Meanwhile, I'm going to go fill up a big bottle of water
And your little dog, too . . .
So yeah. Had my first visit to the endocrinologist. My blood pressure was 190/30! She offered the "white coat" excuse but no, I'm pretty sure that my weight's back up to at least 185 (still avoiding the Scalegod, natch, but the dr scale had me at 188) so I'm sure my blood pressure problems are back. Joy.
I'm scheduled for the 2-hour fasting glucose test next Thursday.
And I'm steaming. I'm so angry with my stupid self and my stupid body.
I drove out of the parking lot and went OUT OF MY WAY to get to Wendys.
The small frosty was gone before I got anywhere near the office.
Marla and Lee, thanks for speaking up for the good guys. I didn't mean to imply that just men, ONLY men, ever sing the It Just Isn't The Same Anymore song, or that ALL men do. I sincerely hope that my 3 for 3 score is abnormal.
At the same time, I do believe that most of us are programmed to. Because, while Scott didn't complain about my (almost)50 pound weight gain (50 pounds!) -- in fact, his big unhappiness was caused by my deep depression, not my weight -- I know for a fact that he finds me a lot more attractive at a lower weight. Hence the return of the the ass-grab after I'd dropped 25 pounds.
But Hell. I find myself a lot more attractive at a lower weight, too.
And yes, I know that my self esteem is a big factor in my perceived sexiness but -- bottom line? My self esteem has nothing to do with my cholesterol levels or my glucose levels. At 188 pounds, those babies are bad whether I like myself, I really like myself or not. My glucose and my cholesterol could not care less whether or not I feel pretty.
So even if I somehow managed to feel good about this slackerly body -- somehow learned to stand naked in front of a mirror without wondering how the hell anyone could want to climb into bed with that -- I'm still going to need to lose weight.
A lot of weight.
Why can't it be like Oz? Why can't we just rub our fat thighs together 3 times and say, fervently, There's no one like me, there's no one like me, there's no one like me . . . and Poof! be comfortable in our own skins, and have all our health problems disappear . . .
Heartbreak Karaoke
Heartbreak Karaoke
Not, of course, that this is any of my business. But I'm so sorry, girl.
I like to think that I like to think -- parse that one, eh? -- that there are overweight women out there in the world who have never encountered that particular little circle of Hell in their lives.
But deep down? I don't believe it. Not for a second.
And I hate that about myself. I HATE that I can't believe it. Am incapable of believing it.
So I always allow for the possibility that somewhere, out there, exists a jasminelive woman who gained weight after meeting someone wonderful and has never heard the words, "It just isn't the same anymore," or something to that effect.
I certainly have. In fact, I've heard words to that effect in all three of the so-called significant relationships of my so-called adult life.
Including Scott.
And there are huge gaping holes in my heart for every time it's happened to me. Reading about it happening to someone else rips all of them wide open again.
You might want to stop reading now if vivisection bothers you . . .
WAKE UP!
It Just Isn't The Same Anymore, #1
My first real attempt at dieting was after I had Alyson, because I wanted to lose weight for the wedding. I got down to 117 -- from, if I remember correctly, 135 post . Fourteen years later I weighed 223 when it ended. That's 106 pounds. According to dickless, everything went wrong with us because my weight went up. According to me, my weight went up because of everything that went wrong with us.
Neither here nor there anymore, to be sure. Yet there are a million holes in my heart. One for every disparaging remark. And let me tell you, they were legion. I didn't know any better, but fuck, I was stupid. STUPID. Stupid enough to believe that it was my fault. Stupid enough to hang in there -- thinking, if I could just lose weight, everything would be better. Stupid enough to hang in there for soooooo loooooong that it graduated from little disparaging remarks to flat-out blaming my fat ass for his criminal behavior.
Right. I fucking drove him to it.
And did I mention that his family agreed? Every one of them, particularly his overweight mother, let me know just how badly I was letting myself go. To the point that, when he tried to rape his own daughter -- they came across with this big Well, what else could he do? YOU'RE SO FAT! vibe.
I think that was the moment that I got over it. I think that was the first time I actually saw my own stupidity for what it was.
It Just Isn't The Same Anymore, #2
Once I started being happy -- really, truly happy -- I started moving more and eating better and dropped 78 pounds. I weighed 145 pounds but I felt great. I felt SO great I started checking out internet dating sites and after a couple of really horrendous chaturbate meetings (lets not call them dates, please) I met Hal. Hal was several years younger than I was, and a lot of fun which -- after 14 years of absolute Hell -- was exactly what I was looking for. We had a blast for about 8 months.
I'll bet you can guess, dear reader, what happened during those 8 months.
That's right. Our New Relationship Energy (aka lust) cooled a bit -- but then, doesn't it always? And I . . . wait for it . . . put on 10 pounds.
Hal did not accuse me of gaining weight. No. He asked why I suddenly looked so "frumpy" (his word). Mind you, it was dead of winter and I was wearing an old turtleneck sweater at the time.
A good thing, too, considering the huge deja-vu chill that ran down my spine.
But the worst of it was, he was right. I was wearing bigger pants. Looser, noncling tops. I was looking frumpier. And I couldn't hate him for pointing out the truth, could I?
Now, as Bea likes to remind me, after we smoothed over that little glacier, he went on a few weeks later to ask me to marry him.
And that was when, dear reader, I broke up with him.
It Just Isn't The Same Anymore, #3
Okay, so Hal started the, It Just Isn't the Same Anymore song at 10 pounds. A bit extreme.
Compared to that, Scott's an Iron Man.
I was around 165 pounds when I met Scott. I don't know exactly because the Scalegod and I did not have a relationship at the time. Go figure. But I remember very distinctly driving home after that first rapturous meeting and thinking it was good that he met me when I was at such a high weight. Because if he found me attractive at 165, he was gonna go crazy for me at 145.
Which, of course, I had every intention of getting back down to.
Yes I did!
Only, I'd forgotten how easy it is to gain weight when you're falling in love.
How easy it is to skip your workouts to spend more time with him, or to skip your workouts in order to get more sleep because you're spending more time with him.
And let's not forget how MUCH of that time with him you spend sitting across a table of good food, telling each other every little thing.
So I gained a little weight and started worrying, in the back of my mind, about when I was going to hear the It Just Isn't The Same Anymore song . . .
Meanwhile, things got better and better. And we moved in together.
Better and better and better.
Then, my father died and I stopped noticing how wonderful things were and stopped worrying about hearing the It Just Isn't The Same Anymore song. Stopped noticing or caring about ANYthing, actually. I worked and I ate and I slept. Ever try losing weight that way? Can't, really. And sex? What's that?
Unfortunately, I was the only one in the jasmin live relationship who'd forgotten what sex was. Scott seemed to remember. And after a couple of months of no sex -- and a partner who couldn't even stay awake long enough to discuss the fact that there was no sex -- he caught me on my way from the couch to the bed and sat me down and said, Honey -- it just isn't the same anymore.
By then I had put on 47.5 pounds.
As I may have mentioned, I didn't even recognize myself at that point.
I did, however, recognize that old familiar chill down the spine. Oh, and that nice, new, enormous gaping hole in my heart.
God -- bring my hand to my chest and I can still feel the blood oozing out between my fingers. You know?
And all I could think was, Who's unhappy? Me?! Not me!
Except.
Now that he had me awake and thinking about it -- maybe there were a few things. All that sleeping going on, for one. And the dragging my ass around when I couldn't be sleeping. And the round-the-clock chocolate consumption. And, oh yeah, 47.5 pounds.
So, here I am
Scott and I are still together and life is great, except for this much-more-substantial ass of mine that I can't seem to get rid of. And so even though things are great, things are wonderful, I'm happier, in most respects, than I've ever been before -- in the back of my mind I've got an ear out for that old familiar song.
That -- you know the words, so let's all sing -- It Just Isn't The Same Anymore song.
Shouldn't that be motivation enough?
And yet, no. Can't get myself back on program to save my life here.
Literally.
Out the window
Scott and I took a quick trip to Maine over the weekend to visit his folks. I adore his folks and the weather was simply lovely. We had a fine time.
And I am having a FINE time with my good ol' friends The Carbs, too. Still. Never did quite get back on track. Am not today, either. In fact, I'm feeling very anti-track these days.
Oh who am I kidding. I'm anti-all-of-it.
I didn't have quite such a hard time of it, did I? Back when what I was doing was actually resulting in weight loss. But once that whole reward thing went out the window . . . so did my motivation. And while it's difficult to stay more or less on track when you're as unmotivated as I am, it's damn near impossible to get back to it once you've wandered off.
And I am off, wandering.
Hell -- I'm fricking lost.
But I expect I'll figure my way back, one of these days.
Meanwhile, my house is in a better state than it has been in over a year. I've been working hard on decluttering and I have a list of Things I Need to make my life complete. Storage things. Decorative things. Things that might be -- under the right circumstances -- associated with the word accent. No really, it's true!
And I've been writing.
Now, the words aren't flowing, by any means. But they have been trickling through. And on a semi-more-regular basis than in any time of recent recall.
So parts of my life are much better. Other parts are much worse. I can't even picture -- can't even imagine -- a day when my house will be organized & lovely, my weight will be under control, and my writing will be working.
Doesn't seem like so much to ask and yet, I have never had all three of those things working at the same time.
Never. In 41, almost 42, years -- not once.
But I'm working on it.
It's good to have goals, right?