Its easier when I don't want things because then I just enjoy whats happening without worrying about anything else. Now I want things and I'm impatient. So very, very impatient.

I want someone who:

I was alone all day long and I hate that. So very much. And so with my free time I thought about what kind of person my Person will be. It seems like everyone has a list. I don't really have a list. I never know what I want until I see it. But I'm going to try anyway.

I want someone (who):

is reliable, consistent, and trustworthy.

I have to keep up with.

active, healthy, and strong.

listens and talks openly.

smiles and laughs often.

is kind of nerdy.

will want the compliments and phone calls and attention as much I like giving them.

is shockingly honest and transparent.

optimistic.

doesn't mind all of my bad parts.

has bad parts I don't mind so much either.

will handle the finances and pick out the furniture and decide where we go to dinner.

is adventurous and spontaneous at least some of the time.

leaves me random love notes on the napkins and the bathroom mirror and in the sock drawer.

I can sing to.

challenges me.

open to trying new things.

doesn't yell at me when he's angry with me.

feels honored to be loved by someone like me.

I feel honored be loved by.

Why aren't you my Person yet?

Countdown

I have six minutes before I have to go to work. I don't like being alone. Last night I was plagued with terrible dreams and it makes me feel unhappy this morning. Yesterday was amazing. I got a wake-up call from Jeremy and the fun didn't stop until I had to leave to go to bed. I like my friends.

Four minutes. And my brain is working so poorly that I couldn't spell minutes the second time although I spelled it the first time and it was right in front of my face. I kind of want to be around people right now. But only certain people. On the other hand, its one of those moods where I could spend the whole day alone just stewing. I don't want to stew.

Three minutes. And I keep thinking about all these things I should be doing but I keep doing what I want to do instead. I've done what I have to do for far too long. I'm ready to be irresponsible and impulsive and happy.

Two minutes. I've survived far more than I think you could ever know. I know the scars aren't visible on the surface but it makes me worry that if I ever let anyone close enough to see them, they'll run away. I know how to be healthy and happy as just me, but I don't know how to fix the damage already done. What do I do?

No minutes. And I keep typing anyway because I don't want to go to work. I don't want to crawl back into that bed of unhappiness either. I think I would like to rewind and do things over again. Maybe things that matter to me don't matter to anyone else so much. I don't know. But I'm a sensitive creature even though I don't show it and I'm feeling sad. Dang it.

Minus one. I'll be nearly late for work if I don't leave now. I don't want to leave. I don't want to stay here. And the people I want to see are all sleeping.

You are:

The flavor of grape Gatorade in my mouth

and the satisfaction of muscles all worn out.

Terrifying rock faces under my toes

and the anticipation that gets me through the day.

Contentment at just driving in your car

and the laughter that makes my abs sore.

A blush spreading up over my cheeks

and eyes I could keep looking into with questions.

My lunch break flying by as I talk talk talk to you

and the mirror of my deepest insecurities and fears.

The beauty and attention I wish I could possess

and the give and take of verbal, physical, and emotional support.

The balance and opposing force that makes it work

and a lesson in positive affirmation and self awareness.

Sunny afternoons around and around the park

and the safe place I know I can put all my worries.

The play of muscles moving over one another under the skin

and the rhythmic pounding my feel against the pavement.

Tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks 

and too much bubble gum in my mouth.

The tug of war inside that makes me feel like falling down

and the sudden misplacement of gravity.

The worry over micro-expressions and inadvertent body language

and the puzzle I can't quite put together.

The reason I run out of clean laundry too often

and the mess all over my bedroom floor.

Sleepy mornings when I've stayed up far too late

and my sudden co-dependence that makes me hate alone.

The topic of conversation whenever you aren't in the room

and the place my mind wanders off to in the quiet moments.

My favorite part of the day.

My dear, dear friends.

And now I have a phone call!

I slept FOREVER last night and I'm still sleepy today. I don't know whats wrong with me.

I have to go to the grocery store and get breakfast food.

And I'm sunburned.

I don't really have anything important to say I was just alone and wish there was someone here to talk to and there isn't so instead I'll type things. Sigh. 

One day someone will decide he likes me enough to live with me and then he'll have to listen to me talk when I come home from work. Unless he's at work then. Or he doesn't want to listen. But then, if he didn't like listening to me we wouldn't be living together. So thats that.

The weight loss has slowed down a lot and it stresses me out. I keep working hard. It keeps being slow. What is up? 

I fell asleep with my make up and clothes on last night. Now its all over my pillows. The make up, not the clothes. And I dreamed that I went back in time to 1991 and I couldn't do anything because my credit cards weren't valid and my money was too new and the computers sucked and no one had cell phones and the boxes on the shelves at the grocery store looked all funny and outdated. Weird. And then I had another dream that we were going to do a full moon ritual at Roosevelt school which, in my dream, had been abandoned and then taken over by crazy people. We wanted to cast a protection spell on it to guard against fire because in my dream I had dreamed that it burned down. Then, we were going to cast a protection spell on ourselves using the great, strong spirit of the school and the ground upon which it stood and it would work because of how much we loved the building. Weirder.

My dear, dear friends:

We don't take pictures.

And we never have a plan.

Sometimes I make you do things you don't want to.

And sometimes you do the same for me.

Occasionally, you say something that hurts me.

Of course, I'm insensitive and selfish.

I probably call you too often.

You surprise and delight me constantly.

I'm afraid to show you just how much I could need you.

We do stupid things sometimes.

You make me want to better. Always better.

I analyze things too much and get confused.

Who you are is completely beautiful and absolutely enough.

I don't know what comes next.

These memories we make keep me sane when I'm alone too long.

When you aren't with me, I tell everyone else about you. All good things.

I worry too much.

Sometimes I want you all to myself.

Sometimes I want you to have me all to yourself.

I really, really care what you think and what you have to say and what it means when you have that look on your face.

Occasionally we are so close I think we must be the same person.

Other times the distance between us frightens me.

I already miss you.

I have this crazy idea that if I could just hold onto all the inside jokes you would see just how much we can make together.

The compliments are all lies. I think you are so much more amazing than these stupid words could possible convey.

You make me hate sleep and work. I used to like those things.

I keep wondering what on earth I could do for you to make you feel as good as I feel just getting to spend time with you.

You make me laugh until my eyes water and my abs hurt and I can't breathe right.

I want to tell you everything. All of it. But I wonder if you could handle that?

I want to hear everything. All of it. I could handle it and love you more afterwards for it.

I do love you. Just as you are right now.

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.