When I Was Crazy

Well, kids, I finally did it.

I lost my fucking mind.

Honestly I could have gone crazy at any point and it would have surprised no one, but I REALLY went crazy this time. As in, I slit both my wrists open and then stuck a loaded .45mm Glock in my mouth. My mom got there just in time, and I spent a week as a psych patient at the mental institution, total Girl, Interrupted style. But I'm still here, I'm out of the awful relationship I was in, and I'm still losing weight (my weight has actually been on the BACK OF MY MIND a few times lately, which is crazy for me to say, after nearly 30 years of it being front and center of my thoughts every second of every day...but now I'm 174, from 314, so I'm feeling kinda badass).

Anyway, I'm very lucky to be alive. I had already texted my mom asking her to send someone else (they were already arranging to send me to the crisis center) because I didn't want her to be the one to find the body. She got there just in time, for a very stupid reason: my wifi was being wonky and I was trying to Google the best place to shoot to make sure I was gone in one shot (literally).

I mean, the gun was in my mouth. The clip was full, the chamber loaded. My finger was on the trigger, tears pouring down my face, slobber all over the gun.

My Beretta. 22 (not the Glock my mom found me with).

But it's really surprising how much wiggle room there is with a big ass Glock in your mouth. Really. Was I supposed to shoot at a slightly upward angle, intending to sever my brain stem? Or slightly downward, for the spinal column? Certainly not straight back and chance missing both, right? Or would that be best? Anyway, I had questions...so I was trying to Google the best method, with the gun in my mouth and my shaking finger pressed right on the trigger, but the wifi wasn't reaching because I was in the back yard. My sister was a former biohazard remediation/crime scene cleanup technician and I didn't want anyone to have to deal with my body indoors, especially since I have so much stuff. There would be hair and skull fragments and blood and brain bits on everything, and I would have felt terrible. Or I guess I would have felt nothing? But the point is, I wanted to prevent a mess and therefore couldn't Google fast enough before my mom walked into my yard and I just couldn't do that to her. I couldn't let her watch me shoot myself. I took the gun out of my mouth long enough to cry out for her to please turn around and go back inside, but she came and took the gun and held me as I collapsed.

I'm doing much better now. The psych ward really did help. I wanna write later about how fucking crazy it was, but I'm glad I was there. I was still determined to kill myself, I just didn't want my mom to see. But the triage unit at the psych ward made sure there really were not many ways to kill yourself--no plastic bags, nothing. I spent my first night there sobbing but trying desperately to hold my mouth closed and pinch my nose shut and suffocate myself. It's true what they say, though--it's super hard to do that, because your body will let go at the last second and you'll gasp for air. I guess sometimes your body's primal desire to live sometimes overrides your mind's desire to end it all.

Glad I sucked at suicide, and now I can truthfully write about a mental hospital because I've been there, done that. But it does still scare me how quickly and completely I could become crazy. I have been off all of my medications since I lost my job and insurance in November, and that's after a decade and a half of constant anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pill combinations. Then my boyfriend and I had a couple pretty crazy fights a couple weeks ago. He had unexpectedly moved in along with his 18 year old son, which I had not wanted, but he was being sued by his landlord and then waited until the last second to find a place, so he ran out of time. They filled my garage with all of their stuff and then suddenly I was sitting, depressed, on the couch all day with two grumpy dudes instead of just one. They both just sat there getting high, watching television, and letting me cook them every meal. But he would get upset if I made ANY plans at all--I always included him, but he didn't want to leave the house. So then I couldn't leave the house. I was becoming more and more isolated from everyone, I was completely broke but hadn't even looked for a job because he liked me staying home with him, and because he said he'd pay some bills if he moved in, and then he started making me feel ugly and unloved too. I was wearing a cute new size Large black off-the-shoulder skater dress and feeling super super cute. When I got up, I flirtatiously flashed him my lacy underwear. His response: "Red and bumpy, just how I like it."

Wow.

I'm fucking sensitive, and burst into tears. That pissed him off, and so he started to go into why it wasn't a big deal because I have plenty of other flaws anyways, like still being fat and flabby.

Double wow.

He never got to see me at my heaviest, 317, but we did meet when I was still around 220. I lost almost 40 pounds in the time we were together, and he still had the nerve to call me fat and flabby.

He really hated me being happy, but got annoyed when I was depressed. He kept offering to help with money but he never did, even though he's been staying here basically full time since October. He knew I was struggling with money but then he picked up a cocaine habit! So then every single day he "needed" to do a bunch of coke so he could "work". He worked from home (my home) in data, but only did about an hour's worth of work a day. Then he spent the rest of the day stressed about work, but just watching tv and getting high. So yeah, I wasn't getting any money, and his coke use didn't taper off when his kid moved in. So I finally broke down and asked him to please at least get the kid out of my house, because I already wasn't feeling very loved or supported. He was furious and we fought hard and he basically dumped me. That's the first time in this ordeal that I started trying to cut my wrists, because he'd pulled me into this weird half-life existence where he was my entire world, and so if he left my entire world was gone too. Hearing over and over from him that I'll never do better than him eventually made me believe it.

Anyway, then we had a couple more crazy fights, make-ups, fights, make-ups...he went through my iPad and freaked out about an old message to an ex he thought was too flirty. Then he went through my phone while I slept and found a text from six months ago to another friend who happens to be an ex, he thought it was flirty also. So I then woke up to broken glass where he'd shattered the photos I'd had printed of us and framed, and most of his good stuff moved out, along with my weed. At this point, my friend brought me a shit ton of Kolonopin, so I was taking like 5 full mgs at a time and don't have much memory of the next few days. I know he threw all my patio furniture into my pool and broke my photos, I took a hammer to his shitty giant CRT televisions (who even uses those anymore?), and then like a freaking crazy sitcom, the cops showed up, I was trying to just get my weed back from him, which he TOLD the cop (ugh idiot...), then he tried to drive away and ended up hitting me with his car and running me over, I broke his window, he broke my toe and rolled my ankle...and then he was gone, and I was left with glass everywhere, a bloody foot, and more Kolonopin. Nothing happened with the cop, which I guess was good, but then the next two days were spent in stupid Facebook wars between my friends and his gigantic ex-wife of 20 years, and with me cutting my wrists deeper and deeper but I just couldn't push hard enough. He told me because I had an ingrown hair I has pulled: "Your pussy looks like a 14 year old girl with acne." Also, "There's a reason you don't feel attractive and it has nothing to do with your appearance. It's because of the empty hole in your heart where you should have a soul." Ouch. And every other evil thing you can say to a very sad, lonely, broken girl with really low self esteem who's been systematically brought under your psychological spell and will believe anything you say...No one loves me, I don't matter, I'm a fat and flabby and worthless slob, I'm lazy and disgusting and he can see why that one ex once told me he was disgusted by me (so glad I told him that really hurtful story)...

So then, well, it finally ended when my mom took the gun away and had me locked up for a little while. So yeah. That's the story of how I went fucking crazy for a little while.

I am staying strong. I would love to have him here to hold me so it's not easy to say no. But I am. I'm still a little shaky and getting used to my new meds, but things are looking up. Already in the 48 hours I've been out, I've done more work on my resume than I did in the previous six months, so I can start working soon and get out of this house and get out of my head a little.

I always said I wanted to write a book, but that I couldn't write about being fat until I was close enough to normal size that I could talk about being fat without being embarrassed. But I also always felt that my story needed a brief crazy spell. And I got it. Guess I can write my book now too :P

100 Mile March…Or My Own Version

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.

It was a dismal failure.

I walked every day for the first week. Seven days. My total distance walked? 1.5 miles. That's over a period of seven days COMBINED.

I was so disappointed.

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.

That's progress!

100 Posts, Not Quite 100 Pounds

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!

Happy 100th post!

I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again

Yes.

Chumbawumba.

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.

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!

Weight Gain For No Reason

Sometimes I go to my weekly Weight Watchers weigh-in fully expecting to lose weight, only to find out after stepping on the scale that I've inexplicably gained.

This is one of those weeks.

It's frustrating because I did EVERYTHING "right". I stayed within my points, I was relatively active, I drank a ton of water and ate fruit and veggies every day.

So why did I gain?

Well, after sticking with Weight Watchers for well over a year, I have learned that sometimes, it just happens. Sometimes you do everything you're supposed to do and you still fail. Sometimes you eat exactly what you're supposed to eat and you still gain weight.

The good news is that I'm not giving up--not even close. I'm going to keep going, keep tracking, and hope for a better number next week.

The bad news is that I'm still at the same weight that I was before Thanksgiving. After gaining .4 pounds this week, I'm back up to 210.8. Two months of sticking to Weight Watchers has netted me a total GAIN of 1.6 pounds. Okay, I didn't really "stick" to Weight Watchers because I went over my points almost every week for those two months. But I did track everything, and I was active, and I did show more restraint around food than I ever did before. So here I am, 1/22/14, and I weigh 1.6 pounds more than I did on 11/20/13.

However, I weighed 279.6 pounds the week before Thanksgiving in 2012. So I weigh 68.8 pounds less than I did on 11/20/12.

That's something at least!

Reality Bites

So after beating myself up all day about gaining weight, I was in a pretty shitty mood last night. I made supper, which cheered me up a little, and I sat down to eat. My girlfriend was excited about the Greek wraps (with homemade hummus, made with only garbanzo beans and the juice from the can instead of olive oil, plus some lemon juice and garlic and tons of spices) and saganaki (baked, not fried, with some fresh baked pita chips). I was excited, too, because I've been CRAVING saganaki for weeks. I remarked that I was happy I had waited until she bought some cheese so I could make it, instead of caving and ordering the fried and breaded saganaki from our favorite Greek restaurant.

That's when I realized that, although I feel like I've totally let myself go for the past month, the reality is that I am still doing LEAGUES better than I would have been without Weight Watchers. Without having to track everything, I wouldn't have thought twice about picking up saganaki, plus some spanikopita, plus a whole order of baklava for dessert. I would have had three pieces of pie on Christmas instead of splitting a piece with my girlfriend. I would have eaten a whole bag of Hershey's Miniatures instead of picking out six and giving the rest away. I would have gone out to eat and ordered two appetizers, an entree, and dessert, all while drinking a regular soda and maybe topping it off with a Mudslide.

So yeah, it feels like I've fucked up. It seems like I've given up and gained all of my weight back.

But it's not so bad. I'm not so bad. I'm bad, but not as bad as I could be.

Which is pretty good.

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!).

Seriously? Seven Week Weight Loss Plateau? SERIOUSLY?

I wrote this last week and never posted it...here you go...

I am feeling pretty discouraged right now. I've gone through a lot of emotions since weigh-in Wednesday (4/10): anger, embarrassment, defeat, anger, indignation, confusion, anger, desperation, guilt, depression, more anger. I thought about quitting. I talked about it. I begged for advice from people who have gone through this before. I got angrier. I got defiant. I decided to eat whatever the fuck I wanted. Then I felt guilty and tracked everything I ate. The cheese coma Wednesday night made me feel better for a brief moment, but I'm still mad. And guilty. And despondent.

Here's what's up: I have been struggling to get over this weight loss plateau for seven weeks now. It's really pissing me off. I have been losing and gaining the same pound over and over. Now I'm at a point where something's gotta give, or I'm just going to lose my fucking mind.

More Numbers

I wanted to make myself feel better so I took some measurements. I was hoping that I would see some changes to my body, even if the scale isn't showing any progress.

All I found out is that my boobs are shrinking.

Lovely.

New dimensions:

Neck: 15"
Bust: 46"
Chest: 42"
Waist: 41"
Hips: 50"
Thighs: right 28", left 29"
Calves: left and right 20"
Ankles: right 10.5", left 11"
Upper arms: right 14", left 15"
Forearms: right 10.5", left 11"
Wrists: right and left 7"

This shows some progress (I guess) from the last time I measured myself, but it's still a little disheartening.

I bought myself some pretty things on Amazon to keep my mind off of food and my weight and my failures. I may go to Macy's next. Retail therapy is totally underrated.

Tagalong Plateau

LOSING WEIGHT SUCKS.

Seriously.

This is not fun. Well, it would be more fun if I were ACTUALLY LOSING WEIGHT. Instead, I've been losing and gaining the same pound for a month and a half. A MONTH AND A HALF! I am the same weight that I was on 2/20, even though I have been tracking everything religiously on Weight Watchers.

Is this was a plateau feels like?

I wouldn't know. I've never lost enough to even hit a plateau. Or when I did stop losing weight for even a week or so, I'd just give up and eat what I want. Like, fuck it, right?

But I'm really trying not to go that this time. I'm really trying to stay focused on losing weight, but it's SO FUCKING HARD.

Like Easter. Everyone else enjoyed Easter baskets full of candy and chocolate, or stuffed their faces with banana pudding and my grandma's special eclair cake. I measured, weighed, and tracked every morsel and...I didn't even get an Easter basket this year :( Yes, it's sad that I am 31 and this is the first year I have not gotten a basket. But STILL! That's sad.

At my weigh-in yesterday I think my meeting leader saw my frustration (or maybe the "FUCK!" that flew from my lips tipped her off) and tried to talk to me about some strategies. I told her I'm still nervous about working out, with my stupid non-functioning heart valve and all that, so she tried to find other sources of my weight loss stagnation. Not drinking enough water (it's true), not meeting my healthy guidelines for oil (well, if I have to choose between one Point of oil and one Point of chocolate, who do you think wins??), and then said something that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time (ala my favorite movie quotation, courtesy of Steel Magnolias: "Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion..." but this was NOT a good emotion)...she asked if I had stress and said stress can make your body hold on to fat. I was like, "HA! Okay, so I have no hope?"

I mean, I have super high anxiety anyway. All the time. I take Xanax to manage it but it honestly doesn't do much good. On top of that, I just got a promotion at work last week so now I'm in charge of about two times more than I was before...and I was already in charge of a LOT. So if stress is going to keep me from losing weight, I should probably just throw in the towel now because this belly is not going anywhere.

But I won't give up. At least, not yet. She also gave me a few other suggestions: try eating a bigger breakfast (I've been eating a container of yogurt every morning for around five years now, so it makes sense that my body would get used to it) and a smaller supper (I stuff my face at supper because that's the time I have to cook big delicious meals, but if it'll help I will try).

Still, something's gotta give. Last week I lost .8 pounds, down to 249.4. This week, I gained 1.2 pounds, back up to 250.6. I've still lost over 50 pounds since I started out at 304 pounds in August, but this past month and a half has been really discouraging.

I hate missing out on good food. I know that in the long run I'll be happier and healthier and missing out on Girl Scout cookies for one year isn't going to make my big list of Life Regrets when I'm on my death bed. But I titled this post Tagalong Plateau because that was actually the name of one of my favorite cats growing up. I was a Girl Scout for 13 years and Tagalong Plateau is the name of a landmark reached by the Girl Scouts in some really weird old cassette tape I used to listen to before bed (which I sadly can't find anywhere and of which I can find no reference on the almighty Google). All of my cats had Girl Scout cookie names. I fucking love Girl Scout cookies. This year? ZERO cookies. I couldn't trust myself to buy a box because I totally knew I would eat the whole thing. I gave a donation to our local Girl Scout Council instead (partly to assuage my guilt over turning down all the cookie offers, and partly in support of their acceptance of gay scouts, which is a really big deal to me). But I'm SAD I didn't eat a Girl Scout cookie, and I STILL gained weight. Like, maybe I should have eaten a whole box just so I could point my finger and say "There, yep, that's why I gained weight...whole box of delicious cookies. Worth it." Instead, I'm looking back through my month's food tracker thinking "Wow, I made some really healthy choices and ate a ton of veggies and really cut back on the cheese and chocolate and all things delicious...so why the fuck did I GAIN? AGAIN?!"

I'm not giving up, but I'm getting more and more tempted to just go sit at a Golden Corral and stuff my face until they drag me away from the buffet with a trail of mac n cheese and gummy bears behind me...

Up & Down Like A Yoyo

I've been really frustrated with my weight for the past few weeks. No, I've been really frustrated with myself.

Ever since my birthday a little over a month ago, my weight has been fluctuating up and down like crazy. Sure, there are other factors at play: I drank a lot because it was my birthday, I was horribly constipated for the first time ever and though I was going to die, I pretty much stopped drinking water, I had my anniversary dinner and ate until I thought I was going to pass out, I tried to be a good boss by bringing sugar-laced green vodka and Puckers mixed with Sprite and served in sugar-encrusted shot glasses for St. Patrick's Day, I entered a Peep diorama contest (and won! yay!) which also meant the demise and consumption of untold number of Peeps, my girlfriend has been stocking up on Cadbury Creme Eggs like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter and won't tell me "no" when I ask for one...etc etc etc. So, yeah, I guess there may be some factors going on this month. BUT I still stuck to the Plan...

So why, on last Wednesday's weigh in, did I gain 1.4 pounds? I'm back up to 250.2 pounds, for a total loss of 53.8 from my 304 starting weight. Not bad, but not exactly on track. If I were losing 2 pounds per week, 10 pounds per month, I'd be down 75 pounds right now. I'm not even close! Gaining weight last week really pissed me off.

I told myself, "Well, that's okay, I ate a lot at my anniversary dinner and I haven't been drinking water and blah blah blah" but THEN I looked at my Weight Watchers weight tracker and grasped something that had escaped me in the past few weeks of bouncing back and forth over the 250 pound mark. I realize that in the one month since my birthday, I have GAINED a pound.

That doesn't sound terrible, given the list of excuses above. But I stayed on Plan! I recorded every bite! I counted the Points and carefully measured and weighed every thing I put in my mouth! So how could I have gained?

Something my mom said the other week stuck with me. She was talking about how my grandmother was meeting with a doctor about bariatric surgery, and my mom was depressed because no doctor would consider her for the same surgery given her medical history. I started talking about Weight Watchers and my mom said she would never be able to stick to it because she'd cheat. If she wanted to eat something, she'd pretend like she forgot to write it down, or something similar.

That's when I started to think that maybe I'm doing the same thing. Even though I stay within my Points for the week, I have definitely gone back through and lowered Points on other days when I am running out of Points. Like, if I want a Cadbury Creme Egg, I'll go to yesterday's tracker and say "well, I tore the crust off of that bread so it was really more like 3/4 slice, and part of the ranch dressing dripped onto my plate so that's closer to 1 1/2 tablespoons..." So I cheat. I really tried not to, and I told myself I wasn't, but I cheat. Just like I cheat at Monopoly without intending to.

Once I admitted I was doing it, I tried to be more honest about my measurements. I think that's the TRUE reason I've been having trouble losing this month. I need to stop cheating the system, and be honest with myself. I mean...I'm only cheating myself, and that's no fun. Especially when I'm not even winning.

55 Pounds

Got another five pound star today at Weight Watchers!

I hit 55 pounds lost :) Down 2.4 this week, so I'm at 248.8 pounds now down from 304, for a total loss of 55.2 pounds.

I'm glad I'm back under 250 pounds. When I bounced around 249-252 for the past couple of weeks, I was getting pretty discouraged. I was so elated to get down under 250 pounds that I felt like a big failure when I gained again. Now I'm determined to stay under 250 pounds. I just don't want to go back there again.

I've also been failing at the 100 Mile March, but I don't feel as bad about that because, honestly, my stomach is still all crampy and I just don't feel like walking so even the little bit of walking I do at work feels like agony. I'm going to have to go to the doctor if things don't get back to normal soon.

All of that aside, I've been feeling pretty good this week. I went to the movies with my girlfriend, mom, and nephew on Saturday (To see Oz the Great and Powerful, which was totally fantastic! I'm not a huge James Franco fan, but I AM a HUGE Sam Raimi fan--I honestly think he's one of the most brilliant and underrated men in the movie industry--and I swooned to see Bruce Campbell! Bruce looked, well, disturbing as a Winkie, but to me he'll always be Autolycus from Xena and that makes me immensely happy!!!!!).

 God, I fucking love Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell.

I heard that they started a Kickstarter for a Veronica Mars movie, which I didn't watch and don't care about. But I think someone should start a Kickstarter for Xena! Bring back Xena! That would be the most amazing fucking thing ever. It ended way too soon. I mean, Xena and Gabs didn't even officially hook up (unless you believe in fan fiction, which I DO...)

Anyway, I wore my new black cowboy boots (faux leather, of course) with black tights and a dress, and I felt super hot. We rode there in the convertible with the top down, and I felt like a sassy vixen :) At the movies, I crossed my legs comfortably and kept them crossed for most of the film...for anyone else with legs like giant toy water snakes, you know that's an accomplishment. My mom even told me I looked great, WITHOUT saying anything like "You're going to look as good as your sister soon!". That's a big deal for me.

Then on Tuesday...this is a big one...drumroll please...I wore REAL PANTS! Like, real, non-elastic, fastening and zipping pants! Granted, they're a size 24, but I didn't even try them on for the longest time. Wearing any kind of regular pants cut into my stomach and made so much of my fat roll over the top that I looked like a mushroom and I had to wear like three Spanx just to keep my stomach smooth enough to pull a shirt over so it just wasn't worth it at all. Hence my obsession with stretch pants and leggings. But as it turns out, I probably should have tried on the pants a few months ago because they were a little too big for me! So even my skinny pants are getting big :) That's got to be a good sign, right?

And today, after the success of my pants-wearing on Tuesday, I decided to try on my camouflage pants that I've had for over a decade but haven't been able to comfortably wear for the past six or so years. They fit! They totally fit! I'm wearing them right now :) And they fit so well that I'm wearing a fitted black cashmere sweater and there are no rolls in sight!

Tomorrow is my seven year anniversary, so I hope the good vibes continue. I still haven't lived up to my New Years Resolution to get frisky, but now that I'm starting to feel a little more like myself, maybe it's actually in the cards. Well, the gross yeast infection and stomach issues will more than likely stand in my way. But a girl can dream, can't she?

One Foot In Front Of The Other

It really doesn't look like my 100 Mile March is going to get anywhere close to 100 miles.

I've walked every day so far since March 1...and I just barely made it to 1 mile. One single mile.

That's 1 mile TOTAL.

In four days.

Walking every day.

I SUCK!

Okay, I was really sick all last week and stayed home from work for two days and whatever I had moved into my lungs and now I'm coughing up wicked phlegm and can't breathe.

Plus, I haven't walked in forever. I haven't been on a treadmill since before my open heart surgery, losing an entire functioning valve, and decreasing my lung capacity by around 50%.

And, you know, I'm actually pretty proud that I've walked every day so far. Even though I've felt like shit. And even though the treadmill is set on 2 miles per hour and I can only walk for 2 minutes before stopping to hit my inhaler. And even though the most I've walked at a single time is .25 miles, and even though I have 98.93 miles left to go this month if I actually want to do the 100 Mile March. Because I'm actually trying--sure, it's only a few minutes at a time, but it's more than I was doing before.

(Oh, I've also gained four pounds since my last weigh-in two weeks ago, so I'm nervous about Wednesday. But I'm super bloated and menstruating and I'm basically a walking phlegm factory, so maybe enough bodily fluids will leave my body by Wednesday to at least keep me from gaining weight at my Weight Watcher's meeting. We shall see.)

This is going to be one loooooong March.

100 Miles

I'm a little bit nervous about what I may have gotten myself into.

I signed up the for 100 Mile March.

Ahh!

Now, it's not exactly 100 miles at once...because then I would just die. But you're expected to walk/run/jog 100 miles throughout the month of March. My company is participating and was asking for volunteers, so I got all optimistic and signed up.

Then I tried to ACTUALLY walk, and now I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do it at all.

There are 31 days in March, so if I walk right around three miles every day, I'll be able to do it.

Unfortunately, there's a huge disconnect between that math and what I can actually do.

I picked up my treadmill from my girlfriend's brother's house (because I obviously was never using it!), plugged it in, and hopped on. I started for the first minute or two thinking "Wow, this may actually be do-able!" By the third minute, I was panting and my lungs were burning, even though I was walking at roughly the same slow pace I'd do strolling through a museum. So slow, but so painful.

By the fifth minute, I was wheezing and if my girlfriend had been able to hear me, I would have called to her to bring me my inhaler.

And by the eighth minute, I couldn't breathe, my heart was pounding through my chest, and my teeth were hurting like I was about to have an asthma attack. I turned off the treadmill and collapsed in the closest chair.

I ONLY WALKED .2 MILES.

NOT EVEN A QUARTER OF A FUCKING MILE.

And I was DYING.

I mean, it's no secret that I am lazy and I hate to exercise. I haven't been able to trust my heart or lungs enough to really do much of anything. I really try to avoid moving at all if I can help it.

But I thought I could at least WALK!

Back before I got sick and had my heart surgery, I would get up in the mornings and go for a nice brisk walk. I was hitting around a 15 to 18 minute mile, depending on how many times I broke into a jog. So when I turned on the treadmill yesterday, I figured it would take me maybe 20 minutes to walk the first mile, and hopefully I could get through three miles in a little under an hour.

WRONG.

If it takes me eight minutes to get through .2 miles, each mile will be 40 minutes. That means I'll have to  spend 120 minutes, or two whole hours, walking every night to do this 100 Mile March.

I just don't know if I can do it.

I'm determined to try, but I'm going to try not hating myself if I can't do it. I'm going to try hard. I haven't been using my daily inhaler with any regularity for the past few months, so I'm going to start using it again. It's not like losing weight is going to regrow my damaged lung tissue. But an inhaler along isn't going to get me through 100 miles.

Tonight, I want to try to hit at least .5 miles. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to do a full mile.

Maybe not, but at least I'll be trying.

You Win Some, You Gain Some

So...

I gained 4.8 pounds this week.

That's actually not as much as I had feared. I'm back up to 261 pounds, but I've still lost 43 pounds total. I was really hoping to get my 50 pound token soon, so this step backwards sucks. I'm disappointed, but I AM glad I weighed in. Especially with the Cancun trip this weekend--I plan to take full advantage of the bars and buffets (hey, you only live once!) and I want to see realistically how much I gain.

I'm a little freaked out that I won't have my Weight Watchers phone app to track my Points. Since I'll be South of the Border, I'm going to have to rely on the little 360 Points Guide and make sure to track every single gulp of wine and cube of cheese. Yum :) Tracking one glass of alcohol is okay but by drink three, things get a little fuzzy...

One of the other girls going on the trip is also in Weight Watchers with me, and she's not planning to track this weekend. I admire her confidence in herself, but that is NOT for me! If I don't track in Cancun, I might as well go climb back into my fat suit now. I can't get off track. Even with today's setback, I still know I've made it pretty far. I want to keep going. If I let myself binge this weekend, I'll have 48 pounds to work off instead of 4.8.

Also...SWIMMING! I love to swim (LOVE to swim!!!) and the resort has two big pools (WITH a swim-up bar!) and it's directly on the beach. So I'll be romping in the waves, diving in the pool, frolicking around in the ocean--if I'm going to track everything I eat, I'm also going to track all of my Activity Points, dammit!

Maybe I'll earn myself an extra margarita...or five :)

Um, Did I Swallow a Bowling Ball?

I HAVE GAINED 10 POUNDS IN ONE. FUCKING. WEEK.

TEN POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's, like, a whole turkey. That's a cat. That's bigger than a baby.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUU...

Okay, I know it's because I just started my period. But seriously...there's not 10 fucking pounds of menses in my uterus right now. At least I fucking hope not. GROSS. And my ankles aren't swollen (I've taken water pills since my open heart surgery, and I can always tell when they're not working because it feels like I'm wearing water wings on my ankles).

So HOW did I gain TEN POUNDS?!?!

(Sidenote--did you know that there's actually a punctuation mark called an 'interrobang' that represents a combined exclamation point and question mark? It's true. And awesome. Too bad my keyboard doesn't come with an interrobang because I would use it all the fucking time.)

Seriously, though, I can't believe I gained so much weight. I'm back solidly into the 260s again. I did not want to be back here.

The last time I gained this much weight at once, I quit Weight Watchers and didn't return for three years. In that time, I gained back everything I had lost, plus another 25 pounds. It was awful. I don't want to go back there, but I can't help but get discouraged when I gain TEN. FUCKING. POUNDS.

I think I'm going to skip my weigh-in tomorrow. It's my last weigh-in before Cancun, and I don't want to go on vacation with such a bad weigh-in hanging over my head. I want to enjoy myself (within reason) and I won't be able to if there's a formal record somewhere of how hard I failed this week.

And okay, if I am being honest, it's not just my period. I was pretty bad. I was doing okay until Saturday, when I went to a Boy Scout soapbox derby for my nephew. They had all kinds of cookies and brownies and everything for sale, 50 cents each. It was like a fundraiser, right? It would have been wrong not to buy something...right?

I ate a good, healthy, filling meal before I went and I brought a whole purse full of oranges, water, apples, pears (which do NOT hold up well in a purse, I soon found out). But when I saw the monster cookies...man, I couldn't help myself. Oatmeal and peanut butter chips and M&Ms all in one delicious cookie? How could I resist?

But I've been good about letting myself eat something delicious in a reasonable quantity, as long as I'm careful about tracking it. So I thought one cookie wouldn't hurt.

Well, then my dad showed up. This man has done more to influence my weight than probably any other single person on the planet, excluding myself. He immediately started talking about how I looked good but I probably shouldn't be eating cookies...how he lost weight with sheer willpower alone and it takes resolve if you want to keep your weight down...how my sister looked so great and was getting skinnier and skinnier and she wasn't eating any cookies, was she?

Fuck him.

I bought another 50 cent bag and ate every crumb. Then I took half of my girlfriend's chocolate chip cookie. And then, fuck it, there was part of a cookie pie left and I ate that too.

Le sigh.

So I can't really blame my period. It was all me. I'm embarrassed about how much I ate, but even more embarrassed about how I let my emotions overtake me. One moment of weakness has virtually erased all of the progress I've made this past month. I let myself down.

Maybe I should weigh in tomorrow. Own up to it and learn from my mistakes. Either way, I need to be careful around my dad and food. Another week like this one and I'm afraid I'll give up...and at this point, I can't afford to do that. My body can't take it.