I ventured into the pool…

I made a commitment to be at the pool three days a week with a personal pool trainer. I am terrified about getting into the water again with this fucking goddamn bag. And I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad because it’s now a part of me but I can’t control my output, or anything about my output and I’m terrified about a leak. The medications I take don’t help with keeping my output stable as I never know what the consistency is going to look like or be like.

However, I did it. 68 minutes I did it – walking in the shallow end weaving and dodging through a large Boy Scout troop.

I was just so absolutely exhausted when I got home. But I did it. I fucking did it.

Slipping…

What’s the old AA saying:

“If you don’t want to slip stay out of slippery places.”

For me that would mean don’t eat pretty much anything that’s white:

Sugar, flour, rice, milk, ice cream, sour cream, egg nog, pasta.

And processed foods. And deep fried foods.

Then there’s portion control.

I feel hungry all the time. Even when I’ve had a healthy meal.

When we remember

I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad today. Tomorrow is Father’s Day – and he’s dead.

He died on January 20, 2016. This will be the third Father’s Day without him.

He didn’t particularly like Father’s Day – or his birthday – or really anything that focused on commemorating him. He just wasn’t that kinda guy. He was sentimental in his own way on his own terms but certainly not in traditional ways.

Thinking back about my childhood, teen years, and young adult hood I could always envision myself physically in a positive light. It wasn’t until I hit 30 that I realized and was cognizant of being morbidly obese’s because I never felt morbidly obese if that makes sense.

Then one afternoon I was at an air museum and there was an infrared exhibit that shows your body heat. I took my photo.

What I saw made me stop and catch my breath. I came face to face with my obesity.

I have been struggling ever since.

Struggling – still

(This was a place holder originally for June 1st)

Several times a day I say to myself-

“You can do this. Three pounds a week times 52 week is 156 pounds. It’s doable.”

I am then motivated for like seven seconds.

Fuck.

Break it up in five pound increments. That’s like 33 increments of 5 pound losses I guess.

I’m pissed off at myself. Seriously.

Am I running out of time

Am I running out of time?

I jumped on the scales this morning and it is not where I want it to be. I wanted it to be more. I’m counting calories. I’m trying to exercise.

I wonder if it’s too late for me. I wonder if all of the years of not eating right and abusing my body with food have just caught up to me.

Why can I not get my act together – I know I’m working hard at losing weight but it’s not coming off fast enough.

And let’s say even if I do get to be height weight appropriate how do I know that the damage I have done is reversible?

The reality is I don’t. I’m terrified of a heart attack, stroke, cancer or any one of those really awful traumatic things. I’ve already gone through trumatic thing and you would’ve thought two years ago when I had the opportunity to get my shit together I would’ve done it. But I didn’t.

I took almost 2 years of trying to heal as an excuse not to be serious about this weight loss. And so now my diabetes which is slowly getting under control is really kicking my ass. My anxiety is kicking my ass. I’m terrified of exercise and I need to do it. I am so frozen in fear that the idea of getting my heart rate up just paralyzes me. I panic all the time. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes it would be easier just not to eat.

I don’t even care if I’m pretty anymore. I just want to be strong. I want to be healthy. I want to watch my kid graduate from high school, college, grad school, – I want to watch him get married or partnered and I want to be a grandmother. I don’t want to be remembered as that fat woman who loved her family but just couldn’t get it together.

This feeling of isolation and loneliness is just overwhelming.

I have this fantasy of waking up tomorrow being height and weight appropriate, having body parts that work like they’re supposed to, and being strong. But that’s just a fantasy.

No one could’ve prepared me for the fact that getting older, staying healthy, and working to lose weight would be so fucking hard.

I feel like a huge disappointment to my family – just huge.