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Time for a Change?

29 Mar

I just looked in the mirror.

Good lord, that wasn’t pleasant.

Don’t get me wrong, I normally don’t care, but I DO care when the weight gain is being triggered by something. That something seems to be Celexa.

My appetite was completely out of wack for awhile, and I was eating everything, compulsively. I’m constantly trying to eat better, but it doesn’t matter when you eat everything.

So I’m thinking of trying Wellbutrin, since it does NOT list weight gain as a side effect, and it is more commonly used for bipolar treatment. Anyone tried this one? Any advice?

Two questions, for girls (or boys)

19 Mar
  1. I have VERY thick, irritating wavy hair. The hairdresser was able to smooth and straighten it SOOOO nicely. I can’t get it to flatten at ALL. Any thoughts? Please remember that I suffer from femaidiosious (I don’t know squat about chick shit)
  2. WHY do I constantly feel bloated? Is there a certain food I should beware? Could the less than one pop a day be doing this? More water? Less water?

I’ve had these in my head for awhile, and figured I’d put it out there.

It tastes good to her.

2 Mar

Poutine is evil. Over a year without one, and I fall prey to it’s greasy, curdy stare, it’s golden brown and white state.

I was feeling guilty, so I ordered the Veggie Wrap as well.

My stomach is now very, very upset with me.

But it was good. It was worth the gas.

My So Called Caloric Breakdown

1 Mar

I want to work from home.

Is the thought of going deaf by Rosalyn wasn’t so daunting, I would.

The people around me NEVER stop talking about food. Ever. It’s contant-what they can’t eat, what they can eat, calories burned, cardio done, how to make something taste good without any salt, how they shouldn’t really have this piece of cake, but oh, what they hell, and the guilt thereafter.

I’m going insane.

Sure, I have my issues with my body, and food. But my issues are limited to the fat that I’m lazy and like to eat crap. I’m slowly changing these problems, slowly, slowly, and I don’t talk about them much. I want to change my life in simple, slow ways that I will ultimately be able to continue. I don’t want to deprive myself, and I’m not concerned about fitting into a certain size. I just want to be healthy, and happy, and eating less crap. It’s simple I want a better life.

I don’t hear that from these people-all I hear is how thin is something to be attained, a minimum of calories eaten a victory of some sort. I always believed that things like earning degrees, learning languages, bearing children, these were victories. But defeating your body at the one thing it’s meant to do-hold onto calories like I hold onto cheesecake.

My body is good at holding on. I’d stay alive for a LONG time since my body does not like to part with a calorie. I tried doing the diet thing last summer, and it was working, but I hated it. I hated checking constantly for calories, checking what I could eat, not eating until I was even partially full. HATED IT. It’s not me.

My problem lies in the fact that I just learned the wrong habits. My mother was strict as all hell with what I could eat, and I had to sneak treats with my Dad. Then she got sick, and died, and no one was watching what I was eating. So I ate. And Ate.

Then I got pregnant, and crazy, and I ate a lot more. I gained appx 40 pounds between pregnancies, and I’m still carrying that. I quit smoking, and eating became my one thing, the one last thing. So now, I’m trying to break that habit, and relearn how to properly eat, how to eat good foods and enjoy them.

Being able to really taste foods has made a difference too. Stuff I never used to like now almost tastes good. It’s odd. We found a local pizza place that is GOOD, and I LIKE black olives on my pizza.

Weird huh?

I just don’t want to talk about it all the time. I don’t want to be surrounded by conversation upon conversation about calories and fat and carbs and ARGH! I want to read a book! I want to talk about music! Anything but my fat ass.

Maybe some people just don’t really have anything more than this to talk about. But I do.

“fatass people who are ugly”

25 Feb

  ETA: If I’m going to continually get hits on this search (and WTF?) at least do me the favour of telling me what the HELL you’re looking for anyway! This is getting old!

Le sigh.

WHY are you searching for that? I mean really…..lots of skinny people are uglier, BECAUSE they’re skinny, and they think that’s meaningful on some level.

Does it specifically matter that they’re fat AND ugly? What is ugly anyway? The people I consider “ugly” are mean, nasty people with no real moral compass or consideration for others. Most people I know are beautiful, because their hearts are in the right place.

I suppose it’s likely something juvenile, and more than likely connected to myspace, especially since you were here 3 times searching for this. Did you find what you were looking for? Are you more content in your body, thinking your found someone who isn’t?

Let me tell you a secret. For all my whining and bitching that I hate my body, I don’t. Not really. My body created children. My body nutures my children. My body keeps me well. My body pleases my husband. My fatass and I have met an uneasy truce, and while once I would have been dismayed by this hit, I’m not. Not anymore.

And that makes me a little different than you I suppose. I’ve accepted myself, wrinkles and fat and all. I’ve accepted the differences in all of us, even when they gross me out. I’ve accepted who and what I am.

Have you?

Celexa Redux

26 Jan

Some of you may remember that I jibbered and wavered about adding Celaxa to my treatment awhile back, and eventuallly decided it was for the best to at least try it. (Ok, so the visions of dancing razorblades was what really did it, but hey…)

I was worried about side effects, namely, sexual ones and weight gain. I’m not a teeny tiny girl, and I’ve struggled with my weight all my life, to the extent that one can struggle with something they don’t really give much thought to (I’d love to lose weight, but I’m lazy, along with other things). My thing with weight is, if it’s my fault fine. But don’t give me pills that might make it worse, and not enable me to lose it.

Part of the weight issue is tied in with being bipolar. That’s the part that I feel like I can’t control, and it’s frustrating. Add in some issues from childhood that I just connected recently (my distaste for exercise is linked directly to one of my abusers for instance) and that leaves me as a fat ass.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to beat all this. And I will. It’s just getting there that’s annoying. One of my friends always says “You have a million excuses lined up for why you don’t do something about it.” But they aren’t excuses. They’re reasons, and just like quitting smoking, when I’m ready, things will change for good. I know myself well enough for that.

Sex, in my relationship, is like glue. It’s the one thing that will always keep us together, and never fails us. I’m lucky to have a great partner who truly gives a shit about my needs and wants, and who is always into me. Having someone who can’t keep their hands off you when you feel fat helps on those bloated and fuck off days. I don’t like fucking around with our sex life. It’s the one constant in a life sometimes full of chaos. While my needs may change, the chemistry and passion between us never does. I’m lucky that way.

Thankfully, the Celexa hasn’t much affected sex. It’s made it a little more difficult to get the train around the mountain, but it’s like when you’re pregnant and having sex-everything is still there, it’s just…different. So it’s an adjustment more than anything. I’m used to having zero difficulties, so it’s been an experience. But I’m interested more, and I feel more “normal” during sex. I’m not kissy at all most of the time, again, due to circumstance. Lately I am. So that’s been cool.

Weight wise-it’s hard to say. My trip to NashVegas did NOT help. I ate VERY well, and drank a LOT. I know I gained a few pounds, and it’s just too freaking cold to get out and exercise. I contemplated a walk tonight, and then noticed it was -28C with the wind. So no. I feel bloated a lot, but not fatter. The bloated thing I don’t dig, but it might go hand in hand with the raging bumpukes I seem to get on this drug.

I feel better on it. I’m more even. I don’t cry at everything, in fact, I haven’t cried since the drug kicked in. I used to cry, on average, almost daily. I almost feel like I can’t quite feel the emotions, but I feel happy thoughts all the time.Is this what “normal” is like? Knowing something is crappy, but not feeling it in your heart down to your toes? Yet being able to shine with the love you hold for someone? Cause it’s weird. Not complaining-it’s just WEIRD.

I’ve read that some people adjust to the drug, and I hope that doesn’t happen. So far, I haven’t had any real issues, and I love that. I love just feeling like a normal human being, although it’s been hard to adjust to being able to, oh I don’t know, go out in public and not freak out.

You’d think I wouldn’t miss that. But oddly, I do. I guess it was my “thing” or something.

Ah well. Any Celexa questions or advice, feel free.

mama’s alright

15 Jan

I got my haircut yesterday. It looks awesome. I chopped a ton of it off-at least 5 inches of dried out orange crap hair fell onto the floor and out of my life. She straightened it out, added some layers, and somehow, found a pretty girl hiding behind the eyes of a nutbar.

huh. Who knew.

Suddenly, I know the pills are helping.

Never in my life have I had any desire to look girly, or “good”. I have always hidden behind boyish clothing, long straggly hair in many colors, a scowl and sarcasm. I always told myself that it was because my mother died before I learned how to be a woman, before I could come to figure out all those mystifying things women did with metal and lipstick. But maybe that isn’t it.

Could bipolar have always prevented my womanhood from finding itself?

(and incidentally, is that NOT the lamest sentence ever written?)

I know some of it is a rejection of those things my mother loved, or was like. I couldn’t bear the rituals that she played out, I still to this day tear up at curling irons and make up, because it is so full of HER that I cannot stand it. And I was young, and naive, and disinterested in “girl stuff” when she died. Only afterwards did I understand the void.

I’m also not exactly a delicate little flower. I’m almost 6 foot, and built like a linebacker. Even if I lost an assload of weight, literally, I’d still be very very large. Large and girly don’t always go together, and my mother was already having some issues with that when she died. So finding a way to integrate femininity into my life was difficult at best. So I did what anyone would do. I became a “freak”. Dye hair green, fall in love with 12 hole rangers, and wear a LOT of polyester. Still a girl, just not trying.

I can’t help but wonder how much of it is linked up to the bipolar, and depression. When I’m manic, or even normal as I’ve been feeling, I actually give a rats ass what I look like. Prior to this, I usually didn’t care so long as I didn’t smell, and there were no obvious holes. My hair was, well, it was in a ponytail. Does that count as a hairstyle? I never wear make up, unless you counted the “interesting” things one can do with eyeliner and lipliners around your eyes. Earrings make my ears puff up.

For the first time in a very long time, I feel like making myself attractive. It’s a fucked up kind of feeling. I’ve never allowed myself to be a girl. Perhaps I saw it as weakness. Perhaps now, I don’t care.

*I will be on and offline sporatically this coming week since I’m travelling. I hope to get the entries in the last Event! listed soon however.*

SOB! RIP Trainwrecks!


8 Jan

let’s say I might be getting a work trip to Tennessee in the next week or so. Let’s also say that I’d like to do some shopping, and I’m “bigger” boned, and need some advice. i also have 11W feet, and would like some new pretty CHEAP shoes.

Come on girls. I’ll have limited time, and limited funds, but i need SOMETHING new clothing wise. Help a chick out.

Fat? Fuck it.

6 Jan

So I’m sitting here enjoying my ultimate guilty pleasure, Entertainment Tonight (I know, I know, but hey, it empties the brain after a long day), and the ‘Ugly Vanessa” segment comes on.

I don’t think my eyes can roll far enough back into my head to adequately convey my annoyance and disgust with this idea.

What exactly pisses me off? Well, watching people be like “GASP! She wears a size 12 in the fat suit! drives me fucking nuts. Watching her cry because she’s “ugly” is making me twitch. Being told I should feel bad for her being “stared” at? The entire thing drives me nuts-having someone who plays into the “skinny game” try to beat it is making me nauseaous.

The only difference between Vanessa and those of us normally “ugly” is that Vanessa is USED to using her face, and her body to get attention from other people, in particular, men. She suddenly finds herself without her normal arsenal of “weapons” and the world ends.

You know what Vanessa? Some of us deal with this every single day. And we aren’t pushed out of the way or stared at. Or if we are, we don’t give two shits. Because some of us know that your size two waist doesn’t make you any better than us, and it really doesn’t give you the right to get all righteous about your “discovery”.

It bothers me-as a “bigger” girl, it bothers me that someone skinny is acting like it’s a big fucking surprise that fat girls aren’t treated as well as skinny pretty flirty girls. But it bothers me just as much that the assumption is there that a bigger girl can’t also be the flirty girl. We can. We are.

I’m tired of the contant reinforcement of “big=bad”. Sure, carrying extra weight isn’t healthy, and I’m not necessarily pleased with my body. But I’m sick of the lectures and the stories showing me that I’ll never be as happy as skinny pretty Vanessa. When she’s fat, she just cries, and acts sad.

I know plenty of beautiful fat girls. They’re beautiful cause they say fuck it.

So this is where I resolve, right?

31 Dec

Since it’s Dec 31 for the next few hours, I guess this is where the requisite ‘year in review” post should go.

But it was just another year in the life of someone with kids, really. Time moved too fast, my ass shrank too slowly, and I read far too few books. Instead of asking what I did with the year, I’d like to ask where it went.

Sure, I know where the days have gone. I just wonder if there’s a box somewhere that holds all the time that’s slipped through my fingers, that I can cash in later in life. During my daughters pregnancies, or in case someone I love becomes terminal with something.

I spent the year paranoid, and anxious, and equally joyous and in love. I was diagnosed as “crazy” (also known as Bipolar II). I learned that just maybe, my fuckups are not my fault, at least not in total. I’m just as confused at who “me” is, me as a mother, me as a wife, me as a person. But I’ve found some vague acceptance of all of it, of my ass, my batwingy arms (dear gawd no!) and my life as a mother.

Being a mother has by far been the biggest mindfuck of my life. I still look at myself and wonder who let me have children! And keep them! I look at other families, and I can say yes, those are adults. I can’t say that about us. And while I can’t find what “niche” to call me, I can still be comfortable being who I am as a mother which, if I think about it, if much, much more important.

I’ve resolved the guilt I’ve held over my Post Partum Depression. It was NOT my fault. I am not less of a mother, or a woman, because of it. I did not kill my daughter. I will have no more. But it wasn’t my fault either, and was the gift horse that led to my diagnosis.

I love my family-for once in my life, I can truly say I love my husband and my daughters with this enormous surge of emotion I can hardly control. I have accepted love, and allowed myself to give it. It’s been the scariest thing I’ve ever done. But I did it.

Damn I’m good. 🙂

I have my troubles still. the entire month of December was an exercise in distraction, and I don’t know why. I worry continually that I’ll lose my job. I can’t moderate my eating habits in spite of my mood swings. I still don’t know how to sew.

I’ve made friends in the computer-all of you, and for once, I feel like I CAN make friends. Of course, i’m terrible at commenting on a regular basis, and I likely say all the wrong things. But I can count “meeting” all of you as one of the highlights of this year.

I’ll be 30 this year.  My birthmother would have likely just have noticed she was pregnant with me 30 years ago. I would not have even quickened at this point. Hell, in all likelihood, I was concieved on New Years. I don’t know. But I wonder tonight about the women who gave me away. And I raise my glass to her. I do not hate her, I do not love her. I accept her. And that’s all she can ask for, really.

Every year takes me farther away from childhood, from becoming, from loss, from a life so vastly different. More and more, I learn that this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. To everything there’s a season after all.

I figure this year, my summer finally starts.

Happy New Year all. I hope it’s a good one.

Here’s the thing

24 Aug

I know all the stuff I SHOULD do to lose weight. I know what’s good for me, and what’s bad. I happen to mostly like the bad stuff, like tasty delicious Coke and greasy frenchfry goodness. And I’ve been cutting back on those, and today, after receiving some good advice, I signed up on some calorie charting website, learned that my walk to work is 2.6 miles one way and since I had already ruined the day with a cup of oil roasted mixed nuts (fucking merciful CRAP-860 calories?!?!?!) I had a sprinkle donut.

And I know that’s wrong, but it’s hopefully my last day thinking like a fatty, so leave me alone.

And in reading some suggestions from various sources, including this girlie drink lover, I began to discover why dieting or calorie counting has always seemed creepy and cult like.

Because it IS creepy and cult like.

About 2 years ago, while cranky, pregnant and gorging myself on greasy fried goodness of every description, I had to CONSTANTLY put up with the squealing of a few rather irritating persons around me. Why you ask?

Not cute shoes. Not tickets to something cool, like the Pink Dots. Not even puppies.

They were squealing away about counting points, and how last night’s weigh in was “so awesome” and blah blah blah blahblah. Meanwhile, I crammed a few more fries in my mouth.

As I chewed, it occured to me that these “women” (and LORD I use that word loosely) reminded me of a certain subsection of my high school

The Gigglies

My friend Stace and I spent our OAC year snickering, making fun of, rolling our eyes at, and loudly making Valley Girl comments at these girls.

You know the ones. They flirt with the teachers (ew ew ew dirty brain hurts). The laugh vapidly at nothing. Their daddies buy them things.

They end up becoming social workers because they “want to help and they really GET people”

These girls made me sick, and annoyed. Anyone pretending to be stupid for no good reason irritates the hell out of me.

As I chewed, I realized that in rejecting diets and calorie counting and the WWCult, I was rejecting the girl I didn’t WANT to be. A woman was strong and sassy and bitchy and, well, heavy on the chub. Little girls like them-I could swat them with my hand like flies, they would have to worry about walking in alley’s at night. They were insipid and vain and everything I never wanted to be. They wore scarves on their necks.

These women, these skinny girls, were something I would never be. A girl with a mother. They have their quides in front of them, their families behind them, their mother’s showing them how to dress and what to eat.

I have memories of enforced pink sweatsuits and strict diets because I’d get sick for no reason.

And so now, 2 years later, I’ve really come to grasp what I realized and cast off. while I might be hiding behind my fat for any number of reasons (of which my dear readers, there are a few) I don’t have to hide behind it because I’m afraid of being a woman, of being feminine. I did the most “feminine” thing I could ever do-I bore and gave birth to two incredible daughters. Two lovely fascinating creatures who will look to their mother for their guides in how to be women.

I don’t want to let them down, dammit, I can’t let them down. I don’t want to be tired or unhealthy, and nor do I want to furiously count calories to make sure I can sneak in a cookie. I want to be comfortable in my own skin for me, to be the role model I never had. I don’t want my girls to ever struggle with eating that last cookie.

So no more greasy things, no more Coke (SOB!).

And thankfully, no more annoying Weight Watchers girls.