F*ck This!

"I spent my entire 20's being overweight, and I'm tired (literally!) My goal is to be healthier by my 30th birthday (September)."

(my weight graph, Oct 09-June 10)

This is the quote that greets me on my diet tracker web site. I joined it October 1, 2009. That was just before what we can call "Hed's Great Depression" that occurred the next month. I actually did well. I joined a gym (and went!), tracked everything I put in my mouth, and focused on healthy items that would fill me up instead of give me a quick burst then drop me. At the time I had just started working at Starbucks, where I could drink my glorious caramel macchiatos every day if I wanted to. When we would sample pastries I would have a sample bite without going ape-shit and eating an entire piece. I miss working around coffee sometimes, because seriously, the anorexic models were onto something! I get coffee right before I start grocery shopping, and all (okay, most) impulse buys are gone. Now we are dirt poor and usually scramble to eat what we can. I've been so depressed lately that spending an hour in the grocery store planning meals is the last thing on my mind. I want to run to Del Taco, get food, and go home. Two things yesterday made me look at myself, my situation, my fat, and see there has to be a change.

My husband and I went to the local drugstore to get updated passport pictures-I had to change my married name and they needed new pictures since mine were from 2005. I had done my make-up and hair, which I haven't done lately unless we are really going somewhere I would be uncomfortable without make-up on, like dinner with the family. And I love make-up, so not wearing it should show you just how crappy I've felt lately. Anyway, I look straight at the camera and it's done. We walk around the store while they are getting processed, and I overhear a clerk asking another clerk, "do we have any wheelchairs?" I brush it off and wait for the photos to finish. I look at them and oh.my.God. These aren't my pictures. That's not me. This person has this face with no structure and is a fat blob. She has a bowl haircut and the color is dirty brown. Her make up looks terrible. Never have I taken a picture of myself and have truly been shocked at how I must look to others. The guy asked me if I wanted to redo them, and I sheepishly said no. I thought, no camera in the world could cure my ugly, so why bother. They were awful, not self-conscious girl-type awful, but awful like I wanted to soak the pictures in gasoline and light them on fire awful.

We walk the 20 steps from the photo booth to the cash register, and J forgets to pick up soda, so he runs to get some and I wait in line. A lady slowly passes me with a cart of only three things; what looked like gauze, ointment, and something else. She had to be twice my size. She was a big woman. And she was exhausted. She was breathing like she just ran a sprint, was all sweaty, and started hunching over the empty cart like it was a cane. I didn't want to be a hypocrite by looking at her because I hate when others do that to me, but it was a wake-up call. I'm tired when I walk up the stairs to my apartment. I see the sad beginning of cankles. I gasp for breath when I fall asleep. When she got to the cashier, she kindly asked the clerk why they didn't have wheelchairs or motorized carts, and I realized the clerk in the back of the store I had passed was asking for one for her. She walked in the store, went through one aisle, walked back to the front of the store and she needed a freaking wheelchair. I don't want a wheelchair someday. Unless I break my leg, I'll walk, thank you. I felt sorry for her, and I hate that I did, because she was once my size and nothing stopped her from getting larger. I saw myself in five years in her.

There are always articles I read about obesity, and the comments are shocking. Some say "they should be able to control themselves, they are disgusting, vile people". Others make fun of fat people lightly, and even more say they should "do themselves a favor and kill themselves". I don't want to be made fun of. I don't want people to snicker at me. I am so aware of my movements, how my clothes are fitting, my facial expressions, how I talk etc. when I am around strangers. Just like with everything else I want them to only see me as a nice, kind person. I don't want them to know I hate myself. I don't want their pity. I want their approval. And obese people are unacceptable in the minds of many. My home is my comfort zone. I can do what I want there with no prying eyes. I sometimes even have to ask my husband to leave the room if I'm getting dressed or feeling miserable. The thought of moving to a new country is terrifying. My main thought is if I'm out and about, the minute I open my mouth someone will think, "heh, a typical FAT American" and automatically dismiss me. I think the ratio of me thinking about what people think of me versus me thinking of me is 95/5. I'm so sick of it. It all boils down to all the stresses in my life and what I can do to change them.

I'm no good about taking care of myself. I do what is the easiest and what is the path of least resistance. In any avenue of life when I hit a wall, instead of climbing it or breaking it down, I just run the other way. I have to get out of this pattern, or I will die. Die from either something weight related, or something depression related. (I've always pictured my death as driving on a freeway overpass trying to eat a cheeseburger and *BAM* fall off the bridge. Seriously.) I didn't plan on waking up this morning and saying to myself "okay, today is the day!", I just did it. I'm not going to be excessively detailed this time. I'm going to go with the flow. No power scooters in my future. No more back pain from walking from a parking lot to an office building. I' done. I'm DONE.