Month: April 2016

The Last Straw

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve posted here.  I did exactly what I say I shouldn’t do: I disappeared when I wasn’t doing well.

You may recall the Great Head Lice Battle of 2016 from one of my last posts.  Psycho had over 24 hours notice to treat the house before the kids went back to Hickville, but why bother when you can just make the kids sleep on Snuggies because you never bothered washing their bedding?  The lice shampoo I bought and let the kids take back with them in case they needed another treatment was used exclusively by Psycho, and the kids were left to check each other’s hair over the next two weeks.

We celebrated my 42nd birthday this past weekend.  The kids and my fiance signed my birthday card, and I was very touched by the things they wrote.  One of my presents was a beautiful top, and as soon as I unwrapped it, I felt sad.  It is so pretty, but I saw the short sleeves and instantly thought of my fat arms, saw the fit of the top and knew I would look awful in it.  I love that he thought I would look good in it, but when I tried it on, it just confirmed it.  It’s a gorgeous top, but it looks terrible on me.

It was a last straw for me.  I wanted to be able to wear that top to my birthday dinner, but I couldn’t.  I wanted to be able to unwrap that top and feel joy and excitement, not the sinking feeling that it was going to be a long time before I would be able to wear it.  I wanted to feel beautiful and happy, not upset about being too fat to wear something so pretty.

I am tired of feeling self-conscious when I go to events, because I feel like everyone is wondering how on earth I let myself gain so much weight back.  I am tired of feeling uncomfortable because my clothes are too tight.  I am tired of comparing myself to how I looked when I was in shape.  I am tired of being disappointed in myself.  In short, I am tired of being fat.

There is nothing left to do but (1) either do something about it, or (2) just accept being fat the rest of my life.  I already know that being fat makes me extremely unhappy.  I don’t want to feel like this anymore, let alone the rest of my life.

I want to wear that top.  I want to look good in it.  I want to feel fit and healthy and confident.  I want to like how I look.  I want to enjoy working out again.  I want to be proud of myself.  I want to get this journey started so I can be on my way.

Don’t Want to Just Accept This

We are nearly halfway through April, and what have I accomplished this year so far?  I keep promising to get moving again, then I don’t.  I went to Spinning class this past Monday, then chose to skip workouts every day since then.  I planned to pack my lunch each day this week, then went through drive-through yesterday.

I am within pounds of my highest weight ever. Why doesn’t that jolt me into action? Why have I accepted being this overweight?  I’m uncomfortable, my pants are too tight, I hate how I look, my wardrobe is dwindling, as one by one, my clothes are too tight.  Yet I go right back to eating crap and justifying my skipped workouts.

I don’t know what my issue is.  If I did, I would fix it.

My fiance has never complained about my weight, but he’s watched me gain about 40 pounds since we moved into our house.  He’s probably wondering just how fat I intend to get, ha ha.  He was refinishing some furniture in the workout room, but he cleaned that out for me so I could use that room for workouts again.  I have yet to work out in there since he cleaned it out.

No point to today’s post, just frustrated and ready to slap myself and not quite sure how to get myself back on track again.  I don’t want to give up and simply accept being overweight and unhappy.  That’s just sad.

Exhausted

I had a gain of one pound at my weigh-in on Saturday.  To be honest, I was shocked it wasn’t more. But really, have I sunk so low in my expectations that I’m going to be happy with not gaining as much as I thought I would, instead of actually expecting for and working for a loss?

This past weekend the kids were with us for the first time in a month.  They were with their egg-donor, Psycho, for Easter.  We had a great time Friday night, catching up and laughing and carrying on.  On Saturday we planted the vegetable garden, and the elephant ear that my youngest stepdaughter and I planted last time they were home finally made an appearance and is starting to grow.

Then…Saturday night, my youngest stepdaughter said her head itched.  My fiance checked her hair, and she had lice.  He checked the other kids, and it was unanimous: all of them had lice.  Turns out, they have had it before, and their illustrious mother, Psycho, never bothered to tell us.  Mother-of-the-Year just dumped them off for the weekend without a word or warning.  She told my youngest stepdaughter dismissively that her head only itched from medicine that she had to take, and she never even checked to see if it was lice again.

As usual, my fiance and I double-timed and did her parenting for her.  We treated their hair, comforted them that it wasn’t their fault, and stayed up until 2 AM washing all sheets, blankets, clothes, towels, etc. in hot water; spraying their hats, stuffed animals, and our furniture; vacuuming mattresses and furniture and rugs; and making damn sure every square inch of the house was treated, cleaned, and sanitized.

We got the kids into their freshly washed beds, then stayed up a bit later, making sure we had done everything imaginable to prevent it from happening again.  The kids were upset, embarrassed, and we had a lot of reassuring to do.

The saddest part was, we had to explain to the kids what to do when they got back to Psycho’s, because everyone in the house knew she isn’t going to lift a finger to help them.  We had to teach them how to check each other’s hair, remind them they need to do that for the next week, remind them not to use their brushes, combs, or hats at their other home until they’ve been treated, and so on.  Problem is, if Psycho doesn’t give a damn, it’s all for nothing.  They will just pick it up again over there and bring it right back.

“Furious” doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about it.  Kids catch lice, sure, but repeat episodes because Psycho is too lazy to put any work into protecting the kids is beyond pathetic.  Thing is, she’s so childish and petty, she is probably amused and proud about letting the kids bring lice into our new home.  She feels like she got us back somehow, made us pay for being happy and getting a house in the first place.  And if the kids were hurt in the process?  She doesn’t care, as long as she didn’t have to exert any effort and let us handle it, like we always do.

Lack of sleep is going to make it hard to work out this evening, but I signed up for a Spinning class right after work and still intend to be there.  There will be no celebrating for not gaining as much as I thought I would this week.  There is going to be a loss at my next weigh-in, no matter what else happens this week!

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