Deep breaths...inhale...exhale. I'm about to admit how much I weight right here on this blog. Right now MIGHT be the time I delete all the men I have listed as friends on my Facebook page. Especially the one ex-boyfriend and the wonderful guy friends I have around here where I live and see on a weekly basis. LOL! Of course, they probably don't READ blogs, especially one written by me.
Have you ever wondered why you are doing something that is harmful to yourself? It is hard to take a good, hard, long look at yourself and figure out why you are doing what you are doing. Either mentally or physically. For me, I suppose, it's both. Hopefully with the long term care of a skilled therapist, I can figure out why I sabotage myself and my weight loss desires.
I constantly look at pictures of myself and I absolutely hate them. THIS IS NOT ME! Why have I not actually done what I keep saying I'm going to do to lose weight? What the hell is it going to take?? A heart attack?
I am not average sized anymore, by any means. Anyone who sees me can tell I'm not the delicate flower of nature I once was. I'm hovering, and have been since before I started this blog last year, around the 285 pound limit...probably since about 2006.
That's right. TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY F**KING POUNDS! I almost weight TOO much to buy the top of the line scales...pushing their weight limit. What kind of sickness is going on in my head that I am NOT doing something about this? I am not happy with it. It is embarrassing. Any woman out there who claims they are proud of their big, beautiful self is a liar and I'll call them out on it any day. There is no way on God's green earth you are HAPPY with being out of breath, and there is no way you don't sit during the quiet times of the day or night, at some point, and reflect on what you are doing to your body and what the effects might be in the long run. There is no way you are standing there in front of the mirror, naked, saying, "Yeaaah, this belly sure looks good as Super Deluxe fanny pack." No way in hell. Stuffing yourself into jeans like a 10 pound sausage feels being squeezed into a 5 pound casing. Lies. There is no fat person out there who LOVES themselves. They're a damn liar. It's what we say to ourselves to protect our feelings. It's just more padding to add onto the whatever the reason we have the extra padding in the first place.
Sure, it's easy to dismiss it when you're 20 and fat. What are your chances of dying of a heart attack when you're 20 and invincible. When you're 40 and morbidly obese and have 2 kids...I am a heart attack waiting to happen. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
Isn't the fact that I could leave my two, beautiful daughters without a mother when they're 7 &5?? Am I that self destructive? Do I hate myself that much, subconsciously? Am I just really that lazy and selfish? I don't have an answer. I really don't. I wish I did. I *think* I like myself. Why am I punishing myself, though? Why does a person know they have alcohol issues continue to drink or someone who might have some mental health issues continue to deny that maybe therapy *could* help them. Shame? Having to face looking at oneself and see that they have failed themselves?
This isn't the person I want my daughters to remember. I don't want to die and leave my daughters with so much more to learn from me. I don't want them to look at old pictures of me and wonder what it would have been like to have their mom look like she did then, rather than this thing I have become. Why didn't Mommy love us enough? I love those two girls more than my own life yet every single day, I risk becoming an avoidable statistic. Diabetes, high blood pressure, cancer, congestive heart failure, stroke, you name it. Every branch in my family tree has had two or more of those at one point or another. I'm a walking, ticking time bomb.
Help me. Take my hand. If you have your own journey, let's try together. Let's be friends and I help you take a step toward your recovery and you take my hand and help lead me to mine. I want to be me, again. I don't want to hide behind this wall of fat to hide whatever it is I've been hiding from.
This isn't me.
THIS IS NOT ME!
This isn't me. I don't hate myself. I want to be proud of me.
And I will.
Have you ever wondered why you are doing something that is harmful to yourself? It is hard to take a good, hard, long look at yourself and figure out why you are doing what you are doing. Either mentally or physically. For me, I suppose, it's both. Hopefully with the long term care of a skilled therapist, I can figure out why I sabotage myself and my weight loss desires.
I constantly look at pictures of myself and I absolutely hate them. THIS IS NOT ME! Why have I not actually done what I keep saying I'm going to do to lose weight? What the hell is it going to take?? A heart attack?
I am not average sized anymore, by any means. Anyone who sees me can tell I'm not the delicate flower of nature I once was. I'm hovering, and have been since before I started this blog last year, around the 285 pound limit...probably since about 2006.
That's right. TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY F**KING POUNDS! I almost weight TOO much to buy the top of the line scales...pushing their weight limit. What kind of sickness is going on in my head that I am NOT doing something about this? I am not happy with it. It is embarrassing. Any woman out there who claims they are proud of their big, beautiful self is a liar and I'll call them out on it any day. There is no way on God's green earth you are HAPPY with being out of breath, and there is no way you don't sit during the quiet times of the day or night, at some point, and reflect on what you are doing to your body and what the effects might be in the long run. There is no way you are standing there in front of the mirror, naked, saying, "Yeaaah, this belly sure looks good as Super Deluxe fanny pack." No way in hell. Stuffing yourself into jeans like a 10 pound sausage feels being squeezed into a 5 pound casing. Lies. There is no fat person out there who LOVES themselves. They're a damn liar. It's what we say to ourselves to protect our feelings. It's just more padding to add onto the whatever the reason we have the extra padding in the first place.
Sure, it's easy to dismiss it when you're 20 and fat. What are your chances of dying of a heart attack when you're 20 and invincible. When you're 40 and morbidly obese and have 2 kids...I am a heart attack waiting to happen. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
Isn't the fact that I could leave my two, beautiful daughters without a mother when they're 7 &5?? Am I that self destructive? Do I hate myself that much, subconsciously? Am I just really that lazy and selfish? I don't have an answer. I really don't. I wish I did. I *think* I like myself. Why am I punishing myself, though? Why does a person know they have alcohol issues continue to drink or someone who might have some mental health issues continue to deny that maybe therapy *could* help them. Shame? Having to face looking at oneself and see that they have failed themselves?
This isn't the person I want my daughters to remember. I don't want to die and leave my daughters with so much more to learn from me. I don't want them to look at old pictures of me and wonder what it would have been like to have their mom look like she did then, rather than this thing I have become. Why didn't Mommy love us enough? I love those two girls more than my own life yet every single day, I risk becoming an avoidable statistic. Diabetes, high blood pressure, cancer, congestive heart failure, stroke, you name it. Every branch in my family tree has had two or more of those at one point or another. I'm a walking, ticking time bomb.
Help me. Take my hand. If you have your own journey, let's try together. Let's be friends and I help you take a step toward your recovery and you take my hand and help lead me to mine. I want to be me, again. I don't want to hide behind this wall of fat to hide whatever it is I've been hiding from.
This isn't me.
This isn't me. I don't hate myself. I want to be proud of me.
And I will.
