not dead, just restin’

I haven’t had much to say lately. It’s basically “go to therapy, try not to eat a whole pizza, sleep, work, try not to eat a whole pizza, sleep.” Not very interesting, that. And not very successful, either. Hormel owes me some stock options for the amount of pepperoni I’ve consumed in the last month.

And I guess all the shopping for bathing suits I’ve been doing lately hasn’t helped. I mean, I have to have one because, really, what’s the fucking point of a cruise if you aren’t going to get an all-over tan, yes? The best suit I’ve found so far is a fucking swim dress and I really can’t wrap my head around wearing such a thing. I was a competitive swimmer in high school (yes, the fat floats AND cuts through the water!) so the idea of wearing a suit for any reason other than the practical “covers my bits and doesn’t get in the way” reasons is very foreign to me. So I’ll probably go with a basic black Speedo because I’ve got a little pride left. (Not to say those that wear swimdresses do not. It’s just a weird thing for *me*!)

I’ve also got a new job prospect on the horizon that is guaranteed to add more stress (and more money) to my life. As fragile as I feel emotionally, I can’t ignore an opportunity that’s pretty much been dropped into my lap. None of that pesky coverletter writing or waiting to hear back about an interview, which are, to me, the worst things about job searching. The interviews I can handle and probably even the disappointment of not getting it. It’s working up the nerve to put myself out there over and over again. Anyway, I’ve been focused on that and it makes me crazy and therefore I eat. And lie around because I can’t focus on anything else but that. Needless to say, I haven’t really accomplished much.

But I did do some laundry! And I am still going to therapy! Apparently, I am supposed to give myself credit for doing those things and consistently getting out of bed every day. So, gold stars for me, I guess.

love your body. stop fixing it. it was never broken

A little quote from Eve Ensler there. I found it via Act Boldly and it’s rather appropriate for me right now, I think.

My last therapy appointment was all about how I see weight as a “problem”, not in the sense that it’s unhealthy but in that it makes me a bad and unworthy person. I know I am very wrapped up in the fact that I’ll never be happy until I am thinner. Which is great, except for the fact that I’ll never be thinner unless I figure out how to be happy as I am. What a giant cycle of suck that is but the sooner I deal with it, the better.

My best friend decided she wanted to go on a cruise for her 30th birthday so I said I was up for it. Of course, my first thought was “why can’t she wait until I am not so fat to want to do this? I am going to be the fattest person on the boat! How can I have a good time when I am so gross!” Because, really, that’s the healthiest reaction to the news I am going on an awesome vacation, right?

If I keep waiting around to do interesting and exciting things, I am never going to do anything. Which, I dunno, maybe that’s what I am trying to do. Completely avoid life at all costs. Because fat people don’t deserve to be happy, doncha know? How dare I go out and dance until dawn or lay in the sun without a care in the world? I’ve got work to do, here. I should be covered from head to toe and stuck in a dark corner until I am the right shape to dare show my face in public.

I mean, there where times in college, when I was out having a great time dancing and being goofy with my friends and some asshole felt the need to point and laugh at me. Or slide up to me on the dance floor and do the whole “it’s hilarious that a guy might want to dance with you!” schtick. I mean, the fuck? I am just minding my own business but somehow my fatness gives you the right to piss on my parade?

And now I pretty much believe that. I don’t have the right to go out and have a good time because I am worthless and people will laugh at me. Can you really blame me for believing that? It’s ingrained in us since *birth* that thin and pretty means you are better.

I have absolutely no idea how to love myself in this body because no one has ever taught me that I possibly could do such a thing. So now I am thirty and trying to erase years and years of learning how to hate myself. It’s just so damn hard, it makes me tired. Like, I just want to cry. My therapist was trying to tell me that my fattness does not disqualify me for things like dating. And I could not wrap my head around that. I don’t trust anyone who would want to date me. That’s so fucked up!! But even trying to think of being worthy actually brought tears to my eyes. Gah.

How do I learn to love myself? Tape affirmations to my bathroom mirror? Say nice things to myself all day long? It just seems like such an uphill battle, I don’t know what to do.

dear universe: stop making it MORE difficult

Okay, today? I’ve been desperately trying to make, if not super healthy, at least *better* food choices. For example, this morning, we went downstairs to the greasy BBQ place that has THE BEST hashbrows in the whole wide world. But I? I did not order them. I ordered scrambled eggs and, er, bacon. But still! Baby steps. So when I get back to my desk, I find that I have fried eggs AND a big pile of hasbrowns. Thankfully, a co-worker traded me eggs and I gave her my hasbrowns.

Then! At lunch, I ordered a half-order of hibachi chicken (which usually comes with yummy stir-fried veggies) and a California roll to go. When I got back to my desk, there was just chicken, no veggies and big pile of white rice. *head desk*

WORK WITH ME HERE! Jeez. *sigh*

like, omg

Therapist (I must think of a new name for her) wants me to journal about all the little freak versions of me that live in my head. I know I am not the first person to come up with this concept. And other people have blogged about it in much more creative and interesting ways. I don’t have the energy to go look for cute pictures of all the voices in my head. Heh. I’ll guess I’ll pick one of the *many* and go with it.

Let’s start with Teen!Me. I was reading Megan McCafferty’s retro blog yesterday and her posts from her journals as a kid and teenager are very reminscent of the Teen!Me. An unhealthy obsession with boys, self-indulgent whining about how very important really trivial things are, promises to CHANGE MY LIFE because I CAN BE A BETTER PERSON and a love of all things sparkly. That’s the Teen!Me that lives in my head.

She thinks she is really fugly and no boy will ever love her. And she can’t think of anything worse than not having a date for the dance. Her little corner of my mind is pink and glittery, with Justin Timberlake posters and lots of fuzzy pillows and pens filled with sparkly ink. She really wishes I would make my journal jazzier and she totally hates that I wear such boring clothes to work.

Teen!Me likes to talk about all the things she never got to do when I was actually a teenager. She lives vicariously through teen movies and romance novels. She’s pretty sure she missed out on the most awesome stuff that ever happens to a girl and she’ll never know what any of that cool stuff felt like. When she’s not drawing hearts around Orlando Bloom, she’s whining that I am wasting even more of my life and she wishes I would just shut up about how hard things are because she’s going to fail another Spanish test and it can’t possibly be more traumatic than being behind at work. She doesn’t get along with Mom at all but wants to call her anyway because sometimes a girl just needs her mommy.

She has a lot of really creative and crazy ideas for how my hair should look, what kind of car I should drive and what shoes I should buy next. She finds the fashion choices available to be cringeworthy and if she’s sees another old lady floral print cotten blouse with lace accent, she is totally going to hurl all over her bright-white K-Swiss, thank you very much. Teen!Me isn’t sure what she wants to be when she grows up, maybe a graphic designer or a writer, but she knows it isn’t what I am doing right now. She’s kind of pissed at me most of the time because I don’t put her neverending energy and enthusiam to good use. But she also hates cleaning her room and isn’t afraid to throw a tantrum to get out of it. This usually ends with me eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and watching 10 Things I Hate About You.

teeny, tiny baby steps

I had my first appointment with my therapist yesterday. I did a lot of research before I chose her and thank goodness I lucked upon a list of therapist that deal specifically with eating disorders and obesity. For some reason, it was very important for me to find someone like that. I guess it’s just a comforting feeling to know they at least *try* to understand.

Anyway, I met with her yesterday and she was very nice. I explained to her that I went from feeling and looking the best I ever had to this downward spiral I can’t seem to stop and I just can’t figure out why. She didn’t laugh at me, so she gets points there. She basically said it might get harder before it gets easier and I sort of already figured that out but it was good to hear. She also said that I should give myself credit for getting out and doing things like going to the dentist and making the appointment with her. Sometimes, I feel like an idiot for needed to be proud of myself for doing things that other people find completely normal and mundane but sometimes, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like a human being. She made it very clear she’s not one of those “oh, just pull yourself up by your boot straps!” people and that depression is not something that’s easy to work your way out of, especially if it’s to the point mine seems to be. I guess it was reassuring for a professional to tell me that I am not, in fact, insane and that this is not some weird thing I am imagining.

So I’ll be seeing her once a week for the timing being. It’s covered by my insurance, other than a $10 copay, so that’s good. Hopefully, I’ll be able to figure my way out of this eventually. I am not even focused on the food right now. Just getting out of bed and then maybe getting my brain working right again.

my soul could use a little good

I have a confession to make. Just five minutes ago, I was eating a piece of chocolate caramel cake with my hands while sitting in my car in the parking garage where I work.

So, this is what rock bottom looks like!

it comes in pints?!?

I went to the grocery store and bought $70 worth of food. Lots of fruits and veggies. Oh joy! I didn’t go completely crazy with the low-carb. If I decide to go that route, as it worked last time, I am going to need to ease into it. I figured I’d start by maybe not buying frozen pizza and ice cream. Score one for the good guys!

Then when I got home I cleaned out the freezer. So much wasted food, I almost cried when I had to throw it out. That’s why I tried not to go too crazy at the grocery store. I hate to waste food like that so I really need to be reasonable about things. But now I have a cleaned out freezer with only one little pint of chocolate ice cream to go with the fruit and veggies. Score two for the good guys!

However, since I was supposed to have done all that this weekend and instead spent it laying around on my rapidly expanding ass, I am going to call it even in the good v. bad struggle.

In other news, I should not had the giant chicken burrito and chips from Chipotle for lunch because now all I want to do is go to bed. I suppose getting 14 hours asleep would be a good way to keep my calories low. Heh.

is THAT what you are going to wear?

Yesterday, I ordered $100 worth of shirts from EddieBauer.com because it’s hot herrrrre in Texas and I weigh more than I did last Spring, so nothing I own fits me. I kept putting it off because I hate spending money on “fat” clothes. I always want to just wait until I am thinner to go shopping because I guess I think I’ll end up with a closet full of expensive clothes that don’t fit? I don’t know. But when I came to work in a t-shirt and my stretchy black pants yesterday, I realized that I looked like I was in my pajamas and that just wasn’t right.

Of course, it’s so hard to shop after you’ve gained weight because *nothing* looks or fit right. Even if it does, all I can see is the extra chins and the way my arms bulge out here and look at the way the fabric clings to my fat roll here and OMG CAN I PLEASE JUST WEAR A MUMU AND BE DONE WITH IT?

One of the most frustrating thing about being fat is not really being able to have a very personal sense of style. I spend the majority of my shopping just trying to find things that *fit* without making me feel like a hippo. I don’t have a lot of time to be picky about colors or cut or anything like that. If the pants zip and they aren’t too long, that’s about as far as I can go. Most of the time, I end up expressing myself through my shoes or earrings because it’s a little easier to accessorize.

And, unfortunately, I don’t find animal print or used hot air balloons to be all that flattering, so shopping in the women’s department of most stores is pretty much pointless. While I applaud stores like Lame Giant Lane Bryant and some of the hipper online stores for at least trying, most of that stuff doesn’t fit me either. Apparently, at my weight, I should be eight inches taller with gigantic boobs and a really wide ass. Instead, I’m a shorty that carries all her weight right in the middle and across the shoulders. So if it fits those things, the extra material around my breasts could be useful for, I don’t know, shopping for fruit or something. And if a pair of pants fits me around the waist, I guarantee you that they will be too long because of my flat ass and unusually slim thighs. So even things that would normally be a positive for most women make me fashion challenged.

I am also not a fan of flowing tunics that are cut down to my navel. Yes, bigger girls can be sexy and all that jazz but 99% of it isn’t appropriate for work. So, thanks Torrid but I am going to have to skip that sparkly tube top for now.

ctrl-alt-delete

I don’t know if it’s dramatic irony or just coincidence but I started updating this thing regularly *last* March as well. I’d just found out about a friend’s upcoming wedding and it really boosted me in to gear. The upside is I only weigh 13lbs more now than I did at this time last year. Oh, wait. That’s not an upside at all!

I thought I’d experienced everything a Fat Girl could experience but I was wrong. I now know what it’s like to be successful and have people notice it and then see those same people all the time and be completely appalled at what I know they are seeing. Those 30ish pounds I lost last year were the most significant of my life. I felt so good and I was so proud of myself. And then it all went to shit. It’s a first for me to have that much success and then screw up. I’m more of a lose five pounds and then give up type of girl.

It’s a bit like that saying about loving and losing or never having loved, blah blah whatever. I think both ways suck, honestly. I kind of wish I didn’t know what it was like to be able to wear smaller jeans and have people notice. On the other hand, at least it’s out there and I know if I give it effort, I can do it and after awhile, it’s not that hard. The getting started is the hardest part for me and I just need to figure out how to break through and do it. I mean, I know how, really. My problem is always in the doing part.

I contacted a therapist that supposedly specializes in obesity issues. It was weird trying to Google for a doctor or therapist that focused on the fat. The majority of the links I got were for surgery and I don’t even want to think about that. But she seemed to be genuine about it, so I e-mailed her. Of course, I haven’t heard back yet but I am trying. I understand that part of the reason I fell off the wagon, so to speak, was because I was only dealing with my food issues and not with all the reasons I want to overeat. For those of you out there who always say that you don’t have emotional issues, you just don’t move enough and you make bad food choices, well, I envy you because I am very not that at all. So I’ve got to make sure I keep my depression under control because I cannot deal with both eating better/exercising AND not wanting to get out of bed. Just not going to work.

Am I depressed because I am fat or am I fat because I am depressed? It’s a bit chicken before the egg. It doesn’t really matter because I don’t have one without the other in the end. If I am not depressed, I am less likely to be fat. If I am not fat, I am less likely to be depressed. They go hand in hand.

Can I talk in any more clichés? I bet I can.

Anyway! The point is I am stuck in a rut (and my desk chair) and I’ve got to get out of it or the cycle of depression-pizza-pizza-depression will never ever end.

one in the hand is worth two in the cube

After my painfully honest and pitiful post on Friday, I spent a lot of time at my desk thinking of all the things I was going to do over the weekend to make some positive changes in my life. It’s pretty easy to sit in a cube and convince yourself that just *thinking* about doing things get’s you pretty close to doing them. But if you are anything like me, it’s about three counties away in reality.

I mean, I am the best planner. I can get a little notebook and plan the shit out of my next health renaissance. Getting off my ass and actually doing it all is a totally different thing. And I know that’s part of my problem. Grandious plans with multiple steps that extend months into the future are, of course, more overwhelming than the Actually Doing center of my brain can compute. So I end up at more of the “fuck it!” stage than anything.

Which would explain that when I was finally unchained from my desk, I ran straight to Chili’s and ordered enough food for at least three people. I suppose I should get some credit for not eating it all in one sitting, right? No, not really. Because then I proceeded to sit on my ass all weekend long. Not a dish was washed nor an apple purchased.

Just thinking about the energy I will need to extend to get where I need to go in anyway makes me want to crawl under my bed and never ever come out except to feed the cats and watch Veronica Mars. Where can one go to buy perspective? I need a six pack something fierce.