Confronting the Beast

It’s been too long and I’m too tired to say, “gee, it’s been so long”.  So I’ll just say – I’m back.

I sit here a few pounds thinner, not many.  I lost 30 lbs as of July and have been working so very hard to gain 10 of it back.  I stopped seeing my therapist and funny enough, I don’t remember when.  That must mean something.

I’ve had some breakthrough’s – at least they’re breakthrough’s to me – to anyone else they might be just the ramblings of a middle-aged woman who’s stuck in adolescence.

Ever since I can remember I’ve hated coats and jackets.  Yes, I do realize how odd that sounds.  When I was around 11 years old my family had a huge financial set back.  It’s a really long story that some day I’ll write about.  But basically we barely had enough money for food let alone sweaters, coats or jackets.  We lived in Northern California and the climate was pretty mild.  On those days when I really needed a jacket my mother would insist that I didn’t need a jacket.  She would say, “you’re only going from the car to the building, you don’t need a coat”.  Only later did I realize that we couldn’t afford them.  I was beginning to gain my weight and had grown out of my old coats that were purchased when we had money.

For years I thought I didn’t like to wear jackets because of that.  I convinced myself that I didn’t need to wear one.  After all I was only going from the car to the store or the car to the school and on and on.

Only a few weeks ago as I was falling asleep did I remember or should I say *not* remember something bad.  As a child some times my parents took me and my siblings to a party at a relatives or friends house.  If we began to get sleepy or cranky and they weren’t finished drinking, they would put me in someone’s bed room, usually the room that held all the coats.

Once when this happened something bad happened too.  No, I don’t know exactly what happened. Only that it did happen. It was bad and it changed my life.

Is it cold in here?

I just returned from 5 wonderful days in Sedona, AZ. To be honest just before I left for vacation I thought to myself – I’ll try to be good, eat a lot of vegetables, drink a lot of water and do a lot of exercise. Well two outa three ain’t bad.

There were only two instances where my size was dragged out into the open, well if you forget that it’s completely obvious. On the flight to Phoenix the flight attendant stopped at my seat and pointing to my seat belted belly said, “is that a seatbelt extender”? Now 25+ pounds ago I had to use an extender, but now I don’t, thankyouverymuch. I immediately knew she asked me because if it was she was going to charge me for an extra seat. I won’t name the airline though (Southwest). I told her it wasn’t an extender and she just nodded and walked along. When she came back again I stopped her and asked her why she inquired about the extender. She said that if it was an extender, she wanted to make sure it was regulation. Yeah, sure she did. Everyone has heard stories about that airline and how they charge for fat people. The most recent story I heard was from the director Kevin Smith. As embarrassed as I was that I was pointed out, I was even more ecstatic that I didn’t need the extender and had essentially won.

I’d say it took me exactly one day to completely (or almost completely) forget my commitment to myself.  When you’re on vacation the idea of eating healthy kind of flies out the window.

For years now since I’ve been dieting I’ve kept Saturday night’s dinner as a  ‘no rules’ meal or since I’m on Weight Watchers – a “no points’ meal. I lob on the cheese, add the sour cream, have appetizers and of course, dessert. Oh and don’t forget the bread and butter. Yum. Since the first night in Sedona was a Saturday night – yippee! We received a great recommendation for a restaurant in town – an Italian restaurant. The bruchetta was absolutely incredible – and it was mostly tomato and garlic, wasn’t it?  Bread, butter, Caesar salad, shrimp scampi and a shared dessert.

We stayed at a bed and breakfast so breakfast was pretty much force-fed. The first breakfast was omelets. Not too bad, I ate half and the croissant they forced on me. Oh and some juice – not too bad. Salad for lunch.  That brings up something interesting. You’d think a salad would be a perfect choice, not really. Salads have lettuce or greens, and veggies – great. But that’s pretty much where the good, healthy part ends. Bacon, croutons, nuts, cheese, fatty dressings…pretty much all bad if you’re a food addict like me. So during my vacation I would have a salad under the pretense that I was eating healthy, but I loved the fatty parts of the salad the most. I’d tell myself I was having a salad so I could have some bread.  I’d probably have been better off with a sandwich. The second day all thoughts of being good were gone from my brain. Breakfast that day was French toast, yum. Bring on the butter and syrup. The days that followed were filled with fatty salads, with rich dressings, Italian food – who knew that Italian food in Sedona would be so incredibly good. , cheeseburger, pizza, incredible desserts – which of course I shared so as not to seem like such a pig.

I did get a lot of exercise…walking, shopping. I was even able to go to the Grand Canyon and walk a bit there.

Because of the dry air or altitude I was incredibly thirsty. I drank a lot of water and a good amount of diet coke. With most vacations, we did a lot of walking. We walked in the shopping areas and during a day trip to the Grand Canyon we walked a lot. Because of my fear of heights I walked just a little bit faster around the Grand Canyon, well jogged really.

The other time where my size was made pointed out was when we took a jeep tour of the red rocks. As soon as we met our tour guide, he looked right at me and said, “I’ll need someone to sit up front with me. I was thinking I’d sit with my sweetie in the back, but he repeated the request, again looking directly at me, dead in the eye. Finally I said, I would do it. As we picked up another couple at their hotel, he instructed them to sit across the one person sitting single. Then I it finally came to me – he wanted me to sit in front so he could put two people on the driver side of the jeep apparently to offset my mammoth girth. I admit, I’m pretty overweight, but I don’t weigh double what someone else does, wait a minute, yes I do.  At 270_ I weigh the equivalent of two people who weight 135….although I seriously doubt those two women weighed 135 – more like 175 but who’s counting.

The seatbelt fit just fine and the ride was amazing. We took amazing pictures and had a wonderful time. We stopped a couple of times and walked around the red rocks. The views were absolutely incredible.

Tomorrow is my weigh in. I’m anxious to find out how the scale thinks I did.

As I look back on this vacation I know I could have done better, but I also didn’t completely fall off the wagon. I’m pretty much being dragged along the side. I hope it doesn’t take me long to climb back up and sit comfortably on that wagon, without the seatbelt extender.

I’m struggling here.  Over the past five months I’ve lost almost 30 lbs.  But for the past six weeks I’ve struggled, well really I’ve struggled for my entire life…from the age of 8 on up.  I start to feel bad but then try to remember that I’m at least going the right direction, if you discount the half of a pound that I gained on Saturday.

Through all these minor ups and downs something very interesting is happening.  My entire body is getting smaller.  My rings and bracelets are loose.  The funniest thing, though, is my feet.  When I was younger, maybe in my twenties, I wore around a size 7 shoe.  As I got bigger, my size changed to a 7.5 and then an 8. I went to Nordstrom yesterday because I really needed some nice flats.   They were having a great sale. I found some adorable brown flats and fell in love, as in love you can get with a pair of shoes.  The very nice salesperson said they were out of 8’s, did I want to try a 7 ½.    Well all right, but I know I’m an 8. Out she came with the box.  I hesitantly put one of the shoes on, at this time I actually herd the trumpets and angels sing — it fit.  I put the other one on and I was walking, walking in a pair of shoes a full half size smaller than my normal size.  Oh my Gawd, I lost weight in my feet.  I’ve had to give some of my “fat” clothes away, did this mean that I would have to start buying smaller shoes?  One can only hope.

Excuse me while I veer off course here. When I go out and see fat people I notice more when they are messy, dirty or just slightly unkempt. I don’t really notice it when someone that’s thin or of average size is dirty.  I’m a fatist. If someone that’s of normal size looks dirty I don’t judge them like I do fat people.  When you’re fat you have to take more care with yourself.  If I see a woman who’s a size 8 and she’s got a little smudge on her shirt I think, she was probably working hard.  When I see a fat person with the same smudge, I think they’re dirty.  It’s wrong I know. But believe me, I’ not the only person who notices this.  I actually get sad when I see a fat woman who doesn’t take care of herself.  I think it’s an extension of her feelings of self-worthlessness.  I have felt that I don’t deserve a healthy lifestyle; she or he has gone past that point and thought they don’t deserve to care for themselves, after all, who cares, certainly not themselves.

When I was young and my parents were absent I pretty much had to raise myself. I remember so clearly that my older sister (who’s six years older than I am) telling me that I looked like shit because my shirt was wrinkled, but honestly, I was probably 12 and didn’t know how to iron. I don’t know how many 12 year olds know how to iron, but in my neighborhood and school, none of us did. We were at a place and a time where mothers were home taking care of their kids.  Although my mother was home, emotionally she was very much absent. My father left and took a part of her with him.  So there I was 10 12 14 not knowing really how to do laundry or take care of myself.  I don’t know what changed, some of it probably had to do with my sister making that comment. I so wanted her approval. When I was 12 she was 18 and had left the home – well my father threw her out but that’s another story for another day.

Anyway yesterday when I went to my ww meeting there was a woman who was probably as big as me – she wore sandals and her feet were to be honest, disgusting. Long, dirty toenails.  Her hair was an oily mess.  I felt slightly grossed out and more than sorry for her. I wanted to grab her dirty hand and tell her she was worth it.  It’s almost like that show “hoarders” only the thing that they let go and don’t appreciate is themselves.  How many women are out there like that that who don’t ever go outside?  Too many to count, I think.

So now I’m going shopping… But as I do my errands and shopping, I’m doing them in my new size 7 ½ shoes. New cute adorable shoes.  Freshly showered, hair blown dried, nails done and feet pedicured…why? Because I am worth it, as you are, dear reader.

At one point in my life food, like the beast, was my friend.

When I was very young I was thin. Not stick skinny, just thin like a girl who ate normally and was active, riding my bike, running around the neighborhood, playing games and just living a normal life. Then the beast arrived. I think when my father came home and asked my mother for a divorce, he brought the beast with him.

I have such vivid memories of comforting myself with food as a child. My father left, my mother had an emotional breakdown and both stopped parenting my siblings and me.

The beast originally showed up to help me. No one loved me, but food sure did. It helped me cope with my problems. And unfortunately it still does. The food fills a void, emptiness, a sadness that is so profound.

Way back when we lived in a beautiful home with a guesthouse. My grandmother was getting up in years and after my grandfather died, she moved into the guesthouse. She was close-by, but still somewhat independent. When my parents started fighting in front of us kids, I would take refuge at my grandmother’s house. She was a tall thin woman who barely ate. She must have seen what the effect the fights had on us kids because she started stocking the house with peanut butter, jelly, butter, white bread, cookies and ice cream. When my parents would fight, I’d leave the house and spend time with her. She let me watch old movies and stuff myself silly. I would sit for hours and watch old black and white movies and eat until I was full, not just physically full but emotionally full as well.

I’d sit in her house and make not one, but two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They completed me. I would easily devour two sandwiches and a dozen chocolate chip cookies with milk. I’d feel so sated, so peaceful, so loved. I’d head back home and some how I was able to ignore the fights, the tension and the unhappiness all around.

People who are fat often say they eat like a normal person, they don’t binge or eat a box of cookies, I say Bullshit. These people may not eat a bag of cookies, but it’s certainly not like they’re having salad for dinner every night. They are eating what all Americans eat – fried foods, white bread, candy, soda, ice cream. They are probably eating in one day what most healthy eaters consume in a week. They don’t exercise and a lot of them can’t work. For the most part they stay home and feel sorry for themselves. How do I know this? Because that is what I was like…or maybe I’m still like that.

I haven’t beaten the beast; hell I’ve barely confronted it. It’s so easy, isn’t it? To file those feelings away or completely ignore they even exist. It’s like a woman who knows her husband is cheating or that she’s just not happy in her life, ignore it and it will go away.

But weight problems and food issues don’t go away. The cliché is true – an alcoholic can stop drinking, a drug addict can stop using, hell even a “sex addict” (if there is such a thing) can stop having sex, but a food addict must continue to eat. There is no cold turkey with a food addict.

So what’s the answer? Stop over eating. Stop stuffing your face like you’re stuffing your problems. Face your fears, face your problems, and confront your beast.

I just went back to check my blog and I totally forgot I wrote about my upcoming medical tests. I was scared silly. The upshot is that I’m going to be just fine

For the past few weeks I’ve had some health problems and I’ve come to realize just how much difficulties in our lives block the healing or the ability to confront and face our problems. It’s easy to put losing weight on the back burner because so many things may take precedence. A few weeks ago I was having debilitating back pain. For me the key to being able to fight my demons (or my beast) is all about being conscious. Being aware of what I’m eating and why. A lot of it also has to do with writing my feelings here. Whether anyone ever reads this, it’s most important that I wrote it, that I acknowledge and record my problems and actions in this battle of eating. I couldn’t think let alone write. I was in so much pain that it was almost more than I could handle.

I went through some tests and the conclusion was that I have a fibroid tumor in the back of my uterus and an ovarian cyst in my right ovary. My doctor thinks that the location of the fibroid is what was causing me the intense back pain. I would try to walk and pain would shoot from the small of my back to the top of my thighs. It made walking the first few steps almost impossible. My doctor put me on muscle relaxers to try to relax the back muscles and pain medication. Once I’d take the prescriptions I was pretty much out of it. Again, I couldn’t write or even think about the beast. I knew he was still there, but I just let him lie quietly beneath the surface.

After about a week of pain and countless doctor visits, the pain subsided. I still don’t know why the pain stopped but it did.

The doctor wants to see me again in two weeks to see if the fibroid has changed at all or the cyst has gone away. The worst case is going to be a hysterectomy and I’m fine with that.

I can’t imagine what people go through who have a debilitating medical or emotional problem. It must take everything they have to even go day to day let alone confront and slay their beast. Even though it may take me longer than I thought, I’m ready to get back to my beast and finally fixing this problem.

Two days ago I was all set to skip my ww meeting and sit down and write about how I couldn’t find my way back to the wagon. Given my current circumstances I’ve decided to give myself a break. And bit the bullet and went to my meeting.

At the weigh-in and they told me I lost seven pounds. I didn’t believe her. I wasn’t being coy, I truly didn’t’ believe her and thought the scale was broken. I wanted to weight in again, but was too embarrassed to ask. She insisted the numbers were right and that I’ve lost a total of 23 pounds. It’s taken me three and a half months to lose those pounds, but that’s okay. I’m doing down instead of up and that’s half the battle.