Maybe There is Something to It...

I'm staring to think there is something to this destiny thing.

Tonight, I finished wrapping Christmas presents and was putting everything away when the shelf in my bedroom suddenly gave way. I was kind of stunned at first, thanking God nothing had landed on my head and knocked me out. Then I realized that was completely pinned down. (The shelves aren't heavy, but we keep cookbooks, magazines, etc, there, and that stuff IS heavy.) My leg was twisted funny because I was reaching to put stuff away, and my left thigh was stuck under the rubble.

Of course it was.

Because I was going to put my wrapping stuff away, get up off my fat butt and go exercise. I SWEAR I was. TODAY was the day. (Don't look at your computer screen like that! I meant it this time! I'm going to fucking Disney World and I don't want to be too damn fat for everything!)

I could barely stand and my thigh is bruising nicely already. I guess...at least I'm alive, right?

Family Pride

My brother has had his low points. He's had trouble with drugs...with the law. He stole our mother's jewelry to pawn for meth money. He's stolen checks. He's lied. He's hurt a lot of people. He has not been a very good person.

Today he graduated into the National Guard. There have been times I wanted to wash my hands of him; I was so angry with him and the choices he made.

Today, I am so proud of him, I am almost bursting. I contemplated driving 6 hours to see him and then 6 hours home to make it in time to go to work tomorrow. (Obviously, I didn't do that.)

I am so proud of him and this choice that he made. Lots of the kids that signed up with him went home. They gave up and never made it. He stuck it out...and his goals are so different now. He wants to go to college. He wants to get a good job. He wants to make something of himself.

We've been texting back and forth tonight as he's trying to get home. He told me some guy told him "Thanks for serving," and gave him airline money to buy drinks on the plane. He also said "Too bad I'm not 21 yet." In the weeks before basic training, he was pulled over (underage) for a DUI...now I trust him to make the right decision. He sent me another message telling me he'd been upgraded to first class.

Politically, no matter what personal views on the war are, our service men and women deserve our support and respect. I'm so proud of my brother for making the choice to stand up for our country.

God Bless.

The Great Closet Clean-Out

I have big closets.



They're huge. This picture of the one in the girls' room was taken shortly after we moved in and got all unpacked. (Hence the reason everything looks so clean and organized!) My closet is exactly the same...except it's jam packed full of crap.

Dresses: I have a brand new $400 wedding dress hanging up in the garmet bag with the tags still attached. I have the maternity dress that I actually wore for my wedding hanging next to it. I also have all my old prom dresses.

Jeans: HOLY shit, do I have a lot of jeans. Fat jeans, skinny jeans, and every size in between jeans. Lots and lots of jeans.

Hangers: The next time we're at the thrift store, and I say, "Hey, we should get some hangers while we're here," tell me NO! NO, NO, NO! We have enough fucking hangers!

Pictures: The Hubster is a photographer. An honest to God-used-to-get-paid-to-take-pictures photographer. I have so many damn pictures, it's insane. At our old place, we had wall space for them. We had a whole wall dedicated to his hockey pictures, etc. Not here, though. Here, they live in a box. (Some of them were still wrapped in newspaper from our move over a year ago.)

"Time Capsule" Objects: Again, that would be the Hubster. That man...he's a pack rat. I cannot get him to throw shit away. We have the paper from our kids' birthdays every fucking year. The whole damn paper. And maybe, MAYBE, one day, it will be fun to look back on them...but right now, when we're living in an apartment the size of a bathroom, it's not OKAY with me to keep them. Perhaps if he took care of them...preserved them so that they're actually readable in a few years, it would be okay with me...Right now? NOT OKAY.

Fabric: This one is all me. Like I have time to make that quilt, right? Out, out, OUT!

STUFF: Where the hell did all this stuff come from? I don't care what it is. I don't care how it got here. I just want it out of my closet! If it's been on the floor, in a box, or shoved into a corner for the past year, I probably don't need it anymore. (Okay, the handheld Uno game I forgot I had was a pretty cool find...along with the other half of my jewelry box.)

It's getting there...I had to wrap Christmas presents tonight, too. One of these days, my kids are going to wonder why they're banned from my room this time of year. One of these days, I'm going to be able to find all the presents I bought for them. One of these days, I'm going to fit into all those clothes hanging on "The Back Rack."

But not today. I swear, just thinking about getting up to exercise made me start coughing. Must be my body telling me I'm still too sick...right?

One Last Kiss

When I was growing up, my mother wanted me to date more.

Not that she wanted me to be a floozy...she just didn't want me to fall for one guy and get "stuck" at a young age.

She was married to my stepfather, and I knew how their relationship was, so I adamantly refused to take love life advice from her. Sometimes, though, I wish that I had listened.

I did tend to fall for just one guy...I never dated around. I thought I was fat. (And I was, but it wasn't fatal.) I was terrible at choosing, too. I picked the one that hit me. The one that never respected me. The one who hurt me time and time again.

Since I didn't date a lot of boys, I didn't kiss a lot of boys, either. Unfortunately, I can count on one hand the number I've kissed. (God, is that pathetic? I guess I'd never thought of it like that before.)

Don't get me wrong. The Hubster is a great kisser. But we're married. We have jobs, and kids, and a home to take care of. We don't waste much time just kissing. (Because when we do, it tends to lead to other things!)

I don't know why I'm so hung up on kissing...probably because I'm sick and haven't been doing much kissing of anyone lately.

I do wish I had kissed more boys. It's weird, I know, but I do.

This is SO Not Helpful

You Are Destined to Struggle With Your Weight

Like most people, you find it a little difficult to stay at at weight you're comfortable with.If you change a few habits and make food less important, you may find the struggle hardly exists anymore.

Are You Destined To Be Overweight?

The Best Laid Plans

"The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry." (Robert Burns)

I had plans today. Plans that included getting up, choosing from one of my many, many (many!) exercise DVDs, working out, and then taking a refreshing shower.

My plans did not include the migraine that woke me up, the vomiting that arrived with the migraine, the wicked case of vertigo that took me off my feet, or the several hour long nap I took a few minutes after getting out of bed.

It's hours and hours later, and I'm just now starting to feel like myself again.

"Plans are only good intentions unless they immediately degenerate into hard work."
(Peter Drucker)

Getting Published

I have a dream.

I have lots of dreams, actually.

I'd like to be happy with the way I look.
I'd like to own a house someday.
I'd like to have more children.
I'd like to be published.

I love to write. I love putting myself out here in print. It's just something I do. I never realized I was good at it.

I was actually surprised when people commented on my writing...like I said, it's just something I do.

I have stories, words, paragraphs, sentences in my head. All the time.
I have notebooks and journals that I've filled with short stories. Poetry. Comments to myself.

There was a story that kept beating at me until I started to write it down. 52,811 words later, it was a book. An honest to goodness-sending it to a publisher-ready to get rejected book. My book has not been published yet. I don't have high hopes that it will make it, because I know the number of undiscovered masterpieces is unmentionable, and what I wrote--while fantastic--is no masterpiece.

I write other things, too. Earlier this year, I started writing articles for Helium.com. I've written several, but I enjoy reading the articles of others even more. There's a section there called the Marketplace, where publisher post titles of articles they're looking for. Helium writers right the articles, and the publisher picks which one they want.

They picked me.
I got the e-mail earlier this week, and words just could not describe the euphoria I felt.
I'm getting published.
The pay is...well, the pay is $16, and I just can't find a good word to describe that amount...but it's more than I've ever been paid for anything else I've ever written.

Published. FINALLY.

The Key Ingredients for Grasping a Second Chance at Life

Up and at 'em

Even if I miss my alarm(s) in the morning, the sound of the front door opening is sure to get me out of bed in a heartbeat.

Not because I think there's an intruder, and I'm worried for the safety of my family--no, I know that it's the Hubster returning from delivering the paper.

No, I haul ass out of bed because if I don't, and the Hubster comes in to wake me up, he'll get fresh with me. That's right. FRESH. And I love him, I do. But when I just woke up and I'm not quite coherent yet, I don't need or want him climbing into bed with up to feel me up or kiss me awake. Sometimes he's sweaty. Sometimes he had morning breath. Sometimes I have morning breath--and he may not care about it, but I do.

So this morning, when I heard the front door open, I jumped out of bed, not realizing that my alarm hadn't even gone off yet. (Okay, my early early one did, but I slept right through it.) After going to the bathroom and donning a bra, I exited the bedroom, surprising the Hubster, who had gotten up early because of "the time change," and then finished early as well. "Good," I told him. "Now we can exercise."

We did, too. 15 minutes of Pilates is better than 0 minutes, right? This was my third consecutive day of at least a little bit of exercise, and I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.

Rock on.

Do you know what this is?

I don't think I ever would have guessed it.
It's my arm.

I was standing in the hallway, watching my kids trick or treat when the Hubster snapped this picture. Disgusting. Is the back of my arm really so...fat?

Then I remember. I'm fat. I'm a fat lady, remember? (I'm the one who sings. This is where I park.)

But my God...how often do I see the back of my arms? I had no idea they looked like THAT!

Fat arms.
Fat legs.
Fat hands.
Fat feet.
Fat face.
Fat butt.
Fat stomach.
Fat back.



Fat Lady.

This Girl

I love this girl.

This girl laughs so hard, she cries.
She talks so much, her mouth gets dry.
She doesn't care that she's fat.
She doesn't hide behind her weight.
She doesn't hate everything about herself.

She doesn't come around very often, but I saw her today.
And I captured her in this photograph.
And I wish...that I could be this girl more often.

I love this girl.

I'm on a Roll...

Or rather, the rolls are on me. And I'm SICK of them.

Could tomorrow be the day?

My doctor suggested I might have an eating disorder, which I kind of blew off...but I think she might be right. She said she would give me an appetite suppressant, but really, I don't eat because I'm hungry...I eat because I want to eat. Not a good sign, is it? She recommended a few, more costly programs, but then suggested Over eater's Anonymous. That's free, right? I pulled up their website tonight...they had a meeting 4 hours ago, which I missed, of course...but I'm kind of freaking out right about now. (Honesty is the best policy, right?)

Are You a Compulsive Over eater?
Welcome to Over eaters Anonymous. This series of questions may help you determine if you are a compulsive over eater.
Do you eat when you're not hungry?
Yes. Every day. All the time.

Do you go on eating binges for no apparent reason?
Yes. Sometimes I have a reason...not a good one, probably, but a reason, nonetheless. Most of the time, though, it's just eating.

Do you have feelings of guilt and remorse after overeating?
Yes. God, all the time.

Do you give too much time and thought to food?
Yes. I call it menu planning...but I think about food constantly.

Do you look forward with pleasure and anticipation to the time when you can eat alone?
Yes. Because I don't want people to judge me on what I'm eating, so I hide it.

Do you plan these secret binges ahead of time?
Yes...

Do you eat sensibly before others and make up for it alone?
Sometimes.

Is your weight affecting the way you live your life?
Yes.

Have you tried to diet for a week (or longer), only to fall short of your goal?
All the time. Every day. Every moment for the last 20 years.

Do you resent others telling you to "use a little willpower" to stop overeating?
No, but I've never had anyone tell me that...except for my doctor. (And I resented it.)

Despite evidence to the contrary, have you continued to assert that you can diet "on your own" whenever you wish?
Yes.

Do you crave to eat at a definite time, day or night, other than mealtime?
Not necessarily.

Do you eat to escape from worries or trouble?
Yes. (Does it help? No--but that doesn't mean I stop trying.)

Have you ever been treated for obesity or a food-related condition?
See my post on fat lady problems. I'm currently considered pre-diabetic and suffer from PCOS.

Does your eating behavior make you or others unhappy?
Me. Me. Me. It's makes me unhappy.

Have you answered yes to three or more of these questions? If so, it is probable that you have or are well on your way to having a compulsive overeating problem.

I'm freaking out. I'm scared to go alone...but I need help. (You hear that? I need HELP!)

Eyes Wide Open (Or "I Can See Clearly Now")

I bought my first pair of glasses in 2001. It was exciting because with them, I could see things that had been blurry for quite some time, they made me look different, and my insurance covered them.

Fast forward almost 7 years, 2 pairs, and 2 (3?) insurance companies later. My prescription has changed every year, which means every year I'm forking over more and more money for a decent pair of eyes. While the price of living (and everything else in the world) keeps going up, my insurance coverage has gone down the drain. Imagine my distress to learn that my most recent prescription was going to cost me $250+ for lenses alone!

I'm done buying new glasses and lenses every year. I've watched my husband pop contacts in and out for 8 years...it's no big deal, right?

WRONG...but I'm learning, and it's gotten easier every day.

It's been fun. It's amazing walking around the grocery store or driving or...just doing anything without these damn glasses on my face! (Yes, I still have the invisible pair that I reach to adjust or move occasionally.)

I haven't worn glasses forever. It's only been 7 years. But a lot happens in 7 years, and apparently, people forget what you really look like.

I definitely have to take better care of my eyebrows, and be more careful with my eye makeup since I don't have glasses to hide behind anymore. It's so...liberating to be free from frames.

Someone told me today that they never realized I had such pretty eyes. I guess they've been hiding, too.

RUN

I love magnet poetry.

I love those little letters and words that seem so random, yet tie together so perfectly. I got a page free somewhere, and found an entire box for a quarter at a garage sale, so the front of my fridge is covered in words. I play with them, the kids play with them, and apparently, Little Sister's Polly pockets use them as skates. They tend to wander when no one is looking, and little words end up all over the house.

Tonight, I've just had it. Another argument with Big Sister, and the way she treats me and Little Sister, and how the Hubster does nothing about it. I lost it, big time. Went on a screaming rampage. Told both of them that I was going to take Little Sister and leave because she doesn't deserve to be treated the way Big Sister treats her...how she's going to wind up hating her because all she ever does is yell at her. I've just had it. I'm done with half assed "I'm sorry's" that don't mean anything. I'm done with the Hubster standing by and watching it happen. I'm just done.

I've started picking things up when I'm mad...It's a habit I picked up from the Hubster, I think. Something psychological about controlling the physical chaos when I'm on an emotional roller coaster. I folded a basket of laundry. I cleaned one of the bathrooms. I organized the shoes in the rack by the front door.

RUN.

I saw it through my tears as I picked up, strangely enough, one of my running shoes. The little rectangular word, free from it's magnetic prison of the fridge, lost in the carpet, staring up at me.

RUN.

Is it a sign? That I'm really done? That it's time to just give up trying to fix things, cut my losses and go?

RUN.

How odd that I found that particular word at that moment in time. Does it mean something? Do I listen?

My Life is SAD

My life has been so stressful in the last month.

I just...can't even find the words to describe it.

I haven't eaten right. I haven't exercised. I haven't wanted to do any of the things I normally do. I'm tired all the time.

It's SAD. I know it is.

I am so far from fine this year. Fall is hitting us kind of early...the leaves changed from green to yellow to red to brown, fell off, and blew away all in one day while I was at work. One day it was 80, and the next morning, it was 34. I hate the cold. I hate Fall. I hate living here.

It's so easy to blame it all on the weather.

It can't be the turmoil of the challenges of everyday life, having two children in school, being employed full time, so far away from my family, or the distance of the friends I used to be so close to, right?

It has to be the weather.

The "D" Word, the Other "D" Word, and the "S" Word.

I had my yearly physical last week. I'd been looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time... you know how it is.

I really, really like my doctor. While I can't say exactly WHY I chose her, I can say that I knew she would help me do something about my weight. She's always been honest with me and I don't have to worry about her sugar coating it for me. I also don't have to worry about her telling me all my problems are weight related. (I HATE that!)

Two years ago, we were discussing my weight (I was crying, of course,) and she asked me, "Have you ever considered weight loss surgery?"

I looked at her, shocked and said, "I guess I didn't think I was that...far gone."

In her brutally honest way, she told me the truth. "You are. At your weight, you'd certainly qualify."

I was stunned. I thought that surgery was only an option for people who had far more to lose than I did. Was I really that overweight?

Yes. I was. I weighed 274 pounds. 274! Every time I think about that number, I just shudder. I can't believe it had grown so high. And SURGERY? I couldn't handle the thought. I told her I wanted to do it on my own. I thought I could.

I still think I can. But now I'm not so sure.

As for the words...

Diabetes. My blood sugar was high again this year. Not REALLY high--in fact, only 3 points above normal, but it's the third year in a row I've been high. I was dreading that call telling me I'd developed diabetes. Luckily, I didn't get it. She did bring up the term "borderline," though. I laughed and said, "I thought diabetes was like pregnancy; you either have it, or you don't." She laughed right back and said that it is, but just like you can have pregnancy scares, you can have diabetes scares, too. Next year, my glucose might be high enough to make an official diagnosis. Time to do something about it.

Diet Pills. This was the first year she offered me diet pills, which surprised me. I'm worried she thinks I can't do this on my own, and it's making me start to doubt myself. I turned down two pills that would "help block fat absorption," (read: give me diarrhea) and one appetite suppressant. I don't eat because I'm hungry...I eat because I want to eat. So now she thinks I might be a compulsive over eater...and I think she's right about that. I'm looking into it. I'm giving myself 6 months. If I can't get myself under control, I'll rethink the diet pills.

Surgery. The thought scares me to tears, really. I know several people who have gone through with it and several more who are considering it. Some really needed it for health reasons. Some, I think, saw it as an easy, lazy way out. I know there are different options, and it's not nearly as dangerous as it used to be, but still... If I haven't made significant improvement and I'm not well on my way to a healthier life in two years...then I'll consider it.

I think I can do it. I hope so, anyway.

The Water Thing...

Life has been hectic...but moving on.

A friend of mine passed on some good advice from her doctor. What you do is take your body weight in pounds, and half that. That number is how many ounces of water you should drink every day. Believe it or not, I've heard that advice before, I just can't remember where.

So, I weigh roughly 240 pounds right now, which means I should be drinking 120 ounces of water a day. That's A LOT of water. But it's not as hard as I thought it would be.

I've actually been drinking a whole gallon of water a day, which is about 128 ounces, for the past week. I'm feeling pretty good about myself, too. There was one day that I just couldn't stomach it all, but I made up for it the next day.

On Monday, I took a gallon jug of water to work and filled up a glass all day. The next day, I brought another jug of water, and the empty jug from the day before. (I now carry a jug with me everywhere. It's borderline weird to open it in the car and take a swig.) I filled the empty and popped it in the fridge for the next day, and used the water I'd brought with me. Now I have two jugs at work, and I just carry the one I'm using that day and bring it back empty in the morning. What if I get thirsty before I get to work? Easy. I drink a 16.9 oz bottle of water, and fill it with water from the jug when I get there. Strange, I know, but it works for me. It's my system.

I've got half the people in my office doing the water thing. We're all having a great time in the bathroom.

I was worried about doing it at home today because I tend not too drink much at home--I'm not really sure why. So, this morning, I got out my sharpie and numbered water bottles 1-8. I actually drank8 bottles of water, a glass of milk, and half a glass of soda today. Wowie.

I weighed in at exactly 240 on Monday morning, and I've been going up and down all week--238 on Thursday, 243 on Friday. We'll see what the scale says come Monday morning.

Counting Down...

In just 2 short hours, I will officially be on vacation.
An entire week off...I haven't had that since my maternity leave ended almost five and a half years ago.

I. Can't. Wait.

That's IT.

I am just going to absolutely lose my f-ing mind. Whatever this is my page. I want to say fuck, I'm saying fuck. I'm going to lose my fucking mind.

Miss Late Every Day to Work, Lies on her Time Card, Always Takes Too Long for Break, Shuts her Phone Off for No Reason, and Would Not Shut-up Yesterday when I had the Headache of the Century just went to OUR boss and complained that *I* was talking too much today.

That's it. The gloves are off.

I WAS feeling better today until that. Time for some serious ass kicking.

Could it be?

Is my "Is she pregnant?" pouch a little smaller than it was yesterday, or am I seeing things?

Maybe it's the migraine that woke me up this morning, but I think things might look a little, teensy, tiny bit different. Was it the Pilates from yesterday morning or the 30 seconds of 5 minute abs I did last night?

Feel the Burn

Oh. My. Goodness.

Who knew what 20 minutes of Pilates after a few weeks of inactivity could do to a girl. My arms hurt, my shoulders ache, my legs and buns are screaming, and I actually checked when I sneeze to see if I had, indeed, busted my gut open.

Hmm? Does that mean:

A: I got a good workout?
B: I'm WAY out of shape?
C: Both.

I vote C. And you?

I took a sneak peek at a new video I got...it's a 5 minute Abs workout. I know that before I can hope to see a hint of firmness, I have to get rid of the flab with some major cardio, but I thought I'd take a preview to see what it was like. After all, flat abs in a 5 minute workout sounds almost* too good to be true. (*But not all the way too good to be true, or I wouldn't have bought it.) Holy Lord. There's a ticker across the bottom...and here's me in my PJ's thinking, I'll just try the moves out, right? I was sweaty after about 30 seconds and I wasn't even trying! That's going to be one tough work out!

Must...Resist...

For the past two weeks, I've successfully manage to avoid about 20 million calories in the form of miniature candy bars sitting in a jar just a short walk away from my desk. Each time the container gets blissfully close to empty, some well meaning person refills it. It's been hard, and despite the suggestions that I could "eat just one," I've avoided them altogether because, well...I know myself. I know that "just one" will not happen. "Just 51," maybe, which is (obviously) not what I'm looking for.
This morning, temptation has been knocking me around a little harder. I think it's because I actually got my lazy ass out of bed this morning and exercised. 20 minutes of pilates can work up an appetite.
I walked into the break room to find a container boasting raspberry jelly filled doughnut holes. I spent most of the morning trying to talk myself into believing that it's a "special occasion," and I really could indulge in just one. I resisted.
I went downstairs and found a dish filled with Dove chocolates. I actually took one before I even realized what I'd done and forced myself to put it back. On the way out the door, I looked longingly at the dish, but still, I resisted.
Back to the break room to heat up my healthy lunch of Italian chicken with green beans. There are the doughnut holes again. Damn.

Before anyone pipes up saying that I should indulge at times and not deprive myself of things I want because it makes it worse...I spent most of the weekend at a friend's house, not depriving myself of anything. The booze, pizza, chili-cheese dip, peanut butter M&M's, and licorice were flowing quite freely, and I took it as "a special occasion" since I was doing something I don't normally do. Now is the time to get back on track. I'll be fine. I know I will be.

...but to any of my co-workers who might happen to be reading this: If someone doesn't eat that last freaking doughnut hole, I might just flip out.

The Perils of Being a Fat Lady

Yes, being a Fat Lady can be very treacherous at times. Okay, so there are times when more blame is placed on the weight than should be, but for the most part, it's a dangerous place to be.

Poly-cystic ovaries? Definitely a curse of being overweight.
Dry skin? Probably not.
Asthma? Hmmm...maybe. I'm on the fence about that one.
Sore knees? Fat problem.
Ingrown toenail? No way. (But what if I have fat toes?)
Low energy? Abdominal pain? Stretch marks? Yes, yes, and yes!
Hairy legs? Yeast infection? Chapped lips? Surely not.

I tend to blame all my problems on being fat. I developed a weird pimple this week, and called it my "fat lady pimple."

I know that losing weight won't solve all my problems. Believe me, I've got way more problems that how I look. It's fun to pretend that everything will get better, though. Oh! There's a dose of self-psychology: Since I can control my weight (supposedly) it's easy to think that all my problems will disappear once I'm slimmer. Hell, when I picture myself skinnier, I'm somehow shorter, too. How does that work?

There's a woman in my office building who definitely has some BIG problems. This woman is--unfortunately, there's no nicer way to say it--huge. She wears this disgusting, musky perfume that lingers where ever she's been, and I hate it, but thank God for it because one day she forgot it wear it, and the alternative smell was so much worse. She can only fit in the handicap stall in the bathroom and, for some reason, always takes a huge wad of paper towels in with her. She spends an eternity in there just trying to get herself clean, I imagine. She has left feces on the floor, smeared on the wall, and on the toilet seat. She frequently takes the bag out of the sanitary box to dispose of her things personally in the main garbage. Woe is the person who enters that stall after her. It's disgusting.

Yet, I feel for this woman. I know the problems I have at what is probably half of her weight. I can't imagine what she goes through every day just to get out of the house. (Although, please, please stop wearing sleeveless shirts to work.) There are lots of real perils of being a Fat Lady, and I'm sure this woman has lived through every one. There are times I wish I was friends with her, or knew her, and could say, "Hey Sally, let's go take a walk on our lunch." or "Let's go grab something at the salad bar."

I'm sure it's a medical condition--according to my boss, anyway--but at some point, there has got to come a day where you look in the mirror and decide to get rid of the Fat Lady for good.

Going Under

Depression.
It's become such a common word. Something millions of people suffer from every day.
It doesn't make me special, but it does pose a problem in my plan.

I won't insert the word severely. Not yet, anyway. I've been there, though. To the point where my doctor gently asked if I'd ever had suicidal thoughts and I suddenly burst out crying, admitting I thought about killing myself every single day.
It's gotten better. Through a year or more of medication, changing the way I let things affect me, and Faith--I've gotten better. I haven't been on medication for almost a year.

But all of a sudden, I can feel it pulling on me. I know that's what it is.
Tired all the time.
Loss of appetite. (Good for me--to a point.)
Overwhelming feelings of sadness and crying all the time for no reason.
Loss of interest in things I love.

All the signs are there. I just need to pull myself out of it.
I've got a doctor's appointment in three weeks. If I haven't snapped out of it by then, I'll get help.

Today's The Day

Once and for all, today is the day my life will change.

I woke up this morning, and it was just like any other day. I've had hundreds of days like this.

Today, however, is different. ( I hope I know. It's for good this time.)
Today, I woke up and started a diet. But it wasn't a diet. It's a way of life. And I've told myself that before--that it's got to be a "forever" kind of change. Somehow, "forever" never seems to last very long. Today is different.

Today, I got on the scale to find I weigh 244 pounds, 12 pounds more than the last time I stepped up.
Today, I looked past the root beer float ingredients still haunting the fridge in the office at work.
Today, I ignored the urge to dip into my wallet for a soda that I really, really wanted.
Today, I threw away the bag of Skittles I'd stashed away in my desk drawer and forgot about.
Today, I changed my clothes when I got home and today, I got off my butt and exercised.

So what if it was only 10 minutes? It was exercise.

Tomorrow, I will exercise again. For 11 minutes, 12, 13...In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter how long, as long as I do it. So tomorrow, I will do it.
I will avoid temptation.
I will be proud of myself.

And one of these days, I will stop feeling sorry for myself. I will stop hating everything about my body.
The way my face blows up like a balloon with every ounce I gain.
The way my chin seems to multiply when a camera is present.
The way my collarbone seems nonexistent and the "lovely lady hump" just below my neck on my back.
My big, huge, gigantic boobs.
My fat arms and wrists and pudgy hands.
The flab that rests above my "waist" that causes people to wonder, "Was I gone the day she told people she was pregnant?"
The bigger flab that rests below my "waist" that causes my underwear to roll down, my pants not to button, and my breath to catch when I bend over to paint my toenails.
My huge ass.
My fat thighs.
My ankles. (My God, do I even HAVE ankles?)
And my poor, poor feet, which bear the burden of holding all 244 pounds of me up.

One of these days. I will look at myself in the mirror, and actually like what I see.
But not today.

Once More, with Feeling

Did I say it last time? Did I?
Because if I did, I'm saying it again. But I mean it this time. For REAL.

Ready? Here goes.

This is it.

This is the day I make the decision to move the hell on with my life. (Okay, so I made the decision a couple days ago.) THIS is the day I tell the world about it.

It's not just my weight anymore. It's everything. EVERYTHING.
My not-so-neat house.
My less than stellar organization.
My paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle.
My EMPTY savings account.

I'm changing everything that I hate about my life. And I'm changing it for good. I really, really am this time.

Not right this second. I'm not naive enough to believe everything will change in seconds when it took me a life time to screw things up.

I Feel Fine

It's not the end of the world as we know it, but I still feel fine. Although, truth be told, I'm a little hungry, but usually I'm sleeping by this time.
I got out of my nice, new, comfortable bed, unable to sleep for the first time in a while. I'm not sure what's caused my lack of drowsiness...it could be that I sat around and did exactly nothing today, but I just can't put my finger on the reason I'm not in dreamland right this moment.

I'm trying (with urging) to get back into writing. I love to write; I just need a little push to make myself make time for it somewhere in the rest of my busy life.

I didn't realize I never came back to update my woe-is-me-I've-screwed-up-another-diet post. I didn't do as poorly as thought I had, but I did gain back 20...okay, 21 of the 30+ pounds I had lost... so, I KNOW that's a lot. Don't judge me.

I began the year at 265, and I'm now 232, having lost 33 pounds in the past 6 months, and a total of 42 in the past 18 months. My family reunion is 3 weeks away, and I'm dying to lose another 8 pounds before then. I really want to be able to tell people that I've lost 50 pounds. (Although I realize that being able to say I've lost 42 isn't exactly a tragedy.)

There was a week or two I got off track, but with the Hubster's help, it hasn't been too hard to eat healthy. I've also exercised a lot this year...not so much in the last couple of months, but more than I ever did last year. In fact, I've walked on my lunch hour every day except one for the last two weeks, and on the day I missed, it was raining. I'm really trying to do better. My alarm is set to go off in four short hours so I can hopefully start my day with a workout instead of hitting the snooze for an hour. We'll see how that works out. It's enough to make me yawn, anyway...maybe I'll try hitting the hay a little harder this time.

And here we are again.

My favorite quote of all time is from the BC comic strip a few years ago on New Year's Day.

"Well look here, another year is knocking on our door. And we'll try not to do the stupid things we did before. And when next year comes a'knocking, we shall pledge to persevere. And try not to repeat the stupid things we'll do this year."

January 1, 2007.

If I don't weight exactly the same or more than I did a year ago today, I'm pretty darn close.

I have excuses from here to high Heaven. Shortly after my last post, my husband lost his job. As long as I concentrate on paying $12 a week, I don't think WW is a bad deal. But when you add it all together, it's almost $50 a month, and I just couldn't justify that with our family struggling.

I could have, should have stayed on the play without the meetings, but I didn't.

We moved= more stress.

Work has been hard, home has been hard. I'm fat and miserable.

This time, though, Hubby has agreed to join me. In fact, it was HIS idea. We're jumping on the beach today. South Beach, that is.

We did it together in 2003--God, was that 4 years ago already?--and both of us lost more than 50 pounds, but promptly gained it all back once we slipped off. (Okay, jumped off, head first, into the jumbo sized tub of chocolate covered cherry ice cream with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream...oops. Yum-o. I mean, gross.)

This morning for breakfast, I had a 1/2 cup of cottage cheese, 10 grape tomatoes, a slice of Canadian bacon, and a small glass of vegetable juice. Right now I'm drinking water. We've opened what will hopefully be the last case of pop to ever enter our house.

It will be better this time. It will work.

It has to.