Back to life, back to reality...

Well the weigh in yesterday was a LOT less forgiving than last Saturday.  It showed a 3lb gain. 

Surprisingly though, I didn't freak out.  I wasn't happy, of course, but it wasn't the end of the world.  First, I knew that I had been eating poorly for the last few weeks, so I couldn't really expect anything less. 

Second, I knew that with the monthly fluxuations amounting to only a pound or so, a three pound gain in a week would probably even out over time anyway.

Plus, it was good motivation to keep me on the revised eating plan.

Without the emotional roller coaster of the book, there's really no excuse for me to eat like I've been eating.  Not to say that there was an excuse before, but I feel that writing that book helped trip a lot of triggers that I could feel and deal with at that moment.

I feel a lot more in control than I did before, so I really feel ready to tackle everything, not just the weight.

I've been talking about getting another job for a while now, but I finally got my tush out on Wednesday to pound the pavement and see what I could find.  I applied at the hospital, at Blue Cross, at the Employment Office (state job, great pay) and even at Target.  (I figure, what I lose in pay I can make up in an employee discount).  The next day HR at the hospital called me back to schedule a typing test.

Considering I type 70+wpm and the job requirement is 40wpm, I feel confident that I'll pass with flying colors. 

Anyway that's tomorrow.  It's a temp job in admissions, but it's work and hopefully it'll pay well. 

What I really want are benefits.  We don't have vision or dental, and I really want to get covered.  I want to finally get my smile fixed, I think that will do a lot to boost my confidence.

Jeff gave me a link to another work from home type job with benefits, but I think I'm ready to get out there in the world again.  I'm in a bubble here, and it's really easy to give in to some bad habits (sleeping/eating/etc).  It's time to join the land of the living.

Anyway, I have two minutes left until I'm 36.  Yes I count down to the very minute.

It only really bothers me when I think of all the time I've wasted, and so many opportunities that I've wasted.  Sometimes I feel that life is passing me by, and that is exacerbated by the digits flipping over in my age.

I had a moment earlier today, when Timothy found some of his dad's stuff in the garage, that I had to face mortality once again.

I hate facing mortality, I hate thinking that one day I'll die.  I know it's stupid to worry about the inevitable, but sometimes I just have a moment of panic that I'll die without doing what I want to do or making the kind of mark I want to make on the world. 

That kind of dread hit me today as I was sorting through Dan's stuff and deciding who should get what. 

To anyone else in the world, Dan's logbook from when he went to school to be a trucker would be just a book.  Just a thing.  To the boys and to me, that book is the only tangible thing of Dan we have left.

When it's all said and done, we're defined by what we left behind.  All those things we toil so hard for end up being things that are scattered to the four winds once we die.

It was a sad thing to me.  But it helped put things in perspective.  It's not about the houses or the cars or the stuff that means so much in the moment.  It's about the impact. 

My goal is to make a pretty big impact.  Not just for me, but for Dan and for Brandon and for all the people that I love so dearly.  I want to immortalize us all.

It's a pretty big job.  I'm going to have to be healthy and strong and live the life I was meant to live instead of crouch on the sidelines in fear.

So now that I'm officially 36, the Year of Courage has begun.

Fasten your seatbelts.  It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Official Weigh In

Well color me surprised.  Despite my inches, I only gained one pound in this month I've been off my foot.

That loud clank you heard was my chin dropping to the floor.

In fact, I had so pysched myself up that it would be 315 when I saw 305 I barely processed it.

So this is good news.

It was almost like seeing a loss!

But I do need to get some exercise because I'm feeling flabby and gross from the inches, so I'm going to ease back into a routine. 

Knowing is half the battle, right?

Same Mistake, Different Day

If you're following along in Fatty, you're likely at the spot where I stopped, after a pretty big mistake on my part.

Like you, I was thinking way back then that ok I made my mistake, time to move on.

We were both wrong.

It wouldn't be long before I made the same mistake over and over again. 

Dealing with my promiscuity is not easy for me, and likely the reason my writing came to a complete stop.  I'm so caught up with not looking foolish and I'm going to be a complete and utter fool from here on out.

So, how to deal with it?

Well, the first is to just deal with it.  I have long been caught up in the idea "If it feels good do it," then suffer immediate buyers remorse.  This happens on anything I indulge myself in.  I indulge myself defiantly (I deserve it I'm entitled) then almost immediately when it's over the high crashes and I feel weak and stupid.

It's a painful and unending cycle, as it would seem.

Especially since I've been eating everything in sight while I go through all these painful self examinations. 

Last night, after I ate some fried chicken (which is a no no not just diet wise but with my irritable gall bladder), I felt nauseated by the grease. 

I know eating badly leaves me feeling gross, but I do it because I will not be deprived.  I don't deserve it.  I even make excuses for it.

But it basically boils down to me making the same mistake over and over and over again.

It isn't like I expect a different result.  It just means that I know what the consequences will be and decide that I can live with them. 

So today I measured myself, and I'll probably go weigh myself as well - shoe and all.  I have gained 12 inches since September.  This is not good.  I expect the scale to be even more shocking.  I wouldn't be surprised if it said 315. 

So. 

The first thing I want to do is say that all that is behind me.  I think we both know that it's not.

All I can say is that I'm going to get through today.  I'm going to feel what I feel, even if it hurts.  When I went over the rape/attempted suicide chapter, I sat here at this computer bawling my eyes out and hurting so deep I thought I would disappear into myself.

After I was through I wanted to eat.  Something.  Anything.  Food is my drug of choice.

Instead, I didn't.  Despite my overindulgence there were moments of victory like that.

So I know there is a better way.  I'm not that fourteen year old girl floundering from place to place anymore.  I have to find that strength I know I have and just make a different choice. 

I may stumble... in fact I may even fall.

I cannot be perfect.  All I can do is be me.

From here on in, that's going to have to be good enough.

The epiphanies are hitting left and right

I tell ya.  Things are really getting sorted out in the wash.  The more I work through all this the more insights I get.  I don't regret what I've written so far in the least, even when it was hard to write.

Last night, though, I felt a little apprehension regarding the stuff that comes next.  I'm very shamed by my teen years where I went through periods of extreme desperation for affection.  Add that to a lack of self control and no concept of moderation, and you have me looking very bad and very weak.

In fact, I was trying to figure out how to make the story work without a few key episodes.  Then I realized that since the rape in 1974, I've been hiding myself in one sort of shame or the other.  In order to really set myself free, I have to be myself no matter what that means.

If I hide it, then I'll know I hid it, I'll still feel shamed by it and I'll never be free from it.

So strap yourselves in, dear audience, it's going to be a bumpy ride.  We're talking a full on train wreck with me as the conductor.

I realized today that appearances have meant more to my family than the truth.  As long as we looked like we did the right thing, then it didn't matter what we did behind closed doors.

You can find true integrity that way.  And maybe, just maybe, my inability to feign perfection manifested itself in a very visible and unavoidable imperfection.

Either way, in order for this to work I have to have true integrity.  It doesn't matter what I did twenty years ago, it matters what I learned from it. 

Do me a favor, eh?  Keep reminding me of that.  Because this introspection stuff sucks, especially on in a public forum.

It is my hope, above all, that this book helps some other person from making the same mistakes I did.  That way they won't spend 30 years hiding from themselves like I did.

21,500 words so far

I'll be half way done with this puppy by tomorrow night at this rate.  It's amazing how easily it's coming out.  Really amazing. 

My therapist suggested that I write my life story when she found out that I was a writer.  I resisted at first, thinking there is just too much of me I don't want anyone to know.  But this book would not be ignored. 

Even though I left a "cliffhanger" on the blog, I've written two more chapters since then.  Now I'm up to my seventh grade year.  Junior High, aka teenage hell, especially when you're different.

It's amazing to me how much some of these things still hurt.  I never thought on them much probably for that reason.  I'm the Queen of Avoidance.  Looking at this stuff and feeling this stuff is not a pleasant experience.  In the least.

It's also giving me newfound perspective for my kids.  We don't think we forget what it's like to be a kid, but we really do.  We forget when the center of our universe is being accepted by our peers.  We forget how every single thing is a drama.  When you're that young, you don't have any perspective on what real issues are.  You have nothing to compare it to.

Looking back, knowing what I know now, and living through that awkward teen on the page, brings it all back.  And you realize - it IS a  big deal.  You know it, because you can feel it again. 

I just wrote about the very first time I suited up in the girl's locker room.  It was torture.  In the whole scheme of things now, it's probably not that big a deal.  But then?  It was the end of the world.

I'm really glad that I have undertaken this project.  It's not easy, God knows, but I really feel better.  I'm no longer running from the pain or hiding from the pain - or burying the pain.  There's a certain freedom in that, and peace in that.

It really feels like I'm doing some emotional house cleaning. 

This was necessary.  I'm glad I'm doing it.

Epiphanies

I realized something last night as I was writing chapter seven of Fatty.  I think I know now why I hate to exercise.

Exercise, to me, has always been forced, never fun.  My dad (who was in his sixties/seventies and in ill health) couldn't engage me in physical activity.  My mom, who had been robbed of such things in her own childhood, didn't have the time or the inclination to do it either.  My sister was eleven years older than me, so most of my childhood was spent around other adults rather than other kids.  It made me smart as a whip and creative as hell, but taught me that recreation was sedentary, like reading, writing, watching TV or listening to music.

Having been a heavier kid all my life, school yard games as simple as Duck, Duck, Goose were stressful for me.  I *liked* the fact my teachers loved me and other kids loved me.  Getting any kind of criticism for being under par was horrifying for me.  Therefore I would hate it when we'd play kickball, or any other type of sport, because I sucked at it.

Physical Education was my undoing.  They took something I loathed, dreaded and avoided and made it mandatory.  I hated that.  I wanted to go to school and college, and probably could have lasted a bit longer than I did had I not had to face this grueling and torturous tradition.

I'm not just making excuses by the way - my nineth grade year was proof positive that without the stress of PE I could and did rise to the educational challenge.  Nineth grade, which I'm planning to cover in the book, was a great year.  Being the upperclassman (this was back in the days of Junior High) probably didn't hurt, but also not having to worry about changing in the locker room (horrific) or parade around in shorts that were too tight and showed off the body I'd rather have kept hidden (torture) made them great days indeed.

So I truly believe had I found a way around the PE thing, I could have at least gone past the tenth grade.  I might have even graduated. 

(I'm proof positive that mandatory physical education does not make up for a sedentary home life.)

Anyway, it really got me thinking that I was not conditioned to enjoy exercise.  I never learned how to swim, skate, climb trees, skateboard, play sports - any of it.  The older I got, the more of a freak I became because I didn't know how to do these things, so I just avoided it altogether.

Add that to the controlling, perfectionist people pleaser I was being groomed to be, and you have someone who looks at exercise (even now) like a chore.

So I have a few ideas.

I think it's time that my family get involved in activities.  Jeremiah plays tennis, and I have been entertaining the thought of helping his game by all four of us doing it as freetime on the weekend.  I also think things like miniature golf or bowling (which doesn't exactly trip my trigger, but I am willing to try at least once I guess) could easily replace going out to eat or going to a movie as family outings.

We have a really great state park not too far away, and I know more time there will make Timothy happy.  He's a real nature freak and loves all that kind of stuff. 

I also have been toying with the idea of combining my exercise with my writing.  I could take walking tours of Abilene during all our various community events, then blog about them and share my town (which I do love) with the world.  This does double duty.  It gets me off my ever widening rear end for one, and it gets me out into the public for two.  I need socialization, not isolation.  I was never taught how to socialize OR exercise, so it's time I correct these things that stress me so much.

Hal Sparks had a blog back in September about making his birthday the day of resolutions, rather than New Year's Eve.  He would declare the year as "The Year of" - insert goal here.  Since my birthday is fast approaching, I think I'm going to adopt the same attitude and name this The Year of Courage.

This does not mean it's going to be an exercise in doing things I don't want to do because I think I should.  It means I'm going to examine any reticence I face when approached with a challenge, and if the core of the problem is fear then I'm going to tackle it.  I've recently come to the conclusion that the only person stopping me from being successful is myself.

I don't mean weight only.  Weight is just a convenient excuse to fail.  Primarily I believe if I were more assertive toward my writing career I could be a success.  The thing that holds me back most - fear.

The first obstacle, of course, is Fatty.  Tackling some very hard subject matter (namely, things I've hidden under mounds of flesh for umpteen years) has been  rewarding, exhausting, enlightening and terrifying as hell.

I'm putting myself out there - this person I never felt deserved anything good in her life, especially acceptance of other people, even when that's what I wanted and needed most.  That's scary.  Once we get into the self destructive behavior including early promiscuity and drinking, it's going to be especially scary.  I don't really want people to know these things BUT if this project is supposed to work (and it's already doing a LOT of things for me already) then I have to be honest.  Hiding it all my life made me fat, unhappy, timid and unsuccessful.  As Dr. Phil would say, "How's that workin for ya?"

It ain't.

So far people have been supportive of this project and giving me the comfort I was denied all those years ago.  When people told me they cried during Chapter One I was surprised.  Isn't that strange?  I was surprised by kindness and empathy.  This reaffirms my earlier suspicion that no one is going to be as hard on me as I am on myself, and I really need to start giving people chances.

So I'm going to "feel the fear and do it anyway".  This is who I am, good or bad.  I have to stop being so ashamed of it.

First on my list of things to conquer: Overcome the fear of looking foolish. 

This fear has singlehandedly stopped me more than any other fear I have, and I have em all.  I do not like to try and fail, especially publicly.  Which is why bowling, minature golf, company picnics with things like sack races and physical competitions have always sent me running in the opposite direction.  Even martial arts, which I would love to undertake, is something this particular fear prevents me from doing.  Any kind of group activity, basically.  I don't want to be put up next to someone else and be criticized or judged as being under par.

The most ludicrous of all....

Dancing.

I'm particularly jealous of Ellen Degeneres.

This woman looks like she enjoys every single moment of her life, basically because she's not afraid to look foolish.  (Very few comics are, that's why they are in their chosen profession.  It also might be why I look up to so many of them, aside from their obvious creative brilliance).  She seizes opportunities to have fun.  If they're not readily available then she MAKES them available.  She starts off every single show by getting the audience to dance.

Me?  Not only can I not dance in a bar where everyone around me is drunk and could care less, I can't dance by myself alone in my house. 

That phrase "Dance like nobody's watching" does NOT apply to me.

So it's time to put on my boogie shoes and start dancing.  I might even look into a dancing class for Steven and I once our financial situation improves.  I have no rhthym, I look like an idiot, but that's not what it's about.

It's about seizing every single moment in life and making them count. 

That will be my goal during my Year of Courage.

(Why do I feel like the Cowardly Lion about to embark on the Yellow Brick Road to the Emerald City?)

"How much of it is true?"

This was the question posed to me by Jeff (my best friend) after he read the first few chapters of Fatty.  Our friendship never really took off until after my dad died, even though we met a few months before, so he wasn't aware of all the specifics.

Most of it is true, in terms of feelings.  The particulars or the details are embellished just because I've been so good at surpressing hurtful memories for so long that I really only remember bits and pieces. 

I created Auntie Dee, who is an amalgam of the worst traits of my family rolled into one character.  I really do have an uber-religious aunt she's based on, but she was no where near us when my dad died.  Like I said before, the actual events would be changed for maximum impact for story.

But that eleven year old girl that no one comforted after her dad died?  That's true.

The stroke was true.  The death was true.  Feeling different and isolated - all painfully true. 

In fact, it scares me how true much of it is.  I wanted to use the catalysts to create a character LIKE me, but unfortunately Gina is all me right now. 

Ironically I can talk about the sexual assault and my dad's death so much easier than I can talk about the food.  Talking about the food makes me feel the most vulnerable and exposed of all.

It's going to get worse before it gets better.  As much as I seem to be throwing my family under the bus right now, believe me, my time is coming.  Woo boy, is it coming. 

I said to Jeff that it would be my luck that this book actually sell and would be the final nail in the coffin with my family and me.  He said screw it, write it truthfully and let the chips fall where they may.  I've decided that's the best way to handle it.  I'm not writing this book to sell, really, which is probably why it will.

My life is kooky like that.

I'm pretty much at the end of my rope with my family anyway.  All the feelings that this is bringing up are not pleasant, and instead of pain I'm really feeling a lot of anger.  Anger that I get a lot of criticism for being self centered after I was conditioned to take care of myself because no one else was going to.  Anger that I get a lot of grief for "taking advantage" of my family just because I accept what bribes they give me so they don't have to feel guilty for hanging me out to dry. 

They can't give me affection or trust or unconditional love, so instead they give me grandiose gifts that are supposed to cancel their debt.  But because I take it, that makes me a mooch and a freeloader.

Go figure.

So I've distanced myself from them, especially since my mom got her settlement.  I've decided to tell them I do not want birthday gifts, and I don't want a dime of that settlement money willed to me after my mom passes on.  She can give my part to my kids, but I'm not going to accept it and then live under my sister's ire for how I spend it.

Let her cash in.  I've decided that the price of a relationship with them is too high for me to pay.

We had an unexpected financial setback yesterday to the tune of $700, but I refuse to ask them for help.  I won't ask for an advance, and I won't ask my mom for a loan.  I'd rather pawn my wedding rings to strangers than deal with the guilt I've had to deal with because "it's always something with Ginger."

So I'm going to distance myself from them while I work all this out.  My mom probably gets the raw end of the deal in that she's not the main source of my resentment at the moment, but the current situation feels truly like a throwback to 1981 when it was them against me.

Even with my mom buying a new house I was left out of the deal.  Even Steven, who has real estate experience.

So, I'm done.  Done trying for acceptance and approval.  I have to give it to myself and find some other way to do it than with food. 

Which is all the time with my family amounts to anyway - going out to eat, going over to their house to eat.  Food, food, food.  That's their biggest bribe of all.

Someone's got to say enough is enough, and I guess that someone has to be me.