The Fat Girl Speaks About Being Fat

I REALLY hate this picture of me. Like A LOT. It was taken on the day Son turned 18. What makes me even more mad is that I gained about 15 more pounds after that. I didn't even care. I was in survival mode the only way I knew how.

First, you must understand that drugs scare the ever lovin' crap outta me. I have never so much as tried a cigarette. So doing drugs to escape my feelings was out of the question. At some point during nursing school I discovered the food coma. Oh, it was fan-freaking-tastic.

I loved the planning out what I was going to prepare for myself or what I was going to go out and order. I would eat and eat and eat until I was almost sick. Then I would take a nice hot bath and pass out for hours with the TV tuned to some wedding show. The escape was so sweet. I loved to just sleep and dream. I would try to sleep until I absolutely HAD to do something. I was resentful of anything extra that I had to do. And how the pounds piled on!

My marriage, financial picture, child's life, professional life, and personal feelings were burning down around me. It didn't bother me. My food was keeping me as well as all of my fear and anxiety completely numb. Its hard to express your thoughts when you have a giant spoonful of Ben & Jerry's in your mouth.

Last September I had finally had enough of not taking care of me. It has been a slow prossess but I am working so hard at it. I'm going to continue to write about what I'm doing and how I am doing it. I can't promise you that what I talk about will be motivational or inspiring, but I promise that I will always be honest.

For the record: My name is The Fat Girl and I am a compulsive over eater.

John Mayer Revisited

I have said before that rediscovering John Mayer changed my attitude. I am still a little obsessed with his music. Although if I listen to some of it when I am feeling melancholy I wish I was making that exceedingly long drive to make love to a giant man in the basement bed that we shared. Don't you ever long for someone that used to be? I know I do.

HOWEVER! That is not what this post is going to be about. My man John Mayer has a new album and it has this really great song called "Shadow Days" on it. It touches my soul. The chorus goes like this:

"Hard times have helped me see: I'm a good man with a good heart, had a tough time and a rough start, but I've finally learned to let it go. Now I'm right here and I'm right now and I'm open, knowin' somehow, my shadow days are over now."

That's how I am feeling about now. I am figuring my life out. I am learning what I want and what I don't. Also, I am realizing that I don't have to carry around all the garbage of my past all the time.

Mostly I have started to learn that there is no shame in what has happened to me. I can say out loud...okay, maybe not loudly, but I can whisper, "I have survived and I get to LIVE now." No one can take my power from me anymore. I get to say what happens to me and who gets to be in my universe. And I am in control of who touches me and for what purpose. No one will ever get to hit me again or grab me for their own misguided reasons.

Sometimes I wonder if my Bulldogge gets how hard it is for me to tell him these things. Lord knows Fuzzy never heard it all and what he did hear he understood immediately. Really, I've never told anybody else. Explaining it is so difficult. And painful. I really hate hearing, "Its okay, you don't have to tell me." If you love me and are going to attempt to take care of me, you need to know these things. Because what happens the first time I have a night terror and you can't wake me? What happens if I have a full on raging panic attack while having sex? (And yes, that has happened to me) I can't control that stuff...

My shadow days ARE in fact over. I am actively seeking out happiness and balance. My anxiety is lower. And I am not NEARLY as high strung as I thought! I am pretty funny, and fun. I'm one foul mouthed woman who doesn't like to drink as much as I used to. I am less tired and in less pain since I have stopped running from myself.

"It sucks to be honest, and it hurts to be real. But its nice to make some love that I can finally feel" Amen Brother Mayer. Amen. From your mouth to God's ears.

A Post for Chronic Pain Partners

Tonight's post is on behalf of my chronic pain friends...we all have partners or supporters and we know it can be confusing or difficult to know exactly what to say or how to say it; when to act or not act. So my hope is to break it down for those that love us, look after us, take care of us, and sometimes get really sick of us (admit it, you know its true).

Alright, here's my first little insight: Please don't ask if we are in pain. There is always pain. Its all about the degrees. Really. It waxes and wanes, comes and goes, basically does what it wants, and we are along for the ride.

I have been trying to come up with a good way to illustrate this. Its sort of like having what the dealership would call "an intermittent problem" with your new car. You KNOW your car acts up almost every single morning when you pull it out of the garage, but sure shootin' when you pull it into your friendly Ford (or whatever!) dealership the damn POS just won't do it! Our pain is like that. It happens at its own time, at its own pace, on its own schedule and never the same way twice.

Next, and this is a true true promise, we only complain when the pain is so bad we cannot handle it one second longer without saying something. My cousin said to me last week that "I don't say anything most of the time because I know that I have to live with this for the rest of my life." When something IS said, please please PLEASE do NOT roll your eyes. It is important to listen closely to what is said (no, this is not touchy feely garbage, I swear), if you get good at this part you will be able to reduce our pain significantly by figuring out what our triggers are. There is a small anxiety component to pain and if left unattended its like metal shavings in your motor oil. You partners know us well, you know when you're going to get screamed at for something dumb, or when we are serious. Learn our pain signals to you the same way.

Finally, be paiient. I know it sounds like BS but its like learning something new. You learned how to change motor oil, change a tire, diaper babies, make spaghetti, and wash bras. Many of you know a great deal more than that. Trust me, you can handle this. Just learn what works. Is it a bath and candles? Do we need to go into the backyard and dig in the garden? Do we need to lock ourselves in the bedroom for a good cry? Who knows? We are all different.

Be part of the solution. Help us in any tiny way you can figure out. Its not about us getting roses or candy or just complaining to get some attention. Google chronic pain. Its not that scary. If we can handle it, so can you!

Sap-tastic Tuesday

Sap-tastic Tuesday is a new addition to my life. I told someone that I loved them on Tuesdays and bank holidays only (the reality was that I loved them WAY too much for them to handle I think and I knew better than to say it). So now I let myself feel those feelings of unrequited love for whomever it may be-my former spouse, a past lover or two, a former boyfriend-on Tuesdays and bank holidays.

I will admit I am weird. I have the BEST boyfriend right now. My Bulldogge is fantastic. I don't want to hurt him with Sap-tastic Tuesdays. I love him everyday. And he is man enough to handle that. As I write this I am smiling thinking about him.

But does that negate all the feelings that are residual from my past? No. And I know IB gets that. We have talked about it as a matter of fact. He told me he thinks about his first love practically everyday. Does that make me feel less important? No, not for a second.

So its Sap-tastic Tuesday everyone! Maybe someday soon I won't need to have them. Maybe I will no longer feel the pull to mourn my past...I will have my future with the Bulldogge to look forward to.

How Can I Say What Needs to be Said?

I love my Bulldogge. Of that I am certain. Like it feels as if my ring is missing from my left hand in love. His cozy dog house will be my home. Irish Bulldogge is the end of the line. I am beside myself with joy and relief.

Here is the issue that I have to resolve within myself: How do I get past my fear of opening my mouth to say what is going on in my head? There are things that I need to say to him, just to smooth out the wrinkles. You know, just small explainations of what works for me, how my mind interprets things, the best way to handle me...and most importantly and most scary: my past.

The fear of saying anything to him can become overwhelming inside my body. My throat starts to close, the tears well up but won't fall, and I avoid saying ANYTHING. My heart races so fast it feels like my chest is going to burst and I will fall over.

I don't know what it is that makes it impossible to say what I want to the Bulldogge. I'm not sure if its him saying, "Its going to be okay" and "I'm here for you no matter what" like a hundred times a day. Or if it's wanting to be the perfect uncomplaining girlfriend or who knows what...

On the surface these phrases sound innocuous enough, almost comforting. However, in my life experience these things also have come to mean, "Shut up, I don't want to hear it." and "I will make your choices for you because you can't."

I know that my fear has nothing in the world to do with my Irish Bulldogge. Those that know him, including myself, know that he is one of the kindest souls you will ever have the good fortune to meet. He would probably stab himself in the arm if I said it would make me feel better. He would say, "Are you sure, woman? This is REALLY what you want?" first, but he'd do it.

So I am scared. For all the work that I have been doing I haven't been able to master saying what really counts. I am scared of hurting him accidentally, I am scared of him not wanting me anymore, I am scared that I will always be alone, I am scared to say what's happened to me, I am scared of being a freak, I am scared of being seen as fragile or crazy. Okay, we are all a little crazy.

It is a work in progress. I need to master this-or hell, at least try it-to make this a healthy and honest relationship. I hope IB is as all in as I am. Its true, he is...damn I love that man. Enough to force myself to do the work of getting better.

Stupid Happy

In the recent past I have waxed romantic about several gentlemen. I'm sure that was all needed to help me figure out exactly what I wanted out of my next real relationship. And I think I may have figured it out.

I am passionate about a man that is nothing like I thought I wanted. He is blunt. And I mean BLUNT. He is unromantic and a tad bit shorter than me. But oh my GAWD do I find him beautiful! And sensitive, smart, kind, and big hearted almost to a fault.

Yes, I am talking about Irish Bulldogge. It's been the most fun I have had in quite some time getting to know him. I like the way he talks to me...like he just intrinsically knows what is best for me. It's like IB was just waiting around for me to show up and I was waiting for him. He makes me laugh so hard...really laugh, like throw your head back belly laugh.

His romance is in making sure I sleep when I need to. Or reminding me that a little bit of ice cream isn't going to make me gain back the 50 pounds I've lost. Bulldogge knows that family comes first, always. And we both want a family, whatever that looks like.

I like to kiss where his neck should be and put my hands on his face. We can't sit in the same room without touching. Yes, it may make the cynics sick, but it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. I like that we just sit down and tell each other what the plans are, like there is no question if we will be together 3 or 6 months from now. Because we will be, without a doubt.

Irish Bulldogge hates this blog I think. He is pretty private, so I wait until I can't hold in my emotions anymore to write something. There are a ton of times where I would love to write about something fun and silly that happened, but he would really hate it, so I don't. Dang, I can't believe I would edit myself for the sake of anyone...

I guess I care about his feelings more than my own ego. That doesn't even freak me out anymore. Irish Bulldogge balances me. He is WAY tougher than me and THAT is the greatest comfort of my life. He will protect me come hell or high water. With him I will never be intentionally hurt by anyone again without them getting punched in the mouth. And that, my friends, is what makes me love him; his unwavering protection of me.

A Tiger Tale

The Tiger, as most of you are aware, is a highly decorated former Marine. When asked about the job he did all he will tell you is that he "was part of an elite unit of Marines". To this day that trademark Marine swagger remains, even behind his walker.

I am a terrible daddy's girl and have been from the moment I was born. As a tiny girl I remember demanding to wait to eat my dinner until my dad came home. The Tiger would give me a shot of his Schmit beer with our dinner. It was so bad that I would even sleep in his work shirts.

Throughout my life I have always had night terrors and horribly realistic nightmares. I still remember a few of them to this day. There is one that I had about my older brother and myself trapped on the front porch of a house during a torrential downpour. Now I would say that it was a hurricane. It's no wonder I still have trouble sleeping as an adult.

In an effort to thwart the bad dreams The Tiger started pinning what he called "bravery medals" to my nightshirt. Every night after my bath I would toddle out to my dad, he would pin my medals on and lift me up to the ceiling to touch my "things" (the bad faux vaults on the ceiling). And off to bed I would go.

I was pretty old before I realized that the "bravery medals" that my Tiger hung on my shirt were in fact his Purple Hearts and his Silver Star. It still blows me away sometimes that he would do that. I know that he never viewed his service as anything out of the ordinary, but I've read the commendations...that old man is Superman.

He and I harass each other relentlessly and can fight like professionals. But The Tiger is bar none the coolest person I know. I have said that my memories of my childhood don't come to me in a fluid stream, so the ones I have of my father are very special to me. His toughness and drive are what I compare all other men to. His humor and quick mind fascinate me. I am proud to be his daughter.