To "My People" I See You

Note from the author: This is not a "pity party, party of one" blog.  This is simply insight, not excuses or blame. It's the reality of what happens in my mind, and other's minds, too. Everyone's journey is different and there are many success stories out there as well as failures.  This is me, sharing my internal journey. If you aren't obese, it may not make sense to you and that's okay. If you are obese and are part of the body acceptance movement, you may not find value here and that's okay, too. This blog will speak to the people that need it. 


I was talking to a friend the other day that I've known since childhood, let's call her Nurse Ponyheart (NP). We were discussing how much we have in common when it comes to this whole lifetime of being overweight thing. She reached out to me because she knows that I "get it."  Like, I truly understand where she is. I know how she feels, I know her struggle, I know where her motivation level and struggle is.  I get it. I see her. I feel her feels.

We also discussed how sometimes (or, if you're me, all the time) we put our feelings on Facebook because sometimes we just need to express how we are feeling.  We aren't looking for anyone to tell us, "no, that's not true, you're beautiful!" or "it doesn't matter because you are beautiful on the inside and out and you have a man that loves you." or, "you are strong, you can do this!"  We aren't looking for that kind of validation, but that is what happens.  And you know what?  Those people mean it. They love us, no matter what.  They know we are struggling, but they really don't know what else to say or do because they've never known the life of struggle as we have, where weight is concerned.  Or maybe, they gained weight over time, like after a baby, and then found a plan for themselves and lost the weight.  They now want us to try that, because that saved their life.  At any rate, what I'm saying is, these people care and they are being supportive the only way they know how.  I mean no disrespect to these people as I write this.

After talking to her I wanted to blog about what is in our heads and what we really feel and how supporting us can be difficult for friends and family.  Kind of an insight, if you will. Because at the end of the day, neither of us really know what we want or expect people to say when we are struggling.  We really just wish we knew how to get through this, because nothing up to this point has worked.  Both of us have had weight loss surgery and both of us have gained it back, perhaps for different reasons, but none the less, the parallels in our life are uncanny.  I can't speak for NP, but I can speak for what I go through on any given day, so that is what I want to share with you.

First moment of my day, the alarm goes off.  I roll over and hit snooze, because I'm tired.  I'm always tired. I'm not excited about my day.  Like, I don't even care if it is Christmas morning and I know Santa was here, I'm still not excited for anything.  I know as soon as I start to move, something is going to hurt. My knees will be first. I dangle my legs over the side of the bed and twist my feet then stretch my legs out in hopes that will send the blood to circulating so that my first step will not be excruciating.  I go get in the shower and as I do, I try very hard not to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.  There is nothing for me to see there that I will like, from my hair down to my toes. Not one part of my body will I look at and say, "I like that about me."  I get in the shower and do all the things one does in the shower. Maybe not ALL the things, because frankly, I can't reach everything the way someone with bendable legs and no belly obstruction can.  I do my best and spend the appropriate amount of time making sure that anything that folds over or holds moisture is clean, because you have to make sure all the rolls and muffin tops are cared for.

After the shower, I put on my make-up and do my hair.  While I am a total girly-girl and love to wear make-up, it is also a necessity for me.  I feel like I need to work extra hard to look as pleasant as I can so that people will not focus on how large I am.  Some people tease me for always wearing make-up and doing my hair, but honestly, it seriously is a necessity for me to feel any sense of confidence.  Sometimes I will go out in public without it, it isn't like I can't, but my preference is to be seen fully put together.

Now, it is time to get dressed.  This is a whole other process that the average person will not understand or does not need to go through.  I can't say what NP goes through, as her job requires a certain uniform, but what I go through is a lot of self-loathing.  I want to look nice and appear as small as possible.  I just want to fit in and not stick out as the fat girl.  I know that isn't a reality, but I try to make it so.  This involves a variety of shape wear like Spanx, tights, tummy control, thigh control, back fat control, etc. I check, is the shape wear making a dent in my back?  Is it obvious?  I can't wear certain shape wear with certain outfits because it doesn't look right, so different outfits have different undergarment requirements.  In the summer, I may look like I'm wearing a flowy summer dress, but guess what is holding that body together underneath? An entire fortress of shape wear that makes me way more uncomfortable than I appear.  Will my legs rub together and make a swishy noise when I walk in this? Will my thighs erupt in flames from Spanx friction?  Will my stomach stick out too much?  Will this dress or pants cling to my thighs?  Will this belt create a bigger muffin top?

Clothes that may have looked fine on any other day may not work today, because today I looked in the mirror and I HATED it.  How did I wear it last time and it seemed fine?  My thighs are so heavy, I can't wear all the leggings and short skirts that everyone else wears.  The extra fat around my knees is humiliating.  I know there are probably not many people, if any, that stop and consider that about my legs, but it is all I can think about all day.

By the time I am ready for work, I'm in a sweat because putting all this together is not easy, plus, menopause! I hate getting dressed in the morning. I hate dressing this body and yet I spend hours online looking at clothes that I hope will fit me that I can purchase to disguise the rolls, bumps and globs of cellulite. Going into stores and shopping is not a thing, unless we just go to our usual haunts that have a plus-size section or is a store dedicated to "our people."

One last thing before I go to work, I have to take my meds.  My anti-depressant, my heartburn pills and a slew of vitamins that I pray will bring up my vitamin D and B levels.  I'll take my blood pressure pills tonight before bed. I'm not diabetic yet, but it is a worry in the back of my mind everyday.  I say to myself, "I've got to turn this around."

I leave for work and as I drive along, I wonder how big I look to other people passing by.  My short hair leaves my entire face out there and my double chin for everyone to see. I arrive at work, I park in the parking lot and walk into the office.  I wonder if the people in the smoking area watch me walk by and think, "What is she wearing? Wow, I wouldn't wear that..."  What are the chances they are doing that?  Probably pretty small, but my head is convinced otherwise.  I watch other people walk in ahead of me.  Maybe it is some woman in cute leggings, high heels and a thigh gap.  I hate her.  I hate her for having the body I can only dream of and I wonder what it is like for her to get dressed in the morning.  Her hair is up in a sloppy bun and she's casually sloppy. She looks perfect. I will acknowledge that anyone, including thin, seemingly healthy people have body image issues. Fat people don't get to own that.  Body image is brutal for everyone.

Food. I'm at work and everyone is ordering breakfast or lunch and they order whatever they want.  I am agonizing about what I am going to eat.  Every decision I make will affect whether I lose a pound or gain a pound.  I have to consider if I will be "strong" today, if I will eat "healthy" today, if I will have the will power to eat only a very little of what I need and avoid all the things I don't need. Will I drink enough water?  I need to drink lots of water.  Oh, look, it's donut day.  I obsess about the donut. I beat myself up if I eat it.  If I do, my day is clearly ruined.  And I assume that anyone seeing me eat the donut will see I am weak and I deserve to be fat.

I have a gym downstairs at my work.  I'm a member. Do I go after work?  Do I go on my lunch?  Every day I don't go, I am a failure.  Every day I can't make myself go, obesity has won and there is no hope for me.  I want to go to the gym.  I want to be healthy, but I'm tired and my body hurts and I'm exhausted from the mental fight in my head that never stops. One day I'm giving up, the next day I'm starting a new plan or setting a new goal, but something is stopping me from succeeding.  It's my head. I'm sad. I'm depressed and I see no way out.  I've already failed at weight loss surgery, what on earth could I possibly do to fix this?  What is it going to take?  I'll tell you what it is going to take, it's going to take EVERYTHING. It's going to take everything I have to push through the body aches, the stigma of being fat and finding the time and the support to do this.  But you know what? Life doesn't always make that possible.  How can you give everything when the rest of your life, your husband, your child, your finances, your job, your home life, your everything else is still there? It's overwhelming and sometimes when you are in the space of being overwhelmed, you just give up and survive.  There should be no shame in surviving, but it sure isn't living and we blame ourselves for that, too.

And living is what we want the most.  We want to do all the things, with no limitations but our bodies feel like our biggest limitation. Some might say, no, it's your head, that's your biggest limitation and I guess I'd have to agree with that as well. But, you know what else is a limitation? The size of an airplane seat, the weight limit on a carnival ride or to zip-line.  Shopping for a wedding dress, trying to find one your size and then visualizing yourself in it and knowing that you will look at those pictures for the rest of your life and know you were not at your best. We will compare that to everyone else who has "magical" wedding photo's.

I make my way home after work and I'm tired. I come home, fix dinner and enjoy a couple hours with my husband and my dogs and then it's time for bed. I beat myself up again for not working out, or for making poor food choices and I get ready for bed.  As I lay in bed, I wonder, how does Shark Bait love me?  I'm depressed and I'm in this body I hate.  He loves me for who I am, I know that, but does he look at me clothed or naked and think, "that is hot!" Is he truly attracted to me, or is he just used to me? Or is it his less than 20/20 vision?  How can he run his hands over this fat belly, fat thighs and look at my chubby face and be turned on? I want and need to feel attractive and sexy, but no matter how much Shark Bait says he's attracted to me, how could he be? He's lying to make me feel better is the only plausible explanation.

All of this and SO MUCH MORE is in the head of an obese woman (and maybe men, too, I can't say, I've never been one) every day.  NP and I wonder, what did we do in a past life, or in this life, to deserve this struggle? Were we skinny prostitutes at a Saloon? We know there are people with bigger struggles out there, but this isn't about those people, this is about us and it's okay to feel our feelings about us. Our feelings matter.  We matter.

Also, just so everyone understands, not all people that are overweight have that "ah-ha" moment where life changes and they are suddenly able to commit and lose the weight.  That's great on The Biggest Loser or whatever other reality show you're watching, but that's not how it works for everyone. There are a whole bunch of us out there struggling to find the strength every day to manage this. To get out of bed and do the best we can. And on other days, we don't get out of bed. We give up, but we survive.  So, yes, thank you for saying we are beautiful.  Thank you for seeing who we are on the inside of this body.  Thank you for saying you even think we are aesthetically beautiful.  That is very sweet of you, but we want more for ourselves. We expect more for ourselves. We don't want to be heart attack victims, stroke victims, diabetic, and a myriad of other complications. We don't want pity. We want to live for our husbands, our kids, our family and friends...for ourselves.  We have things we want to do. We're just so tired of fighting. It's been a lifetime and we're tired. We've run out of hope.

To "my people," the people of the cellulite and the struggle, I see you.  I feel you. I understand what you are going through.  I know you're tired.  I have no advice for you. I think what gets me through each day is knowing that you are all there fighting the fight with me. I honestly don't know if I will ever achieve what I want or if you will either, but we'll keep trying, because there is no other choice that leads to living. 

And one final note. Don't let all that Pinterest or motivational bullshit get in your head like, "If it is important enough, you'll find a way.  If it's not, you'll find an excuse." To the person that wrote that, Fuck You.


I'll continue to look for this girl, who had successes in 2013.  She's buried in here somewhere.  I need to find her.

Megaquake, Preppers & Hula Girl

It's the time of year I have a tendency to get a little "dark," which is actually different from my normal darkness in the Spring and Summer months.  I start thinking about all the stuffs and it gives me a little bit of anxiety.  It really doesn't take much to bring it on, either.  I'll share an example of how easily it is to push my mind into hyper-drive.

Last Thursday, I was at work and I could hear Camo Boy talking to a customer.  They were discussing earthquakes and how if we got one in our area, what would happen.  Then the conversation moved into what would happen if Yellowstone blew up.  "I yelled over the wall, "no more earthquake talk!"  I can't deal with that, because I don't want to die in that building.  I'm on the third floor (out of five floors, plus a basement), let's be honest, if there is a mega-quake like some are predicting, I'm going to be the Oreo filling in a building sammich.  You know what I mean?  Guts coming out of my nose and I'm buried under my desk.  Camo Boy assured me that if there was an earthquake and that we didn't die, he knew where to get a boat and that I should just stick with him and I'd be okay.  Well, whew!  I totally feel better now.  <-- sarcasm, FYI

Next thing I know, a crowd assembled and a conversation was had about who would be affected by Yellowstone, if it blows.  Turns out, it's EVERYONE. I Googled it for verification purposes. All of us are GOING DOWN.  We will slowly die when all the ash takes over the globe and blocks the sun and makes it so we can't breathe, our water supply is polluted, the plants and animals all die and then we die of starvation because there is not enough Twinkies and Red Bull left in the world to sustain us all.  And, what are vegans going to eat when all plant life is dead? I guarantee you one of those vegans is eventually going to look at their partner, just like in the cartoons, and see them looking like a hotdog and eat the hell out of them.  It's bound to happen.

I was reminded that all of the people with the guns will totally get to shoot it out and get the last of the Twinkies. Well, you'd better believe that's true, so they will live a little longer than the average person.  I guess that means Shark Bait is all set, so we'll be able to sustain life for a while and I'll totally finally get that skinny bod I've always wanted. In the meantime, I have the fat reserves, so I'll just be walking around stepping over dead Barbie bodies.  The good part is, I'll get whatever I want at the Black Friday sales after Thanksgiving and no lines.

I was sure to add to the conversation that, from a long-term perspective, you know who is going to survive all this, right? All those Doomsday Preppers.  They are gonna be fine because they can live for the next several years like Brendan Fraser in that movie Blast From The Past where he lives in a fallout shelter for most of his life.  Preppers will be walking around like, "who's crazy now, bitches?!"  The consensus from the group discussion is that we'd have to ride it out for at least two years.  Once it's safe to come out and the ash clears, the Preppers  can slowly re-populate the earth.  I likely won't be around to see it, which I'm okay with, because I'm not popping out any kids, unless Jesus comes back and is like, "Sorry about Yellowstone, we're going back to biblical times and I'ma need you to pop out some kids, I'll even let you live to like 2-300 years old!" If Jesus does ask, I mean, I'll have to comply, but he's going to have to give me my uterus back, which could be awkward, but hey, he's Jesus, if he can't do it, who can? Jesus also needs to create the horse again and give me a new pony.  Look, if I'm going to be populating and stuff, like a gumball machine after someone puts a quarter in, I think it's okay if I have a list of demands.   (#jkjesus #keeptheuterus #dontneeditback #sorryaboutgumballreference )

As if the conversation wasn't absurd enough at this point, it continued and took an unexpected turn when Vaseline-Loving Barbie asked how long ago we had even discovered the moon and then suggested we could go to the moon and live and drill for minerals.  This train of thought then created a whole new set of problems.  First of all, kind of hard to sustain mankind on the moon where there really isn't anything growing, I mean, how would being on the moon help us?  This conversation then lead to that movie called The Martian starring Matt Damon who lived off of potatoes grown from his own shit when he was left for dead on Mars. I don't know if we are ready for that kind of living, nor do we have the training.  I have concerns.  I said, "well, what if we are trying to get to the moon and the ship can't make it, or malfunctions and then we just end up floating around space like Sandra Bullock in that one movie?" (Because, correct me if I'm wrong, movies teach us most of life's lessons.)

I continued, "Then what? We just float around until we finally starve to death? We live in a suit with our own feces and piss?"  Bronco Billy chimes in and says that when you are in space, because of the gravity situation, you don't know when you have to go to the bathroom. So, you don't know you're shitting yourself, but at some point you feel something squishy in your suit? Or, maybe all the feces travels around in your suit because it's space shit and space shit does what it wants?  I don't know, but it seems like a hell of a way to go just floating around with your arms sticking out just waiting for a meteor or an alien to come take you out.  And, what do we really know about aliens, aside from the ones that burst out of Sigourney Weaver's guts?  The testing they would do on humans might be awful, even torture.  So, die in your excrement or be an alien pin cushion? Either way, not glamorous.

After that, we discussed how most of us probably won't live to see one of these catastrophic events, anyway. The primary reason being the medical field is trying to kill us with drugs that allegedly help us.  Like, Omeprazole (Prilosec, for heart burn).  Turns out this stuff is just going to eat our bones, give us heart problems and pretty much kill us. On the upside, no evidence of explosive diarrhea in the warnings as a side-effect.  I have to take 80 mgs of Omeprazole per day, so I guess I'll get to that finish line before everyone else.  Also, blood pressure medicine, another silent killer.  Bronco Billy has Googled the side-effects and is pretty positive anyone taking those meds are walking time bombs.  Never mind he drinks two to three energy drinks a day, plus his iced coffee.  Hardly makes him a freaking naturopathic genius, but he's read things, so how do you battle that?

So, I'm not saying that my day to day anxiety is driven by what Yellowstone does, but I'm not saying it isn't, either.  It just takes that one event to get the ball rolling and then next thing you know, you're living under ground or floating around in space with high blood pressure, heart burn and shitty pants.

In the meantime, while we try and outlive natural, as well as unnatural disaster, we've got whales with blowholes full of straws, turtles wrapped up in those plastic six-pack pop holder things, we've got garbage and bacteria growing in the ocean, the whales are dying, the salmon aren't coming back as strong, we are cutting down all the trees for houses for people that keep over-populating the earth, we pollute the atmosphere and the ozone layer with smog and cow's methane farts, we are killing each other, homeless people are making their homes wherever they want and are shitting in the street, we are setting up meth stations for people to "safely" take drugs, we are one of the biggest political shit shows right now in the world and I don't know when the McRib will be back at McDonalds. Rumor has it, there is legislation being put together to take away drive-thru's for fast food places because that's how we are going to fight obesity.  Don't take any real responsibility for the food we produce and the chemicals and preservatives in it, we'll just make fat people park their cars and walk into Burger King.  That should fix the problem.  Also, is global warming a thing or not a thing?

It's crazy times.  I didn't even bring up about diseases like cancer and whatever it is that killer mosquitoes give us. Not to mention texting or being intoxicated while driving trying to maneuver through the asshats of America out there on the road.  And poor smokers, now smokers can't even safely quit smoking and transition to vaping without the chance of being sold toxic vaping flavors. Oh and that bitch, Alexa, monitoring our every move. And what about the Kardashians, David Hasselhoff, Lori Loughlin and Richard Simmons, are they even okay?  What's going to become of them? What has become of us as a society? Do I glue extra eyelashes to my eyebrows and then grow out my armpit hair and dye it rainbow colors?  Do I glue my upper lip up under my nose so I look pouty and irresistible? Do I buy a pair of socks with my husbands face on it simply because I can? Facebook and Instagram suggest a life that I don't know if I can keep up with!

So, yeah, I worry too much.  Why, just last night I spent quite a bit of time wondering about the song Jimmy Cracked Corn and how that came to be, what it all meant, and whatever happened to Jimmy or that cracked corn? I have to work these things out, you know?

And finally, in conclusion, I'm worried about one more thing.  Why is it, I have four of these solar toys in the window, and only the Hula girl stopped moving.  She's like, "Bitch please, I am from Hawaii and this Washington rain is bullshit! I'm already depressed and it's only freaking October." I know she's just a solar toy, but she gets it. She really seems to have a grasp for what's going on and she's coping.  She took a stance.  She's like, I'm not shaking this booty for any of you losers, I'm going to mentally transport my ass back to Hawaii. 

I need that kind of clarity in my life. It seems I may have just learned more from Hula girl saying nothing, than I did from Thursday's conversations about destruction, death and gravity.

And that's how overhearing a conversation about earthquakes get's me going.

Disclaimer: Please take this blog in the manner in which it was intended, humor. I'm okay, you're okay, please don't call my mom or message Shark Bait to see if I need "help."

 

The Human Salad Shooter

WARNING: B.U.T.I. (Blogging Under The Influence) 
(I didn't say the influence of what...it could be Beethoven)

First of all, I want to apologize to anyone that just ran across this blog thinking you would learn something about actual salad shooters or humans.  If you continue to read, you're in for a terrifying surprise.  Let's consider that the disclaimer of the day.

Now, I need to talk about a situation that is completely out of control.  My body.  No, this isn't about my body and it's twisted relationship with SPANX.  No, this isn't about my boobs, belly or butt.  What haven't I discussed in a while? Poop.  (Everybody poops, BTW, don't even fecking roll your eyes at me or wrinkle your nose. It happens.)

As everyone knows, for the past 47 years, 48 if you count those developing months inside the womb, I've been trying to lose weight.  And, now my knees hurt like a mother trucker and so it is extra important. Like, being important isn't enough, we have to make something extra important. Where does it stop? "So GD Fecking Important??!" Anyway, it is THAT important. #importantToInfinityAndBeyond

 What I'm trying to say is that I've done KETO, Paleo, LCHF, South Beach, etc. diets before and now all the sudden my body is like, "lettuce is the enemy!!!!! Abort, Abort, Abort!!!" Spinach, my guts hate it, Romaine, Iceburg, weeds from your front yard, all of it, my guts hate it!  We aren't talking that I get a little gas, heartburn or air bubble. I'm talking about war, people.  We are talkin' down in the trenches on a night that won't stop the monsoon of 100 planets, we are talkin' down in those trenches with water up to our ass crack and leaches stuck to our private generals.  That's what I'm talking about.  That serious.  A seriousness that must be immediately considered an act on terrorism.  Terrorism on your intestines, your sphincter muscles and your wall behind you.  It's coming through, people, the salad has left the fire hose of your intestines and we are putting out a five alarm fire.  Unbatton the hatches, I beg you, for the night terror is coming!!!

To recap, if I eat salad, it shoots out the back door.  I'm basically a human salad shooter.

So, thanks Mom and Dad, genetics, the universe and every ice cream cone that made me this way, now I can't even eat healthy to lose weight.  It's like a maze there is no exit to.  IT'S A  TRAP!!!!!!!!!
It isn't like I never eat salads and veggies and stuff, even if I am eating a few cookies or french fries at the same time.  But now, when I remove sugar, my body becomes like that little girl in Poltergeist.  So, now what? You PaleoKetoLowCarbSouthBitchDiet experts????  I guess it's like some people are gluten intolerant or lactose intolerant, I'm just health intolerant.  "Oh, I'm sorry Pete, I can't eat that broccoli, it doesn't have lard and preservatives in it!  I don't know how you barbarians survive!"

I don't even know what my intestines want anymore.  One day it's a hostage situation, three days later Tsunami warning. Look, this is A LOT of information, but what I'm trying to say is, I might only be able to survive eating Doritos, chocolate and copious amounts of Cheez-its.  I should probably get tested, you know, to see which, if any vegetables are consumable by this body.  This body that tries to be all mysterious and shit, but just ends up looking like every other body on Maury trying to find out who dey baby daddy is. Are you still with me on this?  Is it making any sense?

I had a lot to say about this earlier, but I seem to be getting side-tracked in my mind and I can't quite make sense of what is happening up there.  I mean, I know what's happening down there, I got four anti-diarheal pills holding back the gates at the Jell-o Pudding factory after all the vats exploded and a chocolate tsunami happened and then tried to break down the gates of the factory. OMG, my whole childhood is coming back...being the only girl...surrounded by dumb teenage boys...too many references, too many jokes, too much..... anyway, like I was saying, not sure what is going on up there...in the ole think tank. 

In conclusion, I'm probably still gonna try and eat healthy, but if you see Oreo crumbles on my salad, back up off me because I got problems of my own and bitch ain't noneyo bizness.  Unless you read my blog, which is everyone's business whether they wanted it to be their business, but it's their choice to read, I don't mind meld anyone or hold them captive with words like erotica and throbbing.  Nope, I use words like poop, lard and boob.  So, why y'all still here, I have NO IDEA.

I think it's time for me to go and find an appropriate song, play it and sing along to it while I video myself singing and then going through my contact list and sending it to people.  You've been warned. I suggest you go add and activate appropriate Angry Pony blocking tactics right now.

Dear Doctor...

It's been a while since I have felt like a little personal blog therapy.  I felt like I had two ways to go with my writing therapy tonight.  I could go "old-school Cassondra" and make this the biggest rage-infested rant, or I could feel the feels.  I know you all wish I would go old-school, it's always a good time, and maybe I'm closer to that than you think, but tonight I am feeling heavy angst about the state of the human condition.  I'll share my therapy with all of you in case you have ever felt like this in life or relate to the struggle of dealing with the health care organization.  If you came here for hilarity, the state of my uterus, stall number one at the GP or what Shark Bait is up to, you'll have to wait until next time.

Dear Doctor...

Dear Doctor, my name is Cassondra.  I'm 5'6" tall and I'm obese.  My blood pressure and pulse typically fall within the normal range and my temperature is normal. I don't know if you have noticed any of those stats yet, or if you care.  I'm here because I have a problem or am unsure about what's happening inside of me.  I notice you.  I notice your face and your eyes.  Is there any softness there?  Is your handshake firm?  Do you have time for me or are you mentally already on to your next appointment because you know that you just need to tell me to lose weight to fix my problem?

Dear Doctor, I haven't always been this broken.  I haven't always been this scared for my future, but I have always been heavy, since birth, really.  You don't know that, because you don't know me.  I haven't always had this incredible pain in my knees or this heartache due to the situation I'm in.  I've had much better days and although I was never a cheerleader or homecoming queen, I didn't just let myself go.  I have fought this body my entire life.  It's okay, I know you don't know that.

Dear Doctor, I'm not lazy or stupid.  I'm not trying to earn a spot on My 600lb Life.  I don't eat fast food everyday.  I don't eat a whole pizza at a sitting. I actually love to be outdoors and be active.  I can't right now, because it hurts.  It hurts me physically and it hurts me emotionally more than any pill can numb.  Yes, I've talked to a bariatric surgeon.  Yes, I've had surgery.  I was amazing for a short time.  I worked out so hard because I wanted it so bad, so bad that I broke myself.  I know you don't know that because you didn't listen when I told you already and I know you didn't look at my history before you walked into this room.

Dear Doctor, I do know I need to lose weight.  I've known since I started kindergarten and the kids teased me horribly. I've known every moment since then.  With every breath I take, I know I'm fat. And I am painfully aware that I don't want to be fat.  I know you don't know that.  You probably figure that I am one of those that say "Big is beautiful and I'm comfortable in my skin and society needs to accept me."  That's not where I am.  I know my weight is a problem for my body and I know that beauty is more than a face and a body.  Yes, I'm married, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up and don't care what people think, or for that matter, most importantly what I think. But you don't know that. You just see this obese patient with a problem that you can easily attribute to my weight.  You think to yourself, "if she hurts that bad, she can just lose weight, why is she wasting my time?"
You've never said it out loud to me, but I can see in your face and in your treatment of me that you are thinking it.

Dear Doctor I don't expect a miracle, but I'd like you to take some time and help me figure out my options.  Please don't just write me off and pass me off to someone else.  Please don't assume that someone else will help me.  Please see me.  Please see in my eyes that I am close to tears and I am losing hope.  Please be the one to make sure we have checked every option and possibility.  If you miss something that is critical or potentially terminal, it's no big deal to you.  You can go home and say, "She just needed to lose weight, what did you expect me to do?"  But you can't see the possibilities, you can only see the cellulite.  I know you've noticed the cellulite, because you've looked me up and down the whole time I've been here and spent a lot of time talking and staring at my stomach as you do. My cellulite should not be the reason you don't see the underlying medical condition.

Dear Doctor, please know that I understand you believe you are being kind with words and phrases like: body habitus, a lot of tissue, people of your size, as big as you, etc., but I see the judgement in your eyes and dull expression. I understand I'm a liability, so it's easier to pass on looking for anything beyond my dress size.  The horror, you might find something and then you might be put in a situation to recommend surgery, or perform it and, well, as you've stated multiple times, I'm high risk. People of my size always are.

Dear Doctor, I didn't just spend my co-pay and time away from life to come here and be ignored, rushed or disregarded because of my size.  I don't know why you became a doctor. I don't know why you are irritated dealing with patients. I don't know why it's okay with you that you adjust your level of care based on my weight on the scale.  I don't know why you think it is okay to only spend five minutes with me and brush me off.  I waited a month to see you.  You have a set of skills, right? Why do you become a doctor and then withhold healing? You wasted my time, you took my money and left me with no answers, no direction and no hope.  Oh, and pain.  Did I mention about the unrelenting pain?

Dear Doctor, I know when you walked out of the room and moved on to your next patient-victim you didn't see me cry.  You didn't see me walk into work and witness my friends asking how it went and what are we gonna do about my knee?  I have to tell them, again, there is nothing we can do until I lose weight.  No one understands, they tell me to get a second opinion.  I'm already on my third. You don't have to see their faces, with all the compassion and empathy, tell me they're sorry and that they wished there was something they could do.  And, I look at them and say, "it's okay, it's my fault, I have to lose weight," and then I feel hatred for myself  because I've been unable to accomplish losing the weight.  After all, if it hurts that bad, that would be my motivation, right?  If I'm not losing weight, it must not be bad enough, right?

Dear Doctor...My name is Cassondra. I'm not perfect. If I was, I wouldn't be here. I'm asking you to listen to me and what I'm saying. I want you to look at my eyes. I want you to look at my medical history and ask me questions.  I want you to consider you have the power at this moment to be my hero or the biggest waste of a doctor's education. I understand you can't always fix the problem, but you sure can care about another human life, regardless of said human's condition.  Like I said, if I was perfect, I wouldn't be here, but I can promise you this, I'm worth your time.

Adventures of Fatty McFatterson

It's been almost 21 years since I started my career at the Glass Palace. I can still remember my thoughts as I walked around there the first week or so after getting hired.  I remember seeing the older ladies with their walkers or dragging their oxygen tanks behind them.  Other ladies that wore masks and were quick to tell you that if you wore any perfume or scented lotions, you could not come near them since they had allergies.  I remember how every payday Friday or every sunny Friday how the one lady mysteriously needed the ambulance called.  I remembered seeing all the people that were severely over-weight and I thought, well, I guess being fat was part of the criteria to work here, but then right after thinking that, I thought, OMG, what have I done?  I don't want to end up like this!  What if that happens to me?  I'll just be careful. That won't happen to me.  It can't.

Fast-forward to 20 years and ten months later.  I'm fatter than ever.  I've been battling Call Center Ass all of these years.  I only wish I weighed what I did when I started at the Glass Palace back then.  But, how could I?  I just go in and sit all day.  I've done the working out thing at lunch and after work and dieting and all of that, but nonetheless, here I am.  Here I am with knees that are so angry.  One of which needs a new kneecap, but I'm too fat for surgery.  I remember jumping off hay trucks and training horses and climbing all over that farm the whole time I grew up and through my 20's. I remember my Dad saying, "Babycakes, you better be careful jumping off those hay trucks like that, it might not hurt now, but someday those knees are going to give out on you." Well, Dad, if it makes you feel any better, you were right.  The pain is so bad, I can barely make it from my desk to the bathroom and from the office to my truck.  I just want to cry.

I went to an Orthopedic doctor and he gave me cortisone shots in each knee and told me that I needed surgery, but that I can't have it until I get my BMI in check.  It's so frustrating because I truly do know I need to lose weight and am trying, but I am so overwhelmed with the constant pain, I just feel like giving up.  I sent a message to the ortho-doctor again today and he basically said my primary doctor will have to refer me to a pain specialist because as long as I'm Fatty McFatterson, it's a no-go on the surgery and there is nothing else he can do.

I sent the following message to my primary doctor today:

"I am having severe pain in my knees, specifically intense in the right knee. I have seen Dr. Pepple in Orthopedics at the Everett location of the Everett Clinic. He says I need surgery, but we can't do that because I'm Fatty McFatterson and my BMI is too high. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I can barely walk. He said to talk to you about getting a referral to your Comprehensive Pain people, or whatever they are called. Maybe they can help me until I can lose enough weight to be operated on." 
(The doctor didn't really call me Fatty Mcfatterson, but he was thinking it.)

I don't know what the hell a pain specialist is going to do for me.  So what, they just get me a medical marijuana card and send me off to go smoke some weed until I just don't give a shit anymore?  Do they prescribe medication that is going to eat my liver, kidney's pancreas and whatever other guts do stuff in there until I need to be on dialysis? Then, I end up in a wheel chair taking the para-bus to the treatment center a couple times a week, but the good news is, I'm in a wheel chair and I'm stoned, so I don't know that my life sucks.  I probably will watch a lot of The Price is Right and People's Court.  Anyway, I don't know what the pain people are going to do for me. 

The hardest part of all of this is that I am so completely and utterly disappointed in myself right now. So hopeless, so frustrated, so angry.  Truly angry that at 47 years old, this is where I am. I'm almost one of those ladies from 20 years ago.  I'm there. I'm one polyester pair of pants away. Like, I could order some online tonight and have them by Friday.  That close to there.

Let me paint the picture for you.  When I walk, I'm basically Jabba the Hut, who's tail doesn't work to support him anymore, and he has two legs, both gimpy and he's walking like he's on hot coals and is dragging one leg and he needs a cane, but is trying to sneak up on Bambi because he's hungry.  That's what it looks like when I walk.

I'm so fat.
 
I'm so fat that if I sat on a saint bernard dog, it would get lost up my ass and we'd have to call Search and Rescue to find it.
 
I'm so fat that my Spanx could be used as a parachute for a truck that skydives from a plane.
 
I'm so fat that even Jabba the Hut swiped left when he saw my profile on Tinder. 

I'm so fat that I hear sobbing at night, but it isn't me, it's my clothes in the closet having anxiety about what I'm wearing in the morning.

I'm so fat that I can't go on an African Safari because it's too dangerous.  Poachers might mistake me for an elephant and try and steal the ivory from my tusks.

I'm so fat that when I go on a whale-watching cruise, everyone takes pictures of me instead of the whales.

I'm so fat that my skin looks like someone used a blow torch on me and tried to melt my skin off.

I'm so fat, I can only put an inch of water in the bathtub because when I get in, it might over flow.

I'm so fat there could be a village of people living in my belly button.

I'm so fat that pigs are envious of my jowls and assorted chins.

I know none of this is Rug Doctor approved self-talk.  I know it.  But I'm mad. I'm sad. I'm over it. I hate myself. I hate looking in the mirror. I hate my hair, hate how my clothes fit. Hate it all. Why am I drawing on eye brows and putting on lipstick? Why bother? I'm a hideous creature.  I thank the Lord above that Shark Bait has bad eyes-sight. I don't care if all these thoughts are true or not, it's how I feel.  I keep trying to force myself to love this body, but it's about as easy as forcing liberals to love Trump.   

And, to be clear,  I don't need condolences, pity, a pep talk, an ass-chewing, kind words or diet ideas from anyone.  I'm not asking for that.  I'm saying, this sucks and I'm disappointed in me. I cried all the way home tonight. Maybe I should keep all these feelings to myself.  But maybe, just maybe there is at least one other person that walks around pissed off and angry and this dialog is going through their head, too.  Maybe not because they are Fatty McFatterson, but because of life choices, finances, relationships, family.  I don't know, it could be a million things, but you're just angry inside and you don't see any way out.  You're trapped.  If you are one of those people and you are reading this, I get you.  I don't want to hug it out with you or anything, but I get you. You're not alone. I don't know what we are going to do about any of this, but in the darkness know that you are not alone. It could be a stalker, a criminal or just some crazy-ass admin, which is creepy, but yeah...not alone.

What we could do is to start a support group called Misery Loves Company and meet weekly to tell each other to fuck off because we're all a bunch of fucking losers and we're sick of it, but we also want to get high so that we don't hurt or care about any of it anymore.  But we don't because we have to go to work in the morning, because if we don't we'll be homeless and then that would suck even more, so here we are, miserable...but with company.  I'll bring cookies and celery sticks to the first meeting.

I try and joke about the darkness as much as I can to keep things from getting too far out of hand, but when I go to bed at night, I look over at Shark Bait, we kiss and say "I love you" to each other.  Then Shark Bait tells me to have sweet dreams, which never happens, because that's not how I work.  And as he falls asleep quickly, more and more I have been thinking to myself, "will I ever see him again? Will I wake up in the morning?  Will I die in my sleep because I've ruined this body?"  I've seen a lot of people go through some pretty major health struggles lately and I have to wonder how long I can keep this up.  I mean, I've watched that show, My 600-lb Life.  Is that the next step for me?  I mean, I'm not there now, but who knows?  Maybe the pain specialist tells me to smoke weed and eat Doritos and that is all there is to my life?  We don't know.  Some might say that is a self-fulfilling prophecy and maybe it is.  I don't know anymore.  I just know, years ago, I wouldn't have predicted I would be here.  But here I am.  Leading the glamorous life of Fatty McFatterson.  

The Rug Doctor might say that I'm doing the best I can based on my circumstances, but I'm not.  I'm not doing the best that I can.  I'm not good enough.  This day is going to suck. She would say to be kind to myself and that I have the power to access the positive pony voices.  By the power of Grey Skull, I assure you I do NOT have the power.  Unfortunately, all the Angry Pony voices are queued up and are ready to fight. The problem is, I just don't know what they are fighting for anymore.

Anyway, that's where I am tonight...because...I'm so fat. 

Me and the skinny bitch I apparently ate soon after this photo was taken.

Snowpocalypse 2019

I'd just like to start today by saying that this whole snowpocalypse situation sucks.  I know, state the obvious already, right? Well, it's bullshit and I'm sick of it.

I've been in captivity for too long and I'm over it.  I'm not good at being caged (to be clear, I don't have practice being put in an actual cage, none of that 50 Shades stuff going on here...more like two pair of  RayBan Shades).  I must have been a zoo animal in my previous life, or like a bitch living in a cage at a puppy mill mass producing puppies with matted up butt-hair, a blind eye, fleas and peeking through cage bars watching the evil humans do as they please driving back and forth in the snow in their 4X4 trucks. Bastards.  Of course, this goes against my previous belief that I was a skinny mini-skirt-wearing-crack-whore in my previous life and that is why I'm fat in this life.  Who knows, maybe I've been both.  I could have had a lot of lives.  We don't know that I haven't.

Anyway, it's been a snow shit show for two weeks.  I get this isn't a world's record, but still, in my life, it is way more than enough.  Let me give you a glimpse into what's been going on during Snowpocalypse 2019 in the hood.

First, let's start with humanity losing their mother-trucking minds.  I get it is a big event for our area that is not used to such weather.  I get it.  But calm the hell down. Seriously.  First of all, did you need all the bread, eggs and milk, Sharon?  No, you didn't, but you hoarded it like you were going into a bomb shelter for months. And the vegetables?  This is not cause to take all the vegetables, even the weird shit.  No one likes beets and squash that much.  Look, there are certain kinds of foods that help us through uncertain times like this...macaroni & cheese, hot chocolate, popcorn, soup, Oreo's, Doritos, chicken wings, cheese, pizza, wine (if you're into that) and possibly brownie bites that have big kid medicine in them.  These are the foods that are critical for survival.   Yeah, bread, eggs and milk are important, but geez, not hoarding amounts by each person!

Secondly, driving in the snow.  Washingtonians, as a general rule, know that they suck at driving in the snow...or the rain...or the sun.  We have a percentage of the population that have a 4X4 mentality and drive like asshats, another percentage of the population can drive in it, they just don't want the 4X4 people driving them off the road or they decide not to go out on the roads because they don't feel it's necessary or safe. Totally legit. The remaining percentage of the population is scared of their shadow, let alone driving in this stuff. These are the people I can't deal with.  The hysteria.  Sweet 6.5 pound baby Jesus, just stay home then, okay?  Or, be reasonable, don't create hysteria and then continue to feed it. Ugh.  Chances are, we are going to live through this.  I do concede that if one watches the news, it's pretty easy to get riled since they do stupid shit like have 24-hour coverage about the snow.  I mean, Monday, I'm minding my own freaking business, watching The Bachelor during what could arguably be the most boring season ever and we finally get to some drama and some mother trucking news alert interrupts Sydney getting all up on Colton about not giving her enough and she was going to leave.  Well, we missed all of it to hear Lori Matsa-freaking-kawa or whatever her name is, tell us that it's still snowing, which she had just finished telling us less than 30 minutes prior.  GUESS WHAT, LORI? WE ALL HAVE WINDOWS IN OUR HOMES!!!! Unless we're in prison and if we are, we don't give a shit unless it affects us meeting out in the cafeteria where we need to meet up with Big Troy to trade cigarettes for a nudie of our girlfriend.  Other than that, NO REASON to interrupt my Monday night mindless drama fest, got it?  I actually was watching the news the first night of snow and the reporter walked up to a guy building a snowman and said, "So, what lead you to making a snowman?"  The snow, you dumbshit, THE SNOW!!!  I needed 24-hour coverage for this kind of news? 

A little closer to home, Shark Bait and I have experienced the loss of his portable tarp shed over his 1940-something Willy's jeep thing.  We will rebuild, but what a pain. Then, our hot water tank crapped out last Sunday.  Do you think our rental company gives a fuck?  Honey Badger gives more of a fuck than they do.  Bastards. Meanwhile, we have been living like hillbilly's bathing out of warmed up water on the stove.  Poor Shark Bait decided, screw it, he was taking a cold shower.  I told him, "look, I already washed my hair in the sink and it was ICE cold, I wouldn't do that, you'll never get your penis to come out again..."  Does he listen to me?  Nope.  In he goes.  He comes out a very short time later and his eyes are bulging out of his head and his nipples are practically poking my eyes out from across the room.  No comment on his boy parts, but you've seen turtles hiding in their shells, right?  Just saying. Nothing almost poked me. (I guess, the "no comment" part was a lie, woops.)  Anyway, we also experienced a power outage, which I can't really complain about as we were back up and running within 2 hours I think.  Oh, and the mail.  We were 4 days without mail.  How am I supposed to browse all the fat girl catalogs that come in?  How am I going to throw away all the NRA propaganda that comes for Shark Bait that he never opens?  How am I going to know what the grocery stores have on sale that probably isn't even on their shelves anymore?   The suffering we've had to endure at Snowpocalypse's hands is insurmountable.

In other news, I have been suffering from a bad knee flare up for a while now, which took a horrible turn after a night of bowling.  Who knew? Not me. Anyway, so I'm walking around in this snow all super-careful because I know if I go down, it's going to be all she wrote (I don't know who "she" is or why her writing has to stop...?).  None the less, Shark Bait took me to an appointment last night and while I was trying to get around the back of the truck, I was hanging on to avoid slippage and I didn't see that he had the trailer hitch on.  WHAM! Knocked my allegedly good knee right into it.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both.  Upon arriving home, I iced both knees.  I was in so much pain, I was sick to my stomach.  I finally went to bed.  Shark Bait comes crawling in and slams his knee into my really bad knee.  I yelped in pain.  I don't know who I pissed off, but this is so beyond not funny at this point.  I don't know how I am supposed to get around, but I'm in bad shape. 

None of this knee stuff is helped by all the sitting around and snacking on crap during snowpocalypse.  I'm watching this body blow up like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Maybe If I'd had some beets and squash I wouldn't be in this situation...?  No.  Not true.  I was fat before this happened, that's right.  It's good to keep perspective. 

So, if all this snow could go away, that'd be swell.  People can go back to having normal traffic accidents, the news can go back to telling only half of a perspective on the events of the world that doesn't involve snow, the people can go back to bitching that they need a vacation even though they haven't been to work for two weeks.  We can start creating new meme's about new stuff, or just keep doing it about politics and whatever the next news event of the week is.  Maybe I can drive my truck out of the hood and go where I need to go.  Maybe, the maintenance people can finally  get out to my house to replace the hot water tank so that I can take a real person's shower.  And finally, maybe I'll stop making inappropriate Snapchat's and scaring my friends by posting them on Facebook.  Maybe.

Be gone, Snowpocalypse 2019.  Be gone.

I can't sleep...

For the third night in a row, I can't sleep.  No clue why, other than the man-cold I have. Shark Bait said he couldn't sleep either, but that only lasted like 90 seconds.  I was like, hey, he can't sleep, I can't sleep, we should totally get busy.  And then I was like, we both have man-colds, we can't do that, that's gross.  Geriatric sex is one thing, but common-cold geriatric sex, that's not a thing.

Anyway, so then I started thinking about boring stuff so I could maybe fall asleep.  It went something like this:

What am I going to wear tomorrow? I don't know.  Jeans? Meh, I don't really have a pair I like right now. I should look for a pair online...no, you're poor, stop it. What about a dress? Okay, but which one?  I just wore black today, 90% of my wardrobe is black right now, but the blue one hugs my back fat. What shoes would I wear?  Or would I wear  boots? Tough questions.  This isn't helping.  By the way, I think I need a different shampoo.  The shampoo I got at Costco doesn't seem to be making my hair shiny like the bottle says.  Buncha bullshit is what that is.  If you say it has Moroccan oil in it, it really should shine that mop up, you know?  I wonder if I should take it back? I've been looking at myself lately, I am looking old.   I need a make-over.  Am I a narcissist? I probably take too many selfies. Do fat narcissists exist? Probably. That's it, I'm never taking a selfie again.  Who wants to see my mug all the time? No one.  I still can't sleep. I should read a book.  What kind of book? I don't know, maybe I need to read a romance novel.  I haven't read one of those in forever.  Maybe I need some escape in my life, you know, like one of those king and queen medieval times ones where the men come and are all large and in charge and the innocent maiden is all bound up in a corset.  You know what is gross about that? They have all this sex in those books and the people literally had chamber pots back then.  Gross. Her kitty must have smelled awful.  Like, they bathed once a month or something. It isn't like they used condoms.  So primitive. How come I never thought of that before when I used to read those stories?  What the hell is a matter with me?  I've been jaded by life.  My sense of romance is apparently GONE.  Or is it? I mean, maybe...Shark Bait and I are kind of like, "are we ever gonna do it again?" and the other answers, "yeah..." This is depressing, I need a new train of thought...

Let's think about something else. I'm going to get a new pony.  When? I don't know, but when I do, it's going to be magical, and I'm going to live on a farm and have a cute house and an arena and a cute barn and I'm probably going to win the lottery.  Who are you kidding, you aren't winning the lottery. What if you really do have to live in a cardboard box or you're homeless?  Or, what if you have to live in an old people's home and you are all alone because Shark Bait already kicked it and then there you are, all alone and you can't really speak and some mean nurse comes in, her name is Jean and she is mean to you and burns cigarettes in your arm or spanks you whenever you wet the bed. Jean's all upset because this is the life she has carved out for her and her daughter never calls and her husband is a cheating son-of-a-bitch that gambles all their money away.  Jean didn't ask for this life and now she has a bout of diverticulitis and she really has nothing to be happy about.  And, then, there I am, just laying there waiting to die.  Okay, okay, calm down, we are just trying to go to sleep here, not start crying.  Think about something else...

Why am I still awake?  We had a reasonable dinner.  Chicken breast with some salad with veggies in it. That is a pretty healthy choice.  I should eat like that every day.  I should write all my food stuff down or put it in my MyFitnessPal app. Why don't I do that?  Because I'm a lazy loser.  Hey, none of that negative talk.  Why are the neighbors dogs barking? Probably some creep in the hood.  I hope they don't come and break in and kill Shark Bait and I in our sleep...if I could go to sleep.  I wonder if that gluten-free, dairy free brownie thing I made is making me stay awake.  It had pure maple syrup instead of sugar in it.  I wonder if maple syrup is like an anti-sleep serum and I'm never going to be able to sleep.  I could take some Xanax, but then I can't get up in the morning.  Now what?  I could go out and blog...or look on Facebook.  No, don't look at FB, you'll get sucked in.  Next thing you know you're posting all these  stupid meme's and ordering some new version of Spanx and some new fangled vitamins that help you lose weight and help your memory.  I could look on Pinterest for bullet journaling ideas...no that's dumb.  I could Google some stuff that I can't at work...but what?  I can't think of anything right now.  Speaking of work, I totally need to finish those expense reports tomorrow.  I don't want to go to work tomorrow.  What am I going to wear tomorrow?  Is it going to be cold again?  The problem is, if it is cold outside, it will be hot inside and then I'll sweat like a whore in church on Sunday.  And what shoes will I wear?  I need more brown shoes.  Like a pair of shorty brown boots.  I should look for some online...

Maybe I'll go blog about all my thoughts and that will make me tired...? I kinda want another piece of brownie. No. I could get a drink of water. Then, sure enough, when I do get to sleep, I'll have to pee.  Just keep working those mouth sweaters you have going on right now and buck up.

I'm still not tired. I'll just look at FB for a few minutes.  Wow, my blogging is at the all time low of lows.  Good Lord.  I need a blog intervention.  When did I start sucking this bad?

Does anyone know of any good romance novel titles?

2018 Finding the Calm

It occurs to me that I have not done a 'year in review' retrospective blog for 2018.  I usually do one every year.  I had a blog brewing in my head a couple of weeks ago, but I can't say for sure where all those thoughts went.  I just went and read 2017's year in review blog about it being my mid-life crisis year.  I can't say that 2018 was as tumultuous as 2017, but I think it had some decent high-lights.

For the most part, 2018 revolved around my baby-making parts rising up in an epic battle against the rest of my body.  I went through a process of trying to treat the problem and then finally deciding the baby-making parts had to go.  This process was all-consuming for a huge portion of my year.  I won't re-live any details about it as I have a few blogs that detail all the drama. I know, lucky you. Going through all of that did mean my life was in a holding pattern much of the time and I don't really do well in that situation.  I am the type of person that needs to always be seeking to move forward. I suspect because I'm always trying to lose weight, I am always looking for progress in some way.  It's exhausting, honestly.

With most of 2018 being uneventful, I think where I find myself now is the real story.  In spite of the stagnant path of the past year, I have come to a place that is more peaceful than before.

As you know, my weight battle has always, always, always and did I mention, always at the forefront of my mind.  I think after healing from my hysterectomy I really wanted to get into the swing of things and get back to the gym and really intensify the focus.  The reality is, I returned to work just in time for summer to fade away and Fall to come into full swing, immediately followed by the holidays.  I found myself beating myself up and trying to come up with a plan when I finally just stopped and said, "enough."  What if...what if I just I accept who I am RIGHT NOW and live each of these days as best as I can and not be miserable every time I look in the mirror? No one else is beating me up, except me.  I mean, I'm sure there are still some judgy people out there, but I don't base my worth on their opinions. Because, fuck them and their glass houses.

And so, I canceled my gym membership that was holding a ransom on my inner guilt.  I would sign-up again when my body was ready.  Right now, my knees are not ready.  I also went out and purchased some clothes that fit me right now instead of torturing myself in the ones that would fit better if I lost 10-20 pounds.  I bought some things I might not normally wear because I shouldn't dress like that.  Fuck that. I looked in the mirror and did not love what I saw, but I accepted it for now.  Not forever...for now.

I had been growing my hair out most of the year as well.  Why?  I don't know, partly to hide the face  that has become so fat again, partly trying to recapture the past maybe.  Well, I put an end to that, too.  I went back to a shorter style that makes more sense. Crappy looking hair doesn't hide anything, just advertises it like a billboard.  Anyway, let go of some unhealthy thoughts and cut that dead stuff off.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, I get my body still looks like a Stay Puff Marshmallow man, and I'm not saying I'm in love with it.  I'm not.  But today I accept it for what it is and know that I will do the best I can to make it better.  I don't have an epic plan to change it, but I will change it.  It might not happen the way it does for everyone else, but I'll figure out something.

Being in this calmer place scares me because I always feel like if I am not agonizing over a plan or what I'm going to do or setting a goal, that nothing is going to happen.  Like, things will never get better if I stop being vigilant about worrying or being engaged.  What if I become a "tomorrow" person.  Nothing will ever get better right?  Is being a tomorrow person bad?  Is it better? I don't know that any of us  can answer that, other than I have survived all the past tomorrows that have become the today's.



Tomorrow
Tomorrow is going to be the best day.
Tomorrow is when everything is going to be okay
Tomorrow is when all our dreams come true.
Tomorrow is when you'll become a better you.
Tomorrow you'll get a better job, a better car, a better place to live.
Tomorrow is when your partner will give you all they have to give.

Tomorrow is when you'll get rid of those that suck the life from your soul.
Tomorrow is when you will find the one that makes you feel whole.
Tomorrow you'll have a new plan, you'll make a fresh start, you'll make your dreams come true. Tomorrow is the day you will finally say, "I love you."
However...
Tomorrow is not promised, it may not come.
Tomorrow you may not wake up, your life may be done.
Tomorrow it may not be you, but that someone you love is no longer there.
Tomorrow is the day you had planned to visit them and show that you care.
Tomorrow is always one day away, that day you believe the best is yet to be lived.
Tomorrow may be the day you regret all the things you never did.
So, what if...
Maybe we live in today, be present and enjoy what we've been gifted.
Maybe we live today and allow all the pressure of tomorrow to be lifted.
Maybe we decide today is the day to make a change for the good of  "what's best for me."
Maybe we decide that today we are good enough and that where we are is exactly where we are meant to be.  ~Cassondra Zuver

So, for 2019, here I am.  Me and my pony. Taking one day at a time and more time to enjoy the day.

Things we can look forward to Angry Pony discussing in 2019:

• Why do people always use the door that says: Please Use Other Door?
• Why does auto-correct change words that I type that are actual words to other words?
• De-cluttering my life (which also includes Shark Bait's life)
• Why are doctor's afraid of my Google MD degree?
• A bunch of other stuff....I'll try and blog more funny stuffs, I've been remiss in my duties.