In hiding

I haven't been around because I've been having breakthroughs that have been way too much to deal with.  They really have "broken" through, and it's been painful and scary and a wee bit too much.  I've just sort of filed them back and would do anything and everything else to keep my mind off of them.  It hasn't been pretty.

Coming here meant I had to talk about them, so needless to say....

Saturday was a sucky sucky day.  My best friend's brother died unexpectantly on a day where I had to come face to face with past demons.  So I had the Mortality Card played right along side all this other crap I've had to deal with.  Lynn was only 45, and no one could have predicted that he would die.  In fact, my best friend's mother has cancer for which she's not getting any preventative treatment, so the whole family has to deal with her mortality on a day to day basis.

This was a total suckerpunch.

But that's how life is, isn't it?

That morning I had a fight with my 15 year old son.  It's not an unusual occurance, we fight all the time about everything.  I just chalked it up to his fighting for his place in the adult world like all young bucks.  I now know it's a much bigger deal than that.

Of all of us, Timothy and I got the brunt of Dan's illness.  We were the ones who actually endured abuse and anger, and both of us felt helpless to stop it.  For Timothy, it's meant that he will never back down from a fight again.  He doesn't want to feel that helpless again, and he feels a lot of self loathing giving himself over to pain instead of anger.

Which was what Saturday morning was about.  The fight was so intense I was afraid we were going to come to blows, and I had never before worried about him striking me.  It was a complete throwback to when I would face Daniel at his sickest and worry that he was going to kill me. 

Ever since Dan went through all he went through with the meds, I've sort of canonized him - especially with the guilt I suffered because of the divorce.  I felt like I abandoned him when he needed me, it wasn't his fault he was sick.  I go back and forth between thinking that I'm beating myself up or letting myself off the hook.  I did stay, and I dealt with all the things his sickness entailed - from the rage and abuse of being untreated, to being catatonic and unresponsive medicated to the gills.  He was hospitlized several times and I was there for him, praying for him, loving him and doing all I could to make the marriage work.  I did not divorce this man for lack of love, even if we had such a turbulent past. 

But this wasn't cancer, this was an emotional illness that could affect my kids and I for a long time to come.  It resulted in the kids getting taken away, and that's when I emotionally checked out of the marriage.  I knew that I had made a choice (choosing to stay married to Dan) and it had sacrificed my kids.  In fact I resented Dan a lot in those days, and I guess that was how I could condone looking outside the marriage for an escape.  Basically I was punishing us both.

I didn't do a whole lot of things I was proud of in those days.  I hate to say but I probably victimized Dan as much as he victimized me.  That is why I can't deal with the abuse, because I feel like Dan doesn't deserve that on top of it all.  He doesn't deserve to be immortalized in that way.

Especially when he was so much more than his disease.  Though he could be a very scary guy back in the day, he was also the kindest and most loving and most emotionally tender people I'd ever met.  His heart would break for total strangers, and he lived his life - especially his last years - in service to others.

That's how I want him remembered.

Apparently Timothy has the same issues.  He reveres Dan and places him up on a huge pedestal.  Neither one of us want to look at the abuse because we feel so damn guilty for how we treated him after he got treated and ceased being that scary guy who impacted us so much.

Basically we fought back when it was safe to do so.

Anyway, the fear I felt in my confrontation with Timothy - who is nearly 6' now and if he struck me it really would have impact - made me realize why being fat works for me.  That's been the question.  Dr. Phil says we don't do anything that doesn't pay off for us in some way, and I never could figure out - satisfactorily - what fat does for me, aside from the superficial way it isolates me from others.

Digging deeper than that, the isolation works because ultimately I don't have to meet anyone else or deal with any variables but the people I already know, who have proven that they will not hurt me.  For everyone else it's a deterrant.  They're not going to get close enough to hurt me emotionally OR physically.

Therefore, ultimately, fat keeps me safe.

Being big means no confrontations.  No one is going to try to bully me ever again, because I'm big enough to bully back.  In that way I'm very much like Timothy.  If someone threw a punch, I'd wipe the floor with them simply because I will never ever be beat down again.  Even though I feared going to blows with Timothy, I was ready to meet them with blows of my own.

And I think that's what scared me most.  All the anger I have regarding my helplessness and my years of being the victim has always been focused inward.  Just one violent confrontation with someone else and I'm afraid it would all pour out.

Because I will not live in fear.  I will not render control of my life to anyone completely, for I cannot trust anyone completely.  Being fat means I don't have to.

So needless to say I've had a lot to think about.

For the record, the situation defused with Timothy and we both talked it out.  But it wasn't after I broke down into tears and vocalized that I wish it had been me who died instead of Dan - because I don't know how to deal with this. 

The therapist is going to get an earful when I go back.  I haven't gone because of my foot, and trying to stay off of it while it heals.  That's not an excuse btw - I haven't done much of anything anywhere, and the two rare occasions I went out it immobilized me the following day.  I've had to let everyone else pick up the slack.  They have to do the cleaning and the shopping and all the other stuff I've gotten so used to doing since I started driving again.

Needless to say, this is hell on a control freak like myself.

I'll go back, don't worry.  I'm going to need to with the book I plan to write in November, dealing with some issues I just absolutely do not want to deal with.

I guess that's all the more reason to deal with them.

A Piggy Update

Well, it's been nine days since The Incident.  I'm still in a lot of pain in my third toe and on the top of my foot, so I went to a podiatrist this morning.  She said that it was a sprain and possible stress fracture, although they wouldn't be able to see that on an X-ray until it began the healing process, usually after ten to fourteen days. 

Here's what my foot looked like on the 18th:

 

Here's what my foot looks like now:

 

She also gave me some more pain killers so basically it's just going to hurt until it doesn't hurt anymore.

Joy.

I tellya, I've been extremely upset regarding weight loss because it seems like everytime I get on track something comes along to knock me off.  This puts off my exercise routine possibly by another four weeks.  So I have been eating to spite fate.  I know it's childish and counterproductive, but it just seems I can't get a break.

And November doesn't look like it's going to be good for the diet either.  I once again decided to do NaNoWriMo, which is National Novel Writing Month.  It's a challenge for writers to attempt a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. 

It's a good writing exercise, and given I haven't been writing anything I thought I'd cut my teeth on this project. 

I was going to turn one of my screenplays into a novel, like I did last time.  So I started reading books, since I was laid up and couldn't do much of anything else anyway.  I read Waiting to Exhale (by Terry McMillan) and April Shadows (by VC Andrews), both of which included an overweight female character who was isolated by her weight.  While the other girls in Waiting to Exhale were dating and having loads of Mr. Wrongs enter their lives, the heavy set Gloria spent her time watching television and eating.

This annoyed me.

In April Shadows, April - the overweight main character - never had a positive boy experience and was consistantly told by her sister how she needed to lose weight, as if that would answer her problems.

None of this is indicative of my experience as a fat woman.  I cannot relate to those who go onto talk shows and cry into their hankies that they don't have friends or boyfriends because of their size.  Here I am, probably a good 50 to 100 more than what they weigh, I have great friends and have been married twice.

I decided to write a book centered around a fat girl, and her experiences - different experiences than what is portrayed in the mainstream media. 

Unfortunately, "Fatty" will probably also be autobiographical as I use my experiences on how I got fat and why I stay fat.

It's going to be a very difficult month.  I tried to talk myself out of it, but my best friend Jeff has encouraged me to write it anyway.  It was also the advise given to me by my therapist - to use my gift with words to exercise my spirit. 

I've come to believe that I'm never going to stop being this 300 pound woman until she has her say.  And this book may indeed be her say.

And even more frightening, I plan to blog this novel like I did my novel last year.  I was going to whitewash it a little bit to make it a book suitable for teen girls - but I don't think that will do the story or my character any good.  I need to look at this unflinchingly.  This will include the sexual abuse, this will include teen promiscuity, this will include religious abuse and neglect and all the other things that have molded me to this person who needs to be fat to be safe.

It's gonna be rough.  I could sit here and proclaim that I'm going to diet my way through it, but I won't even lie.  If it gets too much, I may fall - scratch that, JUMP off the wagon.

This next month isn't about how much weight I lose.  This is about Ginger...finding herself through Fatty, a girl who discovers that being fat didn't make her unhappy.  Being unhappy made her fat.  We gotta heal from the inside out.

So maybe that's why this all happened.  To make me stop and really look at myself the way I am now instead of fall into the trap of liking myself ONLY because I'm doing something about the weight. 

I'm giving Fatty November.  Then hopefully she can help me find a fitter way to manage my emotions.

Which reminds me, time to make that appointment for the happy pills...

This little piggy went to market, this little piggy went to the ER

And this little piggy has a contusion...

This little piggy went owowowowowowow all the way home.

After five hours in the ER, we were told I didn't have a break, but I did have a contusion of my tailbone and of my foot.  The foot is swollen and the toe is bruised on both sides.  I can't tell if my tushy is swollen cuz it's always swollen.

But sitting down is excruciating.

Only slightly less paintful than fracturing my pelvic bone in a car crash back in 1998.

Doc was nice and gave me codeine and a muscle relaxer while I waited, then sent me home with hydrocodone and some muscle relaxers last night.

I finally got doped up enough I didn't feel any pain.

This morning is a different matter.  Last night I was dopey, today I'm dopey and in pain.

I think I'm just going to chill for the rest of the day.

Nothing good can come out of a stoned Ginger.  My writing projects will just have to wait.

(And btw, it's not that I'm prone to using drugs, I just don't like pain.  Daniel used to say it's all in the mind, that you can control pain through will.  That's typical of what a man would say.  My reply: my last son was 9lbs and 11oz and I had him naturally - no drugs whatsoever.  I've had my pain quota for my lifetime.)

It Could Only Happen to Ginger, Take Two

Last week I had a little run in with a mosquito and it won.  It bit me right under the eyebrow and my whole eye ended up swollen shut.

I was not amused.  Thanks to some benadryl I was able to get my eye back to normal.

The only problem that has been persistant is my back.

My back pain, which is in the lower back around the tailbone, shoots pain down my legs and it hurts to sit in one position for very long.  Standing is okay, walking is iffy.

Regardless, I went for my walk yesterday at the park.  I started smarting toward the end so I didn't walk the entire mile but I figured it was a good start.

I was going over topics to cover in my blog as I walked, because that's what I do at the park.  I go over any and all writing projects, and quite often it's stuff I'll end up writing here.

Yesterday it was defining the difference between feeling good (losing weight, feeling energetic, doing what I need to do) between feeling comfortable (not taxing myself through exercise or denying myself my favorite foods).  Feeling good, I decided, was infinitely better.

I stayed on task all day, with the diet, with time schedules - everything.  I weighed in at 303lbs but even that didn't knock me off balance.  I expected to see a gain giving the way I've been eating lately.

I even decided I needed to hear what 300lb Ginger needed to say.  She's not going away till I get it. 

Basically she needs me to validate her.  Not Steven, or friends or family - or even society.  She needs to get that from me.  I need to attagirl her from here till next Tuesday.  Otherwise she will never go away.  That means celebrate the good, learn from the bad and get my moods stabilized quick.

Needless to say I was feeling pretty good coming into today. 

Untillllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll....

I mean it's so stupid, a total comedy of errors I have to laugh almost. 

I have these oil burners to fragrance my house.  In my bathroom I've been using wax fragrance, which melts with the help of a tea light candle and releases the fragrance oil.  I burn them pretty much every day, I like a nice smelling house, so the oil had evaporated.

The wax, though, was still in the cup.  I needed to melt it so I could dump it and add more fragrance.

Normally I do this by using a paper towel folded up to protect my hand.  Never had any trouble.

Until today.

I go in about an hour an a half ago, fold up my paper towel and head into the kitchen to dump the wax in the trash.  I don't put it down the sinks for obvious reasons.  This time, however, the heat burned right through the paper towel, and as I moved the towel around hot wax spilled all over my hand.

I then sprinted to the kitchen trash to dump the wax quick so I can wipe the other, burning stuff off my hand.  Well, yesterday Jeremiah had cleaned up some stains in the carpet and the carpet was still wet.  I, because I'm always barefoot, managed to get my foot wet and when I hit the linoleum of the kitchen lost my footing, bent my foot completely under me and landed right on my aching tailbone.

At first, my main concern was my back.  I told you that's where the pain has been in my back primarily.  Then I realized how badly my foot was smarting something fierce.

My first thought is well, there goes the walk for today.

But now, an hour and a half later, I think I may have broken a bone in my foot or toe or both.  I can't bend my toes very much and I can't lay my foot on it's side without sharp pain.

And my tailbone isn't much happier with me.

Not only will I not go to the park today, I'll probably end up going to the clinic.

And we ALL know what happens when I go to that clinic.

A SHOT.

Not a happy camper.

Again, the whole thing was just a comedy of errors of very weird things that just happened to fall into place.  It would be funny if I didn't hurt.

So far I've soaked my foot and taken some Advil.  I'm doing everything to avoid that dumb shot.

It's not workin.

BUT....

I'm still doing good despite it all.  I feel good and in control, and if I do go to the clinic I'm going to see about a prescription for anti-depressents.

Everything happens for a reason I guess.

This, that and the other...

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

That used to be a popular phrase back in the day, I'm afraid I show my age even knowing it.

But, it's true.

Especially since I decided to renew my commitments to my weight loss journey today.

Not just my weight loss journey, though, but everything.

I don't know if you're aware but Reality TV does have an upside.

First of all, it helps you see that your problems aren't so overwhelming.  The people they find for these shows actually have PROBLEMS, so my problems see far more manageable.

Second of all, it makes you grateful for what you have.  If you watch Super Nanny, you think, "Wow, my kids are pretty cool."  Or if you watch many other shows about married couples and their problems you figure out that you have something pretty great.

Not perfect, no.  But nothing ever is.

Thirdly, it helps give you ideas how to handle your not so bad problems even when you do have them.

Case in point: Super Nanny.

If any of you catch this show, Jo, the SN, is a big believer in schedules.  She turns chaos into organization just by a little grid of how people can divide their time and manage their lives.

I'm thinking this might work for me.

Hence right now is "AOL Journal Time."

I think breaking up my day into smaller, more manageable groups will help me tremendously.  Especially when I have to schedule exercise into it.

Which, btw, I'm not especially looking forward to.  My back has been giving me such fits lately (yesterday was a total bear).  But I kinda came to the conclusion that my back acts up whenever I exercise a bunch for a while, then go completely sedentary. 

It's time to get it loosened up and stronger by actual exercise.

I don't plane to overdo it though, so no worries.

In fact, I think today I might just start out slow with a mile w-a-l-k at the p-a-r-k.

Slow and easy wins the race, right?

Oh yes, I must go weigh in first.

I don't wanna.

I don't wanna post it either.

I've started over so many times on this journey so far this year it just seems so empty to start it again.

But another one of my resolutions (no birthday, no new year, just a good ol fashioned wake up and get back on track resolutions) is to be true to my word. 

The good news is I only have to do it for today.

Today is the only thing I have control over.  Yesterday is gone, and I can undo the past.  Tomorrow is not even guaranteed.  Therefore I have to deal with the only real, tangible time I can, and that's right now.

Another good (?) thing about reality tv, I discovered last night quite by accident.

I've been watching Breaking Bonaduce on VH1, the reality show based around Danny Bonaduce of Partridge Family fame, who is going to therapy to get a handle on some of his issues.

Last night, Danny blew a gasket because his wife Gretchen was going to have strippers at her party.  Nothing bad, just a joke her friends were going to play on her.  They were having a slumber party at a nice hotel, and Gretchen is SO not the person who would relish it.  She was embarrassed and giggly but understood it as the joke it was.

Danny, on the other hand, who isn't "allowed" to go to strip clubs because of his sex addiction, got very upset and was going to storm the hotel and beat the hell out of anyone who got in the way.

Danny, also, has been dealing with drinking, steroid abuse and some anger managment issues.

From what I can see, from what I have seen anyway, it appears that he very well may be bipolar.  His moods are very erratic, and this also may be from the steroid abuse, but I think his mood swings came before that. 

It ended with Danny trying to commit suicide because Gretchen wanted to leave him over the whole hotel incident.

After the show ended, I broke down.  I mean, broke down.  I don't even know where it came from. 

But I know how it feels to live with someone who can go off like a bottle rocket, whose anger and mania can be so out of control it affects everything else.

When Danny got mad at the therapist and stood to his feet in a threatening manner, Gretch was right there, standing in the middle to intervene.

I remember the days that used to be me.  Loving someone who didn't love themselves and was ready to self destruct and take anyone in a ten foot vicinity with them.

I lived that way for many years with Daniel.  It was scarier because Daniel, unlike Danny, didn't bother to hide his mania from his kids.  Daniel, for many, many years, was a scary guy who would flip from one personality to the next with little to no provocation, and heaven help anyone that was in the way.

If you haven't lived with this, you have no idea what this does to you, and how you feel like you're walking a high wire with no net every minute of every day.

I remember what it was like to love the one Daniel who would be so caring and so giving and so strong, and yet still hate the Daniel who was insulting, frightening and abusive.  And I never knew, from one day to the next, who exactly I was going to be dealing with.  I would go to work and everything would be fine, then come home from work and he was on the warpath.

It was turmoil.  All the time.  Turmoil.

After Dan got help for his illness (which was really the culprit in the whole scenario), he changed back to the Daniel I loved.  The wounds were still there but I guess I overlooked them because I admired him so much for reaching out for help and then doing what he needed to do for his family.

It was almost sacrilege to even think about the years of abuse and the way it impacted me and the kids.  This has been even more true since he died.

If anyone spoke ill of him the kids and I would be quick to get in their face and defend him and his honor. 

Because there was honor.

Unfortunately, there were also years of living with a person with bipolar disorder and psychotic episodes.  And until last night, I didn't realize it still hurt.

In my ever continuing pledge to keep things honest and stop being a slave to my emotions, I had to stop and acknowledge it.

It doesn't diminish who Dan was to deal with the pain. 

It sets us both free.

I hope Danny and Gretchen get there too.

Life on Auto Pilot

Yesterday was my best friend's birthday.  He's 36.  The next birthday this year in my particular circle is my own.

Turning 36 is really no different than turning 35 or 34 or even 30 for that matter.  I started this journey two years ago and I realize - with much frustration - that I'm still in the same spot.

And worse, I feel like time is passing me by.  While I'm hiding in the safety of my own four walls, and my enormous (and getting enormous-er by the minute) body, chances, and experiences and life is passing right by me.

The chatterbox, in other words, is in full effect.  Especially when I realize that my body is now starting to show the excess I've been indulging in lately.  Things are more jiggly than they used to be and I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Girl.

So in effort stop looking behind and worrying what's ahead, I've decided to make each day a cause for celebration.  I have decided to take authority of my day and the course it is going to take. 

There's nothing that is going to happen today that I cannot handle.  Every decision, even the mistakes, will do their part in teaching me one more lesson life has to teach me.

This is my chorus:

This is my day.
It was created especially for me
By a loving and forgiving Father.
It is my day
To be all I can be
And all the things
I have yet to become.
For there has never been
Nor will ever be
Another as perfectly me
As I am right now.
All my lessons
The trials and the pain
Were there to forge in me
A spirit that will not be broken.
Within me I have the power
To take whatever happens
And be stronger for it
Good or bad.
I may not control my circumstances
But I control how I respond
There is nothing that will happen
That I cannot handle
For this is my day.

Here are a few of my resolutions.

Starting Monday (giving myself an opportunity to get on a sane schedule again) I will begin my eating and exercise regimen.  Take each day as it comes and try to keep a decent schedule.

I plan to take things slow, because my back has been giving me grief.

But I also plan to find a doctor this coming week to get not only my back checked out but finally get on an anti-depressant.  Now that my mood is on a more even keel, I want to do what I can to keep it there.

Most importantly I plan to keep my boundaries.  If my family tries to sabotage my efforts, I'm going to have to make a stand.

Why?

Because this is my day.  In it I have the power to be all I know I can be.  I will no longer relinquish that in order to self destruct.

I deserve better.

Not enough love in the world...

There was a song out in the 80s called "Not Enough Love in the World" by Don Henley.

I've always considered this my theme song.

I attributed it to my horoscope, rather than any emotional problem.

Thanks to this book Codependent No More, I've started to re-examine my position on the matter.

What I always thought was an enormous heart to love might just be an enormous need.

I can trace it back to my childhood, and the author calls this "unfinished business".

I've been pretty open with my childhood experiences and how I never really felt nurtured by my mother.

My dad was considerably older so he stayed at home with me while she worked.  What little time we did spend together was usually disciplinary.  My mother was very strict, almost militant. 

I see bits and pieces of that in my own mothering, although I have endeavored to err on the other side of that coin.  I want to give my children choices, not orders.  Unfortunately, that's come at the cost of the discipline, because I wanted to be more loving to my kids than my mother was to me.  I mistook my need for their acceptance as their love for me, and have been a doormat in their discipline.

In other words, I fold like a cheap lawn chair.

But that's a topic for another day.  I've actually felt more positive about my mothering skills of late.  No need to beat myself up for the mistakes I've made.

Which is really the crux of this blog.

I've decided that there isn't enough love in this world to fill the hole I have inside. I have long tried to escape into someone else so that I can fill this hole, but really no one can do that.  Not Steven, not my mom, not anyone.  Not even God.

Before you try to correct me, I'd like to point out even God needs our help to love us.  If we consistantly reject him or get in his way to do his will in our lives, what he can do for us is limited.

That is the catch 22 of free will.

The fact of the matter is I can't keep searching for this overwhelming love outside because I need to apply it from the inside out.

The problem is, I don't know how to love properly.

And because I can't give it, I can't receive it.

Again, I think it's generational.

My mom was born in 1937, right at the end of the depression.  Her family was poor because her mother - who had a lot ofmental issues - did not know how to take care of finances. 

Her mother didn't know much of anything, this poor woman was so abused by HER parents (locked in closets and things of that nature).

Anyway, she was militant with my mom and her siblings, never allowing them anything other than study and work.  My mom doesn't know how to swim, skate, bike or even climb a tree.

Her childhood - what she had of one - was constantly in turmoil.

Especially when her folks divorced, something very rare in that generation.

It set the stage for what kind of childhood I would have.

Militant, religious and unloving.

Of course, my mom would not consider it an unloving atmosphere.  She equated love with providing for her children so they never had to sleep in gutters like her brother did.  And that we didn't, and I even had a pretty good childhood materially speaking, is a success in her mind.

But she didn't know how to relate to me because her mother never related to her.

The only reason she was close to my sister was because my sister was older.

My mom and my sister both do not know how to deal with kids.  Best seen and not heard, be quiet and do what you're told, don't talk back, etc.

So when the time came that I needed nurturing (after my dad died) and I didn't get it, I searched for it elsewhere.

Like a lot of girls who lose their dads early on in their childhood, I sought out older men for attention and affection.

I mistook both of those things for love.

And I was used like a dirty dish rag because of my need for what I perceived as love.

Just like you can't plant corn and get apples, you can't plant need and get love.  All I ever got was more need.

So often need and love are polar opposites of each other.

Need storms over boundaries that love respects.

Need relies on guilt to get its way, love insists on fairness.

Need denies deprivation where love knows how to say no.

Need clings to people, relationships and things when love learns how to let go and say goodbye.

I would be so plugged into that need that abandonment really became a major issue.  I was so afraid of losing that connection I would do and sacrifice anything to keep it.  Self esteem was one of the first casualties.

The only way any of this will change is if I now nurture myself so that I will know the difference between love and need.

I believe that God had it right in 1 Corinthians 13 on what love really is.

4 Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; 5 it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. 7 Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 8 Love never ends.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you all that I have not regarded myself by these standards.  Therefore it is logical to conclude I don't regard anyone else by these standards either.

I beat myself up for all the wrongs I've done in my life.  If you think the mental ticker I keep for everyone else's mistakes is long, it is shadowed in comparison to the one I keep of my own. 

I was brought up to believe that humility and self loathing were one in the same.  Loving one's self is vanity or selfish.  Religion tells us that is so.  I've pretty much come to the conclusion that religion is a bunch of hooey on a good day.

Therefore I have to push past all the emotional barricades and the religious brainwashing and get to where I truly believe God wants me to be.

Learning how to apply 1 Corinthians 13 to the person who really needs it the most.

Myself.

My name is Ginger...

And I'm a codependent.

Who knew?

Lemme guess.  Y'all knew.

Why didn't you tell me????

So I'm reading this book "Codependent No More" as suggested by my therapist, and I'm seeing myself all over this book.  I don't much care for it, either.

Especially when I have found much righteous indignation in being victimized; it's hard to square things in my head that I, in fact, put myself in that role willingly.

This.

Sucks.

What's worse, I think it's hereditary.  I believe these are traits passed down in my family.

All those things I blame my mother for, I now do - just differently.

But the intent is the same.

For instance, I have long complained that living with three menfolk has tried my patience to the breaking point more than once.

Namely, housekeeping.

Now, I'm no saint in this area - I'm a slob and I know it.

So I especially resent picking up after everyone else when they're sloppy too.  It just feels like if the house is to be clean, really clean, then I'm the one who will have to either do it or tell someone to do it.

Here's how it will happen...

Every few months I'll get manic about needing the house clean... usually during a state of emotional chaos that has resulted in a physical manifestation, like being sick (which is where I am now) 

Being in a clean house makes me feel more in control.  Even if being in control is an illusion (which it is), it certainly makes me feel better.

So I'll clean the house, what I like to call "Mom Clean".  Which means I will attack the nooks and cranies with fervor and get things cleaned that I never noticed were dirty before.  (Cabinet doors for instance)  Sometimes I'll even move furniture, depending on the state of my back, which, unfortunately for me, wasn't so good this past weekend.

Anyway, as I'm cleaning all these places oft overlooked by said menfolk, I will grow increasingly resentful.  I won't say anything, I'll just keep cleaning.   But the more things I find (and look for, mind you), the angrier I get.

Eventually it'll explode into a screaming tirade where I'll berate each and every Testosterone Unit in my house.  They will then try to help me but at that point it's too late and I'm already mad, therefore I will be the martyr who risks life and limb to do what they so carelessly overlooked before... much like I did this weekend - with a bad back and threatened throwing it out again to prove my point.

Instead of making it a family affair and getting everyone involved, I'll feel resentful that I'm being "used" and "taken advantage of".  I'll then start a mental ticker of all the things I do for them without their even having to ask, and they can't even help keep the house clean for me when they know it helps keep my mood stabile.

I've ceased being in control to being a victim, which I always hated to consider myself as.

Codependent.

And it SUCKS.

What's worse, I think I've deliberately set myself up in relationships that either exploit it, or allow for someone else to be codependent of me.

What a sick little circle.

I mentioned in my last blog about having a family bbq in which my diet - which up until then was perfect - got shot to hell.  The first week it was great, those three weeks since the bbq, completely downhill.

But of course it wasn't my fault.  It was theirs for not caring enough about me that they had to center one more family affair around food.  (That's three times now since Sept. 13)

I realized that it was a total reaction to codependent victimization.

I didn't feel I could say no to the bbq, even though I wanted to.  I felt in control of my diet and I didn't feel like I was ready to put myself into a social situation that revolved around food.

But I felt like if I said no, I would hurt my mom and Michelle's feelings and so I went.

And because I felt put upon, doing something I really didn't want to do, I indulged in food because I felt like it was my right to do so.

I haven't gotten back on the wagon since because I have felt so guilty and resentful that I feel entitled to self destruct.

No one else cares about me, so why should I care about myself?

Total victim.

And it SUCKS.

So now that I know what the problems are, what are the solutions?

Well, the book says I must learn detachment first.  I need to detach myself from unhealthy obsessions.  Like worrying if my saying no and being truthful is going to hurt someone else's feelings.

I'm not responsible for someone else's feelings.  All I can do is be truthful to my own.

And I can't allow my self esteem or my self worth to be dependent upon their feelings, their acceptance or approval. 

ie. Boundaries.

I have to detach myself from the emotional triggers that have me reacting, and instead take a moment to think things through so I can make the best decision for me - regardless of how it makes someone else feel.

I can only be responsible for one person's feelings today, and that person is gonna be me.

Self enlightenment.

Who knew?

Yeah, yeah, yeah....