i feel sometimes...

...i wanted you to know...i love the way you laugh...i want to hold you high and steal your pain away

...i keep your photograph...i know it serves me well..i want to hold you high and steal your pain away

 

cos i'm broken when i'm open i don't feel like i am strong enough

cos i'm broken when i'm lonesome and i don't feel light when you're gone away

 

...the worst is over now...and we can breathe again...i want to hold you high you steal my pain away

...there's so much left to learn...and no one left to fight...i want to hold you high and steal your pain

 

cos i'm broken when i'm open and i don't feel like i am strong enough

cos i'm broken when i'm lonesome and i don't feel light when you're gone away

Belly

There was a time, a long time ago, I think, that I enjoyed my belly.  For one, it is fun to say.  Bellybellybelly.  For two, it is fun to make fun of people's bellies.  "There is a dime on my belly" still makes me laugh.  For three, it is hard to do a belly roll without much of a belly.

 

But now, my belly and I aren't getting along.  All of the weight I have gained has gone directly to my belly; so now, it protrudes out from the front of my body like a foreign thing.  They say that when you have to bend over to see your toes, it is a bad sign.  I'm at that fucking sign, folks.  (Yes, it deserves an f-bomb.)

 

And I'm kind of sad about it because I got my belly tattooed because it was the seat of my soul.  When I was meditating or praying, my hands would automatically go there and cradle the ink I designed myself.  But now, I just stay away from my belly altogether because it is so freaking round and in the way.  I still feel the seat of my soul is there; it is just furrowed down underneath all of the damn belly.

 

The last time I saw my dad, he said that he would like me to "lose a little of my middle" by the next time he saw me.  That's been a year ago, and I have gone up a size in that time.  That makes me feel like a loser, a failure.  Even though I am taking steps NOW to get healthier, I couldn't give him what he asked me for, and that makes things difficult for me.  (I DID manage to tell him that I'd like to see him with a few less beers next time I saw him, but I didn't see either of those things happening.  That kind of made me feel good.)

 

But what can I say?  I'm a fat girl, and I'm trying to get healthy.  I have this tremendous belly, and I'm trying to get rid of it.  It takes a long time, though; and sometimes, I think people have unrealistic expectations.  I know I did / have / probably still do.  So, my belly is going to disappoint people, and that disappoints me.

 

Damn the belly.

5/25/10

So, I have a confession.

 

I haven't been completely sticking to my eating plan.  I *have* gotten on the treadmill on all the days I am supposed to do so (I take one full day of rest per week, usually Saturday); so, that is good.  However, I haven't been sticking to my eating plan.  I have been derailing myself with mini twix, mini musketeers, "emergency" Jimmy Johns, and KFC.  I was steady at 233.0 all week long; and then, today, 234.2.  It seems like a small amount; but when the scale goes up, I go down, down, down.

 

"So, what are you going to do about it?"

I can hear it from across cyberspace.  But the truth is:  I don't know.  I don't know if this is a question of willpower or self-exploration.  Why can't I stick to the plan?  Why do I keep sabotaging my progress?

 

I honestly don't think this is an issue of willpower.  I truly do think that there is a part of me, on a base, instinct level, that wants to eff things up.  Frog once told me that I was comfortable in the uncomfortable - that I was at my most normal when everything was hectic and in a tizzy.  For a long time, she was right; but I worked long and hard to get out of that space...except it creeps up every now and then.  Like now.  Amidst all of the not sticking to my eating plan drama, I've dreamed up a bunch of unhappy drama that I think will only be fixed by wiping the slate clean, getting the hell out of Dodge, and starting over somewhere else.  If I try hard enough, I can see her.  A little black and grey bitch, hobbling along trying to jump up on my back and drag me down into the muck.  I have to fight her every day.  Most days, I win.  Some days, I don't.  I don't think she is my lack of willpower, though.  I think she is the visualization of my BPD.  And she wants me to swing back and forth.  She wants me to go crazy all over again.  But I'm not going to go there.  I will not go there.

 

But digging up my roots and running with my tail between my legs isn't my truth either.  I will still be the same person I am now, just in a different city, still with the same bitch I keep trying to keep at bay.  I do wonder, through, if she'd be happier in Florida?

 

And all of that leaves me with this:  I am doing this to myself.

Which leaves me with this:  If I am doing this, I can stop doing it.

Which leaves me with this:  If I can stop doing it, it is a matter of choice.

Which leaves me with this:  If it is a matter of choice, I get to choose the outcome.

 

I get to choose the outcome.  Maybe not yesterday's outcome, but right now's outcome.  Five minutes from now's outcome.  Tonight's outcome and tomorrow's outcome.  I can make sure that I get on the treadmill tonight as I have been doing.  I can choose to do better tomorrow than I have today, even if it is only by an increment.

 

"It doesn't have to be all or nothing."

 

Again, I hear it from across cyberspace, and I understand logically.  My higher brain understands.  It is just taking longer to filter the message down to my more basic personalities, my more instinctive individuals.  Little by little, the message gets to the intended targets; and little by little, I do better, I react better, I am better.  I'm not hiding anymore, and that was a huge step for me.  All of these other little, baby steps will add up to huge steps for me, too, but I have to recognize that they will come in their own time.  Bit by bit, everything will begin to add up into strength, empowerment, and a strong will.

 

So shall it be.

The 56 million-dollar question

So, I'm sure my scant reader(s) wants to know:  Did you get on the treadmill last night?  Did you follow the rules?

 

Yes, my friends, I did.  And while I was on that treadmill for five whole minutes, in between thoughts of wanting to quit at two minutes, then three minutes, I began to think of how I got here.  How was it that I came to weigh 233 pounds?  My mind and I have been ruminating over this question for a while because before you can move forward, you have to understand the past.

 

I'm not a binge eater.  I never have been.  I'm not a sneak eater.  I've never hidden food from my parents, my husband, etc.  I'm just a ritual eater.  If I get stuck on a favorite, I will eat it for months - even if it is bad.  For example, when Jimmy John's opened up near work, I got stuck on their #14 with cheese and extra mayo.  That is over 1,000 calories right there.  For lent last year, I got stuck on McDonald's fish sammiches (two at a time, yo) with a dessert of cinnamon melts.  That lasted a few months, too.

 

Also, I am addicted to sugar.  I am not kidding at all when I say that at 30 years old, I have a 30-year history with Pepsi.  My parents were putting it in my bottle when I was a baby.  (Yes, we are hillbilly folk.)  Then, I discovered Diet Dr. Pepper and OMG I had to have them all the time.  I've done pretty well at kicking the pop habit and drinking more water, but I can't yet drink plain water.  The water has to be fizzy or have a flavoring of some sort.  Another aspect of my sugar addiction is sweets.  Candy, cookies, cake, brownies - I've had long-term relationships with all of them.  I particularly crave candy when I'm around my period time, and I don't seem to have the willpower to say no to the craving.  Right now, even, there are cookies and cake in the break room, and I am having a hard time not having some even though I  ate a clean breakfast and a clean mid-morning boost (yay me!).  It is the sugar, man.  If I can break THAT habit, I think I will be much better off.

 

Another factor in the weightiness of fish is the fact that I have been living off of processed foods for fifteen years.  As I learn more about eating clean, I see that my diet has been crap since I was in high school where they used to bring in pizza hut, taco bell, and burger king for lunch options.  Even if I brown bagged it, I'd get a pizza to go with my lunch and eat both so my mom wouldn't know I didn't want my lunch.  Sometimes, I still do it!  I will bring a lunch, but I will get something else and eat both because I don't want hubby to know that I didn't eat my lunch.  I guess that is the only way I've ever "hidden" food.

 

So, that is how I got here.  Little by little, I am figuring out how to get away from here.  Wish me luck!