Well, hell.

I actually have stronger words to use than "hell", but I feel crappy enough right now that it doesn't much seem to matter. The long and the short of it is that I have finally had my wake up call. Or as I like to refer to it, "The swift kick is the ass followed by repeated kicking while I am down".

I was officially diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes last week. November 30th to be exact. I knew it was coming from the blood work I had done at my OB/GYNs office a couple of weeks before, but now it is official. The irony is that I should have been running the half marathon last weekend. If I had actually followed through with that training, it might have prevented all of this. Instead, I started new medication, feel like shit and am hoping my body will hold out long enough for me to turn this health crisis around.

Because Type 2 diabetes just isn't enough. No...I have to do things the right way. Go big or go home and all that. So I get to add on a fatty liver (with elevated liver enzymes), high cholesterol, high triglycerides and, the current most fun one, high blood pressure. The blood pressure that was normal in the doctor's office three weeks ago is now high enough to require meds. That make me feel like absolute dog shit, by the way. Add obesity and you have a trifecta. Or a quintafecta. Whatever. Fun times.

Even more exciting, I got to tell my mother in person this weekend when I was home (for the half marathon that my friend actually did follow through with and run). It went how I thought it would - she cried and worried and told everyone at work. Which made me feel fantastic. I certainly wanted to be trying to make her feel better about it all while I am scared to death and trying to hold it together myself.

On the bright side, I think I got the message. I would really like to stick around for a while and see my kids get older and spend some time with my husband. I know there are plenty of people who have the whole host of problems that I have plus some, but this has kind of felt like a death sentence. I finally realize that this might not end well if I don't get my shit together. Scary stuff.

So in the meantime, I try to deal with the bad medication side effects, watch what I eat to control my blood sugar and weight, exercise a little when the meds allow, ignore the constant chest pain (which is likely reflux that I probably need to go have officially diagnosed) and try not to freak out about my mortality.

Some days are better than others. I am looking forward to getting through this storm and coming out on the other side (relatively) unscathed. I am hopeful that it will happen.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

Ah. Back to the beginning. Here I am again. Months later. 225 pounds. Snacking at night. Not exercising. Embarrassed to go out in clothes, much less a bathing suit. Hoping for a miracle. Waiting for the "aha" moment. Squandering the time I have on this planet to enjoy my life. There has to be a better way. I am looking...I have to find it.

Back on the path

I have been absent from this blog for quite a while. I haven't had much to write on my "real" blog either, though, so it isn't just fatness that has me down evidently.

Actually, I haven't been "down" per se. Just busy and tired and wishing there were 10 of me or 30 hours in a day or just less to get done. And less of my fat ass hanging around with me while I do it all.

I did get in one day of deliberate exercise last week. Not much in the real world, but better than nothing. and considering I had an excellent week on the eating front, I don't feel too bad about it. I mean, subsisting on celery and fruit and egg whites should peel off the pounds even if I don't get tons of exercising in, right?

I did find that after a few days of truly controlled eating I wasn't terribly hungry and I didn't crave any of my normal junk food. I think there is more relation to the "if you torture someone long enough they just give up" as opposed to the "the body will only crave healthy and natural foods in small amounts once you cleanse it of toxins" principle in the reaction my body had, but I am OK with that if it works!

I will weigh in tomorrow. I am probably at just about the same weight I was when I posted last. And I'll tell you something...I am just THRILLED about putting my bathing suit on in a couple of months. I mean, what is more attractive than a 200+ pound woman stuffed into a stretchy black and white sausage casing? Feast your eyes on that, people!

Dammit

I had a total snacking relapse last evening. Somehow my brain checked out, my survival instincts (i.e. eat everything in sight in case someone comes in and removes every scrap of food from the house while I am sleeping) kicked in and I ate. A lot. 3 Slim Jims, some salt and vinegar almonds, some vanilla creme brulee quakes and 2 bagel thins (quite yummy and low in calories compared to a regular bagel) with cream cheese. And two monster cookie dough chunks from the freezer. This was all after the ever so sensible (Ha!) meal of a side salad, 1/2 of a bacon cheddar cheeseburger and 1/2 order of fries lunch I had. I am trying to remind myself that every day is a fresh start, but I tend to get into a downward spiral when I slip up a little. So far, so good today, though. maybe there is hope.

The bright side is that I am down to 220.5 pounds - 2.5 pounds down from last week.. I have decided to weigh in on Tuesday since Biggest Loser comes on Tuesday evenings. I figure it can be a theme for the day...trying to shrink big asses into smaller ones.

Long time

I have taken a hiatus, but am back in the saddle. Back on the wagon. Hungry.

I gave up late night snacking for Lent. Not that I have really strong feelings about giving things up for Lent, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Six days later, it doesn't seem like such a good idea. It makes me cranky to not shovel in 10,000 or so calories between 9 pm and midnight. I am hoping it will make a difference on the scale, however. Tomorrow is weigh in day. We'll see how it goes...

Sanity returns

I think I am back in a more balanced state of mind. I must say that the emotional purge did seem to do me some good. I shed lots of tears, had a good friend verbally pick me up and dust me off (thanks Debi!) and I seem to be better for it. Somehow stepping away from the pantry late last night was a little easier than it has been before and picking out clothes to wear was a little less anxiety inducing. I think it was good for me to admit out loud that I am full of faults and flaws and insecurities that do affect the way I function in my daily life. I had to be very emotionally self-reliant as a kid and in a lot of ways it made me a much stronger adult and gave me courage to do things I may not have been able to do otherwise. But it left me at a disadvantage in other ways, and that is OK. I will work through it. And I am looking forward to seeing what life looks like on the other side.

Peeling the onion

As a fan of the Biggest Loser (watching it, not living it, mind you) I keep getting annoyed by the "emotional work" that they have the contestants do. You know, the breaking down walls, peeling back the layers of the onion, blah, blah, blah. Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe there is a huge emotional component to my weight - I just have no freakin' clue how to figure out what it is and fix it. So instead of trying to figure out ways to figure it out, I just get annoyed by people on TV who are figuring it out. But as I tossed and turned tonight while I should have been sleeping, I think I made some progress toward figuring out the root of my problem with weight.

The problem is, there is not a single day that goes by that I don't think about my weight. It affects everything I do from getting dressed in the morning to going to bed at night. I don't go anywhere without thinking about who I will see and what they will think about my weight. I avoid people and situations so people can't see how fat I am. My entire life is altered by my weight and yet I can't seem to do anything about it. I am completely broken when it comes to my weight and fixing the problem that keeps me so crippled day in and day out.

Why? I am still not sure how to answer that question completely, but I had a little mini emotional breakthrough a couple of months ago when a college friend posted something on Facebook as we were bantering back and forth. I don't remember the exact words, but the gist was something about nothing being more attractive than a pretty girl in glasses. I used to sometimes wear fake glasses because it was fun and I thought they made me look studious - dorky, I know, but I was 18 years old so I feel I deserve a break for my actions! - and he teased me about it all the time. Anyway, when I read the post, I literally broke down in tears (even though it was a reference to the far better looking physical me that existed 15 years ago rather than today). I think it may be the only time in my life that anyone EVER called me pretty. EVER. Of course my family and friends have told me I looked nice; I have had friends and strangers say I had nice skin or a pretty smile or maybe even told me I looked pretty in this or that color, but no one has ever just flat out said I was pretty. And it obviously bothered me on some level that I wasn't even aware existed.

So I have been digging. And peeling. And trying to chisel away at myself to try to figure out why it would matter so much to me that no one has ever called me pretty. And although I hate to get all psychiatrist couch-y about it, I really think it must all go back to my early years. I am not trying to place blame on my parents - now that I am a parent I realize that you do the best you can with what you have and just hope like hell you don't screw up too badly. But that doesn't mean that an emotional shit-pile doesn't form along the way.

After my parents divorced, they both went through some rough times. My dad went through a bad period when he drank too much and made some bad choices and was pretty self-absorbed. Like sometimes he forgot to pick me up on time and I would be stranded at gymnastics or day camp or some other crappy place waiting for him to show up. Or he would drop me off at an event and say he would be right in and then not come back. And then he remarried twice and had new families and went on with life. My mom dated and remarried and a step-sister moved in and turned my world on its side. Then mom divorced and remarried and I got a new step-father at 15 (a less than ideal time to add a family member to a house). And she was ALWAYS on a diet despite the fact she has probably never been technically overweight in her whole life. And she really needs compliments (often) about her looks to make her feel OK. And she is obsessed with pretty. And conveys the message that there is nothing more important in life than being pretty. At least that is the message I heard.

I also had this best friend growing up who is pretty. Beautiful probably. And I have been told by everyone I know that has ever met her that she sure is a pretty girl. Which is great. Unless you are the not-so-pretty best friend.

Whose well-meaning mother is always on a diet. And distracted with her own life. And is obsessed with weight and looks and constantly commenting on everyone's weight and/or looks. Even people on the streets. And who will tell her daughter (who weighs 115 and looks pretty good) she looks good but might look even better 5 pounds lighter (without even meaning it badly because she thinks everyone would look better 5 pounds lighter). And whose father has another family and doesn't realize his daughter feels displaced. And who doesn't bother her parents with details or her own life because they are way too busy worrying about their own lives. And therefore goes through life feeling lonely and ugly and mostly unlovable. Not all the time, because life is really pretty good. But those feelings are there just below the surface. Always.

So is this the saddest story ever? No - not by a long shot. Should I have gotten over all of this years ago and moved on with my own family? Probably. Should the fact that I have a wonderful, loving husband, two beautiful children and a lovely, comfortable life make me leave those not so wonderful years in the past where they belong? Most definitely. But I haven't. Because buried under the 225 pounds I carry is a lonely girl who feels vulnerable and ugly and eats to fill the hole. When I eat, that empty space in my gut fills up - at least temporarily. And if I am going to be unlovable when I weigh 115 or 120 pounds, why should I bother? I might as well be fat and have an excuse for feeling the way I do. After all, how could anyone possibly love a fat person?

So I guess that leaves some questions - will I step up and take responsibility for my own life and the fact that I have ended up where I am of my own free will? Will I come to know that no one else is responsible for defining who I am or how I feel about myself except me? Will I realize that eating isn't going to fill the void in the little girl's heart inside me? And finally, will I have the courage to make my life everything it can be so I can give all of myself to my husband and my kids and leave the pain behind? I hope so. Because what I am currently doing and feeling is no way to live. And I don't want to do it anymore.

This is crazy

I just can't seem to get my shit together and get going on reducing my butt size. I bought salad stuff and chicken and have all kinds of healthy food around but just don't feel like cooking it or eating it. The Girl Scout cookies haunt me instead!It is warm enough to start running outside but I can't seem to find a containment system strong enough to keep my DDD girls from knocking me out when I pick up a little bit of speed on the road! As if there is any "speed" involved...I am sure I could be overtaken by my 82 year old grandma even at my fastest pace.

Something has got to give sooner or later. At this point it looks like it may just be the buttons on my pants.

Aaaaaaargh!

I feel like I have barely had time to breathe, much less think about dieting. I am holding steady on the scale and just hoping to get a minute or two to think sometime in the next decade.

Another morning

My friend Debi is back on her blog and has inspired me to focus on the positive! I am not sure how long that will last, but since I haven't gotten anywhere by complaining and moaning, I figure I ought to give it a try! Of course I am going to still have to moan and complain but I will look for the bright side somewhere in the midst of the crap!

So...my positive of the day (OK, it is actually yesterday, but I deserve a break because it is still early and I haven't had time for many good choices yet!) is that I did not eat ANYTHING after dinner last night. This is a MAJOR accomplishment for me and I am pleasantly surprised to find that I didn't perish in the process of abstaining from my late night snacks. As a result, even after breakfast this morning, the scale says 220.5 pounds. I am just glad to see the number hasn't gone up since I last weighed!

My intentions are good...

but my follow through sucks rocks. I downloaded the podcast to go out and start my running training but that is as far as I got. Never even put the workout clothes on. I could blame it on the mounds of snow covering the sidewalk, but anyone who knows me well knows that my fat ass would still be rooted to the couch even if the sun were shining and the sidewalks were clear. To make myself feel better, I had a big plate of macaroni and cheese for dinner and then signed up for this challenge to make myself feel better. I don't even know what the challenge is...someone sent me the link and I thought I'd sign up. See...my intentions are good.

The worst...

This is by far the hardest part of the day for me. If I had any sense at all, I would go to bed before 1 am and avoid the nighttime munchies that way. But alas, I don't seem to do that and I instead just want to cry when I think about all of the potato chips and ice cream out there in the world just waiting to be eaten. Sigh. Does this ever get any easier?