Where I'm At - One Year Out

I had my one year post-surgery check-up appointment last Friday. It has actually been over a year, but I have been putting off going as I am not where I want to be and am feeling bad about it.  I finally put my big girl panties on and made the appointment.  Hiding is not helping.  Some people have asked why I haven't blogged about it and wanted to know how it went.  After all, I've shared everything else about my journey.  I've shared my past, I've shared my reason for pursuing the surgery, I've shared all the trials involved in getting the surgery, I've shared my dark days, I've shared my best days.  So, why, at this point would I not share? I responded to the person, "I'm not sharing this time, I'm too embarrassed.  I feel like I have failed."  I thought about all the people that support me everyday and are pulling for me.  I just couldn't do it.  My friends, of course, said I was being ridiculous, no one thinks I have failed.  But, I do.

I stewed about my appointment all the way home afterwards, and then, all weekend. I was numb.  I was embarrassed.  However, the more I have thought about it, the more I realize, I cannot hide from where I am at in my journey now anymore than I could hide from that appointment.  I can't pretend like it didn't happen. I can't pretend I am any place other than right here.  My story is not complete, nor honest if I leave things out. My whole blog is about putting all my crap out there.  It's therapeutic for me and I think it helps others that may have similar situations going on in their lives. I mean, hopefully no one else has had to relate to crapping their pants or having their guts explode, but still, there have to be some nuggets of wisdom in there somewhere, right?  I have people tell me all the time that they read something that they related to or a struggle they shared, so to all of you, I will continue to be honest.

Rewind to last Friday.  I arrived at my appointment feeling apprehensive.  I wondered what they would say.  I heard they had been following my blog, so they knew all the deets.  They knew about the apple pie showdown, the Zinger love affair, the chocolate...they knew.  It's not like these things represent my daily diet, it's not what I eat everyday, but the feelings for these foods and the occasional caving in to these foods was likely the key to my stalled weight-loss.  As I weighed in, I took my shoes off praying for the scale to give me some sort of extra credit. Nope. That bitch can't give me any credit.  The cold truth right there.  I got off the scale and walked into the exam room.  I spent a few minutes answering all the questions I had already just spent 15 minutes answering on the paperwork in the waiting area.  Finally, the moment of truth, Dr. B came in the room.  She asked how things were going, I said, "okay." Let's cut through the crap.  We both knew this wasn't going to be one of those warm fuzzy appointments where they tell me not to be so hard on myself and to accept where I am in the journey, etc.  Nor was there any, "OMG, look how far you've come!"  No, "Wow, what a change!"  There was no, "You have done such a great job!"  Not for me.  Dr. B looked down at my weight written on the page and just stared at it for a minute.  My weight has not changed in four months.  I'm stuck.  I'm going to the gym, going through the motions, but still struggling with food.  I might have a small stomach, but I can still make bad choices.  And, even though some of those choices aren't even that bad, when you have a body this resistant to change, you can't screw around.  Dr. B said that she felt I needed a boost, a little extra help.  We discussed my options, one of which involves some additional medication, and we made a plan.  I also need to see the nutritionist next week.  I'm sure Poptart Barbie will also have some serious words of wisdom for me.

I left there feeling defeated.  Like, I had just been told I had failed at weight loss surgery.  Like I was at that same place I was after having the Lap Band surgery. I flashed back to when Dr. L had told me that there is a certain percentage of patients that don't respond to the Lap Band.  I was in that percentage.  I remember him telling me that I just needed to keep at it, or I needed to consider a different surgery, which, at the time I immediately ruled out.  I had been angry then and felt abandoned.  This felt a little like that.  I felt numb.  I was disappointed in myself.  I was angry that now we are going to alternate methods because I can't make this work.  The reality is, this isn't anything like where I was with the Lap Band.  The Lap Band was an utter failure because it tortured me and it didn't allow me to eat the way I needed to.  I hated it.  I had little success with the Lap Band.  The reality is, I have had success with the Gastric Sleeve.  I've lost more than I ever have before, but I still have so far to go and my body wants to rest at this place that is not anywhere near my goal.  I felt like I had let myself down and everyone that is pulling for me.  As I shared my shameful story with my pal, Pony Crazy, she said to me, "Who the F cares how you lose the weight? Who cares what method is used as long as you are trying to get healthy and you keep on trying? And if people do judge you, they can F off!"  I know what she says is true. Mostly, what I know to be true is that I judge myself and expect more from myself than anyone else does.  The pressure is coming from within.  Nonetheless, I feel a certain responsibility to all those that support me to make this happen.

Anyway, after stewing all weekend and feeling like a failure, I understand I have two choices.  I can give up and have a pity party or I can suck it up and keep fighting.  I'm not a quitter.  I can't be, not in the Year of the Angry Pony.  I need to get my shit together.  After almost two weeks of not being at the gym due to all the chaos at work, I returned today.  It wasn't really that hard to go.  I just did it as I had done so many times before.  Ass Kicker was waiting for me, ever faithful.  I walked up to the elliptical machine and cringed at how my legs were going to protest.  I got on and just started in.  I was talking to Ass Kicker as I was working away and didn't even notice how fast I was going on the elliptical.  I looked down and I was going faster than I had ever gone before and my legs didn't hurt.  They weren't protesting.  I was confused. It was almost as if my body was taking over saying, "we got this."  It was a weird feeling. I guess maybe I had accomplished something over the last two months. My body was stronger, more capable than I gave it credit for.  I worked out with Ass Kicker until I was sweating like a fat kid chasing an ice cream truck in the heat of the summer.  It was good.  Today was good enough.

So, that's the update.  That is where I am at, one year out.  Not an amazing success. Not an utter failure. Just me.  It is the struggle that is my life, and while I am pissed off it is never easy for me, it is what it is.  This is my path, for whatever reason.  I may never understand it and likely will never accept it.  That is just one of the reasons I am Angry Pony, I suppose.

Stabbing You With My Horn

This is the picture that I was tagged in or was posted to my Facebook page at least four times before I woke up this morning.  Was it posted because people think I like unicorns or because people believe I want to stab people?  Or, both?  I don't know, but it makes a person stop and think, is this the energy I'm putting out there?  I mean, I am Angry Pony, I guess.  I can go on about asshats, motor home terrorists, lilly-livered, scum sucking mother truckers and the like. Hmmm.  I can't have this, am I going to need an alibi if someone gets hurt?  This is pretty incriminating.  One of my FB friends pointed out that all of my friends have developed an escape plan if I should snap.  I don't want to go as far as saying evacuation manuals have been created, but apparently, there is a contingency plan in place. My husband, Shark Bait, has voiced his fear that he will be wrapped in a tarp and stored under the house.  Not true, he can stink up a bathroom alive, how the hell would he smell dead?  I don't want that under the house.  Hmph.  I shouldn't be shocked about this perception people have, but at the end of the day, I'm not a violent person.  Oh sure, I make all kinds of threats, but when is the last time I socked someone in the eye?  The last time I gut-punched someone (okay, that is a bad example, but Shark Bait had it coming)?  Sure, I bite people's heads off, but not literally, just figuratively. I do threaten to punch people in the head, the throat...the nuts.  I guess I do have an anger problem, really, but I don't act on it.  Hell, I've been threatening to jump off the sky bridge at the Glass Palace for 16 years.  Look who is still employed AND alive... THIS girl!

**This part omitted due to censorship.***

After a day of working the table, I finally headed out.  As I went through the doors, there was a huge clap of thunder and some lightening.  I stopped.  Was that for me?  Nah. Had to be coincidence.  I walked out to the truck where Shark Bait was waiting to take me home.  The weather continued to be crazy on the way home with thunder, lightening, crazy hail and wind.  I didn't yell at any stupid drivers or have any temper tantrums.  It was lovely.  We stopped at Panda Express and got some dinner (don't even get me started about how bad for me that is.  Piss off, I got the freaking teriyaki chicken and beef broccoli) and headed home.  For the record, my fortune cookie fortune said, "Everything will now come your way."  Well, I started opening the mail, and I think that fortune really paid off!  We got a Valentine's Day card from Polly Passion Party, we got a hand-written note from Sprint thanking us for being customers for all these years. I mean, not asking for anything, just saying thank you.  Then, for the grand finale, we finally got our settlement check for a Bank of America overdraft check lawsuit.  That's right, $5.65!!!  HELL YEAH!  Freakin'-A!  It says right on there we can cash it right away.  You bet your ass I will Bank of America, you bet your ass...  I guess it pays not to stab people, because then karma comes around and shows you how sweet life can be.  That's right, a good fortune, a Valentine, a thank you card and $5.65.  Who says I'm not rich?  Who says that life is serving me up lemons?  Who says I'm not riding high?  Hell yes I'm high.  Wait.No. I'm not high.  You can't get high for $5.65 unless you suck helium out of a balloon.

Anyway, to the people that posted that stabby unicorn picture, take that, mother truckers...$5.65 and no criminal charges.

Doctor Lite

In light of last night's blog, I decided to take affirmative action today regarding my mental health. I was trying to decide what doctor to see when my pal, Sassy Pants, suggested a doctor she sees and kinda likes.  Okay, I'll do it.  I call and lo and behold, they have an appointment today.  Fantastic.  Let's just get this ball rolling and  get it over with.

I meet the doctor and she seems nice enough.  And, let's be clear, she isn't a doctor, she is one of those nurse practitioner types.  I guess she is like Diet Coke. She is "Doctor Lite."  Same great personality, just without all those extra pesky qualifications.  I don't know, they are supposed to be just about as good as a fer real doctor, so I am told.  Whatever. Anyway, I took the little quiz asking how depressed I really am.  I think I nailed it!  Doctor Lite comes in and asks me why I'm there.  I tell her.  She then wants to know why I came to see her, who have I been seeing the last couple of years?  Well, a whole network of people, really.  I mean, I got the fat doctor, the throat doctor, the skin doctor, the gyno doctor, you know, kind of like a hypochondriac pit crew.  I'm not a hypochondriac, but I have stuff going on, I have people for aforementioned stuff.

Doctor Lite continues asking me questions about my surgery, my therapy, what my beef is with life, etc.  She says, "so you are going to therapy? For how long have you been going?"  I tell her it has been about a year with this doctor, maybe more.  She considers the time and almost seems like she can't believe I'm not "fixed" yet.  She says, "Do you think it's helping?"  I was irritated. Why would I go if it wasn't helpful?  We carried on and she wants to know if I think my weight is a big part of my depression.  Um, duh.  I said, "pretty much don't feel like I can be happy unless I lose the weight and can do the things I want to do.  I keep screwing it up and I'm really mad at myself.  Are there other issues in my life, sure, but yeah the weight is a big issue."  She considers this.  She says, "Do you work out?"  I tell her, yes, I do.  She considers this and decides to give me some "life changing" advice. She says, and write this down people, this is profound, she says, "Just find a 30 day plan and do it, probably like a Paleo eating plan.   Doesn't matter which one it is, just find one and do it.  You can do anything for 30 days. So just do it.  Then at the end of 30 days do it again, or pick a different plan. Doesn't matter."  Wow, why had I NEVER considered trying some random 30 day plan?  Where was she all those years ago when she could have CHANGED. MY. LIFE?  There it is folks, the recipe for success.  It's just that simple.  Just do it.  Why didn't I ever think of "just doing it?"  I should have checked her client list.  I bet she helps others like Wiley Coyote and Elmer Fudd through their hard times.  It's always the same drill with doctors.  You know, I'm not expecting them to be Hellen Keller, Certified Miracle Worker, but give me some credit.  I'm complicated.  My problem is bigger than "just do it."  Maybe it should be that simple, BUT IT ISN'T.  For all of you that have successfully just done it,  good for you! I'm ecstatic for you, really I am.

Finally, Doctor Lite sends me off with a prescription for Zoloft.  I said, "You know, some of these meds I'm kind of scared of because I see the commercials and the serious voice dude always talks about how you can get the shits, headaches, a limp  biscuit and possibly death."  She says, "yeah, I wish they would stop doing those commercials, they don't help anyone, they just scare them, people don't need to know all that."  What? What do you mean we don't need to know? I said, "Look, I don't want to suddenly get an appetite, sleep all day or become unable to have sex, so if it does any of those things, forget it."  She didn't really assure me, but said I should be okay, we'll start on a low dose and see how it goes.  With a pat on the head, I was done.

I'm sitting here at home now, checking out the med deets and looking at potential side effects.  Did I mention that she said I will probably be nauseous and tired?  That's it.  In looking into the details, here is what I can expect:

• nausea (can't wait)
• diarrhea (I've shit my pants before, I don't want to do it again)
  
• constipation (great, depressed and now I can't poop)
  
• vomiting (weight loss woot woot)
  
• dry mouth (I'll just drink more?)
  
• gas or bloating (= bitchy)
  
• loss of appetite (if only)
  
• weight changes (I'd better not get fatter)
  
• drowsiness (I'm already drowsy)
  
• dizziness (good, now I can't walk)
  
• excessive tiredness (well, that solves the problem of me not wanting to get out of bed)
  
• headache (perfect, that ought to cheer me up)
  
• pain, burning, or tingling in the hands or feet (fantastic, now I'll be pissed off and sad about the pain)
  
• nervousness (aren't I trying to avoid being nervous?)
  
• uncontrollable shaking of a part of the body

(okay what if the uncontrollable shaking is my fist or middle finger? Am I going to need documentation on file at work for this?)

• sore throat (well, it won't be from the oral sex)
  
• changes in sex drive or ability (so, if i had a sex life, it's over...dead)
  
• excessive sweating (now I'm going to be stinking and shiny)
  
  
  But wait, it get's better, if it all goes to shit, so to speak, I could have the following issues, which are apparently more severe and should be monitored: blurred vision, seizures,fever, sweating, confusion, fast or irregular heartbeat, and severe muscle stiffness,abnormal bleeding or bruising,hallucinating (seeing things or hearing voices that do not exist)  <-- How do I know if the voices don't exist if I am hearing them and think they are real?  Huh?
  
  It goes on to say that this medicine is also used sometimes to treat headaches and sexual problems. Whoa.  What kind of sexual problems?  It doesn't elaborate on that. Is it a problem of wanting sex all the time?  A problem of not being able to have sex?  Wanting to have sex with animals? I would like more information on this.  I can't be out there dry humping the water fountain because my meds are screwing with my brain.
  
  I kind of feel like we should have touched on some of this information, but Doctor Lite doesn't seem concerned.  She'll see me back in three weeks.  I can't wait to tell her how my life changing 30 day plan is going.  Good news for blog readers, if I start to hear voices that aren't real, but that I don't know aren't real, the blogs might start getting interesting.  I know they are lackluster lately, but this could really spice things up.  Or, I'll just be sleeping all the time after I crap my pants too nervous to leave the house because I'm dizzy and can't stop humping the throw pillows. I don't know.  Let's take a ride with Angry Pony and see how this turns out!
  
  All aboard!
  
  
  

Angry Pony...Depressed? What, Me?

It's been a crazy few weeks since I declared it as the Year of Angry Pony.  I'm trying to have a new outlook and really be the person that is dying to get out and live.  I've been keeping my journal, I've been getting to the gym but the eating better thing is still hit and miss.  My attitude, however, continues to be in the dumper.  I told The Rug Doctor last time I saw her that I was a fraud.  I was pretending to be this person that was positive and ready to embrace all that is theYear of Angry Pony and this person in pursuit of the little black dress.  It's bullshit.  It's an illusion.  I mean, I want to be her, but, I'm not there yet.  I believe everything I wrote in that blog, but I don't FEEL it.  I'm not buying it.  I'm willing to steal it, just not make the investment.  What the hell is my problem?

I explained to The Rug Doctor tonight that I am going through the motions.  I'm going to the gym.  I'm looking up new healthier recipes, I'm attempting to behave.  I think I am just programming myself to do the right things, but not really feeling them.  Not really behind them.  I feel like I should be evolving into this person, I thought I was, but I don't think I am.  If I was, why would I be so tired all the time?  Why don't I want to get out of bed?  Why am I so sad all the time?  Will asked me the other morning why I was so sad and I said, "Because I look in the mirror and I am the same girl stuck in the same body as I was yesterday."  I can't stop being like this.  I go to work and I'm angry and sad and bored.  I come home and I am angry and sad.  I try and consider others around me and their struggles and think about how my life really isn't that bad, but as the Rug Doctor says, it's okay to feel what I feel and not compare it to others.  My feelings are valid.  So, suck it, optimists and judgy people with all your happy Pinterest quotes and life how-to bullshit.  Get off me.

And Will, that poor bastard, he can't win. For example, last week was shark week, so it was a little intense, I'll grant you that, but strike one was when he stopped and got me ice cream. He was trying to soothe the savage beast.  Sharks love ice cream.  But this shark likes Rocky Road ice cream.  Will got Waffle Cone ice cream.  What? Crappy stale chunks of waffle cone with caramel swirls? Are you freaking kidding me?  Who eats that shit?  That isn't comfort, that is like licking the ground at the carnival the day after they pull out of town.  Guh-ross!  But, I suffered through and ate it anyway.  Strike two, Will asks what I want for dinner.  I'm still at work, I'm tired and I can't take the pain anymore, I said, "I don't care, whatever."  He says he is getting pizza.  Okay, that is good comfort food.  I get home and it is this thin crust pizza because he thought it would be "healthier."  Are you freaking kidding me? I looked back and forth from him to the pizza, from him, to the pizza....from him, to the pizza.  I lost my mind, "How are you supposed to even eat this?!  You can't even pick it up?! I was counting on the comfort of crust and now I have NO CRUST!"  In a half panic, half rage, Will said he would go get some different pizza.  I yelled back at him that he wasn't going anywhere.  I was out of control.  I knew it, he knew it, but he sure as hell was not going to say it.  All other shark weeks up to this one had prepared him for this moment.  I ate my crustless pizza in silence.  And then I apologized for being a bitch.  This is the man I love and for some crazy reason, loves me back and like a shark attacking a surfer in Maui, I ripped his fucking leg right off...and swallowed it whole.

So now, I beat up myself for just being me and then I beat up my man...Shark Bait (and just like that, Will gets a blog name).  Rug Doctor and I discussed this tonight and my lingering sadness and inability to pull my shit together.  And then she explained the difference between "clinical depression" and "situational depression."  It's not like I had never heard those words before.  It's not like I had never considered it.  But tonight it really, truly stuck.  I'm clinically depressed.  I know, I know, "duh." I have been my whole life, really.  I've always known it in the back of my mind. The Rug Doctor said you can even be both clinically and situationally depressed.  Once again, I always get extra of what I need, except boobs.  Once again, screwed by shit-house-luck and genetics. The hard part is, I think I can handle all this shit on my own.  I think I can overcome it on my own, but I think it is time to face the fact that I need some extra help.  And, as hilarious as it is if I eat a few bites of a pot brownie, I don't think a prescription for pot is in my future. I can't walk around laughing and pissing myself all the time.  Fun for everyone except me.  Fat girls with wet pants aren't really fun after it happens once. I mean one time, it's fun.  Beyond that, people start talking about "places you can go" that will be "what is best for you."  I'm not ready for that yet.

And that is where I find myself this Therapy Thursday, resigned and a bit sad, but I guess they make a pill for that.  Lucky me.

Shark Week

I'm in a horrible mood this week.  I don't feel good and all I want to do is eat stuff. I don't have to paint a big 'ol picture for some of you to figure out what is happening here.  My good pal Sassy Pants calls it, "Shark Week."  It's a good analogy, really.  You think you are safe, your swimming around with the other humans, and then all the sudden, you see the fin and then you have teeth in your ass from treading waters you thought were shark free.  You were wrong.  You angered the shark, perhaps just by existing, but none the less, you are collateral damage.  The shark has no remorse.  The shark was simply hungry.

This morning, I was especially vile.  I woke up after having a dream about my husband going to the gym and then making out with a gym bunny, which I caught him kissing her, and then I got in my truck, got in an accident and then ended up in the hospital.  What the hell?  Where did that come from?  It's not like I'm ever going to catch him at the gym, so it's kind of a non-issue.  I wonder if I'm deflecting since I have not been to the gym yet this week?  Hmmm.  Anyway, after that lovely thought, I did manage to make it to work with minimal swearing and road rage.  I sat in the parking lot for a few moments and considered my options.  I was kind of backed into a corner, I had to go in.  People need me. Four Feet of Fury was going to be off-site today, so I needed to be there.

I walked in, not walking frantically, nor pokey, just at a steady pace that spoke volumes about my determination to actually make this day happen. And then, I hear quick footsteps behind me.  There was plenty of room for the quick-stepper to get around, but instead, they just stayed behind me with their annoying, quick steps. I hated their guts.  This was increasing my blood pressure enormously, and I was furious inside by the time we had reached the inter sanctum of the glass palace.  Finally, I couldn't take it any longer.  I stopped and moved to the side.  The quick-steppers (there were now two) smiled and said, "what are you worried we are going to run you over?"  I said, levelly, with a cool tone of hatred, "No, I just don't like to be rushed."  They smiled, slightly and then scurried along.  I headed down the last flight of steps and at the bottom was Silk Shorts Turner.  He saw me coming and stopped.  He had already read my post about me feeling like Jack Nicholson in The Shining today, he gave me all the room I needed and then some.  He told me he appreciated how I just put my shit out there for anyone to see each day.  I said, "That's because I don't give a shit what people think and if they don't like it, they can get out."  And with that, we went our separate ways, this shark heading to her natural habitat.

I hadn't been there long and the phone rings.  I had a couple of people calling out sick and it was my task to take the calls.  I didn't have any energy for sympathy.  Sharks aren't empathetic.  In reality, if I had to be at work the way I felt, then they should, too.  Dirtbags.  I was taking shots of children's liquid Ibupropen (I can't take the pills anymore) when Sassy Pants came over to talk to me.  I explained to her that I was filled with hatred for all humanity and that I could not be consoled.  She understood.  Shark week can be a difficult time.  It's good to be understood.

The day proceeded on and a little while later I found myself over visiting Valerina trying to collect enough money for the vending machine.  Her cubie mate, Princess Perky, was on break and was talking to me.  Princess Perky is the happiest, most upbeat person I know.  She is sweet as pie to every customer she talks to ALL DAY LONG and the ironic part is, she has been dealt with some pretty tough blows in life.  She has some personal challenges in her family life that would make most people exhausted, angry, depressed and bitter.  Not her.  You would never know her struggles, she is one of the hardest working people I know.  She amazes me and mystifies me at the same time. Kind of like when you go to the museum and you see something that you just can't believe and you want to touch it, but there is glass around it.  You aren't really sure if it is real, but there it is in the museum, so it must be.  You can't be mean to her, because, how can you?  It would be like kicking your dog.  Who can do that?  Sometimes she makes me stop and think about what I am upset about.  My troubles seem trivial in comparison.  Anyway, as she talked to me, I mustered up all the strength I had to fight my shark-like instincts and not bite her head off.  She said, "Oh, you need money, here you go.  All you ever have to do is ask!"  And with that, she held out her hand with change.  This would complete my search for vending machine cash.  I would now have enough to go to the machine and get something horrible for me.

Moments later, I found myself in front of the vending machine.  Immediately I sensed a disturbance in the force.  Something wasn't right. My eyes darting around the machine until I discovered the inconsistency.  The apple turnover had been replaced with chocolate devil cake Zingers. Oh crap.  My body needed chocolate.  Would the Zingers be too much?  Would they be soft, chocolately and delicious?  Or, would they be dry and taste like processed lard?  I was in distress.  Or, should I play it safe and go for Grandma's chocolate cookies.  The Zingers were only a dollar, though.  That was right in my budget.  To hell with it!  I was getting those Zingers.  I needed them, they needed me.  I put my change in...clink,clink, clink....clink, clink, clink (hey, it was a lot of nickels and dimes), anyway, I finish.  The machine beeps at me and says that I have not put enough money in and that the Zingers are $1.50.  WHAT?!  That is false freaking advertising! You don't get fat people riled up like that!  I wanted to hurt the machine.  I was furious.  And, then, I thought of Princess Perky.  I took a good look at my situation and thought, "who am I freaking kidding?! I need a mother trucking Zinger!"  I was angry, but calmed down enough to make the decision that the Grandma's cookies would have to suffice for today.  I pushed the buttons to achieve chocolate nirvana and the machine started to make some noise and then stopped. Just then, some dude, with his polo shirt tucked in way too tight, walked into the room.  I yelled, "Are you freaking kidding me?!" I couldn't see my cookie anywhere.  Tight tucked polo shirt guy looked and said, "there it is, it's down there."  I leaned in closer, almost pressing my cheek to the glass, oh there it is.  I got it out and said, "Whew!"  Tight tucked polo shirt guy then started telling me a story about the time his Fritos got caught in there by an edge and how he was going to rough up the machine, but the machine was really heavy...I'm not going to lie, I felt trapped like a rat on a sinking ship. I didn't have time for vending machine horror stories.  I needed to get to my desk and eat this cookie.

Finally back at the safety of my desk, I looked around.  I have to always be aware of my surroundings as I have new people sitting around me and they like to watch me like I'm a goldfish in a bowl.  Just yesterday, I was sitting there and I felt like I was being watched and this guy is staring right at me.  I looked back at him and he says, "Sorry, I wasn't really staring...I promise."  Right. Look, I know I'm fascinating, but really...creepy.  Anyway, the coast was clear today.  I ate my cookie and documented on Facebook about my trip to the vending machine.  I thought about what a  fraud people must think I am.  Talking about losing weight and going to the gym and then succumbing to the vending machine during shark week.  I was letting myself down and I was letting others down.  I felt sad and angry.  I thought about it some more and then decided that I never claimed to be perfect.  I never claimed to be a robot that does everything right. I'm just a girl that struggles.  Some days are obviously harder than others.  Shark week is just a minor set-back.  Next week, it will be safe to go back into the water.


 

Apple Turnover Showdown

Today I was tired and cranky and we had some mini VIP visitors.  It was making for a stressful day and I had to postpone my Ass Kicker workout until the afternoon instead of my normal 11AM time.  I was out of sorts and a bit lost.

Feeling restless, I headed away from my desk looking for adventure.  I put a $1.50 in my pocket...just in case I happened across a vending machine...just in case.  I'm not saying I was heading straight for the vending machine, but I'm also not saying I wasn't.

Moments later, I was standing in front of the vending machine.  This machine was not little black dress (LBD) compatible.  What did I want?  What did I need?  Well, I needed nothing.  I wasn't hungry.  I was craving something.  But what?  I see they added some Kashi chips in there.  Health food.  Also some popcorn chips.  Maybe I needed some peanut M&M's?  Kind of healthy...protein and some chocolate. What about Red Vines?  Nah, too sugary.  Maybe the Gardetto's reduced sodium snack mix?  Oh wait, if I really wanted to get my bang for my buck fifty, I should get the vanilla creme filled cookies.  Nah, those make me sick. Reeces peanut butter cups?  No.  DAMMIT!  I'm getting something.  No, stop it, you don't need anything.  This is not okay.  Why are you here?  What is wrong with you?  Just as I was pondering all these things, down in the left hand corner in the bottom row, sitting there quietly, not flashy, but still noteworthy...is that really an apple turnover?!?  My heart started to race, my saliva glands immediately started producing saliva you could see glistening in the corners of my mouth.  This was going to taste so good...so right...I was going to practically make love to that apple turnover thing.  I wanted it.  I needed it.  It wanted me.  I know it did.  It was plump in the package, bulging just a little.  My word, it was ripe. I bet it was the kind of thing that you could sink your teeth into and apple ooze goes everywhere.  I mean, it wasn't just a whimpy apple pie, it was pushing the limits of it's wrapper.  I needed it.  Bad.

And this is where the real showdown started.  I was alone, just standing in front of the machine.  Not close enough to touch it, but not so far as to not be able to get to the machine in a hurry.  The lighting was just right.  Not so bright as to make your presence obvious, but just the right amount of dim lighting so that people could stand in their own shame and purchase from the machine without detection or judgement from the outside world.  My stomach was longing for that apple turnover and all of it's juicy deliciousness.  I pulled the dollar bill from my pocket and straightened it, I smoothed it while I stared at the machine.  I darted back to the popcorn chips, then the M&M's.  This was wrong.  I knew it, all my pony personalities knew it and this was certainly not an LBD approved activity.  The air vent was blowing in such a way as a couple of strands of hair teased my cheek.  You could almost hear the tune of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly playing.  This was epic.  That turnover had what I needed...love, sugar, dough, gooey filling and happiness.  I didn't care if it was right.  I wanted to be wrong.  I didn't care who knew I was wrong (but I should still eat this in the dark corners of the basement or something).  I didn't care about the LBD.  Wait, yes I did.  I did care.  I do care.  I couldn't do this.  NO.  Shut up bitches, I'm doing this.  The tension mounted.  I had been standing in front of the machine for what seemed like an hour.  I couldn't decide. Why did this have to be so hard?  Why did that apple turnover have to be in there pulsating with apple goodness?  WHY? WHY? WHY?  I was going to the gym this afternoon, it would be okay.  I would work it off.  Wait, how many calories are in that damn thing? Is it really worth it?  Hell yeah, it's worth it?  But, what if I ate it too fast and then it was gone and then it was over and then, there I was with stickiness dripping from my chin and I didn't have anymore money? No mo pie?!  I started to panic.  My eyes darted back and forth, my heart yearning.

And then, almost as quickly as it started, I said to myself, "What the hell is wrong with you?  Get your ass out of here."  And just like that, I holstered my dollar and left the vending machine room.

I got back to my desk, pulled out some apple slices from my pony lunch bag an ate a couple.  Then realized, I wasn't really hungry.  Go figure.  I worked until it was time for Ass Kicker and went downstairs to see what he had in store for me.  Apparently, what he had in store for me is called "Wall Balls."  A 12 pound medicine ball that you squat with and then throw it up at the wall about 6 feet over your head.  We did a whole circuit of stuff until sweat was pouring off my face.  I said to him, "Do you hate me?  Cuz, I hate your guts right now."  And when I thought I couldn't do any more, it was time to do some boxing.  When I left I was tired and dragging.  It is by far the hardest workout I have done.  I think this was karma paying me a visit and reminding me that I will be punished for impure thoughts.  Okay, okay, I hear you.  The problem is, I know that apple turnover is out there.  The challenge will be to deny its existence.  The challenge will be to not answer it's call.  Dammit, I'll see it on my callerid...I'll know it is the turnover...calling...begging...pleading. NO.  I'm strong.  It's the year of Angy Pony.  Ponies don't eat apple turnovers. Not on my watch.

2014 Year of the Angry Pony

2014 will be the year of the horse, according to the Chinese zodiac.  I have decided to take that as a sign that this is the year for Angry Pony.  I've had one hell of a year in 2013 physically and mentally and I think I might have even had a few true growth moments.  I'm tired of cycles that repeat and, I think, at age 42, I may have figured a couple of things out.  I read through some of my blogs from last year at this time and also throughout the year.  What a ride it has been.

After reading through a lot of this stuff, I would like to first and foremost say, I am thankful I did not die from my surgery complications (I was so scared!).  I am thankful it has been just over 11 months since the last time I crapped my pants and that I can, once again, fart with confidence, if the need arises. I am thankful that, while I have not reached my weight-loss goal, I have made progress and experienced a few moments of joy that I have not before experienced.  I had my first Victoria Secret experience and shared that with my sister. It was a fun day and now my boobs know heights they could only have dreamed about before. I went into a store that I deemed as a "normal people store" and purchased my first pair of "normal people" jeans. I will always have a fondness for Eddie Bauer, as a result.  I am able to slide into booths and be comfortable when I go out to eat.  I put on a dress that I wore at my heaviest and it is too big to wear now.  Silly little stuff, when you consider all that life throws at us every day.  And, the most important thing I am thankful for, is that I have an amazing support system of friends through it all.  No matter how much I bitch or share my insecurities, there you are, supporting me.  Amazing feeling. 

It has also been a year full of self-doubting, negative thoughts, feeling inadequate and being hard on myself. This is my biggest struggle.  I often hear The Rug Doctor's voice, "be kind to yourself."  And then, Bitchy Pony tells her to shut up.  I've spent a lifetime of feeling trapped.  A lifetime of taking care of others and putting them first.  A lifetime of knowing that no matter what I do, I cannot lose weight or change the cycle.  A lifetime of "it works for everyone else, except me."  I am my own worst enemy, no argument there. I am the biggest road block.  I fight everything subconsciously.  Why?  I don't know, that is what Therapy Thursday is for, I guess.  It's probably, just a lifetime of embedded negative thinking, I guess, and I have to change that.  That's right, something else I have to do. Pisses me off.  Seriously.  I'm so tired of having to fix everything for everyone, even myself.  I want someone to take care of me for once.  I want it to be easy for me, for once. I deserve it.  I earned it.  Well, guess what? The universe doesn't give a shit what I want. 

I am reminded of when I was in my early 20's, living at home at the old farm house.  Our neighbor, Mama Safeway, was always trying to instill her "Mom" wisdom in me.  I would be sad about not having a boyfriend, or my job or life and wanting someone to make my life special.  She would say, "Honey, you have to make your own life  special.  If you want your birthday to be special, YOU plan it.  You take charge of your life, don't wait for someone else to make it so."  I always listened and thought to myself, "she doesn't get it. I'm not going to settle, I'm going to find someone amazing.  I deserve it."  And you know what, I did find someone amazing, eventually, but he doesn't have the romantic-planning-your-day-to-make-it-special gene.  For my birthday, six months after we met, he gave me a big flashlight and a My Little Pony.  Practical (for feeding the ponies at night) and sweet.  That is who he is, practical and sweet.  He feeds the ponies for me when I get home late.  He texts me that he loves me and that the sunrise pales in comparison to how beautiful I am.  He tells me he loves me 100 times a day.  But he isn't a planner.  I've been fighting this and been angry about it and trying to force him to be the planner guy.  Well, he isn't and I'm making myself crazy over something I can't control. And, in the scheme of things, what is my problem anyway? I know women that would give anything to have a guy like that.  Get over yourself, Pony!

Back to Mama Safeway, as it turns out she wasn't full of shit, after all.  I just wasn't ready to hear it. Why do I have to fight everything?  Why can't I just accept it all, take a deep breath, put my big girl panties on and get some shit handled? Life isn't fair.  Life isn't about easy street.  Life isn't about what you've earned or deserve.  Life is just what it is. And sometimes it bites. And sometimes, on occasion, it's pretty amazing.  Bottom line, I have to do this (the Ponies aren't happy about it either, but they are mostly on board).

So, based on all the drama and struggle and soul-searching in 2012-2013, the Pony, at age 42, is succumbing to the reality that this whole life extravaganza is up to her.  The Pony is letting go of all that negative shit (saying it, but know that I still have a pony voice inside fighting it) and moving forward.  In 2014 I am going to use my yoga pants for good instead of evil.  I am going to actually DO yoga in them (maybe even today...but don't rush me).  I am going to find a way to afford sessions with Ass Kicker once a week and I am going to get to the gym 3-5 times a week.  I am going to let go of the comfort of food and the idea that I need more than I do. I'm going to start believing that I can lose weight instead of listening to all the reasons why I can't.  I'm going to try and understand that it will not happen as fast for me as it does for everyone else and be okay with that (I'm not really going to be okay with that, but I have to at least say that for therapeutic purposes).  I'm going to be all up in my husbands business about getting his physical health in order.  I love that stubborn dirt bag and he doesn't get to run his body into the ground.  Come with me or get the fuck out of the way. 

And negative people, or people that think they can control me with guilt, I am done with you. It's time to think about what is best for Will and I.  I can't make everyone else happy and I am no longer going to try (this is a hard one, because I do care).

This is the year of the Angry Pony. I have a goal journal.  I'm going to use it.  I'm moving forward and letting go of baggage that is holding me back (this is the plan, I expect detours on this road, that is where the Rug Doctor comes in).

If things progress as they should, I anticipate the following blogs will need to be written:

• Why My Ass Hurts - Falling off the Elliptical
• Stuck in Downward Dog Position for 3 Hours
• Arm-skin, Can I Have a Round of Applause
• The Day My Thighs Slapped My Face
• Who's the Slut in the Mini Skirt with Saggy Skin?
• My Abs! I Found My Abs!

And then, maybe in 2015:

• Plastic Surgery: Where'd My Skin Go?

I've spent a lifetime of waiting for that "A-ha!" moment.  That moment that all fat people seem to hit that makes them change.  That moment that forever changes them.  It happens to everyone on The Biggest Loser, or Extreme Weight-loss Make-Over.  Everyone says, "when it becomes important enough to you, you will make the change."  Well, going into 2014, I say, that's all BULLSHIT.  It's always been important and "waiting" for that moment hasn't done a damn bit of good.  This blog isn't a "moment."  This is a gradual change and me choosing to say, "I got this."  Now, I just have to fully believe it.

Stay tuned in 2014...it's the year of Angry Pony.  
Next stop: Little. Black. Dress.

December 2013

September 2010