She's Come Undone

I've been a bad, bad girl.

And I'm totally paying for it.

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.

We'll see.

Vacation Fat

I spent the weekend getting fat.

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!

Ruh Ro, Stomach Flu!

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!

Lost USPS Package: A Study In Impotent Rage

I am so mad.

Madder than mad.

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.

Xanax isn't helping. Pilates isn't helping. Chamomile and lavender isn't helping.

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.

Snowpocalypse

If you're like half the country right now, you've probably been snowed in for days. And if you're like me, you've spent the past few days alternating between gorging yourself on all the food in the house and desperately attempting to ignore all of the food in the house.

Although I've given in a few times (WHY did my girlfriend buy Nutty Bars?! They are so fucking deliciously irresistible!) I've managed to steer clear of the really bad shit and stuff my face with grapes, cherry tomatoes, wasabi peas, and lots and lots of tea.

My sweet tooth has been acting up, though, so I decided to recreate my childhood snow day favorite: snow ice cream! This time, I made it Weight Watchers-friendly and it was oh so good!

I sent my girlfriend out for a big bowl of snow (I was not about to go out in the -15 mess) and I mixed it with stevia, skim milk, and vanilla. I ended up putting in two tablespoons of granulated sugar to cover the slightly bitter aftertaste of the stevia, and it was SO FUCKING GOOD. Why can't they make something like this in the stores? I mean, that bowl made a really huge amount of snow ice cream, so when I divided the sugar by the amount of servings (around four, although there was a little extra that we didn't eat) I didn't even have to count it as a single point. Why isn't there zero point ice cream?! Someone should invent it. Please?

Anyway, I can't wait for it to warm back up a little so I can play in the snow. Last Saturday, after our first snowfall but before the dreaded 'polar vortex' and the 10 extra inches, we went sledding with my eight year old nephew. I haven't been able to sled since before my first heart surgery six years ago--I never ever would have made it back up the hill. This time, with my healthy new heart valve and 90 fewer pounds, I kept sledding and sledding! I even raced him up the hill a few times. I'm covered in bruises, it feels like I compacted my spine, my chest and neck are sore, and I think I almost got frostbite on my fingertips, but I had SO much fun! Plus, I was able to count it as 15 Activity Points! Turns out sledding is pretty fucking physical (well, sledding is one thing, but climbing the hill over and over is the hard part).

This is the first time in so long that I've been able to actually enjoy the snow, and it's awesome! Now I'm just waiting for 'normal' winter temps and I'll grab my sled and head back to the hill to burn some calories and earn some more bruises.

Backtracking A.K.A. HOLIDAY BINGE FEST 2013

I am growing steadily fatter.

At 209 pounds, I was pretty fat. But since that was after losing 95 pounds, 209 did not seem very fat compared with being 304 pounds.

Now, though, I'm back to 215 pounds and I can see how easy it would be to let go and slide back into my old habits and end up 300 pounds again. Or more.

I've been tracking everything on my Weight Watchers app, but it doesn't do much good to track when you go over your Point allotment by 84 Points, as I did last week. Or 34 Points like this week. In fact, I've gone over my Points EVERY WEEK since before Thanksgiving. It's gotten so easy.

Now I'm back to the weight I was at in October. Three months of tracking, of passing shit up because, "No, thanks, I'm on Weight Watchers," three months of weigh ins and diet soda...three months and I'm back to where I was before Halloween. Fat. Fatter. Getting fatter by the minute.

I need to put on the brakes but it's hard. REALLY FUCKING HARD. This feels like starting over again.

Maybe I should actually start over again? Pretend like I'm 215 pounds and just now starting Weight Watchers. They have a new Simple Start plan that looks promising, and New Year's Day is less than 36 hours away. But if I say I'm starting on 1/1, I know there's a lot of damage I can do in a day.

So I'll keep tracking, even though the holidays have made me feel completely out of control. I feel like a food monster and I can't stop eating. So I'll eat, I'll track, and I'll hope that 2014 is really a new start.

Fuck Christmas, And Fuck Duck Dynasty

On Weight Watchers, you're allowed 49 weekly Points to use at your discretion so you can supplement your daily Points allowance. This week, I not only blew through those 49 Points before the week was half over--I also went over those Points by 84 Points.

EIGHTY FOUR POINTS.

84.

Fuck.

I get 33 Points per day. (33x7)+49+84= 364. So I've had 364 Points this week.

That's the same as 91 Cadbury Cream Eggs. Or 5.7 gallons of marinara sauce. Or over 7 and a half pounds of grated cheddar.

Gross.

I blame Christmas. I mean, okay, I truthfully blame myself and my weakness and my emotional overeating and my utter lack of willpower. But I do blame Christmas too. Why does it have to be so delicious? Why does everything have to look so tempting and be so easy to grab? And why do I have to put up with my family, mostly my father, while still struggling to push aside all of the hurt feelings and shitty self esteem they left me with after high school?

This Duck Dynasty business has left me feeling really sad because my dad, who claims to love me and who seems to also really love my girlfriend of eight years, is so vigorously opposed to A&E firing the dude. I've written here and there about what a dick my dad is, so my dad supporting a bigot and failing to consider my feelings is definitely not shocking. But it is sad. It hurts when I see friends on Facebook posting pictures rallying against A&E's awesome decision to fire Phil, and it hurts even more to hear my dad saying shit like, "This is great because the pendulum will start to swing the other way now. The right people are going to start taking back the country, and Obama will go back to the ghetto where he belongs." My dad's total ignorance of government and morality aside, it just feels so wrong to have a father essentially telling his daughter, "Hey, I'm so glad that we're going to continue to deny you equal rights, and hopefully we'll be able to take away your rights completely! Oh yeah, and you're definitely going to hell! Sorry-not-sorry!"

My dad isn't even religious. I've read more of the bible than him. He went to Catholic school so he pretty much just hates God now, and he's never ever expressed any concern about my soul. So why does he care if my girlfriend and I get married? Seriously, my parents like her more than they like me. Why would he want us kept apart? And why does he care so much if some semi-scripted 'reality' tv star lost his job after making totally asinine and cruel and ignorant and intolerant statements to fucking GQ? Really? Why?

 

But talking to him is pointless. I can't even begin the debate because as soon as he starts in, I already feel defeated and close to tears. I start thinking about how many times I thought about killing myself. How many times I came close. He doesn't know about any of it. I think about how truly surprised I was to find I had made it out of high school without slitting my wrists. I think about sitting in my bathroom with the cold blade of my favorite scissors pressed against my vein, debating with myself if my parents would be more disappointed in me for being a lesbian or for committing suicide. I think about the fear and shame I felt before I came out, and the fear I still feel sometimes just holding my girlfriend's hand in the 'wrong' environments. I think about the confusion I felt when I first realized that I liked girls and the terror I felt knowing it was 'wrong' to feel that way.

I think about these things and I can't have a rational conversation with him because it's not rational at all. People are making remarks, right or wrong, that are making young people want to kill themselves rather than live in a world that hates them. Why is that okay? Why wouldn't any rational person want to stop those words from being broadcast to young people who are still trying to understand their sexuality?

So on top of the normal stressful family Christmas, I also got to shield myself all day from Duck Dynasty conversations. Instead, I steered myself to the dessert table to ate until all I could think about was how full my stomach was. I tracked everything I ate, but I didn't even try to moderate myself. I was in a FUCKITALL mood and just didn't care. Now, of course, I'm still stressed and I'm feeling even more anxious about having Christmas dinner tomorrow with my dad and my great uncle who is even more of a bigot than my dad. But on top of all that, I'm also just sick with regret at how much I ate, and disappointment in myself.

Still, even though I want to say Fuck Christmas, I don't really mean it. I love Christmas, I love my dad (way deep down where it's hard to see sometimes), and I'm proud of myself for how far I've come. As long as I get over this pity party and make it through the next 24 hours, I can regroup, lose the Christmas fat, and put all of this behind me.

Fatty Fatty Two By Four

I'm having a fat day.

Make that a fat week.

You know how some girls have bad hair days? Well, my hair is frizzy and I hate it 90% of the time, so every day is basically a bad hair day. And until the past few months, I was always aware of my fat so EVERY day was a fat day too.

Things started changing, ever so slowly. I went from constantly thinking about my size to finally, after so many years of morbid obesity, allowing myself to concentrate on my life instead of my fat. I have fat days, but not single fucking day is a fat day. Not all of my thoughts revolve around being fat. I've been able to go to antique malls and actually shop, instead of spending my time in there carefully squeezing between shelves of glassware and praying that I don't knock over a $500 vase with my gut. I went to the mall and strolled into Victoria's Secret without flushing with the embarrassment of knowing every salesperson was wondering why someone my size was in their tiny store. Last week, I wore a pair of underwear that kept rolling down and I could feel my stomach hanging out when I sat down, but that annoying and uncomfortable day made me realize that I used to feel like that EVERY day. So things have been pretty awesome.

Now, unfortunately, I'm having a fat day and with good reason. I'm getting fatter. Plus, I'm in a rough spot. I'm so close to my next goal of being under 200 pounds, and I'm also right on top of Christmas and New Year's, two gluttonous holidays. Maybe not for everyone, but my sweet tooth really makes Christmas intolerable while trying to lose weight.

Can't...stop...eating...

Everyone around me knows I'm on Weight Watchers and that I've lost close to 100 pounds since last August, so people for the most part have been great about not tempting me with treats. My coworkers and family also know that I am utterly powerless around sweets, so they've even made an effort to have fruit and veggies around, and I offer to bring healthy sides to pitch-ins and family dinners. Still, there's really no avoiding sweets. One of my employees brought a bag of candy--mini Snickers, mini Twix, Hershey Kisses, Rolos, etc. I started off with one piece, then another, and before I knew it...the whole fucking bag was gone by noon today. Less than four hours and I inhaled 12 Points worth of candy.

Then I came home and my mom dropped by. She brought me some peanut butter balls (which most people call Buckeyes) and I ate two of them, followed by a fresh chocolate chip cookie. I meant to leave one for my girlfriend but...nope. I ate them all. Eight more Points down.

This week, I'm really ashamed to admit that I've gone over my weekly Points by THIRTY. Seriously. 3-0. I had Olive Garden one day, a pumpkin roll another day, more cookies and candy than I usually eat in a month. It's been delicious but terrible.

My consolation is that I am at least tracking, and tracking honestly. When I step on the scale next, I'll know exactly where each added pound came from. Then I can turn it around, hopefully.

I need to start working on my New Years Resolutions, but right now I'm just trying to make it to New Year's without fucking up all the progress I made in 2013.

So yeah, I'm having a fat day. A fat week. I've gained three pounds since my Wednesday weigh-in, and I'm still plowing through food like a ravenous goat. But at least it's a fat day now, and not a fat life. I've made some progress, even if it doesn't feel like much.

Feeling Like a Failure

It's the holidays.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. Well, actually, other people keep reminding me of that. Especially since my weigh in today. I gained 2.4 pounds since last week. Now I'm back up to 212 pounds. That's a big difference from the 304 pounds I started at, but also a far cry from where I wanted to be by now.

Seriously, though, Weight Watchers is making me start to hate the holidays. As much as I love getting into the Christmas spirit, I find it hard to separate the awesomeness of the season from the awesome treats that are around every corner. Gingerbread cookies, eggnog milkshakes, peppermint mochas, red and green Rice Krispy treats, Christmas tree-shaped Snickers, festive M&Ms, white chocolate Oreos, cupcakes with sprinkles...not to mention the beautiful buffets of cheeseballs, crackers, nachos, finger sandwiches, creamy dips, warm casseroles...it's enough to make me go fucking crazy.

Being a food addict (which, lets face it, I totally am) around the holidays is TOUGH, man. I mean, really tough. And it's so easy to indulge. You know, like, it's Christmas. It's once a year. Might as well have that white chocolate shake and finish it off with some cinnamon sugar cookies, right?

And I am really bad at succumbing to peer pressure. I've been so strong all year, but now I have people offering me treats and candy with the unintentionally evil, "Oh, you've done so well, you deserve this!" Or, "It's Christmas--time to reward yourself!"

It's obviously not doing good things for me.

On top of all the food, the weather here SUCKS so going outside for anything is a nightmare. I have resigned myself to the fact that I am just not good at pushing myself to get on the treadmill. So instead, I've been hibernating. My cardiac rehab therapy sessions are over, so instead of spending an hour at the hospital working out three times a week, I instead go home and start snacking until I decide on supper.

Plus, I've really fallen out of the habit of tracking my daily "Healthy Checks" on the Weight Watchers app. That whole eight glasses of water/three servings of dairy/five servings of fruit an veggies/two servings of healthy oils has been LONG GONE for me. Instead of eating an apple in the afternoon, I have a cookie. Instead of snacking on cherry tomatoes, I eat Chex Mix.

So today, I'm recommitting. I have a glass of water at my desk (for the first time in a couple months, really). I have two servings of veggies with my lunch. And I'm actually tracking it all. I've just come too far to ruin it all now, so I'm going back to the basics.

I felt terrible last Christmas, but I somehow made it through and kept losing weight, despite the food traps along the way.

Hopefully next week I'll be back under 210 pounds. That would be a nice Christmas present to myself. Much better than another glass of eggnog (okay, maybe not MUCH better, but definitely preferable in the long run!).

Gobble, Gobble

No matter how much weight I lose, I am still a fat girl at heart.

I think I always will be.

31 years of overeating can't be reversed by one year of Weight Watchers. Sure, I undid a lot of damage. I shed almost 100 pounds. I've learned portion control and built healthy eating habits.

But my brain is the brain of a fat girl. Nothing reinforces that more than food-centered events like Thanksgiving.

This year, like last year, I spent the few weeks leading up to Thanksgiving slowly panicking about food. What I would eat, how much I would eat, how much I would gain from eating. I pre-tracked my food in the Weight Watchers app and kept going back to balance out my Points. "Okay, maybe I can change the serving of mashed potatoes to a half serving so I can increase my dinner roll from a half to a full...and maybe I can only have a quarter of a slice of pumpkin pie (haha, yeah right, a quarter of a slice) so I can have a teaspoon of real butter instead of a spray butter..."

I had to eat twice again this year, once at my parents' and once at my girlfriend's family's. I must have gone into the WW app 25 times to change what I planned to eat. Luckily, the pre-tracking kind of worked for me. I knew what I could and couldn't have, and I didn't end up freaking out at the end of the day after accidentally going over my Points. I'm also aware now of just how much my family influences me to overeat, and I swallowed a couple Xanax to help cope with all of the food and emotional landmines my parents put in front of me. I came armed with a fruit salad I whipped up, made entirely of fresh fruit (pomegranate, pineapple, cranberries, apple, lime juice) topped with stevia and some pumpkin pie spice. Zero Points, so I had something to snack on whenever the cream puffs and cheese ball started calling my name. I felt really prepared.

I did face a somewhat unexpected hurdle, however: some CRAZY intense guilt over eating so much. Even though I tracked and knew exactly what I was eating, and I'd planned it all so meticulously, I still just felt incredibly gross and guilty for eating as much as I did. I was stuffed. Really stuffed. My family thinks it's funny that a vegetarian can get so full at a meat-centric feast, but I completely gorged myself. I was careful to be realistic about measuring my food and eyeballing what I couldn't measure, but even eating the small portions didn't make me feel better. After my meal, I felt the same sort of shame that I used to feel as a child after touching myself...like, dirty and embarrassed and ashamed and worried that my palms would grow hair. Or, well, in this case worried that I would gain 10 pounds overnight (which does totally happen to me, as scientifically impossible as that may seem).

Really, it was a terrible, sickening, and stomach-churning guilt. Maybe some of the churning was from the four deviled eggs I ate, or the mound of green bean casserole, but most of it was from a very uncomfortable inner monologue that went something like, "Gross. Why are you eating all of this? Ugh, why is it so so delicious? Seriously though, what are you doing? You're going to derail and defeat yourself. You've been making progress and here you go, throwing it all away from some toasted marshmallows baked on top of sweet potatoes...mmm sweet potatoes...stop it! Stop eating! Oh but it's so good..." I started to feel a little crazy and obsessive by the end of the day. And as I predicted, I still gained about five pounds this morning. And, naturally, that weight gain justified my shame and guilt, so now I feel even worse about eating so much.

That didn't stop me from bringing home some leftovers, though, or from polishing off the pecan tassies before I even went to bed last night (and subsequently using up the very last of my weekly Points allowance only ONE DAY into my Weight Watchers week...meaning I won't get more weekly Points until next Wednesday...). This food shaming is a new development for me, and I hate it. I hate it almost as much as I hate being hungry all the time.

But I'm still truckin' along. I'm too close to being under 200 pounds to even think about quitting. I may still be a fat girl inside but, on the outside, that fat girl is melting away, slowly but surely.

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.

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.

Viva La Cancun

There's something coming up that's giving me a lot of anxiety. Coincidentally (...Ironically? I never use this correctly...), it's a relaxing beach vacation.

I've faced similar fear and apprehension several times since I started Weight Watchers in August. First the State Fair, then my Disney World vacation in mid-October (during the Food and Wine festival...I was like Templeton in Charlotte's Web...a smorgasbord-orgasbord! But I tracked vigilantly, walked a ton, and still lost weight). Then I faced then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and finally Christmas.

Now I have an all-inclusive vacation coming up at a five star resort in Cancun. It's for a work function, and my company is infamous for the amount of alcohol we're able to consume in any given situation. This trip is starting out with a private, chartered flight to Mexico with drinks on-board. When we arrive, there's a welcoming party with an all-you-can-eat buffet and an open bar. EVERYTHING is paid for, totally included. There's going to be a mini-fridge in the room that's restocked daily, and everything is free. Seriously. There are restaurants all throughout the resort, all included. They have 24 hour room service that ALSO delivers alcohol to your door...for free! We're having cocktail parties with booze and super fancy feasts, pool lounging days with cabana boys plying us with mixed drinks, beach parties with VIP buffets and private mixologists. As diligently as I plan to track everything I eat, I just know I'm not going to be able to stop myself from taking advantage of at least some of the deliciousness.

The closest I've ever had to anything like this was a cruise early in 2012. There was plenty of food, but we also had activities every day that required a lot of walking, and we had to pay for all of our alcohol. This time, with an unlimited supply and no fees and only a single actual physical activity planned over the four day trip, I can only imagine how much weight I'll manage to pack on.

I'm really trying to think positively, but I don't know how I'm going to react when I get confronted with so much food and alcohol. I've severely cut back on my drinking simply because I don't have enough points to get drunk every other night, but in the past I was a bit of a lush. Of course, once I get a couple of drinks in me I start craving all kinds of fatty foods and my inhibition and self control go right out of the window.

I've got to brace myself for Mexico and try to keep myself in check, but I don't want to miss out on anything either. Isn't that a new name for an old thing? "FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out." It's always been an issue for me, and I definitely don't want to miss out on VIP buffets and open bars.

The problem is, I can't trust myself to turn down free food and liquor.

I'm just going to have to eat like a saint until then, track like a maniac while I'm south of the border, and then fasten my belt again once I'm back home.

And maybe light a candle and keep my fingers crossed that Cancun isn't going to derail me completely. I've come too far to blow it now.

(Oh, and weigh in is tomorrow too. Ay carumba.)

15 Foot Canoe

I have now officially lost the equivalent of...an elephant's heart.

Kind of gross.

Really gross.

Seriously, how is an elephant's heart that big? I can't...I can't even imagine. I like the elephant heart on the right better...

But it's also the equivalent of a 15 foot canoe! That's pretty fucking awesome. Definitely cannot fathom carrying a 15 foot canoe around with me everywhere I went.

I actually lost 5.8 pounds (again) this week, so now I'm officially down to 257.8 pounds from 304, for a total loss of 46.2 pounds. Right on!

I didn't eat very well last week so I'm a little surprised, but I'm just going to accept this as a good thing. Of course I'm overanalyzing it anyway and convincing myself that the loss was due to some other random factor and I'll gain it all back next week. Seriously, though, 5.8 pounds? That's a lot. It's an average Chihuahua. It's almost an entire human's skin. (Yeah, the reference list is proving very helpful.)

I'm especially surprised considering that I found my girlfriend's secret snack drawer. Everything has been stashed in the sponge drawer all along. I don't do dishes so I haven't gotten into that drawer for so long. When I opened the drawer (looking for a Chinese food menu--another poor choice this week, but I was tired and cranky and hungry so don't judge me) I think I could have blacked out for a minute--when my eyes refocused, there was a mound of Snicker's and Hershey Nugget wrappers on the counter and the sweet taste of chocolate in my mouth. I counted them all and tracked them, but I ate a LOT.

Plus, I got another shipment from Macy's (yes, I have a serious addiction to Macy's clearance) and I ordered everything in a 2x again and it all fit perfectly. Yay :) Celebrating the little things right now!

Keep On Truckin'

Not weighing in this week is driving me CRAZY. After three days and nights of a veritable food orgy, I really need the reality check of getting on the scale so I can point myself in the right direction again. Alas, my meeting this week was cancelled and I still don't have a working scale, so I have to wait until next Wednesday to see my Christmas damage.

Seriously, I ate a lot.

I stayed within my Points for the week--but just barely. Like, when I got into the negative numbers, I went in and gave myself Activity Points for things like doing the laundry and playing with my niece and nephew. And then when I went negative again, I started scrolling through the food I ate and amending the amounts ('that 1/2 cup of mashed potatoes was really more like 1/4 cup...and I didn't finish that piece of cake so I'll only count 3/4 of it...'). There was just so much temptation. I didn't go crazy, but I did do some serious buffet-line-grazing. And I just had to "test" the nachos every time I stirred them. And it's not like you can have just ONE chocolate chip cookie when there's a whole bag just waiting to be eaten...

Now that Christmas is over, it's hard to get back into my good habits. I had a snow day yesterday, so we spent the day lazing around and eating leftovers. I knew it wasn't a good idea to bring leftovers home, but I'm a sucker for green bean casserole.  Extra cheesy.

My stockings were thankfully candy-free! I asked everyone to refrain from giving me sweets, so I ended up with tons of new earrings and trinkets and even some sugar free Jell-o boxes (score!). Plus, I got some awesome stuff for the kitchen. A new food scale, a really nice knife block and new knives, some stainless steel measuring cups, some measuring scoops with teaspoons and tablespoons on the handles, an olive oil mister, a garlic press, etc. So in between the bombardments of cookies and candy, I also got gentle reminders of my healthier habits.

It was also really nice to hear all of the compliments from my extended family--they last saw me about twenty pounds ago, so they can see now that I'm losing weight. And I only had to delete half of the photos of myself, instead of the usual 90%, so that was nice also.

I'm struggling to get back on track, and knowing that my next weigh-in is a week away has made me even more reluctant to be good. I'm still snacking on my girlfriend's candy, and I'm not drinking the water I was before. But I'm tracking everything, so at least if I gain next week, I'll be able to flip back through the last two weeks and see all of the bad decisions I made that showed up on the scale.

Hopefully I can reign it in before then, though, and actually lose a pound or two!