Last night I opened up (Ha! Ha!) to my husband about just how nervous I feel about speaking on the “Our Bodies, Our Blogs” panel at Blogher.
I was going on and on about how I feel shame that I had chronicled my weight loss and how so many amazing women (and men!) sent me emails telling me how I inspired them to get healthy. And now, I’ll have to sit up there on the panel sporting half of the weight I lost back on my ass and Oh! The Embarrassment!
Being the ever loving and helpful man that he is, he said “Just tell them how your husband thinks your sexy just the way you are, because he loves to have that extra cushion for the pushing.” (I wish you had been here to see it, because the entire time he was saying those words, he was doing the MOST EXCELLENT slow motion dry humping moves. Probably the greatest I have ever seen. He actually had his hands out, as if they were around my enormous waistline and he was hittin’ it from Da Back. Pure Awesome.)
I started to laugh. He wasn’t laughing. He got Very Serious.
“Babe, I’m serious. I love the way your body feels. (notice he didn’t say “looks” but that’s ok!) I love it so much. And to be honest, I don’t think I could ever boink a skinny girl. It wouldn’t feel as good.”
(I’m thinking that was a L-I-E because, um, when we first got married, I weighed 120 pounds and boyfriend was hittin’ it multiple times a day.)
Then he went on and on about how attracted he is to my body and because I tend to get uncomfortable when people say nice things about me, I lifted up my shirt, grabbed a chunk of gut and said “You’re telling me you find THIS attractive?”
“I find YOU attractive, yes.”
“that’s what I asked. I asked if you find THIS (*waves around the belly fat*) attractive.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s healthy, but baby, I love your body. I LOVE IT ALL.”
“BUT DO YOU FIND THESE FAT ROLLS ATTRACTIVE?”
“Baby, come here… Do you feel THIS? DOES THIS ANSWER YOUR QUESTION?”
I had to believe him, because, dudes, Boners! Don’t! Lie!. And really, if my husband pops a boner while I’m waving my fat rolls in his face, I am inclined to believe him when he says he’s attracted to my body.
I believe The Boner.
Category Archives: Weight/body image
Because there really are only two possible explanations.
Last Sunday I received an email from a published author who I will not name because chances are you’ve never heard of him and my little blog probably gets a ton more traffic than his website does, and I don’t feel like sharing it with him.
The email was short, sweet and to the point.
“ You have one of the worst, most pathetic — and most poorly written — blogs on the Net. Aren’t you completely embarassed? Or are you just … stupid?
My first reaction was something like “Embarrassed has TWO R’s you raging asshole!” Then, I started to freak out because why in the hell was this supposed “professional” taking time out of his obviously very fulfilled, rich life to email little old me to say such things? WHY?
I could be wrong, but I think he was trying to hurt my feelings.
Or maybe The Gun Fingers sent him over the edge and he was like “I have to tell this stupid bitch that her site is pathetic or I will not be able to go on living!”
What he said didn’t hurt my feelings because I’ve always said that I don’t think I’m a a good writer and that my blog sucks. But, I can’t for the life of me understand why a “professional” writer who has written books would feel COMPELLED to send such an email to little ol’ me.
It’s almost as baffling as people who send me emails telling me that I’m fat because I EAT TOO MUCH JUNK FOOD!!111!!! As if I’ve not written repeatedly about my issues with food and not being able to stop shoving it in my mouth.
Speaking of shoving food in my mouth!
On Sunday PigHunter was all “I’m going to take you out to lunch! But! Only if you agree to go to the restaurant to which we have a Buy One Lunch Get One Free card!” Because I have absolutely no shame when it comes to The Coupons, I was all “sounds great to me! Let’s go!”
So, we headed off in our rental car (because we still do not have a settlement, nor do we yet have the police report which means that yes! We are still paying for that rental car out of our own pocket!) to Spaghetti Eddies where we would partake in a meal that would taste twice as good as it actually was because a meal always tastes better when it’s free!
We arrived just 15 minutes too late to try their fabulous brunch, so we began to look over the lunch menu. There were things that I wanted in the worst way that were breaded and covered in cheese, but when the waitress came to take our order, I shocked myself by saying “I’ll just have the grilled chicken with tomato sauce and vegetables, please.”
Tony, being the Awesome Weight Loss Support Buddy that he is was all “That’s all you’re getting? No pasta? No bread? I thought you wanted artichoke pizza?” And I was all “Well, I DO want those things, but I also am trying really hard to make better choices so that I can be a thin person again! I am thinking like a Thin Person, baby!”
And I was really proud of myself too… until they brought the food out and I saw my fucking plate of broccoli and chicken.
Suddenly, I was filled with rage, anger and a little thing I like to call “Squish The Foam”. You may be in disbelief that a person could feel “rage and anger” over a plate of chicken and broccoli, but that is because you probably have a healthy relationship with food in which your happiness is not tied into every fucking piece of food you put into your mouth.
“I want to take this plate and throw it against the wall!” I said to Tony.
“Why?”
“Because it’s just like 3 strips of chicken and stupid ass broccoli and I want what you have. Pasta! Feta cheese! Bread!”
I could see the worried look on his face, because when mama aint happy with what she ordered aint nobody happy.
It took me a few minutes to get a grip. THIS is why I’m fat, people. Because eating healthy KILLS ME INSIDE. Because vegetable do not give me the same satisfaction as a plate of buttered up pasta with various cheeses and bread.
I started to eat the vegetables and in all fairness to them, they were delicious. I tried concentrating on the flavor and how good they were for me and not on how seriously I wanted to murder the nutritious plate of food that sat so beautifully prepared before me.
After a few minutes, I felt full. FROM BROCOLLI! And chicken! And I also felt good about myself for having made a [mommy voice] Good Choice [/mommy voice].
I can only imagine how ridiculous this must sound to anyone reading, but for me, it’s those (crazy) little moments that are going to define my success on this journey to lose weight. I’m learning that it’s not the end of the flipping world if I don’t get extra caramel on my iced latte, or if I skip the pasta and go with the vegetables instead.
It should be so simple, but for me, it’s just not. I would have thought by the time I was ripping multiple gray hairs from scalp every morning I would have these things figured out and mastered, but alas, I do not.
But I promise my self, my children and my husband that I will try every day to do better and to do my best because this isn’t about fitting in a size 7 anymore. This is about living for as long as possible so I can watch my children grow up and have babies.
(And maybe, quite possibly this is also now about living for as long as I possibly can so that I can continue to write and publish one of the most pathetic and poorly written blogs on the Net, just to annoy the ever living piss out of Mr.Published Author Man.)
That girl
Ah, 18 year old me.
I remember her.
She was terrified of getting fat. And so, she would starve herself for days, eating only a plate of white rice with lemon juice when she got hungry. Or she’d take a baggie filled with slimfast powder to school and empty it into a fat free milk carton for lunch. She’d only order salads at restaurants because she didn’t want people to see her eating fattening foods.
But sometimes, when no one was watching, she’d stuff her face with junk food. She’d feel so disgusted with herself afterwards, so she’d eat a few pieces of chocolate flavored ex-lax and find herself on the toilet a few hours later crying, cramping and shitting until she was shitting out air.
That wasn’t enough to rid herself of the guilt for having indulged in a bag of cheetos, so she’d layer herself in sweatpants and sweatshirts and workout in her room until she was drenched in sweat and feeling as though she may pass out.
She would spend a lot of time in the mirror finding chunks of fat to grab and feel bad about. “I must lose this fat right here on my stomach! I look so gross!” She’d cry.
Even though she only weighed a 125 pounds and that skirt she was wearing was a size 5.
People would tell her that she was “so skinny” and she’d think they were crazy because LOOK AT HOW BIG MY THIGHS ARE. People would roll their eyes and say things like “you’re sick in the head!”
Little did they know how right there were about that.
Then she met a sexy dork at church who thought she was beautiful and wanted to marry her. He would try to feed her avocado sandwiches and when she would refuse because she was afraid of getting fat, he’d hold the sandwich up to her nose and say “who cares if you get fat, I’ll love you no matter how much you weigh… NOW TAKE A BITE OF THIS RIGHT NOW!”
As scared as she was to take a bite of that stupid sandwich, she loved him so much and believed him when he said that he would love her no matter how much she weighed and so she took a bite.
And my GOD, she loved the taste of real food in her mouth.
So she took another bite and another one and then another one.
A year later, she had gained 20 pounds and that man who promised to love her no matter how much she weighed still loved her and would tell her how beautiful she was every single day.
She would go on crazy diets to lose the weight every time she would gain the weight. She’d always lose it, in no time at all. But, without fail, she’d always gain it right back.
Even though that man loved her and would never make her feel bad about having put on a few pounds, she was still terrified of getting fat.
Then she had her first baby. She gained 50 pounds and her body went to shit.
And as ugly as she felt, there was that man, right there, rubbing her stretched out stomach softly while telling her how beautiful her belly was because it had carried his child.
17 years, three kids, 70 pounds, 4 cup sizes and one stretched out belly button later, that man STILL loves that girl and thinks she’s beautiful. She knows she’s blessed, so damn lucky. But, she can’t help but wonder if deep down inside, he regrets the day he begged her just TASTE THE DAMN SANDWICH because now he can’t have one without having to share half with her.
May I please have a side…of thin and healthy? (Or: Titles that make people gag a little.)
There are two bad habits that I have when it comes to food and drink that I am trying to break.
The first one is “can I have a side of (fill in the blank)”
The second is “Extra (fill in the blank) please.”
Let me give you a couple of examples.
“Hi, can I have a salad with extra croutons and an extra dressing on the side please?”
“I’ll have a venti, iced, nonfat, sugar free vanilla caramel macchiato, with LOTS of extra caramel in the cup and on top please.”
And I get pissed off if there is not 3 inches of caramel sitting at the bottom of the cup when they hand it to me. I’m like “IS THAT EXTRA. I DO NOT THINK THAT IT IS. WHAT IS THIS DRIZZLE BULLSHIT?!”
(And I’m not exaggerating, I get a serious case of Squish The Foam&trade if there are not gobs of caramel making it’s way up the straw when I suck that drink down.)
Many times when PigHunter has gone on a fast food run, I had him a list that says something like “two fish tacos with two sides of secret sauce and LOTS OF MILD SAUCE. ASK FOR AT LEAST 10.”
He’ll usually roll his eyes and say something judgmental like “Do you NEED two sides of secret sauce” to which I’ll respond “do you NEED a blowjob? Get my secret sauce, man.”
He’s right and I know it. I don’t need “sides of ranch dressing” or “extra caramel.” I’m pretty sure “thin people” don’t ask for “sides” or “assloads of caramel.” And “thinking like a thin person” is one of my many “goals for 2007.”
So, this morning, I rolled into the Starbucks drive-thru (which, whoops! NOT going to the drive-thru is another goal of 2007, because I really have to break the cycle of being ‘too lazy to get out of the damn car.”) And I ordered my non fat iced caramel macchiato and as hard as it was, as much as it hurt, the words “lots of extra caramel in the cup and on top” did not come out of my mouth.
As stupid as it sounds (and I know it sounds REALLY stupid) I wanted to raise my fist in the air and shout “Victory is mine!”
It has been my experience that the key to success in my Battle of The Fat is winning the “small battles.” (And yes, for me? Not asking for extra caramel or 2 sides of ranch dressing is a BATTLE. And YET AGAIN I realize how STUPID that sounds, but it’s the truth. That is why I am fat, people.)
The key to me having lost 70 pounds was saying “no thank you” to the second helping of mashed potatoes, even though I wanted a second helping with every fiber of my being. It was getting up and taking a walk around the block when I wanted to sit on the couch and eat a bag of Doritos. It was peeling an orange and eating that instead of grabbing the Take 5 bar that my husband bought me while he was at the grocery store. Or it was eating half of that candy bar and saving the other half for some other time instead of eating the entire thing at once.
And of course, it was making my ass go to The Gym even though I wanted nothing more than to sit on the couch and watch TV with my husband.
I know that because I stopped doing all of those things is the reason I’ve put 24 pounds back on and I realize now more than ever that the ONLY way that I’ll lose the weight and keep the weight off is to do those things for the rest of my life.
Or, at least until I’m too old to Give A Shit and I’m like “Pass Grandma the entire pie and give me a fork already.”
And something tells me that those will be the greatest days of my entire life, man.
In bondage ( or: the one that makes people uncomfortable)
(I’ve been wanting to write about this for weeks. I wrote a little something on Flickr, and I’m going to post those words here until I’m able to express myself on this issue in the way that I want, without having an emotional breakdown.)
the scale. the measuring tape.
i’ve long let the numbers on those things dictate my value as a human being.
when the numbers go up, i hate myself. i feel worthless, i feel like i have no voice. i feel repulsive.
right now the numbers are up. and i am avoiding people, avoiding shopping for clothes. unable to enjoy the simple things in my life.
i think of my kids. of my daughter. this has to stop. now.
i hate that scale. and yet? i hold onto it for dear life. it’s all i’ve ever known. i’ve never known living without it. i might as well wear it around my neck all day long because it goes with me whever i go.
i need to rid my life of it. it’s killing me. it’s robbing me of joy.
i need to let it go, but i don’t know how.
i want to be free. free to live. free to love. free to be who i am regardless of the numbers. regardless of the inches.
i just don’t know how.
Thank God for The Internet and The Beautiful, Brave Women who use it.
Last week I posted pictures of of my stomach. I tried to make light of it, but the truth was, I was terrified of letting people see what it REALLY looks like.
I can’t tell you how many times that I’ve cried over the way my stomach looks. When I see it in the mirror, I feel like some kind of a beast. When I’m watching a movie with my husband and an image of a beautiful woman with a stomach that is flat and not full of stretch marks and a deformed belly button appears on the screen, I want to throw up from the shame that I feel for the way that I look.
No matter how many times my husband tells me that I’m beautiful, I can’t believe it because of my stomach..
His hands gently stroked my belly, as he looked at it. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “Stop calling yourself ugly. I love your body. Those stretch marks are beautiful to me, because they remind me that you carried my children. My children grew in there and you’re beautiful.” The tears came faster and harder. Here is this man, this wonderful, loving man, rubbing the body I hate. Looking at it, loving it. Why can’t I just accept it for what it is?
To expose my belly in that way was terrifying. I didn’t know how people would react. Would people be as repulsed as I was? All of the feedback was positive, except for one comment and of course, that was the one that stuck with me the most.
“your husband just wanted to get laid, why else would he say you are beautiful? Your stretch marks are hideous”.
And that comment was exactly the reason why I had felt so ashamed. My body isn’t what “Society” considers a beautiful body. It’s hideous and repulsive. Sadly, I’ve bought into that lie.
I’ve always felt that I am alone, because my sister has had children and her belly doesn’t look like mine. My cousins have had babies and they didn’t get stretch marks.
That feeling of being the only woman to look this way has made me feel isolated. It has made me feel like I should be ashamed.
That is why I can not stop crying over this site, The Shape of a Mother. (Amalah send me the link this morning.) I’m sobbing over here. To know that I’m not a freak, that other women have experienced such changes in their body, to know that it’s nothing to be ashamed of, even though society (“the media”) tries to tell us differently is a powerful, powerful thing.
*Edited to add* (Shape of a Mother put up a post I wrote on November 2002. I thought I’d repost it here too.
i cringe at what i see.
my body is worn and torn,
the marks from carrying a child ever present.
my breasts, once perfectly shaped and beautiful
are now large and saggy, repulsive to look at.
my stomach, once flat and smooth,
is now covered with stretch marks, fat, no muscle tone.
i am ashamed.
i will never be beautiful again.
but today i tell myself, although it is hard to look at and it is indeed ugly, it is a reminder that two amazing human beings were formed inside of me and those marks and stretched out skin are proof that life grew inside of me. it is a reminder i made love to a man i adore, life was created and my body was home to those beautiful babies for 9 months. my stomach was stretched as they grew, my breast were enlarged with the milk that would sustain them for the first months of their lives. it takes my breath away when i think back to having them inside of me, to the miracle of their births, seeing them for the first time and it makes it easier to accept the mess my body has become. looking at them, kissing them, i say these marks on my body were a small price to pay for the amazing gift that grew inside of me for 9 months and have filled my life with love and purpose everyday since they were born.
i may be ugly, my body repulsive to look at
but i am a mother
and i am blessed.
Posted by Y at November 3, 2002 07:37 AM
I do not know what to title this entry, but I am tempted to title it “who needs sugar when you’ve got Gabby.?”
Last Wednesday, I started The Atkins Diet. The plan was to do it for 2 weeks to jumpstart my weight loss and then to gradually add the good carbs back in and go back on weight watchers.
Well, as of this morning, I have lost 8 pounds. In a week.
I’m back to my lowest weight since starting this weight loss journey and honestly, I couldn’t be happier about it. But! (There’s always a “But!”)
I have decided to stop at one week, instead of two. How very flaky of me.
Me? Flakey? How totally not at all shocking!
For one, I’m SICK SICK SICK of eggs. Oh my God. Just saying it makes me want to vomit. Also? I kinda miss pooping. No, no, I TOTALLY miss pooping. Last night, I felt “the urge” and I jumped up, ran to the livingroom and said “Tony! I think I feel a poo coming on! I think I may actually take a dump!”
It was like Christmas in July! “A POO! I GOT A POO!”
Also? I don’t want to deprive my body for too long of the “good” carbs, because I know what happens once I’ll start eating them again. (And I will start eating them again because hello? I’m half mexican and have you ever heard of a little thing called TORTILLAS? Yeah.)
Ah, who am I kidding, I’m quitting because I WANT A BOWL OF CEREAL ALSO? QUITE POSSIBLY A PLUM.
Honestly, I knew going into it that I probably wouldn’t last, but I was so desperate to lose those 8 pounds and now that they are gone, I am SO done with it.
I’m not going to start scarfing down The Carbs now that I’m done with Atkins. I’m still going to stay away from the bad carbs and just add things like fruit and cottage cheese and unsweetened iced green teas from The Bucks. (Have I told you that I’ve been frappicino and also coffee free for over a month? But that now I am addicted to iced green teas? Which, is so much better because a)cheaper b)not sugared up c)better for you. Hurray for breaking addictions only to replace them with new and healthier addictions!)
In other, more exciting news, my daughter has FINALLY started calling me “Mommy.” She’s always called me “Mom.” No matter how many times I’ve begged and pleaded with her to say Mommy. But this week, when I went to pick her up from her crib in the morning, she stretched her hands out and said “Ohhh, Mommy.
And then my heart exploded and I cried.
Are you crying? There’s no crying in the fitting rooms!
I really DO love you guys. Honestly, I do. You have no idea how much your encouragement and support means to me. I mean, HELLO? I posted pictures of my stomach yesterday and you all said nice things–REALLY nice things.
I have to admit, I was shocked (SHOCKED!) at the comments about my stomach. People used words like “Toned” and “ABS” and “muscles” to describe my stomach. What?
WHAT?!
I’ll admit, it sure felt good to hear that. I mean, who doesn’t want to hear nice things about their body? But! The longer the day went on, the more it bothered me because, well, I can not let people think that I have muscular abs when I do not. Because “Oh my God! What if someone asks to see my toned abs at BlogHer?
Everyone knows I hate my body, err, um, I used to hate my body but am working on loving it. The thing I hate the most about my body is my stomach.
It’s stretched out. It’s fat. It’s flabby. It’s lumpy. There are fat rolls (ok, one giant roll that hangs) It’s covered in stretch marks. My belly button is stretched out and deformed (but, I have to say, it makes a really good “puppet”, which is kind of awesome. I like to open and close it whilst talking in a funny voice and say things like “Can you please check me for lint?”)
I often think, “God, my life would be so much better if it weren’t for my disgusting belly.”
Before I get too sad and depressed about my belly, I should mention that my belly does have a few redeeming qualities and we do have our moments of happiness together. Like, when we’re shopping together, or when we’re making sweet belly music on the couch late at night.
I can understand the compliments and comments about my “Toned” “abs” because they did look quite nice in those pictures, but there are reasons for that.
a)I’m standing far away from the mirror.
b) I was sucking my stomach in as hard as I could. (And please, do not judge me for that, who DOESN’T hold their stomach in when people are looking at it?)
c) Bad lighting.
(Look at me! I’m trying to talk you out of thinking that I have “toned” “abs.” What the hell is wrong with me?)
I know, and I try and my GOD, I appreciate the compliments. But there are people who are irritated with me because “how dare I call myself fat when I have such toned, muscular abs.” Because, you know, I’m not really fat at all and just want people to tell me how great I look!
Um, yeah. Except, not really.
My belly button is all “You know you want to pet me and sing songs to me and, perhaps, frolic with me in the hills of fatty goodness that is Y’s belly. Admit it, you do.”
Ha! Ha! Come on. It’s funny, people. Ok, maybe you have to hear it in my belly button voice. If you’re nice and don’t scold me about being “nicer to my toned abs.” then maybe I will make a .wav file for you.
Now that we’ve cleared THAT up, let’s move on, shall we?
I’m convinced that the dressing room lighting/mirrors are designed to make you feel bad about yourself. That is why I NEVER try clothes on at the store. I will buy a butt load of clothes, come home, try them on and return the ones that don’t fit. Today, I thought I’d go ahead and try the clothes on there in the fitting room so I didn’t have to listen to PigHunter go on and on about how annoying it is that I don’t try clothes on and blahblahblah “don’t lose the reciept, woman!”
I never feel like taking a giant ax and chopping limbs off of my body when I try clothes on at home. I may say things like “Nah, this doesn’t fit.” Or “Damn, my ass is too lumpy in this skirt” But not ONCE have I cried and said things like “Oh my GOD! I HATE MYSELF AND HOW DO PEOPLE NOT PUKE WHEN THEY LOOK IN MY GENERAL DIRECTION?”
(That is what I actually said to myself whilst CRYING at a Kohl’s dressing room.)
(What am I shopping for? Oh, a little thing called AN OUTFIT FOR A WEDDING THAT IS TOMORROW that I have been avoiding for months because I was in denial that I would be a size 10 by now and ha! Ha! Ha! NOT.)
It’s not just my weight that looks bad in the dressing room mirrors either. It’s my skin, my hair, my face, my toes, my teeth, my ears, my anus.
Everything.
I swear, I feel like everyone in my life would be better off without me in their lives every time I come out of The Fitting Room.
The HELL is up with that?
I don’t think you’re ready for this belly.
It wasn’t easy for me to post the pictures of my body yesterday. I actually cried when I saw them, because, well, I’m truly ashamed of my body.
But this IS my body. I’m trying desperately to learn how to love and accept it. I’m trying to remain honest and open about it here on my blog, for personal reasons and also for the people who have written to me, telling me that my honesty has encouraged them to lose weight.
Yesterday, I thought it was time to get real and come clean with my weight gain. Not that I’ve been dishonest about it, because I haven’t, but I thought since I posted weight loss pictures all of the damn time, it was time to post a “what an 8 pound gain looks like” photo.
I was shocked (SHOCKED!) at the comments about my stomach. People using words like “Toned” and “ABS” and “muscles”. What? WHAT?
I’ll admit, it sounded good to hear. I mean, who doesn’t want to hear nice things about their body? But! the longer the day went on, the more it bothered me because, well, I can not let people think that I have muscular abs when I do not. Because “OMG! What if someone asks to see my toned abs at BlogHer?!”
Here’s the thing. Everyone knows I hate my body, err, um, I used to hate my body but am working on loving it. The thing I hate the most is my stomach.
It’s stretched out. It’s fat. It’s flabby. It’s lumpy. It has rolls. It’s covered in stretch marks. My belly button is stretched out and deformed (but, I have to say, it makes a really good “puppet.” I like to open and close it whilst talking in a funny voice and say things like “Can you please check me for lint?”)
My stomach is the reason I refuse to go to the beach. My stomach is the reason I will not take a shower with my husband. My stomach is the reason I cry when I look in the mirror.
I hate it more than anything else on my body. It’s repulsive and I often think “If only my belly were normal, my life would be so much better.”
Don’t get too sad for me and my belly. It’s not “all hate all of the time.” We have our moments of happiness. Like, when we’re shopping together, or when we’re making sweet bellay music on the couch late at night.
I realize it’s more toned than it’s been, but, people, I do not have a muscular, toned stomach and I can not let you go on thinking that I do.
There are reasons that my stomach looked tone in those pictures.
a)I’m standing far away from the mirror.
b) I was sucking my stomach in as hard as I could. (And please, do not judge me for that, who DOESN’T hold their stomach in when people are looking at it?)
c) Bad lighting.
I can hear people now. “Just take a compliment, woman.”
I know, and I try and my GOD, I appreciate the compliments. But there are people who are irritated with me because “how dare I call myself fat when I have such toned, muscular abs.” Because, you know, I’m not really fat at all and just want people to tell me how great I look!
Um, yeah. Except, not really.
The Truth.
My belly button is all “You know you want to pet me and sing songs to me and, perhaps, frolic with me in the hills of fatty goodness that is Y’s belly. Admit it, you do.”
Ha! Ha! Come on. It’s funny, people. Ok, maybe you have to hear it in my belly button voice. If you’re nice and don’t scold me about being “nicer to my toned abs.” then maybe I will make a .wav file for you.
Because I love you that much (And NOT because I freaking LOVE to make .wav files.)
(P.S. I really DO love you guys. Honestly. You have no idea how much your encouragement and support means to me. I mean, HELLO? You told me that I have toned abs. How could I NOT love you?)
I think I’m going to hide now.
Weight loss is not going well.
I have no idea how much I’ve gained, but I know I’ve gained. I can tell by the way my clothes are fitting me.
I’ve not talked a lot about my “health” because, well, you know how I can be a little dramatic and how I always think I’m dying?
Yeah. That.
But, I’ve not been feeling well. Still tired all of the time, my hair is falling out (AWESOME!) I can’t sleep at night because my right leg falls asleep, my hands go numb and swell up. (Which explains why I feel tired all of the time, I’m up half the night beating the shit out of my leg trying to get the blood circulating in it.)
The lack of sleep has made me too exhausted to go to the gym as often as I need to go to continue with the weight loss. (Which is at LEAST 5 days a week.) I went on Friday night and left in tears because I didn’t even have the energy to do 30 minutes on the eliptical.
I am feeling like a huge failure these days. I’m very ashamed of myself and my inability to lose these last 40-ish pounds. So ashamed, I’m so ashamed of myself that I’ve actually avoided going to my doctor because I don’t want him to know I’ve gained weight. Tony’s been on my case for weeks to see my doctor, and I keep making up excuses. If he knew the real reason that I haven’t gone to see him , he’d KICK MY ASS.
Something that I never told you people is that a few months back, my doctor offered to put me on weight loss pills. We were talking about how hard it’s been for me to lose weight, about how long it’s taking me, about how far I’ve come, but yet, how far I still have to go.
The next day, he called to tell me that he was willing to do something for me that he does for very few patients.
“Y, I’m willing to put you on weight loss pills. I know you’ve worked hard, and I’m willing to give you something to help get you to your goal. You’ll have to have blood work done every 30 days and be monitored closely, but I’m willing to do that for you.”
I’m not going to lie. I was tempted. So very, very tempted. After all of these months, after all of the hours spent in the gym, after all of the obsessing over how many “points” each damn piece of food I put into my mouth was, I was so ready to just “pop a pill” and watch the fat melt off.
Oh yes, I was THIS CLOSE to taking the easy way out of my Fat Problems.
After much thought (about possibly getting greasy, explosive ass syndrome, or you know, causing liver damage) I decided to NOT take him up on his offer to take the pills. “I can do this myself!” I said proudly. “Thank you, but no thank you, I can do this!”
Ha! I lied! I’ve not done what I swore I could do without the pills. How embarrassing. And that is why I’ve not been to see my doctor, because I feel like a giant jackass.
I’ve put all of my feelings of shame and embarrassment about my weight aside and have made an appointment for tomorrow morning.
Not sure I’m going to actually KEEP the appointment, but hey, at least I made the effort to actually make an appointment.