I can't wait to find my person. I can't wait till he finds me.

The couch at Kidd works best, because its so comfy.

I'm really in the mood to write. Actually, I would rather share my heart with someone but I find myself censoring more and more these days. Somehow, things that were simple have become complicated and I don't know what to do about that. I kind of want to sit at opposite ends of the couch with someone and talk and stare at one another until our throats hurt and we having nothing more to say. I find that I reveal more and more the longer someone talks to me. I think I wait to see if they cared enough to hear the first thing before I'm willing to share the second. 

I miss the feeling of getting to know someone and letting someone get to know me. I'm so different than I used to be. I think it would help me understand who this new person is if I could watch someone else react to me for the first time. I want a new friend.

I used to think good things about me. I blamed all my problems on being fat and then I could ignore everything else. Now I know that some things are because of my weight but other things are just my flaws. I think I went overboard on the introspection and freaked myself out at all the things I don't like about me. I go from one extreme to the next. 

So, I now charge myself with the duty of falling in love with me again. If I don't love me, how could anyone else? I'm going to do my best to romance myself until I realize that, despite the ugly parts, I really am awesome. I really am someone worth loving. And one day, someone is going to be amazed that they get to be with me and I'll be amazed that I get to be with them. 

Its going to be great.

New things about my new life:

I like the sunshine and the way the wind feels on my face as I pedal down the path. I love the way my weight shifts from one part of my foot to another as I push myself up a root-covered trail. I'm happy when my lungs burn for more oxygen and my heart races to pump it places and I know I can keep going. I can keep going.

When I sit down, I can wrap my arms around my legs in a hug. And when I'm in the passenger seat I can bend down and adjust the hem on my jeans. I can sit cross legged and lean forward. My legs twist this way and that as I adjust my sitting position over and over. So many possibilities. I fit in the chairs now. When I go out to eat I don't have to worry about the table pressing into my stomach in those booths.

Apparently, a strong man can carry me on his back. (Although I did worry about said strong man during the experience.) And I don't feel like a huge, hulking monster all the time. I'm starting to feel smaller.  I can reach places on my body that I couldn't before and it doesn't tire me just carrying myself around. I am strong. And I'm not a burden to me.

Sometimes I absentmindedly run my hands over parts of me that have changed because I  like the way it feels so much. My  hand cup my neck that seems so much smaller now and my fingers trace my stronger jaw line, no longer hidden behind the double chin. Back and forth my fingertips slide over the sharp edges of my collar bones. I grip the muscles in my upper arms and measure them with a squeeze. I like the firmness I find there where once it was just soft.

And when I'm hungry and I think about what would be good to eat, my brain goes to things like cottage cheese, slim fast, baked chicken, lean cuisine, whole grain breads, peanut butter, lean lunch meats and hummus where I used to think of hamburgers, fried chicken, french fries, ice cream, and mashed potatoes. I don't even want those things now. Now I crave the foods that make me feel good more than the ones that taste good for a few minutes. How will I feel later? This is the important part.

Now time with friends involves activity and moving instead of just sitting around together. We can ride bikes or walk together while we talk instead of eating horrible foods and then going home. I don't feel guilty about pizza if we bike two hours first. And I don't have to choose between spending time with friends or being healthy.

But

Somewhere I lost that shell of protection that told me that I was a good person, despite being fat. Somehow I lost liking myself. I began fixing one problem and then saw all kinds of others. I suppose the more changes I see in myself the more it becomes glaringly obvious that I won't be able to change everything. I can't fix it all. I will never, ever be perfect. But I sure hope I can be good enough.

I don't really know who I am anymore. The me, as I see myself, has been shattered like so many pieces of a mirror and I feel like I'm peering into partially glued-together mess trying to see whats left. What pieces survived the crash and what crumbled beyond all saving? Who is this girl walking around with my name and my voice and some something vaguely similar to my body?

I guess I just keep hoping someone else will tell me that they see me. This new me. And that they still like what they see. And then tell me over and over until I believe it.

I know its not just me, but its hard to remember that.

I'm still all worried about dating. My concerns are a little different this time, but the main themes seem to run through my life like a guiding current. The ripples on the surface may change with the wind, but underneath the water always flows one way. I am worried.

First, I'm so inexperienced. Will I ever find someone who thinks it okay that I have no idea how to do anything? I've never kissed. I've never even held hands. I don't know what it is to just hold each other. Other things are completely beyond me. Things I never allow myself to imagine. I don't know, but I do want to learn. But more than it being "okay" with someone, I want it to be cherished. My person should be glad to claim my idle hands and my lips before anyone else. I think I deserve that. 

And then theres my body. That's an old concern, but its different now. Now I'm smaller, but this body will never be what it could have been or what it should be. I have extra skin. I have stretch marks. I have squishy places that should be firm. I have all kinds of not pretty. I look better with clothes on. I don't know if I'll ever, ever be good enough that way. What can I do to make up for it? And why do I spend my whole life trying to make up for myself?

And I still don't like people touching me, even when I want to know what it is to be touched. I'm afraid that if someone touched me the horrifying reality of exactly how gross my body is would come crashing down on them. I don't want to see that realization in someones eyes. Its better to not let them touch me, right?

I've lost 99lbs. Its been such a long journey and it so far from being over and I'm so impatient. I want to be noticed. I'm so tired of being the fat one. I'm so tired of being the not pretty one. I'm so tired of feeling like the picture frame, only there for support and structure.  

I know I'm making progress. And I know that its all so much better than it was before. But really, I'm still alone. And I don't want to be that anymore.

Oh no!

On the one hand, I think that I need to let go. In my mind, I start snipping the strings that attatch me so completely and merrily skip along in the joy of my decision. This unhealthy thing is finally leaving my life.

In reality, I panic, clutching at the loose threads fraying faster and faster in my fingers. I tie off the ends and pray it all holds together. What am I supposed to do in this vacuum created by my decision. This won't work.

Apparently we can't just get rid of a thing from our lives. There has to be some kind of replacement to take up that space. I have response mechanisms that cannot be neglected until I build new responses. 

When I started eating healthy, I had to stop eating junk food while watching movies on my computer. I couldn't just stop the junk food so I stopped the movie watching too and replaced that free time with gym time. Watching movies here is hard for me because I keep wanted to eat something while I watch because I did that for so long. I haven't seen my favorite shows and I don't really know what the new movies are.

So, please excuse me if I resolve to do something with amazing certainty and then quickly backpedal into my old habits. I can't do anything quickly and I have to have a replacement.

Weight loss blog. Creativity eludes me tonight.

I've been stuck at 96lbs lost for about three weeks now. This happens alot; I stop loosing for awhile and then it starts back up again. It seems a lot more frequent  now. They say it gets harder the closer you get to your goal, but I don't understand why.

If I'm still making a 3,500 calorie deficit I should lose a pound. Why is that harder? I know that means I have to eat even less as my body requires less energy to operate. And I know I have to work out more/harder as my body becomes accustomed to the demands I place on it. Also, is much easier to do the work when I'm not carrying around a 96lb backpack of fat. These are things I can control though. There seems to be this elusive factor X I keep hearing about that just makes it harder. I don't understand.

Because, the more muscle I have, the more calories it burns while sitting idle. And the more active I am, the more likely I am to choose strenuous activities over leisure. The healthy habits I am practicing become ingrained until the idea of going back to the way I was last year makes me feel physically ill. I don't want to eat like that. I don't want to sit around all the time. I don't want to be obese. So, it gets easier all the time to make the healthy choices. This isn't work.

Except, I feel guilty nearly all the time. Food for me becomes this strange relationship based upon pleasure and pain where I know I have to eat it and I do enjoy it but I keep obsessing over what its doing to my body. Feeling hungry feels good, but I know that I have to eat frequently to keep my metabolism pumping along at a good pace. And sometimes I still do stupid things like eat too much or eat the wrong foods and I feel guilty over it for days and days. Food = bad. I hate it. Because food is still our cultural answer to too many questions. What do we celebrate with? What do we do with friends? What do we reward ourselves with? What do we do to be kind to others? 

Finally, finally my self-image is starting to catch up with my body. I do feel smaller. I can see it now in things like the width of my thighs and my peek-a-boo collar bones.  I can sit cross legged in a chair and I can hug my knees. But other things aren't there yet. I don't feel pretty. When will that happen? I still feel uncomfortable when other people touch me like they are going to recoil from the softness of my stomach, the thickness of my calves, or the hanging skin on my arms. Somehow, in my mind, touching me is going to make the horrible reality of what I've done to my body that much more evident. I'm not like those other girls. I don't know if I'll ever be.

I'm really sorry if my horrible self image makes you uncomfortable. I really am trying to work on it. I don't really know how. I don't believe you when you say I'm pretty. I know you keep saying it to me in hopes I'll understand. I only hear that I look better than I did before. I know that. To me its like improving your grade from a F to a D. According to the BMI charts I'm still morbidly obese. So fat that its slowly killing me. After nine months. After 96lbs. 

I'm impatient. I usually want what I've decided I want RIGHT NOW. This has been a long long wait. I'm trying to be optimistic and grateful and positive and put that face on for everyone else but inside is the little girl crying that she's waited so long, can she please be happy now?

And so I wait.

Laundry mishaps.

I was hinging my clothes up after rescuing them from the dryer. I pulled one of my new shirts from the wrinkled pile and realized that it had shrunk. A lot.  I decided to pull it over my head just to see the damage. After all, I would be able to wear it again after a little more weight loss.

It fit. The shirt didn't shrink. I just have this crazy, outdated idea about what my clothes should look like. Apparently, they should look like that. Awesome.

Mmmm. Some harvarti would go nice with this.

I feel guilty nearly all the time. I wonder if this will ever go away. Because before, I didn't care about the choices I was making. Now, I analyze everything I do and even though I make the right choices enough of the time to lose weight, I make the wrong choices sometimes too. And it makes me hate myself.

Logically, I know that I can't be perfect all the time. I understand that life is about finding a balance between the unhealthy decisions and the things I do to make up for them. I know that if I completely forbid myself from going out to eat or having chocolate I will be more likely to completely give up and go back to where I was. I would be miserable.

But feeling guilty all the time is miserable too. I live so much better than I did before and yet I hate myself. I think I'm a lost cause. All I see when I look at me is an inability to handle permanent changes permanently. I talk down to myself. I hate me. I'm a failure.

I know these things aren't true. Look at me, I've lost 95lbs in the last nine months or so. That's an obvious sign of success, right? How do I stop these negative voices in my head? I keep focusing on positive affirmations but as soon as I open my eyes those horrible thoughts swarm back in like so many angry bees. 

And I'm impatient. I'm so ready to be in that body I've been imagining. I revel in the changes I'm seeing now but I'm not happy yet. My stomach shouldn't stick out so far that it actually folds over. My arms shouldn't be covered in flaps of waving skin. My collar bones should be visible. My thighs shouldn't press together like this. My calves shouldn't be so huge. What is this back fat still doing here? But these are private things I deal with on my own. The other-people things bother me more.

I can't climb that tree because I'm still too large and clumsy and it just might bend under my weight anyway. No, please don't pick me up; I'm much heavier than I look. No I don't look sexy when I dance - its all jiggly and awkward and my insecurity is as obvious as my red hair. Of course those boys didn't notice me. I can't shop here, they don't have plus sizes. Oh no no no, that would show WAY too much of my body. I don't know about laying there next to you. I mean, is there enough room? And then when I lay down I feel like my fat just kind of gathers around my face like a skin scarf. Are you seeing this?

Who would I share this with? They would point out that things are much better, right? And sure they are. They most definitely are. I've never been so happy in my life. But I'm so ready for more. I'm so ungrateful. I'm so impatient.

My mother walked up the stairs just now. I told her all of this and a little more. I cried a little. She says, "You must be ready to start your period."

Its so great when my feelings are validated that way.

But I think she's right. Haha.

I'm grateful for:

I'm supposed to write down five things I'm grateful for at the end of every day. I forgot last night, so I'll do it this morning. This is supposed to make me a better person.

1. I'm grateful that I had to buy new clothes because I've lost weight and the old clothes no longer fit.
2. I'm grateful that I have a friend like Katelyn willing to spend all day with me and also tell me which clothes to buy.
3. I'm grateful for new experiences like the tarot reading.
4. I'm grateful that I have a job and can do things like buy new clothes and go to Nashville.
5. I'm grateful that when my body is sick, it also has the ability to heal itself. Time and again.

What's your secret?

I'm getting to the point in my weight loss where alot of people are starting to notice. That's not to say that people didn't notice before, but I'm hearing an increase in the comments about it. Some of my customers have noticed.

So, inevitably I think, I'm getting this question: What's your secret? And as soon as I begin to explain my answer, I see a look of disappointment followed quickly by disinterest. Because, no one wants to hear the real answer. There is no secret.

Real, permanent weight loss comes from changing the way you live your life. You have to eat less and change the foods you do eat to healthier foods that are full of the right nutrients your body needs and have much less of those bad things that will make you sick. You have to live an active lifestyle that includes aerobic activities not only as "working out" but as part of your fun time. And you never, ever stop. As an overweight person, I actually had to learn to watch every single thing I ate until I became used to exactly how much food my body, not my mouth, wanted. And eventually I grew to like whole grains, fruits, veggies, and lean meats much more than the deep fried, chocolate covered carbs I was eating before. I learned that food shouldn't just taste good, it should feel good too.

So no miracle diet is going to work forever. And I don't understand how someone is willing to eat nothing but dill pickles for a week or take laxatives like candy to loose weight but they aren't willing to put forth the effort to make a real, permanent change. Of course, a year ago I was going to let someone cut me up and rearrange my insides to loose weight. We get into a place where we will do anything to escape. Anything to get out it. And we don't feel strong enough. We cause our own failures.

But there is no secret. I weigh and measure and count nearly everything I eat. Sometimes, I make bad choices and go out to eat or have cookies, but then I have to go to the gym an extra day and trim my calories the rest of the week. I make up for it. 

I've learned so very much that I could talk about it for hours. I could write pages. But this stuff is only interesting to those people that already know it. If you haven't gotten here than the words are probably frustrating and disappointing. You might feel not strong enough and you wonder how I am. 

Its not about changing your whole life in a day. Make small changes that you can deal with. One thing at a time. Continuous improvement. As long as you are better today than yesterday or last week, you are making progress. Learn patience and don't expect miracles. Its a long journey, but the rewards are so much bigger than you even anticipate. 

But there's no secret.

If money grew on trees, we wouldn't have any leaves to rake.

My parents got their income tax return on Friday. It took me two days, but I've come to the conclusion that this means they'll be high until the money runs out. Really, really messed up. It makes me sad and angry. I'm dissapointed and I don't understand the part of me that always expects them to get better. That always expects the best out of them. I think it would hurt less if I anticipated the slurred speech and slack faces and general zombies walking around pretending to be my parents. And I have to walk around pretending to not notice.  If I say anything they are "just tired." Yeah, because tired looks just like that. They sure have a funny way of being tired.

I just want to go away.

But more, I want to be able to stay, and everthing be okay.

But its not.

And it rarely is.

And another. (It takes ten nice things to erase every mean word spoken.)

I don't like conflict. I avoid it at all costs. I hide my own feelings of hurt or dissapointment or anger most of the time, when they occur, just so no dissagreement happens. So no unpleasant words are exchanged. I would much rather be unhappy all by myself, then tell someone else that they are making me unhappy somehow and then we get unhappy together. That sucks. I hate conflict.

It makes me feel all wrong inside when my relationships aren't all going well. It crawls under my skin and makes my heartbeat seem off balance. Something is missing. What is it? Harmony? That seems to high a word but what I mean is that I don't like discord. It grates on me all day long. Yesterday and the day before it made me sick to my stomach. It made me cry. My fingers wouldn't hold steady and food sounded awful and I couldn't concentrate on my reading. I hate conflict.

Even when its over, its like the reverberations of it are still moving across the surface of my mind in little ripples. I replay all the events and every word and try to figure out what I might have done to make it not happen. I could have said this, I could have agreed here, I could have apologized here. But that meek, apologetic person is dying in me. I'm not going to agree and acquiesce if it means lying to myself and other people. I'm not going ot pretend that everying is okay when everything is most certainly not okay. And for the first time in my WHOLE life, I'm not going to assume that everyone else is worth more than me. I deserve to be heard. I deserve to be seen (accurately). And I deserved to be loved for who I really am.

I know that anger is a secondary emotion. It comes from things like hurt and dissapointment. It is a defense mechanism meant to drive away the person or events responsible for the hurt and dissapointment. Meant to stop it from happening again. But anger is rarely the healthy response and forgiveness nearly always is. I can rationally choose to forgive, but I can't make the hurt stop with a decision and so the anger is still there, lying in wait.

I must be extra kind. I must be extra friendly. I must be extra agreeable and a better listener and smile as much as I can so it doesnt show. I must learn to lie. I can't show that it hurt more than it ever should have. Can't let it show that now I doubt every good thing about myself. I doubt other people that seem to like me. Cant let it show that I'm not okay. That it will take me years before I could ever let someone get that close again.

Because, I don't want anyone else to hurt because I'm hurting. I don't ever want that.

One thing leads to another.

I think all I wanted to say is that I want to be heard. I really hope one day I'll find a person who will want to listen to everything I have to say. Someone who'll read what I write, even when it sucks. Someone who will want me to listen to everything they have to say. And he'll have some passion that I won't quite understand but I'll listen and observe and support him in whatever ways I can. And we'll argue sometimes. And we'll discover amazing things about each other. And time will pass too quickly. And we'll discover flaws in one another we never knew we had. And we'll discover layers of beauty no one else has ever noticed. And when its just us, we'll be safe from all the world and anyone else that might want to hurt us. We'll be a team. We'll be a partnership. At least, thats what I'm hoping for.

I imagine this is how it feels to be hit in the side of the head with a flying stapler.

My self-image has recently been . . . cracked. I picture it as the image I saw underneath my skin when I looked in the mirror. The girl behind the body. And the crack didn't shatter everything, but rather ran down the middle and split into a thousand other lines like a river and its tributaries, branching out further and further. Every crack moved the glass just enough so that the pieces of mirror no longer reflected a unified whole. I'm looking a collection of attributes that don't add up to me.

I've been searching and searching this person that I think of as me, trying to decide if what I see is the same as what everyone else is seeing when they look at me. Because recently, someone presented to me a picture of myself that was completely different than my own self image. And it broke. And now I don't know what to do.

So, I made a list of everything I could think of that is wrong with me. Maybe not everything. I didn't list things like: I can't park my car straight or I'm sort of afraid of the dark. I tried to list things I thought were important. Things that matter. And I'm sure I missed things. I even asked my mom to give me, without consequences, her list of things that were wrong with me. I wasn't surprised by her responses. I knew about all those things. What bothers me is the idea that there are things terribly wrong with me that everyone else is aware of and no one is telling me. I just recently began to fear that the people that seem to like me don't really like me at all. Its awful. I know. I'm really trying to fix that quickly, but thats where I am. I'm just a little broken.

Then I made the list of good things, which was harder. I don't want to seem vain. I don't think I AM vain, so making a list of things right about me seems, well, vain, and therefore contradictory to my own list. Nevertheless, I took some time to make that list too. Because the bad list couldn't stand alone. Because I am not just made of the bad things people tolerate. I think, more importantly, I am made of things that make the bad things worth tolerating.

So I made both my lists, thinking they would make me feel better. They didn't. Writing usually helps me solve problems and thats why I wrote this whole mess. But the problem isn't solved and I feel kind of lonely even around other people because I'm not fully participating. I'm trying to figure out what I might be doing that might be upsetting other people. And its not fun. And its not healthy. And so this note was born.

And I don't know who on earth would stick with me long enough to get to this part of the note, but here you are, I suppose. I just wanted to ask for affirmation or validation or some kind of honest feedback from anyone at all. Because right now I feel confused and hurt and lost and broken.  I don't want to stay here.

So here are the lists:

What’s wrong with me:
I’m impatient.
I’m stubborn.
I’m selfish.
I’m too honest, especially when others don’t want to hear it.
I’m not sympathetic.
Sometimes I’m uncaring.
I’m slow to forgive those that hurt me.
I’m slow to trust anyone at all.
I forget important dates like birthdays and anniversaries. And actually, they don’t mean anything to me anyway. I hate birthdays and holidays with mandatory behaviors.
I’m a terrible judge of character.
I’m sensitive, even when I pretend not to be.
I’m picky and particular about all kinds of things.
I’m grumpy in the morning.
I’m spoiled.
I’m under the impression that eventually someone will think I’m amazing.
I’m not generous.
I’m not a good listener.
I talk a lot, but only when I feel comfortable.
I always feel out of place.
I need a lot of personal time, away from all the people.
I don’t like animals or babies.
I don’t floss.
I don’t usually believe the nice things people say about me.
I’m terrible at math. And reading clocks. And understanding world politics.
I don’t pick up on non-verbal cues very well. It has to be spelled out in words for me.
I’m irresponsible with my money.
I’m uncomfortable with silence if someone else is in the room.



What’s right with me:
I’m friendly.
I’m polite.
I’m joyful.
I’m unassuming.
I’m agreeable.
I’m honest.
I’m brave.
I’m genuine.
I avoid any kind of conflict.
I’m reassuring.
I’m hopeful.
I’m strong.
I’m optimistic.
I’m open.
I’m always trying to be better.
I’m finally becoming the person I want to be.
I like everyone at first and it takes me a long time to see the flaws.
I’m safe.
I’m affirming.
I’m all about hugs.
I’m uncomfortable with negativity.
I’m okay with whatever it is you choose to do.
I’m open-minded.
I’m accepting.
I’m good at telling people how much I like them.
Sometimes I’m funny.
I’m a good writer.
I don’t make sneaky plans or play games with anyone. I’m forthright.
I’m smart enough.
I’m much more comfortable with sharing my flaws than the things I actually like about myself. That is, to say, I think I’m modest.
It takes me a long time to love someone, but when I do it is completely, the good parts and the bad.
Instead of flesh and blood, I am actually composed of awesome itself. Okay, that one is a joke.

Umm . . . thanks.

I used to look at the mountain and cower in its shadow.

I'm changing. I've changed. What scares me is the idea that these changes aren't permanent. Am I going to fall down and roll back down to the bottom? This journey has been all up hill. And I don't ever want to go back to the valley. Yes, its easier there: the sun isn't cruel and the legs never tire and harsh winds only whip through every once in a while. But here, I can feel the welcome burn in my muscles telling me I'm making progress. Here I can see my future stretch out for miles in the brilliant sunshine. Here, I am out of reach of those waters that would soon flood the valley and carry me away. But what if I fall? What if I stop climbing? Because these last three weeks two weeks I haven't taken one step forward. I haven't stepped backward either, but progress is the tool by which I measure my happiness anymore and I've been standing still.

Standing still feels good for awhile, but that leads to stopping altogether and the next step still beckons with increasing intensity. This can't go on. I'm moving forward again. Complacency is no longer who I am.

Little things are changing too. I'm trying to like salad and I absolutely hate salad. Its all wrong. Its cold and crunchy and foreign. My mother never fed us salad, what is this monstrosity? But I've been eating it, trying to think of something else, trying to chew fast and swallow faster. I hate salad.

And fruit. I tried fruit cups. No good. They are so full of sugar and syrup its not fruit at all. Fresh fruit feels funny in my mouth. All stringy and seedy and running juice. So I drink smoothies. They taste excellent. They are low in calories and high in calcium, vitamin c, and other good stuff. A little protein powder makes them a meal. And slowly, the seeds become part of the experience. This is what fruit is: seeds and juice and sweet bitterness. And I like it. 

Maybe I'll learn to love the lettuce and strawberries. Maybe it will always be work. But I know that I used to hate the gym and now I love it, so this is what progress feels like. This is how it feels to be successful. 

One more step.