or five months. We've practically turned in to bears. It's fucking nature, right? We've been forced inside, in the dark. We all hurry to our cars after work, then shuffle inside as fast as we can while wearing snow boots and puffy coats. No one has shown any skin for ages. We've been bundled up in sweaters and arm warmers. We're filling ourselves with warm food, and sleeping in on the weekends because there's nothing left to watch on Netflix except the "Random Picks".
**Side bar: that's not entirely true. Netflix Streaming is a bottomless pit of potentially wasted time. But one thing I'm so glad I found was "The Best Worst Movie" and, by extension, Troll 2. How did I not know about this before?! I just watched both for the first time on Monday and now I can't stop watching Troll 2. It's so fucking awesome. Totally my kind of movie. I've seriously watched it 10 times already this week. It's like when I first watched "An Idiot Abroad" last month and then spent the rest of the month obsessively searching for Karl Pilkington YouTube clips. The man is incredible. Anyway...if you needed an idea of something to watch, you're welcome!**
So we've all been trying to push a boulder up a hill all winter, and the sudden sunshine and growing warmth means we're close to the top of the hill already. Or maybe we've rolled back to the bottom? Either way, we can stop pushing soon. Spring is coming. We can breathe again.
I'm really looking forward to seeing what I can achieve once the obstacle that is winter is finally out of my way.
I've thought about killing myself more times than I can count.
I never thought I'd make it this long. I sometimes stop, stunned, realizing that I'm actually 32 years old and still alive.
When I was in middle school, I was sure I'd kill myself before I turned 16. In high school, I was sure I wouldn't live to be 18. In college, I didn't expect to make it to 20. Then it was 25. Then 27, the age that we lose so many of our artists. Then 30. Now I'm 32, and thoughts of suicide come less frequently than ever.
Sure, I still have bad days when I convince myself that there's no way things will get easier, and I make it through by telling myself, "If tomorrow sucks as bad as today, just kill yourself." Or, "If you gain weight again next week, just kill yourself." But I don't do it. Either tomorrow is better, or I think of how much pain it would cause and I talk myself into waiting.
Depression is a serious problem for overweight individuals. Having been a fat kid, I know how worthless and out of control you can feel. Depression and suicide are also major issues in the gay community. Having spent high school in the closet, I know how hopeless the future can seem when you think your parents and society will reject you just for being yourself.
The first time I thought about suicide, though, had nothing to do with my weight or my sexuality. I was seven years old and my mother had just been diagnosed with lupus. I was told she would die before I graduated, and I made up my mind to kill myself as soon as she died. Then I decided to kill myself before she died, to save myself the heartache. Then I just began thinking about it all the time, and suicide became the easy solution for any problem in my life.
My mom is still alive and, somehow, so am I. I still suffer from depression and this winter is making me feel even sadder than usual. It's been never-ending cold and gray and gross, and spending so much time indoors is driving me crazy. But for the first time in many years, I have things to look forward to. Since my heart surgery, I feel so much more active--I'm looking forward to spring walks and summer hikes, to canoeing and camping, to being outside, a part of the world. It's exciting, and even when I have my worst days, when I've gained weight or had to spend my tax return money on another fucking root canal, I have found myself thinking, "Spring is right around the corner" instead of "You can kill yourself tomorrow." It's a nice feeling.
The depression that's plagued me my entire life still makes itself known several times a day, and I'm prone to bouts of crying in the car. I have a lot to be sad about. I feel alone after the death of my best friend, I feel isolated because my girlfriend and I don't hang out with other people as much as we used to after all of our friends started breeding, I still really miss my dog who died a few years ago and get hit with waves of grief whenever I see rottweiler pictures or sad animal stuff which is more often than you would think, my weight loss is getting harder and harder, I still have major intimacy issues that have been the only dark cloud in my relationship over the past eight years, I feel overwhelmed by my job at times in a way that my Xanax can't help, I'm constantly worried in the back of my mind about my heart valve closing up again and almost killing me, I'm sad for my family and friends who have died in greater numbers than most people I know, I'm sad for my family and friends who are sick and getting sicker, I am extremely sensitive and find myself crying during songs on the radio or sad movies or stupid commercials...but the point is that it's getting better.
When I get sad I cry and feel sorry for myself for awhile, but I've learned to pull myself through to the other side a little better. My sadness doesn't last as long, and I feel just a glimmer of hope knowing that I've made it through worse than this.
One particularly poignant song is Dar Williams' "After All," which I think is a painfully accurate portrayal both of thoughts of suicide and of the moment when you begin to feel hope. This website explains the lyrics really well. Here's the song:
Dar Williams, After All
Go ahead, push your luck
Find out how much love the world can hold
Once upon a time I had control
And reined my soul in tight
Well the whole truth
It’s like the story of a wave unfurled
But I held the evil of the world
So I stopped the tide
Froze it up from inside
And it felt like a winter machine
That you go through and then
You catch your breath and winter starts again
And everyone else is spring bound
And when I chose to live
There was no joy
It’s just a line I crossed
I wasn’t worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found
And if I was to sleep
I knew my family had more truth to tell
So I traveled down a whispering well
To know myself through them
Growing up, my mom had a room full of books
And hid away in there
Her father raging down a spiral stair
‘Til he found someone
Most days his son
And sometimes I think
My father, too, was a refugee
I know they tried to keep their pain from me
They could not see what it was for
But now I’m sleeping fine
Sometimes the truth is like a second chance
I am the daughter of a great romance
And they are the children of the war
Well the sun rose
With so many colors, it nearly broke my heart
It worked me over like a work of art
And I was part of all that
So go ahead, push your luck
Say what it is you gotta say to me
We will push on into that mystery
And it’ll push right back
And there are worse things than that
Cause for every price
And every penance that I could think of
It’s better to have fallen in love
Than never to have fallen at all
‘Cause when you live in a world
Well it gets into who you thought you’d be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all
Even though I'm still stopped in my tracks by depression every now and then, I feel like things are looking up. I'm healthy and happy, I love my family and my dogs, I have a great job and a pretty awesome life. Dar Williams still makes me cry, but now for the first time I understand how she feels when she sings, "I think life chose me after all."
I am pretty anal about some things. Okay, most things. I'm a perfectionist and I love being organized (even though I'm also a complete mess...I like to think of it as organized chaos, where others probably just see the chaos. I blame it on being a left handed Pisces.).
My obsessive planning has driven me crazy my whole life, but it's actually been extraordinarily helpful in sticking with Weight Watchers. I would never have lost 90 pounds without carefully pre-tracking before I eat and, perhaps more importantly, planning my meals well in advance.
I thought I'd share the planning method that's worked for me. I spent the last few days in a cabin for my birthday (and I hit 100% of my daily goal for my Jawbone UP each day!) and it made me realize how incredibly difficult Weight Watchers would be if I wasn't able to cook my own meals every day. The same meals I make at home are two or three times more Points at a restaurant. I'm already over my Points for the week, and that's including the Activity Points for four hours of hiking, two hours of horseback riding, and three hours of walking through cave tours, and it's because I ate out each day. Even though I made good choices, it was impossible for me to stay under my Points.
Normal weeks are infinitely easier for me. I'm hoping that maybe my method will be helpful for someone who's struggling because they're eating out too often for the sake of convenience. By planning ahead, I find it just as easy to throw together a meal at home than to order or pick up food from out, which is probably the only way I've been able to stick to this.
So I've mentioned my weekly food delivery service before. I cannot overstate the impact this has had on my life. Please, seriously, see if you have a local food delivery service. It will change your diet completely.
I get an email on Thursday telling me what food I'll receive the following Friday. I can edit my bin through Monday, and then I get another email on Tuesday confirming what I'll get on Friday. So usually by Sunday each week, I know exactly what produce I'll get, so I can plan my meals around it. If eggplant is in season and available in the bin, I'll make some baked eggplant parmesan. If cauliflower is coming, I'll make some curried cauliflower couscous. I also get vegetable stock each week in my bin as an add-on item, and every Thursday I make a big soup by just boiling all of the leftover veggies (and maybe a can of tomatoes or some beans) in the veggie stock. That way, my drawers are empty for Friday's delivery.
I keep two lists on my phone: a grocery list and a meal list. I use both Evernote and Out Of Milk, two free applications, and I have a joint login with my girlfriend. As soon as I update my bin for the following week, I make a list of what meals we're having based on the produce that's in season, and then I make a grocery list based on what we'll need for those meals. She can access the lists on her phone, and checks items off as she shops.
This process has dramatically cut down on our grocery bills because my girlfriend then has a week to cut out coupons for the items we'll need, and she doesn't grab stuff that we might need, she only grabs stuff that we actually need.
More importantly, though, it's given me a good way to avoid that terrible moment of "Ugh, work sucked, I don't know what to cook...let's order a pizza instead." We usually don't eat fast food, so planning ahead has really helped make dinner prep easier without resorting to getting food from out to save time and energy.
Some of my favorite meals that always make the lineup at least once a month: black bean avocado rollups, zucchini feta galette, cheesy potato casserole with cornbread pepper casserole (made with tons of veggies, applesauce in the cornbread, and broccoli cheese soup in the potato casserole), black bean tacos with nachos, curried cauliflower couscous, baked eggplant parmesan with angel hair pasta, veggie bread pudding (with Kroger biscuits cut up, covered with veggies and some eggs and cheese), black bean burgers with baked potato wedges, chili with leftover cornbread pepper casserole, cheesy quinoa with peppers, Greek wraps with baked saganaki (which is just parmesan sliced really thin, baked with some olive oil, and then spritzed with Bacardi 101, lit on fire, and spritzed with lemon juice), spanikopita with Greek potatoes, roasted cauliflower with fried corn and salad, pizza casserole, angel hair spaghetti pies with veggies (baked in muffin tins), tofu bacon broccoli feta rolls, lentil loaf with mashed cauliflower, and all kinds of soup...bean soup, vegetable stew, chili, butternut squash soup, cheesy soup, spicy soup, all kinds of soup.
Without planning ahead, there is absolutely no way that I would have lost 90 pounds. I would have resorted to the easy path and I'd still be eating Olive Garden and frozen pizzas most nights. Now, I discovered a love of cauliflower (something I always loathed) and the food delivery also keeps me completely stocked up on fruit, which I can eat all the time without using any Points.
Anyway, if you don't use a food delivery service yet, I HIGHLY recommend it. If you have a year-round farmers market close by that you can visit weekly, good for you. I just don't have the time or the access, and I love getting a delivery each week with all of the key ingredients to my meals for the week.
I definitely missed it while on vacation, and I know that eating out all weekend will make a difference when I step on the scale tomorrow!
Today is my birthday. So naturally, with my luck, I wrote a whole post and it disappeared. Woohoo, happy birthday to me.
I don't mean to sound bitter. I just really hate birthdays. Turning 32 feels like turning 92...I feel so fucking old.
But I actually feel better than I have since...well, for as long as I can remember. That's pretty awesome.
The thing about turning 32 is that it's supposed to be a woman's sexual peak. This is supposed to be my prime time. I should be raring to go.
But I'm not. I'm terrified that I'll spend 32 like I did 31, and 30, and 29...too self conscious and petrified of having my girlfriend see me naked that I've avoided intimacy like Lindsay Lohan avoids jail time.
I want my 32nd year to be full of great sex, like just awesome sex every night. I have an insanely hot girlfriend, I feel better and look better than I have in my entire life, and I'm evidently in my sexual prime.
Unfortunately, I have a long way to go before I can feel comfortable enough to actually enjoy sex. I mean, I love pleasuring my girlfriend, but I hate her touching me or looking at me. I wasn't always this self conscious, even when I weighed more than I do now, but I was usually wasted and besides, that was before I had a boyfriend stop in the middle of going down on me, saying, "You disgust me," and walking out. That shattered my soul, and it's the reason that my girlfriend doesn't get nearly enough sweet sweet loving. (Yeah, that guy was a total dick. I'll tell you about him sometime...)
From the beginning of Weight Watchers, one of the main reasons I have wanted to lose weight is to feel better naked (which is a pretty universal goal) and I'm hoping that this year I can make some progress. If I can't feel sexy at 32, my scientific sexual peak, I may never feel sexy again...and then, what's the fucking point of anything?
I hate the winter. I mean, it's okay for about a month. During Christmas. After that, I totally hate it. I swear every year that it will be my last winter somewhere cold, and I vow to pick up my life and flee to the warm sand of the tropics, but then every fall I find myself still in the fucking cold and facing a winter of agony.
This year has been worse than any I can remember. It's so fucking cold, and there's snow EVERYWHERE. It's been snowing and snowing, and then it's not melting because it's so fucking cold, and then it snows some more on top of it. I hate it. I hate it every year, but this year is even worse because...well, because I actually feel good and I want to get out and do stuff.
This fall was wonderful. It was warm late into the fall, and my recovery from heart surgery was going awesome. I had lost 80 pounds, gotten a new heart valve, and I was able to go on evening strolls and walk the dogs around the park and go for a day long hike for the first time in YEARS. This fall was probably the most active I've ever been, at least in my entire adult life.
So now I feel completely trapped by the cold and the snow. For Christmas, I got an annual membership for free entry into any of our state parks, and I can't wait to go hit the trails. I even have a new walking stick I can't wait to try out! But right now, I'm stuck inside.
I was reading The Year of the Phoenix and she wrote about her Jawbone UP, which I thought sounded cool. With my tax return check burning a hole in my pocket, I bought one (sadly, I bought the Jawbone UP24 right before I discovered that it was not compatible with Android, so I had to cancel that and get the older UP which doesn't have wireless connectivity).
I was hoping the Jawbone UP would help inspire me to move a little more in the house at least, in a small effort to combat my Seasonal Affective Disorder and keep myself active. I've only been wearing it for a little over 24 hours, but I've walked around the house more in the past day than I did the previous week! Seriously, it's so fun to see my daily steps increase each time I sync my band. So I've been adding more and more steps just to see my numbers rise. Like, carrying a few things at a time from the pantry to the counter, instead of loading up my arms to only make one trip. And I'm the one offering to get up to bring us drinks. And I paced around the bathroom while I brushed my teeth. Just little tiny things to get a few more steps, things that I normally wouldn't do. I like it so far!
Oh, I've also signed up for a glassblowing class for tomorrow! And for my birthday this week, we're driving a few hours south to get out of the cold. It's supposed to be around 20 degrees warmer down there, so we're going to a cabin with the dogs and booking a few cave tours, along with a horseback ride. I haven't ridden a horse for 10 years. The last time I did, I was 250 pounds and they took one look at me and led my dainty horse away and returned with the biggest horse I've ever seen. They told me it was "sturdier." I was humiliated. This time, they asked on the phone if either of us were over 250 pounds, and it felt awesome to say, "Nope!"
Between the Jawbone UP, tomorrow's glassblowing adventure, and the spelunking and horseback riding this week, I think I'll manage to make it through at least a few more days of winter.
If it snows again, though, I can't be held responsible for my actions.
I'm getting pretty fucking frustrated with myself right now. I KNOW I'm sabotaging myself, but somehow I just can't stop eating. It's like the story of my fucking life. I KNOW I'm getting fatter, but I can't stop.
So right now, instead of focusing on what I'm doing wrong, I thought I would take a moment to recognize a few things I've done right.
This is my 100th post on My Weird Luck, which is pretty weird in itself. When I first started back in 2012, I was high on my Weight Watchers success and I needed an outlet to share my successes and my failures.
I never expected to still be writing more than a year later, but I also truly didn't expect to still be losing weight. I mean, okay, I'm not exactly losing weight at the moment, but I'm still on the right road. It's better than it could be. I definitely didn't expect to still be on Weight Watchers. I figured that I would do what I always do...give up, give in, and keep eating. I figured I'd be back over 300 pounds, whining about my weight, wondering why I couldn't do anything.
I wanted to get my thoughts out there, but I didn't really expect anyone to listen. I'm glad some people relate, though. While I know a very small percentage of people actually comment, I do see that quite a number of you are looking. Hopefully reading. Maybe even finding a bit of yourself here.
The post that has gotten the most attention is my pilonidal cyst story, which is really fucking gross BUT I'm glad it's maybe spreading some info that's otherwise hard to get. I know how embarrassing it is, so it's nice to be able to help spare other people from some of the confusion I had.
Anyway, so here's a sort of rundown of where I am, versus where I've been.
I weighed in this morning at 215.4 pounds. That's a gain of 2 pounds since last week (as expected).
I've lost a total of 88.6 pounds, having started at 304 pounds in August of 2012.
When I started writing this blog, I had already lost 26.8 pounds, which brought me down to
277.2 from 304. Since I started writing, I've lost another 61.8
pounds. I also had heart surgery, which was pretty traumatic but also
really awesome.
I had really, really, REALLY hoped to lose 100 pounds before I got to 100 posts. I also really wanted to lose 100 pounds before I turn 32 next week. That obviously isn't going to happen, but I'm turning 32 weighing close to 200 pounds instead of close to 300 pounds.
It could always be worse. Hopefully before I get to 200 posts, I'll FINALLY be under 200 pounds. Otherwise...I mean, I'll totally lose it. I'll lose the weight, or I'll lose my fucking mind! Ha!
Unfortunately, by "I Get Up Again" I really mean my weight fucking skyrockets again.
It's enough to drive someone insane.
I have done nothing but gain weight in tiny increments for the past three or so months. After my Key West gobble-a-thon that helped continue my shameful holiday food orgy, I weigh MORE than I did in November. I mean, duh. With the amount of food I've been eating, and the quality of food I've been eating, it's, like, SCIENCE BITCH! Of course I gained weight! I'm eating like a pregnant rhino and I'm moving as much as a paraplegic sloth. No fucking wonder.
But...still, I'm eating less that I would normally be. Which is pretty scary when you think about it. I'm sure that being on Weight Watchers for almost a year and a half now has helped my body adjust to lower calories, so the binge eating lately is probably making me gain more than I would have a year and a half ago, but it's still scary that I gained weight while still cutting back. If I wasn't on Weight Watchers, this annoying 5 pound gain could easily have been 20 or 25 pounds since November.
It's still discouraging though. I keep reading about people losing 100 pounds (like Chumlee. From Pawn Stars? He looks great! So good it makes me sick. I fucking hate him now.). All it does is make me bitter and jealous instead of lighting a fire under my ass.
But I'm still going. It might be close, but I'm going to try to stay within my points this week. I am SO close to losing 100 pounds...I just need to stop fucking around and get there.
My company sent me to Key West (I went on a similar trip last year) and I had every intention of being good. Truly I did. I started off tracking everything, watching what I ate, behaving the same way that I have the past year and a half.
But then...well, then I started drinking. Once I start drinking, things tend to go downhill rather quickly.
Before I knew what I was doing, I had sucked down maybe 5 key lime pina coladas and was fantasizing about supper. By the end of that day I stopped tracking, and then the next couple of days I told myself "I'm already off the wagon, I might as well take advantage of it!"
So I ate. And ate. And ate some more.
I ended up pigging out at the breakfast buffet every morning, although I did make sure to get a big pile of fruit to go with it. And then, since I wasn't tracking, I had second and even third helpings at dinner.
So I got fat. Fatter. I put on at least 5 pounds.
Was it worth it? Kind of. It was delicious at least, and it felt pretty liberating to be able to eat what I wanted for a few days.
But now I'm tracking again and I'm discovering that only a few days off plan made my appetite grow exponentially. Now, the food I was eating last week is like a snack to me. My low fat yogurt breakfast just makes me sad compared to the croissants with cheese, muffins, french toast, potatoes, and scrambled eggs. My popcorn lunch is pitiful compared to the smorgasbord of rice and bread and casseroles. And my snacks of sugar-free Jell-O and wasabi peas just don't cut it compared to the key lime pie and nachos I was eating in Key West.
So yeah, I'm fatter now than I was a week ago. But I'm back on the plan and I'm going to pay for what I did to my body--I have to lose these pounds AGAIN, which is a frustrating lesson to teach myself.
On a positive note, though, flying was AWESOME. I haven't been able to fit in an airplane seat for years. This is the first time in so long that I didn't feel people staring at me, silently willing me to choose a different row so they wouldn't have to be crammed next to the fat girl. And the seatbelt not only fit, but I had to tighten it! That feels like a miracle after riding all the way home from Puerto Rico with my arms across my lap because I couldn't buckle up.
Also, I walked at least 8 miles one day, and even took a lighthouse tour. I wouldn't have been able to make it halfway up the lighthouse before losing weight and going through my heart surgery. Now, I beat my girlfriend up the stairs and I wasn't even out of breath!
So there you have it, the good and the bad. There is no ugly because Key West was far too beautiful. Unless you can call my bad eating habits ugly--in that case, there was plenty of ugly to go around.
Six-toed Hemingway cat in Key West. I fucking loathe Hemingway, but the cats were awesome!
I am home sick today with stomach flu...which was a polite way to tell my employees that I'm violently defiling the bathroom right now.
Unfortunately for me, I'm only experiencing the intestinal distress. My appetite is entirely unaffected. Once the horrible stomach cramps started last night, I felt vaguely nauseated and was a little optimistic that I'd start throwing up along with everything else. But NOPE. I'm actually starving. I'm basically shackled to the toilet at this point, but I am not benefiting one ounce from the helpful vomiting that generally accompanies any stomach bug. I know I should definitely not WANT to throw up. I hate throwing up. Who actually likes vomiting? The problem is that we have a pack of Swiss Cake rolls in the pantry, and I would LOVE to eat them knowing that I would get sick and throw them up so I wouldn't have to count the Points.
Pretty twisted, huh?
I never had the courage for bulimia, nor the discipline for anorexia. I never had any real desire to become anorexic--I love food far too much--but I always thought I could solve all of my problems if I could really binge and purge. My old roommate attended bulimia support group therapy in hopes of picking up some tips and becoming bulimic herself (which, she reasoned, would be easier than, you know, eating right and and working out). It didn't work out for her. Like, at all. She and I both had the binge part down pat, but we just couldn't make ourselves purge.
She was messed up too.
So when I do get sick, as much as I hate it and it makes me cry because I'm a big baby when I'm sick (despite surviving multiple heart surgeries--dumb, right?), I also secretly enjoy being able to eat whatever I want. And sometimes eating delicious stuff and then throwing it up has a dual benefit: everything is out before I digest it, AND it looks so gross that I don't crave those treats for awhile.
Like I said, though, I only have the awful and painful diarrhea. No vomiting. Which means that I'm trapped here, hungry, in the house with Swiss Cake rolls, Smart Ones, hummus and pitas, colby cheese slices, fresh baked bread, crunchy peanut butter, jalapeno pepper jelly with crackers, and a bunch of other shit I'm trying to block out right now.
And I have ZERO weekly Weight Watchers points left for the week, thanks to an ill-advised margarita lunch at work on Friday and a really good queso and enchilada dinner on Saturday.
I'm trying to keep my mind off of food by immersing myself in A Storm of Swords and cranking up the Fleetwood Mac on my record player, but I'm still making a mental inventory of everything in my kitchen. I can't help it. It's my fat girl mentality striking again.
Being at home alone has always been my time to binge, just like when I would get off the bus and have the house to myself for just long enough to gorge myself on secret Girl Scout cookie stashes or leftover candy hidden behind my bed. When I was in third grade, I would come home and if I was alone, I would immediately grab two cookies (sometimes chocolate chip or Magic Middle, sometimes oatmeal cream pies pulled apart) and cover one with a mound of Reddi-wip, and then make a cookie and whipped cream sandwich, which I would eat in two bites. Now when I'm home alone, I stick my finger in the peanut butter jar and then dip the peanut butter in the fat free whipped cream tub, because I reason that if I eat less than a half tablespoon of peanut butter I don't have to count the points.
So far today, besides the food I actually counted, I've had 5 maraschino cherries, three spoonfuls of fat free whipped cream, 3 Cheetos, half a Ritz cracker, 4 chili cheese Fritos, a lick of honey, 2 Baked Lays dipped in hummus, a pinch of shredded cheddar, 5 semi-sweet chocolate chips, and half a marshmallow. I feel like the queen of eating JUST enough that I don't feel like I should count it. Of course, if you add up all of that shit, it's like at least probably 6 or 7 Points.
But I'm sick so I have every right to stay in denial, right?
Maybe I'll get lucky and end up getting sicker and throw it all up anyway. Then I'd be home another day, though, and faced with the same temptations all over again.
Hopefully I'll just feel better, get back to work, and spend the next two days at my desk, which is stocked with NOTHING delicious. I say two days because...in three days, I go to Key West. For another all-inclusive work trip. Just like the Cancun trip last year. And I know I'm going to gain about 20 pounds in beach cocktails and buffet deserts.
After spending all this time in the bathroom while it's a wind chill of -10 out, though, I am SO ready to go, even if I do end up eating enough for five people!
I'm awash with anger. I'm seething with every fiber of my being. I'm so mad, I feel it in my toenails. I can barely breathe. I feel it in my hair follicles. Everything keeps turning red and I'm blind with the fury. My hands are shaking. I want to cry. I want to breathe fire. I want to turn myself around and around and become a rage tornado and tear through town. I want to hurl stones. I'm the kind of mad that turns your stomach and makes you weak, the kind where your ears ring and your mouth tastes like pennies. I'm trying to calm down but the whole world is red right now. I'm so furious I'm dizzy and hot and tingly. I can't concentrate. I can't speak. I am nothing but fire and fury. I'm getting heartburn. My head is pounding. My pulse is racing. Everything is blurry. I can't get a hold of myself.
The story is dumb and familiar to anyone who has dealt with lost postal packages. To make a long story short ("Too late!" Wow, two Clue references in one post!), the post office has my shit and I'm not getting it back.
**If you're interested in the full version: the post office was supposed to deliver two packages on Friday. One required a signature and the other didn't. They left two notices, one for each package, that I could sign and request redelivery. I checked the online tracking, though, and saw that one of the packages was marked as "Delivered" at 2:30pm and the other was marked as "Delivery Attempted." I called the post office and he said that both packages were right there--he walked to the shelf and looked at them to confirm. He didn't know why the carrier marked it as delivered, and he had no idea why the package that didn't require a signature wasn't delivered, but he said to sign the forms and the packages would be delivered on Saturday. I signed both 3849 forms, wrote to leave the packages on the porch, and put the forms in the mailbox with the flag up. On Saturday, I came home to find NO packages AND NO forms. The carrier took both 3849 forms AND failed to leave my packages. So I called the post office again and tried to explain what happened to help locate my package. Tara, who answered, cut me off and said, "Well, it was marked as delivered. SORRY. You can call back Monday." Listen, I worked in call centers for years and I know enough to be nice on the phone. I know the people on the other end are trying to help but are limited in what they can do. THIS BITCH Tara just did not give a FLYING FUCK. Like, not a SINGLE fuck was given. Why do people like this even have jobs? I tried to be polite and ask if there was anyone else I could talk to and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she could just look at the shelf to see if my package was there, as it had been the day before, and bitch said NOPE. I asked if she had an employee number so I could call her manager on Monday and bitch said NOPE. So I went off. I told her that her stupid ass is the reason the USPS is failing. She hung up on me, naturally. So I called back. She let it ring for a few minutes, then picked it up and pushed a button for a few minutes (the same trick I used to use when mean people were calling in to me). I knew she could hear me so I went off on a tirade that would make a sailor blush. She hung up. I called again and shouted at her while she pushed buttons. And again. And again. I don't think I'll be able to use the terms "flaming cunt rag" or "ignorant fucking twat" for a long time without thinking of Tara.**
But of course calling them didn't DO anything. Except maybe get me on Tara's personal "lets fuck up her mail" list. That's the problem with getting mad at the post office: you can't do SHIT about it. I can just be mad. Like, that's literally all I can do. I can seethe, and I can file a report for list mail (which I did, but the complaint didn't go through because the package was marked as Delivered, even though the manager confirmed Friday night that it was sitting right there in front of him...jesus). I can only be mad. So I AM being mad. Really mad. I am nothing but skin and hair and impotent rage. I don't want it to ruin my night or my weekend, but what else can I DO? I can't fight back, I can't threaten them (you know, federal laws and all). I can't march down there and snatch my shit off the shelf myself. I can only seethe.
I know lost packages are a SUPER INCREDIBLY MINOR thing to get all worked up about. It's not even the packages I'm so fucking pissed off about--I'm more pissed off at being so helpless. I'm completely at the mercy of this fucking idiot Tara who clearly doesn't give a shit about anything, and my mail carrier, who is obviously a fucking moron. I'm just so, so mad that there's nothing I can do about any of it. I hate being this mad, and I really hate not being able to soothe myself.
Before Weight Watchers, I would deal with this situation in one of two ways: I would either gorge myself on food, or get blind fucking drunk. Both of those things would set me back on my Points now, though, and it's just not worth it. I'm not going to let this one shitty fucking thing set me back a week or two or three at weigh-in. I won't.
So how's a girl supposed to deal?
I went so long, like so many fat girls, eating my feelings. If something made me sad, or mad, or stressed, or even happy, I would eat. If I had a bad day, I'd go get a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. If I was celebrating a promotion or a birthday, I'd go to a fondue restaurant and eat for four hours. If I was pissed off at someone, I'd go eat a Snickers bar and wash it down with some chocolate milk.
And when I didn't fill myself with food, I filled myself with alcohol. Vodka, rum, Mad Dog, it didn't matter. I have been open about my problems with alcohol. After my heart surgeries and now Weight Watchers, alcohol just isn't a very big part of my life. I can count on two hands the number of times I got really drunk in 2013, and even then I was counting my drinks so I could record the Points afterward.
So no food, no alcohol...I already took my prescribed Xanax and it didn't help. How do normal people cope?
It feels very strange to, at the age of 31, just now begin finding suitable coping mechanisms to deal with unpleasant situations. The escapism of my youth isn't cutting it. The college years coping was even worse--I can't very well go blow a few lines of coke now, or take some mushrooms and wander through the woods, or eat peyote and spend a few hours walking a labyrinth. I mean, I guess I could, but I should probably find some methods that don't involve illegal drugs. Besides, did I mention that I'm 31? If I went to hit up some of the bridge kids for ketamine or ecstasy now, they'd probably think I was a narc instead of just some loser looking to score drugs because she had a bad day.
I can't just start chugging Smirnoff or Boone's Farm--do you know how many Points are in a bottle of Hot Damn?! I can't start a Power Hour and get wasted...not if I plan to eat anything this week.
So I tried yoga. I started my Pilates dvd. I'm breathing deeply, drinking herbal stress-relieving tea, listening to The Dark Side Of The Moon on vinyl, smoking a joint (hey, I can't give up EVERYTHING, people, DON'T JUDGE ME!), thinking of things to be grateful for, hoping the rage subsides.
And really, really, really fucking hoping that my packages get here some day.
If they don't, I don't know what I'll do. Probably combust. I'll just be gone in a flash of light and smoke. My head will explode and my faulty heart will collapse on itself.
Seriously, please tell me: how do I cope without food or alcohol? How do normal people deal with shit? I have no fucking clue right now. It's not in my nature to just bend over and take it up the ass. If I want to continue getting my mail, though, I better get used to it.
