Ying Yang

Can we talk for just a few minutes about how crazy I am? I mean really. I've got to get it out.

I've mentioned before that I'm crazy...maybe after reading this post, you'll actually believe me. My brain is warped as are my emotions. I have unrealistic fears. I have a bingeing tendency every single day that I'm still fighting, but the crazy thing is, what everyone else calls bingeing, I call normal eating for me. It's really sick.

I read one of Lyn's posts a while back at Escape from Obesity that's an exact description of how I used to eat not very long ago. Only 4 short months ago. To read it all written out is absolutely horrifying. It's insane how much I used to eat and could hold...and to tell you the truth, can still hold. I haven't tried, but I know I could. I'd post the link for you just for some shock value, but I can't remember the title of the post and it would take me too long to dig through her archives to find it.

The jist of it is eating every 2-3 hours, full meals. Full fattening meals. Having a sandwich, fries and a drink for a "snack" til you can get home and make dinner a couple of hours later. And having these full meals about 5-6 times a day. More food than any human being should be able to hold. That was Lyn, and that was me. The other thing we have in common is that we never got sick from all that food. That's why I say it was my "normal". Now I have eaten to the point of sickness before, but not in my normal every day eating. On a normal day I was eating probably 4,000 calories a day...maybe 5,000. A day. Every day. And never feeling sick. Always full, and as terrible as this sounds, happy and satisfied. I use those words because that's how food makes me feel. Happy. Satisfied. Content.

Sure, there's regret later...but not immediately after the sin has been committed like it is for some people. Sometimes just the guilt of what they're about to eat stops them from eating it. I'm getting a little better at this now, but not so long ago guilt would have never stopped me from eating something. And there was no immediate regret or guilt soon after. The regret came when someone made fun of me...snickered and muttered a "fat girl" comment at me as they walked past...a kid in a store asking if I was pregnant (for the 150th time)....having to buy clothes in a "fat girl" store, and put those clothes on the counter for the cashier to ring up with a size 26/28 tag on them.....being told by a doctor that the only exercise I needed was putting my fork down and pushing myself away from the table....sitting down in a roller coaster seat and not being able to latch the bar locked, and having to get up and "walk the plank" in front of 30 other people sitting on the ride, waiting on me to waddle off so they could have their fun. That's when the regret set in.

Even though it was later, you would still think that all of those stinging, searing things would make me want to be better. Would make it easier to get this job done.....to change my habits forever. To find something I can live with and stick with it....and gladly...happy that I'm going to be healthier, stronger, thinner, prettier, more accepted by society, etc. But it doesn't. I don't know why it doesn't. And it makes me cry. Almost every day.

Sometimes I really wonder if there's something wrong with my brain that I should be diagnosed with other than depression. I have some really happy, great days...like yesterday...where everything is on track and I'm feeling good and I'm feeling positive and I can't wait to see what the scale says. Then the very next day, it is such a struggle. I'm still on track, I haven't veered, but it's unbelievable to me how much I want to. I've thought about bad foods all day long today. Even with all of my healthy stuff planned out...I still wanted crap. And lots of it. I don't mean a bite or two....I mean after all 1500 calories have been consumed, I sit here for hours and wish I had a 12" Italian sub, or a triple Whopper, or an 8 pc box of fried chicken.

It makes me hate myself, hate my brain, hate my emotions because of all the crying because I "can't" have these things. And it makes me sick that I even want them in the first place....especially after 4 months of changing my habits. It's not like I just started a week ago....I'm a few months into it now. Should I still be having such issues with the eating??? The way my emotions change from day to day make me wonder what's really wrong with my brain. Am I manic depressive? Am I bi-polar? Do I have a split personality? I don't know what all the symptoms are to these things, so I really don't know if I fit any of them. But I do know something's wrong.

Here's further proof that I'm a nut job. Sometimes I wonder if I even WANT to lose the weight. Do I want to spend so many days in a week for the REST OF MY LIFE feeling so restricted? If I'm always going to want to eat 4,000 calories a day, then is the day to day struggle with staying within 1500 worth it? Well every day isn't a struggle, but at least 3-4 out of 7 are. It's very stressful. On these nights I end up with a headache from having to concentrate on not mindlessly sticking something in my mouth after my calories have been consumed and from being so aggravated that I have these thoughts/desires in the first place. I read a ton of blogs....it's not this hard for everyone...it's just not. Why does it have to be this hard for me? Why am I so different? Why am I so friggin' warped?

By the way, after saying that, I DO want to lose the weight. I just wish it was a tad bit easier for me....for my brain. I really hate the struggle. It wears a girl out.

Here's another irrational fear....at least I know it's irrational...maybe there's hope for me yet! I'm scared of how I'm going to feel once I reach my goal. Diane from Fit to the Finish wrote a post yesterday about putting up a pic of yourself when you used to be thin to use as your inspiration. This post didn't have the correct affect on me...instead of feeling inspired, I felt sad. Sad because I don't have any thin pics to hang up of myself. I emailed her last night and we talked for a little while and I just thank God for her every day. She's such a fantastic woman...so caring, so understanding, so inspirational. She really "gets" where I'm coming from with these fears, and she's always willing to listen. Love you Diane.

The last time I was a "normal" weight was probably my early teens. I know for a fact I was a lard a$$ by the age of 14-15 because a couple of teenage guys that walked by me while I was laying out on the beach called me Shamu. So to me, I've always been fat. It's like it's all I know how to do. I only know how to act and function like a fat person. Making sure I buy shirts long enough to cover my stomach that hangs down so low.....always pulling and tugging at them....doing my best to always suggest a table in a restaurant instead of having to see whether or not I could fit in a booth....cracking jokes and making people laugh so maybe they'd notice my personality more than my weight...the list goes on and on.

But there's something that bothers me more about finally getting to a "normal" weight. It's how people are going to react to me, and especially people that I already know or have been acquainted with. Being fat causes you to be ignored, looked over, snickered at, and unloved. I feel like when those people treat me differently once I'm an acceptable size, it's going to have a bad affect on me. I mentioned this to Diane in an email last night. I feel like I'm going to start crying immediately and scream at them, "If you didnt' love me for me, or talk to me when I was overweight, then damn sure don't start now!!!" I know this is going to happen with one particular person that I truly love, and I can't tell you how much I'm already dreading it.

Sean at The Daily Diary of a Winning Loser has a list of things he's always dreamed of doing and he's working his way through that list now that he's lost enough weight to really enjoy those things. This has had me thinking, too. I don't have a list, and I don't even know how to start one. This goes back to always being fat. I guess I didn't dream about things that I knew I could never do? How sad is that? To not have a list, and can't even think of how to start one?

I really want to hope that there's nothing seriously wrong with me that I need a diagnosis for. But I just can't explain the continuous back and forth with my feelings on the weight loss. One day's fine, even great...the next day, such a tremendous struggle to stay on track. And these fears I have of being at a normal weight...how much more irrational, terrified and negative can you get?? I don't want to be this way, think this way or feel this way. But this is my reality right now. All I can hope for at the moment is that tomorrow is a better "thinking" day. Happier, more positive and motivated thoughts. I'm so close to weigh-in on Friday morning....2 days to go. I really don't want to screw it up now. I ate 1500 calories today (dreamed of 3,000) and I walked/jogged 4 miles at the park. I have a lab appt in the morning to have my blood drawn and see if my health has improved any since I've dropped some weight. I'll have the results in a day or two. Hope everyone is having a much easier time than me. And thanks to all of you who comment here....you know it means the world to me. 'Nite all.

Quote For the Day:

"The ultimate measure of a person is not where they stand in times of comfort and convenience, but where they stand in times of challenge and controversy." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

Ridin' The Crazy Train

I have a confession to make. I'm crazy. Certified. No doubt about it.

My life is crazy, my thoughts are crazy, my emotions are crazy, my no-job status is crazy, my lack of income is crazy, my mind is crazy....it's official. I'm riding the Crazy Train. I'd offer you a seat, but we're all filled up over here.

I could give you explicit details...but why bother. If you're anything like me, you already know exactly what I'm talking about. If you're nothing like me and lead a perfectly normal, peaceful, balanced happy life...then please don't tell me. I don't want to add insane jealousy to my already long list of insane emotions. I don't think I can handle one more ounce of crazy.

Everything that could possibly go wrong this week on all fronts of my life, has, with the exception of someone dying. And I hope I didn't just jinx myself by saying that. Please God, keep everyone in my life alive for at least another month so I won't think I just killed them with that last statement.

Thanks to all of you who left comments on last night's post....and for the ones who said I was pretty....gorgeous even (Shelley!)....it's time to make an appointment with your eye doctor. I was trying to type the official word for the "eye doctor" but I can't remember how to spell it right now. Crazy.

Scarlette....the one that I said is the light of my life....also happens to be the cause of much unnecessary stress and housework. Yesterday I told you there was dog sh*t tracked all over my house. She pooped in the hallway. I had just woke up, got dressed, shoes and all, and was taking her out to use the bathroom (Ha! what a joke...crazy, I know) when she apparently dropped a tootsie roll in the hallway on our way out the front door. When we came back in, and down the dark hallway (this was before dawn), I apparently stepped in it.

I found it about an hour later and noticed little tracks of it all over the floors, in every room. But I didn't see it on the bottom of her feet. That's because it was on the bottom of MY feet...my tennis shoes....both of them. Do you know how many geometric shapes, cracks, crevices, nooks and crannies are in the bottom of tennis shoes? I do. Because I had to spend 30 minutes using a wooden skewer and Lysol wipes digging shit out of each and every one of them. Then I got to spend the next 30 minutes bleaching all my floors. Did I mention I have bleach-induced asthma? Crazy.

There was much, much more to yesterday, but I'll spare you the rest of the horrid details. On to today.

The day started out good because as soon as I woke up, I threw on yesterday's clothes, my freshly Lysol'd tennis shoes, threw the dog in the crate, and escaped my house and sped to the park before anything could go wrong. I locked my purse and cell phone (I hate that crazy thing) in my trunk, and headed out for a peaceful 3 mile walk. It was nice. I came home feeling sore, but my mind was refreshed. I started thinking as I pulled back into my driveway that today just might turn out well (that was crazy talk).

Things started going downhill around 10am. Wow, that didn't take long. Again, I'll spare you the next few hours of details and fast forward to around 4:30pm when it came a flood. I had mentioned in last night's post that if the stars aligned right, I would try for a 2nd 3 mile walk this afternoon. Well....you know how crazy stars are. It started pouring outside, thundering and lightning, and naturally the dog indicated that she wanted to go out. I thought she had to go do her business.

I let her out, she played and splashed in the ever-growing puddles in the yard, found a few drowning bugs to munch on, and came running back in. Every morning and every evening there's dew on the grass and her little legs get soaked. We always come in and go straight to the bathroom where I keep the towel to dry her off. I take her out a lot, so we go through this ritual about 3x in the morning and another 3x at night. It's tedious, but I don't want her to run around with wet legs and get too cold, so I do it.

When I let her back in the house during the gully-washer, she followed me down the hall, through my bedroom, and into the bathroom. I shut the door behind her and looked down. She was covered in mud from her toes all the way up to her belly. She's pretty short and close to the ground, so this isn't hard to do. I don't know why, but for some reason it didn't occur to me that rain mixed with red Georgia dirt turns into red Georgia mud (crazy, I know).

I'm a clean freak, so I panicked. I tried to grab her as quickly as I could and she thought I was playing a game with her. She jumped out of the way of my grasp and danced all around my sparkling white bathroom. White linoleum, white bathtub....thank God my bathroom rugs are maroon/burgundy because she danced all over both of those, too. I bet there were 150 muddy paw prints on my floors and the side of my tub before I caught her. Stressed is not the word.

I decided to just bathe her right then. I stepped over into the garden tub, fully clothed, and I gave her a bath, washing her with my shampoo because her shampoo was all the way at the other end of the house. There was no way in hell we were tracking back through the house. I think I got wetter than she did. She hates baths. She's a wiry, wiggly little thing and it was quite a sight. She managed to splash and sling red mud ALL OVER my bathroom before I finally got her washed, rinsed and dried.

After all the fun of that, I got to go back through the house from the bathroom to the front door, on my hands and knees, and clean all the mud off the floors. Little clumps of mud don't mop very well, so this was a hands and knee job. Balancing 245 lbs of weight on 2 rickety kneecaps on hardwood floors is just crazy. And painful.

There was about an hour's worth of tears after that.....from all that has happened this week, not just the mud. I was deflated, depressed, disgusted, drowning and all I wanted to do was eat. Right about then, I looked out the window and noticed the storm had passed. It was fleeting, but I had a tiny little thought flit through my crazy mind, telling me now's the time to go get in those other 3 miles at the park that I wanted to do.

I didn't want to. After all I've dealt with this week, all I wanted to do was crawl back in bed and finish crying. But...

I did it anyway.

I knew that I was going to have a gain this Friday, no matter what, and that 3 more stupid miles weren't going to make a difference this late in the week. I knew I had eaten too many calories for too many days and this wasn't going to be a fake sodium gain. This was going to be the real deal....real lard...the artery-clogging kind. Walking another 3 miles would be in vain for this week's weigh-in and I knew it. But...

I did it anyway.

I knew that if I did walk, afterwards, all of the problems and the craziness and the crap would still be right there waiting for me. Walking wasn't going to make any of it go away. But...

I did it anyway.

I knew that I had holes in the bottom of my shoes somewhere because I always end up with two shoes full of tiny pieces of gravel and they hurt my feet....not to mention that I'd already walked 3 miles this morning, and if I did 3 more, I'd have some serious blisters on my toes afterwards. But...

I did it anyway.

I was right about all of it. The 3 extra miles I did this evening won't have much affect on a weigh-in that's a day and a half away. It didn't take away or fix any of the problems or crap in my life. It really didn't clear out any of the cobwebs clogging up my mind. My shoes did fill up with gravel, and it did hurt, and I now have bad blisters on the bottom of all my toes. But...

I did it anyway. I walked 6 miles today. I also stayed within my calorie limit today, coming in at 1436, knowing that's only the 2nd time this week I haven't gone over. I may not have made much of a difference in my weight loss for this week. But it's not all about "this week". It's about my life. And I hope it's a long one. And I hope it turns into a happier, less stressful one soon. There are way too many things that are beyond our control. For someone as Type A and anal as me, it can make you, well....crazy, when things feel so helpless, hopeless and beyond your control. Kinda' like you ended up on the Crazy Train, except you didn't buy a ticket. It just kinda' happened.

I'm doing my absolute best to control the things I can. I've done a poor, poor job of it this week. I've let life beat me down. But for each day that you do what's right for you with the food and the exercise...the things that you can control....then that's a win for you...for your life. And that's got to be what's most important. Make no mistake. It doesn't matter how much anyone else loves you or says they care about you....NOBODY in this world cares more about what's most important for you and your life than YOU.

I can't promise that tomorrow will be good. All I can say for certain is that today was a success. Sometimes that's all we can do...one day at a time. Life happens. Sh*t happens. And maybe sometimes you get more than your share. But I think that if we take each day as it comes, that even in the midst of chaos, if we can dig deep within ourselves, find that little wellspring of hope that we each hold...the hope that this time....this time....we can finally make the changes that will produce the healthiest people we can be, then we will ultimately succeed. We will make it. We have to make ourselves the most important people in our lives, because no one else is going to. And we have to keep hope, because sometimes there's nothing else.

I know....super long post. You'll just have to forgive me for that. I hope that everone is having a super fantastic week filled with good eating choices, lots of exercise, strength, resolve, a winning desire, and belief in yourselves that you WILL get there. If you're not, and you're finding yourself surrounded by insanity like I am, then I have a few words for you, too......Keep the hope alive. :)

Quote For The Day:

"What is defeat? Nothing but education; nothing but the first steps to something better." -proverb