I thought about making a new blog again, but I loved this one so much, I figured I would start adding to it again.
To start - my life is a shit show. And of course, I am the one who made it this way. I'm trying to figure away to dig my way out, but it's a slow, arduous process.
Tonight, I wish to discuss the biggest issue in my life.... literally. Also known as, my weight. I think back to a few years ago, when I was steadily losing weight through daily exercise and healthy eating, and I can't, for the life of me, remember my "motivation." But after I switched jobs and lost focus, boy, did it all go to hell. And quickly, too.
I stopped exercising completely. I went back to my copious amounts of soda and deep affection for anything fried. I avoided vegetables like they were a collection agency, and I'm pretty sure I achieved a record low of "100" steps per day - if my phone is to be believed.
Now, here I sit, a mere 180 lbs overweight, contemplating whether I want to go to the grocery store and get items to meal prep.... or go and grab a milkshake. Of course, the meal prepping will win, but the milkshake side of my brain is putting up a hell of a fight. But even with the internal struggle, I have a reason to go and choose boring chicken and veggies in a tupperware. Plain and simple, I'm tired. (SPOILER ALERT; This is pretty much a bitch fest/ vent session. Whine will be served.)
I'm tired of wondering every day why my clothes keep getting smaller and smaller. (No - I'm not actually wondering, duh. I just like to pretend to be ignorant to my size.) It's exhausting to be terrified of any department store, and any item of clothing that might be my size. I've worn the same 10 outfits for almost 3 years now, with jeans being the only item to cycle out - stupid thighs. I despise clothes shopping almost as much as I despise my triple chin. Almost.
I'm really over being sent into a panic attack over every single item of furniture I may encounter in public. I broke one of my sister's dining chairs, and that was sitting down gently. True story. I'm pretty scared of my own kitchen table, and my couch. I rarely like to eat at a restaurant, as I'm almost positive their main goal is to terrorize the obese population. I've never really been a fan of trying to suction my body between the seat and the table... my rolls of stomach fat spilling over to mingle with my dinner plate.
Stairs, along with considerable distances of any kind, are officially my nemesis in this life. I wish the smart people of the universe would come up with a portable escalator to accommodate my manic laziness. Alas, they're probably out there trying to solve global warming and world hunger, so my first world problems are on the back burner for now. But seriously, stairs are the devil. I rarely visit the basement at my dad's house due to the fact that I hate the return journey. When my younger sister and I visited Laguna Beach, I traversed a small staircase, and was actually proud that I only stopped 3 or 4 times. Guys, it was pretty much the most pathetic staircase ever, and I was practically crawling my way up, considering dictating my last will and testament to the homeless guy watching me. What he must have thought of the girl who couldn't make it up stairs because she ate TOO much food. Jeez.
I love being outdoors, but I hate trails and hikes of any kind. I've stopped hiking - you never want to be the "pace setter." That's never a compliment. My amount of walking in a day consists of: apartment to car, car to office, office to car, car to apartment - with some variations of a trip to the grocery store. That is my TOTAL amount of exercise in a day. You combine that with my adoration for sugary, fizzy garbage and my aversion to all things green and living, and you've got yourself one nasty, should-be-dead cocktail. I like to call it the "obesitini."
I can tell the people around me are tired of my jokes - considering the fact that I'm the butt of them 99% of the time, I don't blame them. I'm not surprised I didn't get a return text the other night when I told someone I wanted to harpoon myself. Good Lord. But honestly, I feel like I need to do this. If I make myself the joke, then I can attempt to control who's laughing at me. They're laughing because I invited them too - or rather forced. It's so much easier to handle than the ones who laugh and jeer when they think I'm not looking. I'd much rather make people uncomfortable with my own line of fat jokes, featuring me, than to see the pity and judgement in their eyes. I can get through the laughs and the comments, if I elicited them directly. They're so much harder to take when they're unbidden, and unwelcome.
I want to be happy again. Every day- I look in the mirror, and all I can think is "Look at this monster I've created." The soundtrack of words that runs through my head on a daily basis might contain excerpts like: Hideous, whale, disgusting, pathetic, big as a house, ugly, sad, alone, worthless, revolting...." And many more. I could release a whole album of negative talk about myself. An album per day. That's so sad!! No one should hate themselves, and I have buried myself so deep in self hatred, it's hard to see any good anymore. I get extremely uncomfortable when anyone pays me a compliment or praises something I do. I find myself more open and receptive to negative communication of any kind. I've put myself in a mire of shit talk, and I enjoy other people's company there, instead of trying to get out of the muck.
Loneliness gets to you after a while. I can tell I make people uncomfortable with my jokes and my insecurities. I second guess every single thing I say, and rehash any mistake I've made with friends over and over again like game footage in my mind. I am terrified to every invite anyone to do anything - I feel like I'm pushing myself onto them. I don't trust that people actually want to be around me, so I stick to family (and one best friend), and a hell of a lot of loneliness. I'm big enough to be two people, so that counts, right?
I'd love to say that I'm totally only track, that I'm ready to kick my disorder in the butt, that I've got a plan for total success. Sadly, no. I know I'm on my way to something good, but I also know that my biggest obstacle is myself, and this will be slow. Today, I'm tired and venting. Tomorrow, I'll have a little less weight on my shoulders, and I can move forward a little more. Because I'm tired of being tired.
