#i still haven’t weighed myself <- this is an extremely good thing but just eyeballing i’m probably 105 at the absolute most

[icelogged]

i’ve been putting beets in my salads recently and ♡ ♡ ♡

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 16

It is at about this point in my tale where I am afraid I might lose some people who think well of me. I haven't always been exactly the nicest person. You actually can never fully know a person until you give them power. I understand why I behaved the way I did when I did wrong. I was twelve, and I to a degree was only emulating the way the adults in my life treated me. Because of my situation I was deeply unhappy, and in other ways I was given unbridled power that I didn't know how to use at first. Add on childhood depression, a deep seated sense of inferiority, and a growing resentment for everyone around me, and you have all the makings of a young tyrant. I am able to understand how I was feeling, what had been done to me, and how I was responding to my own sense of neglect, powerlessness, and worthlessness. Because by this time, I had saturated in these feelings so long I had become pickled in them. And lastly, I am sorry. I know there are things I have said and done that cannot be taken back, but I am humble and besides myself with a strong sense that there must always be a sliver of my life that shall be eternally set aside as an eternal apology as long as I live and breath.

I shall try to explain.

The first thing I think I ever have done that had lasting negative consequences on those around me all came to pass because I turned twelve. Turning twelve meant that I could legally babysit. My father had always promised up and down that he would never ever under any circumstances put me through forcing me to babysit through my teen years while I should be living my own life. My mom always expected it of her children, and he wasn't going to make that mistake. I lived with a sureness that I would maybe only have to babysit once or twice a month for my teen years. Ha! You can ask Allison and David. As soon as it was legal, I was imprisoned in the house babysitting whenever possible. My mom and dad were equally guilty of this. David and Allison both think of me as a parent in a lot of ways because for better or worse, it was I who was always there. I put more effort to get to know them than either one of our parents did. This isn't to say that no effort was put in on their part, but it was put in at their own leisure after this point. They didn't miss a beat. I turned twelve, and my free time was half over. My mother's boyfriends came first, and the same goes with my father. His girlfriends took precedence over us – specifically me. I lost out on a lot of free time I should have to be my own person and have my own life.

I resented this like hell. From Thursday after school, to Sunday night, I babysat. My mom and dad were either at work or too busy to be bothered. Often times, I babysat on all the other nights of the week as soon as I got home from school. And you have to know, after being pushed around, belittled, insulted, and made to feel small, helpless, and alone, I was up to my eyeballs with a rage that I could barely comprehend or control. There was no inner voice weighing out my situation, questioning my feelings. I just felt this switch go off in my head and I was gone. Allison and David weren't terrible. But David could be incredibly bratty. I had for years taken issue with his spoiled behavior, and his natural tendency to be a little tyrant in his own right.

Because I had no control over my life, because I felt ugly, because years of this stuff was beginning to boil over the pot, I lashed out on Allison and David when I should not have. Some of this was in part too because I didn't know how to make them behave. I didn't feel like if I said things to them like a friend that they would listened to me. I was probably right about that. I had been given a dull promise that if they ever misbehaved, I had but to tell either my mom or dad and they would handle it. This rarely happened. I would try to explain the situation, but both parents would spin the situation around on me. Which put me in a situation where I felt the only course of action fell on my hands to make sure things went properly. Nobody was going to help me, but nobody was going to stop me either. This was my first taste of power over anyone. So I became an authoritarian dictator in Allison and David's lives as soon as the parents went off. I would scream, throw things, push them, pull their hair, call them names, sometimes for offenses that were almost nothing. Sometimes one of them had done something bad – specifically David. He might have needed some form of reprimanding. But I was so bad early on, that if they were good, I would walk around until I found something insane to scream at them about. I was awful. I would like to sugarcoat this, but I cannot. This was the only time in my life where I was given any power, and I abused it immediately. And what I did really, was make things worse. When you punish children like this, maximizing the pain and severity of any and all crimes, you really desensitize them to that level of punishment. It is partially because of my parents extreme spoiling and negligence, and my father's personal freak outs, with a dash of genetics at play, but also because of me that David grew up having anger issues. I wish I could go back and be the calm democratic representative that I know how to be now. But I can't. All I can tell you is what I did.

I also really wish I could tell everyone about Allison and about David's lives who's are just as valid and interesting in mine with their own insight which is unique and important to me. Because they too had their own lives, friendships, losses, hardships and paradigms as well and in many ways some of that might come out from my own life telling, but since this story is about my experiences, and because I could not fairly represent them anyway if I tried, I will have to depart on that note. The former oppressor in any given situation should always give room to the victims to have the final say. I think that's probably true in any healthy society, family, or relationship. I can't do that at this time. I know I damaged their childhood. I know I frightened them, and created mental coping skills that were not healthy. I am besides myself because I cannot imagine doing this now. I know 'whoops!' doesn't cut it, but I only had so much self awareness at the time in order to cope with living. It is what it is and nothing can be changed.

Allison was a kindergartner at the time, and I think it is interesting enough to mention that she had just as many issues wit Mrs. Denler as I did. Probably more, since she is more stubborn and bold than I was. Mrs. Denler grabbed Allison by the ear, twisted her ear and pulled her up the steps one time. Fortunately for David however, Mrs. Denler retired the next year. I honestly don't know how she got through thirty years of teaching without someone turning her in. But she got away with it.

I did a fair amount of my babysitting in a small ugly trailer that my mom was renting. At the time, she had taken up dishwashing at a country club at the end of town. She was completely broke. It was a very small trailer. It was almost a camper really. James living there really smelled the place up. I had never fully realized just how uncleansly that guy was. He smelled like soiled mildewed sweat mixed with hot sauce and fart. It was so unpleasant smelling in there. My mom would pick us up on Fridays after work, and then she would drop us off at the trailer and immediately head off to work all night. James went off to drink with friends until late at night, often coming home drunk, or not coming in at all – which was always preferable. Generally speaking, my mom would rent some VHS tapes at Hastings, and David would be given the extra bedroom to be in separate from the rest of us. David was really into Jackie Chan. It was cute and silly. He didn't know that some of Jackie Chan's gimmicks were meant for light entertainment. David believed that Jackie Chan was manly and serious and dangerous. I still remember David's little voice talking on and on about Jackie Chan. So David would generally be in the extra bedroom watching foreign movies with Jackie Chan in them, or maybe Rush Hour or that one with him and Owen Wilson in the old west. You had to walk through the bathroom to get to the bedroom. I remember walking in there sometimes and yelling at him.

Allison was really into beanie babies, and Furbies. So she would be arranging her stuffed animals in the living room. After school, I would take my overloaded book bag, often times with a broken zipper or a massive hole in the bottom that would require I carry my stuff with two hands, and I would throw it in the corner, not to touch it once the entire weekend. I might draw a bit. I was fortunate enough to have access to television. I remember watching everything that is available to people with cheap free cable, Friends and Frazier, Full House, Oprah, Charles in Charge, sometimes crime shows like Law and Order (they are all the same show in my head though I know there are actually twenty or so distinct and notable crime solving shows). PBS had this show called Zoom', or something like that. I was basically a group of kids doing science experiments you could in theory do at home, but actually couldn't at all. I tried to copy them sometimes and made huge pointless messes in the process.

I would stay up late enough, and then I would watch the infomercials. For about two or three hours, they would double play a cd collection you could get of all the 60's hits. I remember really enjoying the short snippets of some of the songs but my friends were all into pop so I would never tell anyone I liked old music that much. It would be like, The Mamas and Papas, The Zombies, the Are You Going To San Francisco' song, maybe like a Chicago song or a Cat Stevens song thrown in. Then, it would go into 60's country hits. I saw the glorious Dolly Parton, and they would keep playing Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison beginning riff as the opening theme to the infomercial. And they kept playing Marty Robbins. I liked this one too. Then they would try to sell you a diet pill that was absurd and actually stated that you were required to eat as much as you wanted, whatever you wanted or else the pill wouldn't take affect. I would feel this deep anxious nothingness. I felt empty and alone as I watched these infomercials in a way I cannot explain, like my very existence as being sucked away and I was missing the point of living entirely, stuck in my crummy little life, in this crummy little trailer, waiting for my cheap ass mom to come home from her dishwasher job. Eating little Debby's not because I enjoyed them, but because they were there and that was all there was to eat, and I was anxious. When the infomercials were over, I would feel bloated and oddly afraid of something I had no name for. Allison would be curled up on the gross floor, David would be snoozing in my mother's bed. I had the couch. The television would stop playing the infomercials, and then there would be some kind of stand by till morning screen. There was no night time television playing. I would curl up with a soily gross scratchy blanket and close my eyes.

There was a car racing game, Rush, I think it's called that James sometimes had set up. The cars always flew in the most unrealistic ways. I think one of the places you could drive was literally the moon. It was absolutely fantastic and sickening. I would play that for hours. I didn't even like it, I just did it.

In the morning on Sundays I would watch televangelists. I wasn't really into it, but it was something I grew accustomed to. I had read the bible so I understood what they were saying. The real excitement came when they replayed a PBS series, like Anne of Green Gables. It wasn't great, but there was no other options. I'd watch Thomas and Theodore sometimes, but they were kids shows about mentally off machines with egos. It wasn't and isn't safe to go walking around in Clarkston, especially this part of town. I never had any money. My parents didn't give me a single cent for my troubles until I was much older and demanded it. I could never wait until my father came to pick us up on Sunday. Often times, I would go home with him on Saturday, and simply have him drop me off early on Sunday morning. I had screamed at Allison and David sufficiently, I had met my own existence with despair, and I was ready to go to school to be demeaned and do it all again. There seemed no end in sight for me.

What's more, my friends were always having sleepovers. When I came back to school on Monday, it always felt like I had missed a lot. Sarah and Samantha were spending more time with Katie. I didn't see her at all because I was always gone. She also didn't think she liked me. I missed all the dances that the juniors could go to. I remember the whole school decorated, and everyone was excited to get into dresses and go to the dance. Samantha was really into this kid in the class above us named Andy. Andy was her brother's friend, and he was just terrible. Samantha really had the worst taste in guys, I swear. I wanted to be apart of their world. I mean, I spent a lot of time at Sarah's during the week. But it always felt like when she hung out with me, it was her and I and then by association I was a part of the group, but really I wasn't. I was either not invited or now I was chained to my duties as third parent. When I couldn't go to the dance, I remember sitting in my mom's gross trailer and crying. I didn't even have a dress had I been able. I would have needed ten dollars to get in – which my dad would not have given me. My dad didn't want me to have dresses else I might attract someone and get pregnant. There was no female sensibilities in my life either. Nobody taught me how to wear make up or do my hair. My dad scoffed at anything feminine. My mom was busy. My training bras that I had worn for years were starting not to fit me very well. But nobody would by me a new one.

Without realizing it, my dad kind of pushed a male gender role on me – and I think this was mostly because he was afraid that I would get pregnant or do drugs, but also I think he was innocently clueless about how to raise girls. Some of it was a little sexist as well. I feel like my father saw femininity was deceptive towards men – on a very subconscious and symbolic level that he himself was not consciously aware of. He just seemed to have vague problems with the idea of it. He didn't really understand the female perspective, that there could be joy in wearing and expressing femininity through makeup or clothes without it being some kind of game to make men lose their minds. I felt like being girlish in any way was a weakness. So I denied what I was without realizing it. I strangely wanted to be the kind of girl that would go to the dance in a dress, but I felt incredibly isolated from even having the opportunity, and if I had the opportunity I doubt I could have willed myself to go.

The season of football had come to an end, and the whole school, and the whole town really was dedicating themselves to sending the Kendrick Tigers off to super games in other places. The girls basketball team was headed down somewhere to play a game off somewhere far away, and the boys' football team was to play their final match with one of the neighboring towns – Deary, Troy, Genessee or Orofino. The Kendrick football team was a BIG deal. Everyone seemed obsessed with the players, and winning. Many people showed up just for practices. I never quite understood, being the odd one out and never really especially enjoying football. I still don't understand how it is played.

So on the week before these games, they actually closed the school, and on the last part of the day we went to school, the entire school marched down to the local park. There was a float, and streamers everywhere. I had no idea what was going on as we were marched along like cattle. When we got there, we all had to get into our classes. Everyone was forced to chant this horrible song that went from class to class, and then Girl to Boy, that went something like this

“HEY SOPHMORES?!

“YEAH!?” (Sophomores respond to the rest of the school)

“HEY SOPHMORES?!”

“YEAH?!”

“SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!!!”

“NO WAY!!”

“SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!!!!”

“OKAY!!!!”

At this point everyone in the school says

JUMP! SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!! JUMP JUMP SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!

JUMP! SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!! JUMP JUMP SHAKE YOUR BOOTY!

(.. on a side note I have no idea what changed the sophomores minds? Like, you can't just demand something like that and get your way, and nothing seemed to happen in the interval between the Sophomores saying no way and the school asking once more)

And the Sophomores have to jump and shake their dumb little redneck butts. If you do not participate you got written up by the school monitor Ms. Fligger who had a brain tumor. And they made you stand somewhere everyone could see you in all your shame.

After this, you had to do bobbing for apples in the most filthy unsanitary way imaginable, and then you and your class had to  hold toothpicks between your teeth and pass along a life saver. I remember my shame one year as it slid back and hit me in the teeth. It was so gross. I think there was a potato bag race, and a bunch of other things that were simply unfun and hard if you were anxious and unpatriotic.

They also had a theme. There was this girl in my class named Laura Lee. Laura Lee was probably second to Double D when it came to eccentricity and being picked on. She had that same skin condition that JFK had, only it didn't give her the same look. Her skin was basically orangy red. Her hair was fuzzier than mine, and red. She was about three hundred pounds or so. And she basically was trying to have sex with all the boys. I don't want to sound like I am picking on her. This was just the way she was then. She would start fingering herself in class with her pencil. People gave her a hard time, but nothing seemed to deter her. Anyway, she LOVED Homecoming. She would get up in front of everyone and dance. It was the strangest thing, I tell you.

After this tribal show of patriotism for our little football team of awkward teenage boys we called our own that happened to practice in one area of the world were we lived closest to, everyone got up to get a school photo. There is a picture of me somewhere. I am somewhat noticeable, at the end of the school picture, head in hand, khaki pants, red zip up jacket. Long curly brown hair. Completely not feeling the whole event like everyone else. Perhaps someday I will find it and post it onto facebook.

Ordinarily the last class of the day was Shop. We basically watched long safety videos. The teacher was this short angry little woman with a serious and gruff voice and posture named Ms. Guhlkee. She would raise her voice at you at nearly everything you said or did. Life was this serious how to safety manual in her eyes. Nothing was funny. She had these egotistical stare downs with people that didn't need to happen. I just felt like the amped up the class to be this really uncomfortable bootcamp situation that it absolutely had no reason to be. We sometimes had to use the power tools. I was always too afraid. The smell of the wood working building was atrocious to me. There was this smell of burning metal in the welding section that made me very sick. I remember her yelling at me, and feeling too anxious and nauseated to even understand her. I think she probably saw me as the lowest denominator of human. I was weak and abstract minded. Which did not appeal to her at all. She yelled at me a lot. At the end of the year, we were to make wooden cars. We had to design them, the simpler the better. For some absurd reason, despite being told that we could not make little details, I wanted to make a snail which has those intricate little feelers coming up – which is how you know it is a snail in this context. So I designed a snail with wheels to be my car, and she really laid into me for it. However, I didn't get the chance to go back on it. And she ended up angrily doing the whole thing for me. I don't have my snail car anymore. I wish I knew what happened to it.

One night, not long after this time, just as the fall was beginning to show signs of winter, I was sitting alone on a Friday night thinking over my classmates alone on my mother's bed. I felt giddy and excited, but for what I didn't know. There was just this nervous energy in me that I could not place. I was actually excited to get to school again for one thing. I didn't feel good exactly. Frustrated, but excited. Something in my head was screaming out at me. I was having issues breathing. There was a sense of euphoria in the whole situation. I remember sitting there looking down at a piece of paper, and then it occurred to me, “Am I in love?” I had without consciously grasping onto it, been thinking about Kyle, how he had such a kind and thoughtful face, intelligent eyes. He seemed to laugh carelessly. Sometimes I could hear him in his house practicing the horn, or playing his drum set. I liked the way he walked up the hill too his house. He seemed funny too – when he got to talking. It suddenly dawned on me that I had thought of little else but him for the entire week, but I had not consciously paid much attention to this for some reason. Suddenly, it all made sense and fell on me like a ton of bricks. I was crushing very hard. Everything underneath me seemed to slip away. I felt like I was falling. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry, or what grounds I was to go about the business of living. I honestly wanted to marry him. I had never felt even remotely like this for anyone in my whole life. I didn't even know him, and yet I felt like I did. I just knew that we had made some kind of connection. There had never been a word between us. But I just knew. And somehow I had to make him know as well. Oh, what was I to do?

PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5

PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw  

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

[torreygazette]

i must decrease

I have written plenty for the Gazette that is not serious. Sometimes you just need to produce something to meet a deadline, and I can do that if forced (the Gazette is gracious and does not force me).

But there are a handful of pieces that I have written that are deadly serious, and all of those I have not wanted to write. Seriously. I'm a private person and most of my thinking is done in my head, so by the time I am ready to write it down and make it public, I have probably been kicking it around for a year. 

And so when I am convicted about needing to write something, it's seldom "oh, can't wait to share", it's "oh no. I have to write about THAT?" Tonight is no exception. I got home from my drive (the best place to think) and tried to stall this process by cleaning up the kitchen, making tea, etc. CLASSIC! I tweeted a Seinfeld gif! Couldn't find a gif of the prophet Jonah, unfortunately. 

Enough preamble. I lost at least 30, maybe 35 pounds in the last year. I'm not sure exactly how much I weighed when I started. I do know I gained 5 pounds back during my trip to Texas last May, but it was 100% worth it and definitely doesn't have anything to do with the 20+ unique beers I had while there, or the pulled pork on a donut, or... anyway...

There was no particular impetus a year ago, other than the knowledge of my brother's upcoming wedding. I'm shallow enough (just barely) to want to look good in those photos. 

What ended up working for me, after dabbling in all sorts of sporadic diet and exercise plans over the past 10-12 years, was pretty simple: calorie restriction, tons of water, less alcohol, move as much as possible. That's it.  There's more to go, but I know I can stick with this permanently. It's healthy.

Instagram keeps showing me dramatic photos of people who have lost a hundred pounds in a year. I remind myself that those people dedicated real time to training in a gym, they ate special foods, they have different bodies. 

By taking my time, I haven't ended up with a bunch of weird loose skin (it's a thing!) and I haven't changed so much that I no longer feel like "me" to myself. It's still strange, don't get me wrong. I lost two pants sizes, and so now when I see my own pants in the dryer, I think WHAT LOOSE WOMAN LEFT HER PANTS HERE before realizing they are mine, just.... so much smaller. 

Part of what pushed me into getting outside so much was Aaron Everingham's death last year. That hit me far harder than expected. I was stressed at work already, and when that news arrived, I literally broke out in a rash all over. I realized if I did not make permanent changes to process my stress, things were going to get worse - never mind my physical state, my mental state! And so I went outside and FOUGHT for the fresh air and the sunshine, trying to counteract the side effects of the steroids I was on for a few weeks. It stuck. I still miss Aaron. I would give anything to be able to pick up the phone and ask his advice on life. But I'm realizing maybe the best thing I can do at this time is take care of myself, so I can be here for others. 

Going slowly at this has also enabled me to process how I feel about myself. When I first got started, my crazy doctor sort of eyeballed me and asked if I was dropping a veil and allowing people to look behind the curtain. I guess.... sort of? 

I don't like being looked at. I have been roughly the same shape and size since puberty, meaning EXTREMELY SHELTERED and INCREDIBLY INTROVERTED me, since the age of 14, has been receiving all kinds of male attention and feeling TERRIBLE about it, because I thought I was doing something wrong. Obviously, at a certain point, I realized I wasn't, but most generic male attention still skeeves me out or pisses me off. When you are looked at with lust, there is no room for consideration of whether you're funny, smart, or a good cook. (Notice how I put those things there? THOSE are the things I consider my selling points.)

This kind of attention also follows you no matter WHAT shape you're in.

And then there's the kind that I get now that I didn't 35 pounds ago, which... guess what... I also don't like. All of this has contributed somewhat to my current (somewhat instinctual) hibernation. Since I'm not planning on showing it off, there isn't any particular motivation to get myself into AMAZING shape.

I lost 20 pounds 3 years ago because I was heartbroken and depressed and completely lost interest in eating. If you know me, you know I love cooking and eating good food, and I believe it's a tremendously important part of our lives. But there were MONTHS in 2014 where I just didn't care. And so I lost 20 pounds in the worst possible way. I guess I got enough calories from beer and bourbon to survive. As soon as I started eating again, the weight came back. I didn't hate myself, didn't hate the way I looked (more than any average woman does when she looks in the mirror and jiggles what can be jiggled). Everyone has days where they think they look great and days where they don't like what they see.

I think about that Radiohead line a lot, "I want a perfect body/I want a perfect soul" - well aware that my body will never be perfect until it is resurrected. I can get right down to whatever the government says I'm supposed to weigh (spoiler alert: probably never going to happen) but I will still have the stretch marks I've had for 15 years, the wrinkles I've had for the past few, the gray hairs that are lurking under the henna, the man-sized hands and feet. And I'm fine with it - it takes the pressure off. I have been technically overweight my entire life, so taking a while longer to whittle down isn't going to hurt. I have a mom bod, and I'm fine with it. Take a good look, gents: this is probably exactly what I will look like after prospectively giving birth to your children. Now stop looking. Thank you. 

My fingers changed sizes. I switched the ring I wear every day from my right hand to my left because that's where it fits now.

I had to buy new clothes. There's a surprising market for plus-sized clothes, and so I have managed to sell enough of my old things to be able to afford new (second-hand) clothes.

I'm still wearing the same belt. At my heaviest, last winter, I was on the last notch of 5. I've cut 3 new holes since then, and will soon cut a fourth. I had a flu virus partway through Lent, which is also a very efficacious diet tool if you're looking for tips.

I haven't joined a gym yet because I do not want to pay money to have to share equipment and space while being forced to speak to people. If the weather is okay, I head to the nature preserves and hike or walk until it gets dark or until I see a snake or think I hear bears. If there are projects to be done (stacking wood, raking the lawn, lugging rocks) I do those instead. If I am really feeling bad about myself, I do an arm workout from Youtube, and then I just end up wishing I had raked the lawn.