Hello … I am lost on what day of this diary that I am–I do know that I am working toward week 9 weigh in on OptiFast. Two days ago when I started writing out this post … I couldn’t think clearly. So … as you can see I had to leave this post until today when I had a brain that could realistically focus my mind to speak anything other than silly blathering’s … as you see I can write blathering’s when my brain won’t function. 😉
OH … Bother! My day started off GREAT! I got to the gym early enough to use the arm bike, use the back strengthening machine, and slowly peddle the bike with two friends for a few minutes before Reformer started. See … what I mean … a great start to the day. Donna was her Nazi self as always, but fun–as always; I wasn’t particularly tired–I mean in the over-exhausted kind of way. So … what the heck happened when I came home to write? Just as I got a rhythm going, Onnie burst into my room for no important reason; the guys showed up to fix the carpet; the dogs started barking; tea spills all over my bed, and we have to strip the bed linens off entirely; I try to move outside and to write on the porch, and the cord won’t reach, and, oddly enough, we can find NO extension cords that will work with my plug?!?!
I gave up … helped Onnie with the sheets, got my complex B-Vitamin shot ready, changed my patch and played with Sophia … who always makes me smile. I guess, since I am writing this out now that Maybe … just maybe I can actually finish this post. I have my new thermos of tea/water (I use decaf herbal teas to flavor my water–get concerned taking in all the Fake Sugar), and my OptiFast Berry Bar with a yogurt coating (this one is my favorite) …. so barring any other anomalous accidents I should be fully prepared … iPod should have finished charging in all the commotion … so … I should be able to get on with my show. Lord … help me PLEASE!
Now … we are going to talk about the lovely Angry Painting in the picture above. Sorry that it isn’t the best pic … but you can get the idea. Once upon a time, a very kindly Therapist asked her client (me) to draw a picture of how her unhealthy body made her feel. I don’t think she was prepared for the hostility of the colors or the nails and screws (which are difficult to see with the camera that I used) smashed violently into the canvas. What makes me talk about this topic today? Well, the behaviorist, Cady (I like typing her name), asked me to tell her how plateaus make me feel. Frustrated was the word that I shared ….. I took a deep breath and what followed the pause was a tidal wave of words spewing forth from my the depths of my anger. When I finished, she looked up at me with her big eyes and friendly face and said, “Wow, that was a long answer for a short question.” She smiled at me and urged me to work on tackling one of those issues at a time. I know she is correct in her thought process; unfortunately, these feelings are all tangled together with a glue of pain over a 20 year span of my life — I have the feeling that they may try to raise their ugly heads when I hit a bump. Will I give in? Nah! Quitting and giving up is Not in my vocabulary.
Let me be clear, I do NOT hate or dislike myself … in fact, I have stated on many occasions that I make fat look good … much to the shock and horror of those skinny people within ear shot. My husband Mike … always made sure that I could believe that … he never treated me any different from skinny to morbidly obese; he always called me sexy. If all pictures or mirrors could have been removed from my sight … Heck … I could have believed I was sexy. My way of thinking is: If I was overweight, obese, or morbidly obese, then I had better find a way to like ME even if I do not like my situation. If you do not love yourself or like yourself, no one else will. Did I like my body? NO! Those are two separate things. I was not going to go around living in the dumps everyday … I cannot do that.
The question of my physical health and obesity has been a source of pain, agony, extreme ANGER, fear, and shame. I do not cry much, not sure why, but it just isn’t part of my make up. When things bug me I would prefer to find a job hacking something up or ripping something down to release stress … or ride my bike. That makes me smile … EVERY TIME! On the clean white canvas of the angry painting are words. Words written in blue permeant marker. Shame words that I felt over not being able to conquer this enemy of obesity. Words that people have spoken to me in their harsh ignorance or the lovely words taped to my car, “What’s your handicap? Your big fat lard ass?” There are more words than I care to write or list out for observation, but I bet you can get the general idea. Then, my fears for my health, my life, and my loss of hope … loss of hope that I would EVER find a way out of this death trap. I thought about all the times I hoped against hope that this plan or that plan would work for me, and I wrote large words of FRUSTRATION, ANGER, DISAPPOINTMENT, FAILURE, and DEATH on my angry canvas.
After writing these words on the canvas, I took liquid paint (what I mean by that is … the paint is more like runny craft paint), and I threw handfuls at these words until my arms were too tired, and then I took the bottles and quirted and swirled and of course I hammered nails and screwed screws into the canvas and then threw more paint again. I took my anger out on that painting, and I nailed the problems with my health to that work of “ART.” Some of the of the nails kept bouncing off, so I screwed them down to that surface in an attempt to affix those negative, nasty, unhopeful, disparaging ideas to this painting … if you will … the cross. It was very cathartic. Do I still have anger issues ….. Heck Yeah ….. why do you think I named my blog the Diary of an ANGRY FAT WOMAN … cuz I was calm about it? NOPE!
I have to say that I have calmed way down with the 36 pounds lost to date, and that I have more hope for my future than ever before being a healthy one. I think I could handle a bit of a set back now, without caving in … I hope I won’t find myself there … but it feels good to think that I could handle that with grace and hope instead of viewing it as yet another crushing defeat.
I feel like that is progress ….S 🙂