The root of my fat: Part 1

I have gone to a therapist enough in the past that I can sort through my issues and name them. There has always been a disconnect between naming my issues and working through them. My fat is definitely an issue and through this process of losing weight I am working through it. The beginning of working through any issue is to find the root of the issue and articulate it verbally. For me, it is important to articulate it in writing. There are many roots to my fat. One root occurred when I was in the fourth grade. I really wanted a birthday party that I could invite all of my friends to. My mother, whom I lived with at the time, put a lot of energy into planning my party. I wrote out invitations for about 20 friends. To save money, my mother decided to hand deliver them one day instead of mailing them out. I stayed home because my mom had other errands to run after. That night I couldn’t sleep because my mom hadn’t come home yet; it was midnight. I started calling some bars that I knew that she went to. My mom was a drug addict and an alcoholic, so I figured I was on the right track. One of the bartenders that I called put my mom on the phone. She was drunk, and I knew that she shouldn’t drive home. I walked from our house to the bar which was about a mile away. I walked into the bar and the bartender recognized me (no, this wasn’t the first time I had to do this) and pointed to my mother who was in the corner making out with this guy who wasn’t my stepdad. She got mad at me for coming to get her. She yelled at me telling me that I was the daughter and she was the mother. I told her to act like it then, and I walked out. I waited outside because I knew that she would follow, but I never expected the make-out guy to come out too. He offered to give us a ride home because my mother was drunk. I just wanted us to walk home, but my mother was too far gone to walk. She opened up the door to the backseat and lied down, which left the front seat next to make-out guy for me. I climbed in very hesitantly and started to tell the guy how to get to our house. As he was driving he kept looking back to check on my mom. I started to hear her breathing slow, so I knew she was falling asleep. It was at that time that the guy put his hand on my leg. He said that I was beautiful; I was the skinniest I remember being at that time. He said that I would be turning into a woman soon, and it would be hard for me to keep the boys away. He tried to touch me more and I pulled away while also pushing his hand away. He went to reach for my chest and I bit his hand. He slapped me in the face. I made him pull over by screaming. He dumped me out about halfway home. As I started walking, I saw him pull over again and my mother stumbled out of the car. I ran up to her and helped her walk home. She yelled at me the whole way for being mean to make-out guy. It was my fault that we were walking, according to her. When we got home I changed her, got her water, an aspirin, and then tucked her in. I went to bed and fell quickly asleep after that. About a week later it was my birthday. I got up and put on my new birthday outfit. I helped my mom decorate the house, and finish my beautiful birthday cake. My party was to start at 1:00 PM, and at 3:00 when no one had showed up I picked up my birthday cake and a fork and I ate the whole thing. I sat alone outside eating my entire birthday cake and crying. How is it that not one of my friends came? Didn’t anyone like me other than make-out guy? It wasn’t until about two weeks later that I found out why no one came. I was in my mom’s closet looking for a purse to use when I picked up a purse from the bottom of the closet to find the stack of invitations that my mother had said that she delivered. It seems that she went straight to the bar that day instead. My mother wasn’t home when I found them. I thought about taking them out and putting them on the kitchen table so she would know that I knew, but that was a pretty fruitless idea. It wouldn’t change her. I just wasn’t as important as the drinking was. So, instead, I went to the kitchen and started making dinner. At dinnertime, when my mother again wasn’t home, I ate the whole thing. Food has always been there. Food was constant when everything around me was in turmoil. I didn’t want boys to touch me like make-out guy did, so getting fat started to look pretty good. At some point fat went from a safety mechanism into my reality. I am losing it now, the fat and the self-loathing that I felt. It’s a process, but it’s important to name the root and let it go, so I do. I let go of anger towards my mother. I let go of the fear of being loved. I let go of trying to please others. I let go of everything that this memory brings, and I grab a hold of what I know to be true now. I am strong! I deserve happiness! I am loved! (278)

Is it a gift or an insult?

Have you ever known someone who has lost weight, and when they get down smaller than you they offer you their clothes? Sometimes, from the right friend, this is seen as a gift, and other times it is an insult. Take friend A: the day she got smaller than me she showed up at my doorstep with clothes in hand. I was then prompted to try on the clothes, which could be fun, but it was accompanied by comments like, "Wow. That looks really good on you. I could never fill it out all the way!" Is that supposed to be a compliment. Isn't this the same as "Wow, Fatty! You have all the fat that's needed to fill every inch of the fabric. I was never fat enough to do that." Now, some may say that I am jumping to conclusions, but that is the way comments such as these make me feel. That friend even went on to give me clothes that were too big for me (Yes, she was bigger than me at one time!) accompanied with comments like, "If you gain more weight that will look really cute on you!" Seriously?!? How can anyone take this in a good way? Then there is friend B: while trying to lose weight in the past I had a friend who was also trying to lose weight, and she was about three sizes below me at that time. She had gone through her clothes and invited me over to her house. She had healthy snacks and a movie that we were going to watch; it must be said that even though I'm getting healthy, snacks are always a good idea. Being fat is like being an alcoholic: your only one bite of a cupcake away from falling off the wagon. She started out by letting me know that she didn't want me to take what she was going to say in a bad way, but that she had some clothes that were my size and she thought I might want some of them. I had already lost some weight, so the clothes were definitely needed, and she made it a point to say things like, "That looks really good, but you'll probably only be able to wear it for a month at the rate that you're losing." Wasn't that nice? That is the way to do it! It's easy to see that Friend A gave insults, and Friend B gave gifts. The most surprising gift of all came from my sister. My family has been supportive in the past, but it always seemed as if they didn't truly believe that I could do it. It's not what they said ("Come on. You can have one piece of cake!"), but more the lack of support I have felt in the past; however, about a week or so ago my sister gave me two pairs of jeans that were practically brand new. She said that she knew I had been losing weight and she thought I might be able to use them because they were too big for her. Now, this normally could be considered an insult, but when you take into account the fact that the jeans are two sizes smaller than me it's a whole different story. My sister actually believes that I will continue to lose weight long enough to drop at least two sizes. Wow...that really means something. Now it will be my turn to give "gifts," and I need to make sure that I do it in a constructive way. I never want to turn into that bitchy, I-used-to-be-fat-but-now-I'm-skinny-and-better-than-you person. I don't want anyone to feel the way that I have, and sometimes still do. I know I don't have all the answers. What works for me may not work for you, so I will do my best not to become the know-it-all that drives everyone crazy either. Anyway, if you have clothes that you would like to "gift" to me, make sure that they are size 24 or below and that you pair them with a morale inspiring comment. After all, dieting is easier when you surround yourself with positive people, so if you have any Friend A's cut them out now. You'll feel a whole hell of a lot lighter.(283)

Sick or Obsessed?

Okay...so I have been laying in bed for the last few days with strep throat. I wasn't going to mention it, but I realized halfway through my sickness that I missed my weekly blog. Darn it! Since realizing this fact, I have had many different ideas about what to write. I was going to write about the root of my fat; however, that is a long, long sad story. I then thought about gifts and the motives behind them, which I will write about soon, but then I was inspired to take a different route. It all began the second day of my sickness. There was a bright, friendly sun shining on the scale that morning. As I stepped on to my companion piece I truly believe I heard Angels and birds in harmony together as I saw 283. I was elated. Leave it to sickness to help me break my little slow down. Now I should have, at that point, chalked it up to the fact that I was too weak to eat or drink anything, but instead I decided to jump on the happiness bandwagon. I mean, it was all freakin' around me. Fast forward two days. I stepped onto the scale that morning hopeful to be in the 270's. I knew it was asking a lot...3 pounds in two days...and as I stepped onto the scale (holding my stomach so that I could see the deity that was the digital display) I looked in horror to find 292. Seriously?!? How could this happen?!? I know, I know.... the meds both named water retention in the information pamphlet, I had basically been starving myself via mother nature's strep-throat-conspiracy. The big problem here is that weighing myself is making me become this paranoid, scale-watching teenager who needs to drop one more pound to make the cheer squad. I constantly have to remind myself that this is a journey, and like all journeys there will be hills and valleys. There is a fine line between level headed direction and obsession. There are times when I become obsessed and that is when it's important to have someone that will notice the onset of obsessive behavior and remind you that this is for life, it's not a quick fix. I am renewed knowing that although my body is in flux from being sick, I will continue with my diet and exercise plan and I will see the results on the scale. The one thing I don't want to become is the person who thinks back on their life and the only anecdote they have to tell is about walking to school and back, uphill both ways, in the snow. In my anecdote there will be a downhill, or at least a downsize. I don't walk to school anyway. I'm an adult damn it. I have a car. (290)

Trying not to be psychotic!

Okay, so I must start out by saying that this post is not meant to offend anyone who suffers from, or know someone who is suffering from any type of mental disorder, but I do believe there is a psychosis involved in being fat. With that being said, I am doing my damnedest not to go crazy again, and when I say crazy I mean "Do not do this! You know you can't do this! Damn it, I deserve it, so I'm going to do it!" crazy. For example, I know that drinking alcohol is not looked at in a positive way when dieting, actually there is science to back that notion up, but I thought to myself that since I love to go to the bar and hang out with the regulars, and since I have been doing well for over a month, I could go and enjoy myself while watching my caloric intake. This is exactly why I have had problems with my weight for so long. Notice the long conversation I had to have with myself in order to give myself an excuse for blowing off my diet for a night. It must be said that I did drink within my daily calories, and I only had five drinks. Here is where my psychosis traps me... I was 293 the night I went out (Saturday), and it took me five days to get back to that number. I don't know if it was the alcohol, or maybe my natural womanly cycle which caused this problem, but I don't care. It was a message to me that this can't continue. I have done this type of thing in the past. I started my first try at weight loss with a company that rhymes with schweight schwatchers. I did well on that program by losing 30 lbs, but once I realized I could do it I stopped doing it. It's like when my mom would take antidepressants when I was a kid. She would change into this loving, level, healthy mom, but then she would tell herself that she was so well she didn't need the drugs anymore; at that point she would revert back to the mom that I knew on a daily basis. I do that with diets. I start losing weight and then I go back to things that aren't good for me. The difference is that this time I won't allow myself to be enticed by the thought of going out with the girls for drinks until I am at a more manageable weight. I won't say that I will never give in to things I want to do because this whole journey is taking place so that I can do just that, and I want to make a life change and that means that I will give in sometimes, but if you're at the bar and you see me lifting that Absolut Blue Monster to my lips just stop me and say, "Wow...you look great...what have you been doing?". Hopefully at that point I will put the drink down and order a water! (290)