"Dear Mother,
Can you hear me whining?"
Fuck me I'm in a funk again. Albert Einstein said, " Weakness of attitude becomes weakness of character." I fear that my character is in jeopardy due to my declining attitude. I'm tired, overwhelmed, terrified and angry. I'd like to say I'm not feeling like myself, but I don't actually know who I am. Apparently, some people seem to think that they do. To some I've got it good: Live-in babysitters, a free place to live, and a skinny ass. Well, everything comes with a price. The reality of all that is, I'm an emotional prisoner to a significantly unstable, controlling, and hateful mother. The only person in my life who has ever been capable of pushing me to the point of hurting myself, is her. It's extremely difficult to admit to that fact, but there it is. In this house I am treated as a 13 year old. It is made clear that my purpose is to serve her, follow her every order, and accept that I am a useless, ungrateful, and despicable person. Today's beating revolved around the fact that I am a terrible, neglectful, disappointment of a parent. I spend far too much home time doing my job and my child is suffering greatly because of it. Beating myself up for this just isn't enough.
My sweet-ass living conditions consist of a two "room" partially finished, cat piss soaked basement. Absolute fucking paradise. So comfortable and cozy with its damp mint green and pink cement walls, why would I ever want to give this shit up?
It's virtually free living. The deal is, we pay $100 a week to go toward food expenses and we do the majority of the cleaning. The money generally, is not spent on my food due to my unrealistic need to purchase "expensive, specialty" foods. Therefore, I simply purchase said foods (egg white, frozen veggies and yogurt) and stash them to prevent further ridicule.
That's how I get this hot ass of mine. I'm currently weighing in at 173.5lbs. Go me, I'm so freakin' skinny. My amazing body is made up of flaps and folds of loose skin that remind me of rising bread dough after it has been punched down. My inner arms ooze out of my short sleeves and my breasts pool at the bottoms of my bra cups. Who wouldn't want a body like mine?
I present well, but in reality, I am not who you think I am. I am doing the best I can, but sometimes my best just doesn't seem to be enough. Today I feel like a fraud and a failure.
Despite my whining, poor me attitude, I am fully aware of the fact that I have chosen this path and not all of it is bad. This bump, this glitch in the system, will pass and I will move forward. I need to take the control that I've allowed others to have over me. Don't assume you know me and stop fucking underestimating my potential, I will prove you wrong.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad
I realized recently as I was skimming through other people's blogs, that I'm guilty of neglecting my own. It's not so much that I have nothing to say; just that, I haven't felt like saying much of anything. I guess, I've basically been absorbed in myself and life. This post. I'm sure, will be a convoluted attempt at making some semblance of sense of the past month.
The Other Half passed yet another exam required for his teaching certification. This accomplishment has secured his position for next year and makes moving above ground more than just a fantasy. My job is never secure, however, escape is critical. I've avoided this topic during the rare occasions that I actually have an opportunity for social interaction. I do this for fear of the unknown and the annoying way people grill me about what I'm looking for. A refrigerator box at this juncture would suffice.
The above leads nicely into my social life or lack thereof. I've almost completely lost contact with the outside world. Beyond my nuclear family, I have one person who I actually spend time with, not counting work related gatherings. The majority of my social contact is texting with X, spotty text conversation with a few friends and a four hour IM chat with "First" (see post "Classic Girl"). Despite the negative tone in this paragraph; when I consider this reality, my initial thought is "Oh fucking well." I've grown accustom to my pseudo-isolation and self-involved lifestyle. It's not exactly what I want, but to quote Dwight Hansen "You can want in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first."
Douchebag/Boss is transitioning out of his title. We seem to have settled our differences only to have him abandon his post to take on other duties within the agency. At first I was resistant to the appointed New Boss. That's what I do. I'm weary of change.
*Side note. As I was falling asleep last night I had this thought: I am a peanut M&M. I have a crispy outer shell. I can be harsh, cynical and guarded. Underneath, I'm actually pretty sweet, soft and forgiving. Once you get through all that, you're either going to love me or have a severe adverse reaction.
New B joined myself and six other coworkers for dinner at one of my favorite places. As it turns out, she has been made well aware of my strained relationship with Douchebag and God knows what else. This worried me. Three rounds of $2 margaritas later, I can only hope we came to a mutual positive opinion of one another. Let it be mentioned, the evening resulted in me attending the last day of school with a slight hangover. That's the stuff of a mature and responsible role model.
The Greatest, now 18 year old, graduated last Friday as only he could. Anxiety and the lack of true family are his relentless demons. Fifteen minutes before graduation I helped him into his cap and gown and reiterated what to expect and what to do. Reluctantly, he left me to march with his class. The ceremony went well and he proudly accepted his empty diploma folder. After its completion he found me and we went to collect his transcripts and diploma from guidance. We now enter a meltdown of epic proportions. What guidance counselor tells a kid whose yearbook, cap and gown were purchased by faculty, that he will not receive his diploma until he pays his $40 class dues? Are you kidding me? Literally and figuratively, it all went in the trash and he was gone. I scrambled to pay their fucking dues, went dumpster diving and delivered his well earned diploma. Surprisingly, his cracked out guardian repaid me, hugged me a little too tight and the evening ended somewhat well. Actually, it ended quite well, due to my getting drunk once again, this time with members of the National Guard. Someday, maybe, I will tell you about my boyfriend, but that's a story for another time.
We now come to the final note worthy event of June. I ran the 6th annual 4 mile Skip's Run. solo. I was terrified, excited, and exhausted. "First" had me up until 1am deep in a conversation that had been on a 13 year hiatus. Unfortunately, my anxiety and lack of sleep got the best of me for a portion of the race. From the start I compared myself to others and pushed myself to run harder than I'm capable of. I completed the first mile in just under seven minutes. Due to my need to "keep up" I damn near killed myself in the process. Just shy of mile two, I was briskly walking and fighting back tears of self-loathing. Packs of people ran past me, including a rather large woman whose gelatinous ass appeared to be fighting her every step of the way. I was convinced I was last and struggled to purge my self-deprecating thoughts. Finally, I sucked up my pride, found a woman with a pace I could match and in true NASCAR fashion, drafted my way to the finish line. I did not finish last. With eight people behind me, I finished the four miles in 47 minutes and 37 seconds. As it turns out, I cut a minute off each of my miles compared to my Shamrock Shuffle time. There's something to be said in that.
With that all said, I'm feeling hopeful that there are good things to come. My daughter is in an amazing stage of life and every day is an adventure. The summer job is only a week away, although far from my favorite place on Earth, I know it's going to be OK. I'm not going to venture a guess on the living conditions, whatever happens, I'll let you all know when it does. In August I will be running a half marathon relay with two of my coworkers. Then, hopefully, it's back to high school. I'd say, my summer is pretty well booked. "Beyond that, I'm going to have to check my calendar."
The Other Half passed yet another exam required for his teaching certification. This accomplishment has secured his position for next year and makes moving above ground more than just a fantasy. My job is never secure, however, escape is critical. I've avoided this topic during the rare occasions that I actually have an opportunity for social interaction. I do this for fear of the unknown and the annoying way people grill me about what I'm looking for. A refrigerator box at this juncture would suffice.
The above leads nicely into my social life or lack thereof. I've almost completely lost contact with the outside world. Beyond my nuclear family, I have one person who I actually spend time with, not counting work related gatherings. The majority of my social contact is texting with X, spotty text conversation with a few friends and a four hour IM chat with "First" (see post "Classic Girl"). Despite the negative tone in this paragraph; when I consider this reality, my initial thought is "Oh fucking well." I've grown accustom to my pseudo-isolation and self-involved lifestyle. It's not exactly what I want, but to quote Dwight Hansen "You can want in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first."
Douchebag/Boss is transitioning out of his title. We seem to have settled our differences only to have him abandon his post to take on other duties within the agency. At first I was resistant to the appointed New Boss. That's what I do. I'm weary of change.
*Side note. As I was falling asleep last night I had this thought: I am a peanut M&M. I have a crispy outer shell. I can be harsh, cynical and guarded. Underneath, I'm actually pretty sweet, soft and forgiving. Once you get through all that, you're either going to love me or have a severe adverse reaction.
New B joined myself and six other coworkers for dinner at one of my favorite places. As it turns out, she has been made well aware of my strained relationship with Douchebag and God knows what else. This worried me. Three rounds of $2 margaritas later, I can only hope we came to a mutual positive opinion of one another. Let it be mentioned, the evening resulted in me attending the last day of school with a slight hangover. That's the stuff of a mature and responsible role model.
The Greatest, now 18 year old, graduated last Friday as only he could. Anxiety and the lack of true family are his relentless demons. Fifteen minutes before graduation I helped him into his cap and gown and reiterated what to expect and what to do. Reluctantly, he left me to march with his class. The ceremony went well and he proudly accepted his empty diploma folder. After its completion he found me and we went to collect his transcripts and diploma from guidance. We now enter a meltdown of epic proportions. What guidance counselor tells a kid whose yearbook, cap and gown were purchased by faculty, that he will not receive his diploma until he pays his $40 class dues? Are you kidding me? Literally and figuratively, it all went in the trash and he was gone. I scrambled to pay their fucking dues, went dumpster diving and delivered his well earned diploma. Surprisingly, his cracked out guardian repaid me, hugged me a little too tight and the evening ended somewhat well. Actually, it ended quite well, due to my getting drunk once again, this time with members of the National Guard. Someday, maybe, I will tell you about my boyfriend, but that's a story for another time.
We now come to the final note worthy event of June. I ran the 6th annual 4 mile Skip's Run. solo. I was terrified, excited, and exhausted. "First" had me up until 1am deep in a conversation that had been on a 13 year hiatus. Unfortunately, my anxiety and lack of sleep got the best of me for a portion of the race. From the start I compared myself to others and pushed myself to run harder than I'm capable of. I completed the first mile in just under seven minutes. Due to my need to "keep up" I damn near killed myself in the process. Just shy of mile two, I was briskly walking and fighting back tears of self-loathing. Packs of people ran past me, including a rather large woman whose gelatinous ass appeared to be fighting her every step of the way. I was convinced I was last and struggled to purge my self-deprecating thoughts. Finally, I sucked up my pride, found a woman with a pace I could match and in true NASCAR fashion, drafted my way to the finish line. I did not finish last. With eight people behind me, I finished the four miles in 47 minutes and 37 seconds. As it turns out, I cut a minute off each of my miles compared to my Shamrock Shuffle time. There's something to be said in that.
With that all said, I'm feeling hopeful that there are good things to come. My daughter is in an amazing stage of life and every day is an adventure. The summer job is only a week away, although far from my favorite place on Earth, I know it's going to be OK. I'm not going to venture a guess on the living conditions, whatever happens, I'll let you all know when it does. In August I will be running a half marathon relay with two of my coworkers. Then, hopefully, it's back to high school. I'd say, my summer is pretty well booked. "Beyond that, I'm going to have to check my calendar."
Monday, May 18, 2009
Smart Went Crazy
Parasite. What you appear to be capable of is sucking all you can from others without giving anything in return. What was asked of you was a simple acknowledgment, yet you are much too self involved for that. Petty? Petty is the immaturity you displayed by, as usual, redirecting the attention back to you and your perpetual dysfunction. That you cannot accept how you treat others and apologize, is further proof of the deeply selfish person you truly are. You have been stood by and supported despite the suggestions to not feed into your drama. The only time you make contact is when you need someone to justify your actions and placate your false sense of victimization. The ongoing crises you put yourself in are pathetic cries for attention. I've come to know you as melodramatic, self serving, and incapable of accepting responsibility for your poor judgement. Despite all your effort to gain a higher education, you may well be the most idiotic person I know. You are a draining suck on life; find a new host and best of luck on further maintaining your relationships.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Acrobat
The majority of my life I have strived to go unnoticed, to blend in, to quietly get by. As a painfully shy and excessively over-weight female I always felt as though everything I did was being monitored and judged by those around me. Each word I spoke, step I took, and bite I consumed was being critiqued and whispered about. I realize now, how very wrong I was.
At this point in my life, I feel more under the microscope than ever. It's become a struggle to cope with what I am becoming and how I am received. My confidence is at its highest despite the occasional lapse back into my old ways of thinking. I've developed a solid support system that has given me more strength and hope that I ever imagined. I thrive on the encouragement and compliments of others, despite how awkward and overwhelming it can be. Being frequently described as inspiring and looked to for motivation is surreal to me, yet I'm honored to be seen in this new light.
However,the most difficult facet to cope with in this venture, has been the negativity and hostility from some family and friends. Gore Vidal wrote "Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies." I can see the truth in that statement. I never expected to be alienated due to something as basic as improving myself. I feel as though what I am now seems to pose a threat, makes me less likable and opens me up to negative thoughts and comments from others. Some are more overt with their opinions, while others seem to exude a vibe of resentment.
I have always been an extremely sensitive person and I cannot and will not deny that I am hurt. I'm not always able to express my hurt, so it often is converted into my own hostility. I did not set out to make this change for or against anyone. It's not about them, it's about me. I'm taking that hurt/hostility and using it to push myself even harder. If they can't like me as much at 179 as they did at 245, well, then they never liked me at all. I thank them for the motivation.
At this point in my life, I feel more under the microscope than ever. It's become a struggle to cope with what I am becoming and how I am received. My confidence is at its highest despite the occasional lapse back into my old ways of thinking. I've developed a solid support system that has given me more strength and hope that I ever imagined. I thrive on the encouragement and compliments of others, despite how awkward and overwhelming it can be. Being frequently described as inspiring and looked to for motivation is surreal to me, yet I'm honored to be seen in this new light.
However,the most difficult facet to cope with in this venture, has been the negativity and hostility from some family and friends. Gore Vidal wrote "Whenever a friend succeeds, a little something in me dies." I can see the truth in that statement. I never expected to be alienated due to something as basic as improving myself. I feel as though what I am now seems to pose a threat, makes me less likable and opens me up to negative thoughts and comments from others. Some are more overt with their opinions, while others seem to exude a vibe of resentment.
I have always been an extremely sensitive person and I cannot and will not deny that I am hurt. I'm not always able to express my hurt, so it often is converted into my own hostility. I did not set out to make this change for or against anyone. It's not about them, it's about me. I'm taking that hurt/hostility and using it to push myself even harder. If they can't like me as much at 179 as they did at 245, well, then they never liked me at all. I thank them for the motivation.
"...don't let the bastards grind you down." U2
Friday, April 10, 2009
Tourette's
How much effort would it take to convince you all that I have acquired frontal lobe damage or a rare symptom of Tourette's? "Oh, so sorry, that's the coprolalia speaking." I can already feel the warm satisfaction that would come with allowing a stream of unrestrained word vomit to pass my lips. I experimented some last week; calling one of my captors a "fucking bitch." It was immensely fulfilling in the moment, unfortunately I possess a conscience that holds me to cleaning up after my verbal leakage. Not all that I have to say is malicious. I'm also fueled with words of inspiration, useful suggestions, and tempting propositions.
Sadly, everything comes with a price. Good triumphs over evil; I'm a decent and self respecting human being. I know right from wrong and I'm not out to hurt or embarrass anyone. I'm going to quarantine the potential for a communicative outbreak and swallow my words.
But, before I do, just let me say this:
Sadly, everything comes with a price. Good triumphs over evil; I'm a decent and self respecting human being. I know right from wrong and I'm not out to hurt or embarrass anyone. I'm going to quarantine the potential for a communicative outbreak and swallow my words.
But, before I do, just let me say this:
"Try me, I'm a damn good lay."
and
"Fuck you. You're a joke."
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Not a Pretty Girl
I've been thinking a lot about my ultimate goal in this weight loss, health movement I've taken on. My thought process has been stimulated and sometimes challenged by those around me.
A friend recently asked me if I ever fantasized of "waking up skinny." Without hesitation, I was on my soapbox and running. Ha, running. That's a loud and clear, "No." I have no desire to be skinny, thin or any other synonym of that nature. I'm currently working toward dropping those words from my personal lexicon. To me, they hold as much negative connotation as the word fat. In all honesty, "skinny" evokes images of weak, helpless "maidens" who lack the ability to fend for themselves, "kittens" who need protection and rescue. Skinny would be a completely unrealistic goal and the desire to be so would only set me up for crushing failure. I am aware of my desires and limitations; my mind and body are not designed for "skinny."
So what do I want to be when I grow down? My fantasy: To look like freakin' Jordan O'Neill (G.I. Jane) or Ellen Ripley (Alien). Keep in mind, I said fantasy. Realistically I simply want to be healthy, athletic, fit and confident. However, the capability of kicking someones ass when necessary would be pretty sweet.
Today the same friend mentioned that she belly danced un-inebriated in public. I love that. She too struggles with self confidence and she expressed feeling empowered and free for doing something so outside of her comfort zone. So what empowers me? Obviously running, but also, blurring that line separating what are thought to be feminine or masculine activities. In the past few weeks I've spent a bit of time with the boys in the Industrial Arts classroom. It's hugely satisfying to demonstrate that, in fact, some girls actually know how to handle a hand-held router and know the difference between a cheese grater file and a rasp.
Today, I spent at least a half an hour hacking away at an 8ft long, 2ft high block of ice with a forty pound ice chisel. Why? Because my father unfortunately is no longer capable of that type of physical labor. Because he suggested that the job wait until the Other Half came home from work. Because, "I'm not a maiden fair and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere."
A friend recently asked me if I ever fantasized of "waking up skinny." Without hesitation, I was on my soapbox and running. Ha, running. That's a loud and clear, "No." I have no desire to be skinny, thin or any other synonym of that nature. I'm currently working toward dropping those words from my personal lexicon. To me, they hold as much negative connotation as the word fat. In all honesty, "skinny" evokes images of weak, helpless "maidens" who lack the ability to fend for themselves, "kittens" who need protection and rescue. Skinny would be a completely unrealistic goal and the desire to be so would only set me up for crushing failure. I am aware of my desires and limitations; my mind and body are not designed for "skinny."
So what do I want to be when I grow down? My fantasy: To look like freakin' Jordan O'Neill (G.I. Jane) or Ellen Ripley (Alien). Keep in mind, I said fantasy. Realistically I simply want to be healthy, athletic, fit and confident. However, the capability of kicking someones ass when necessary would be pretty sweet.
Today the same friend mentioned that she belly danced un-inebriated in public. I love that. She too struggles with self confidence and she expressed feeling empowered and free for doing something so outside of her comfort zone. So what empowers me? Obviously running, but also, blurring that line separating what are thought to be feminine or masculine activities. In the past few weeks I've spent a bit of time with the boys in the Industrial Arts classroom. It's hugely satisfying to demonstrate that, in fact, some girls actually know how to handle a hand-held router and know the difference between a cheese grater file and a rasp.
Today, I spent at least a half an hour hacking away at an 8ft long, 2ft high block of ice with a forty pound ice chisel. Why? Because my father unfortunately is no longer capable of that type of physical labor. Because he suggested that the job wait until the Other Half came home from work. Because, "I'm not a maiden fair and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere."
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Shamrocks and Shenanigans
I kicked off my day with a 1.6lb loss, making the total to date 57.4lbs. This, on top of the fact that I can now stake a claim on having successfully completed an official 5k race. I can't even begin to describe how I feel. Relieved, proud, empowered, elated to say the least.
The 8th Annual Shamrock Shuffle runner, number 248 came in 326th place out of 340 participants. I accomplished the two main goals that I had set for myself. Goal 1: Quite simply, finish. Goal 2: Good God, don't finish dead last.
My total running (and walking) time was 38:57.50. That's pretty damn good. I do however, want to point out and I am in no way comparing myself to others, that the top runner finished the race in 15:36.20. Let's put this word problem into perspective: As I was approximately 2 minutes into mile 2, Winner was casually rolling through the finish line as though he'd just walked 3.1 feet. That's not bitterness, it's straight up awe.
Crossing that finish line was one of my greatest accomplishments and I honestly could not have done it without the support of some pretty amazing people. My biggest fans, my baby girl and other half, I cannot begin to sum up the inspiration they provide. The greatest 17 year old on earth, who's voice was all I could hear as I came into the final stretch. My close friend and her boyfriend, who only this morning gave me shit for not telling him I was running, signed up and stuck with me for the first mile before leaving me in the dust. In particular, my running partner. An avid runner who has participated in half marathons and runs 6 miles a day. She was by my side the entire time, way before the race even started. Had it not been for her I would never have done this in the first place. I even ran a solid 8/10 of a mile, the most I have run in one shot outside, all thanks to her pacing me! Not to mention the many others who have encouraged me along the way.
I feel good, I feel strong, and I'm ready for the next race in June. I think this could possibly mean that I can consider myself a runner. This coming from the girl who only two years ago insisted she, "Only ran in emergencies."
The 8th Annual Shamrock Shuffle runner, number 248 came in 326th place out of 340 participants. I accomplished the two main goals that I had set for myself. Goal 1: Quite simply, finish. Goal 2: Good God, don't finish dead last.
My total running (and walking) time was 38:57.50. That's pretty damn good. I do however, want to point out and I am in no way comparing myself to others, that the top runner finished the race in 15:36.20. Let's put this word problem into perspective: As I was approximately 2 minutes into mile 2, Winner was casually rolling through the finish line as though he'd just walked 3.1 feet. That's not bitterness, it's straight up awe.
Crossing that finish line was one of my greatest accomplishments and I honestly could not have done it without the support of some pretty amazing people. My biggest fans, my baby girl and other half, I cannot begin to sum up the inspiration they provide. The greatest 17 year old on earth, who's voice was all I could hear as I came into the final stretch. My close friend and her boyfriend, who only this morning gave me shit for not telling him I was running, signed up and stuck with me for the first mile before leaving me in the dust. In particular, my running partner. An avid runner who has participated in half marathons and runs 6 miles a day. She was by my side the entire time, way before the race even started. Had it not been for her I would never have done this in the first place. I even ran a solid 8/10 of a mile, the most I have run in one shot outside, all thanks to her pacing me! Not to mention the many others who have encouraged me along the way.
I feel good, I feel strong, and I'm ready for the next race in June. I think this could possibly mean that I can consider myself a runner. This coming from the girl who only two years ago insisted she, "Only ran in emergencies."
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