Two down...

Thanksgiving and Christmas passed without fanfare. It's just three of us now and this year we seem to be okay with that. No need to pad the seats at the table with cousins and friends to distract us from the missing Patriarch. This year, we were calm, pleased by each other's company and even experienced upbeat moments. Now to just get through and into the New Year without incident.

I don't have anything in particular to discuss this Sunday eve. Apparently this is the day that I like to check in with myself because I'm never overjoyed about beginning my week. Sunday's feel overburdened and heavy to me. I never know whether I should rest all day in preparation for five days with no break or pack them full of things that I didn't do on Saturday. I find that they no longer scare me, but they still don't feel good. They feel fast and unsettling, but not frightening.

I just watched interviews with Hill Harper and Brian McKnight. My suspicious and toxic mind won't let me believe that either celeb revealed his true self. I think that it's just another thing produced to keep up the facade they want to create for their public, adoring or otherwise. I suppose the only reason I felt a need to comment is because I was very aware of feeling smug and even a bit bitter while watching each interview. I'm having an adolescent response to celebrity that I can neither explain nor control. The thought of them fills me with disgust and overwhelm. Why can't we and they be happy with what they offer? Why do we feel the need to know about them and their lives and why do they feel the need to share? It's bizarre and invasive on both sides.

This week, this week, this week. I see Dr. G. tomorrow about my meds, talk with GB about my performance over the last year, and participate in the team lunch. One thing a day for everyday I have to show up. It feels overwhelming (the word of the hour), but I'm going to just take it one day and one thing at a time and get through with each to the best of my ability. I never feel like being on. When does this shift? Does it shift? Is this me forever more?

I guess I'm a bit more tripped out than I realized. I thought I was feeling calm this Sun Day and that I would just ramble a bit about my back and the pain of the weekend and feeling confused and, yes, overwhelmed by little things, but apparently there's more bubbling up than I guessed. I actually feel like I could do this for a while longer, but I sense that would be indulgent. I'm also aware that the reason I don't want to stop is because I feel scared. I want life more than anything, but I feel trapped in a very dark place. I don't know how to get out.

No matter. Perhaps this will be the week of my decision and that will bring me some measure of joy. I suppose the key to freedom is focusing on that which brings joy.

I feel afraid. I know why.

I've been eating with abandon and I can't seem to get it together. I feel irritable and bloated and still I won't stop. What is it about this food thing? Why does it have such a hold over me that I will forsake all else to consume and consume and consume?

I don't want to fail anymore. I don't want to overeat anymore. I don't want to eat badly anymore. I don't want to have to guess at what in my closet fits anymore. I don't want to feel heartburn anymore. I don't want to feel the bloat in my fingers and breasts anymore. I don't want to be confused about what to eat anymore. I don't want to feel helpless and hopeless anymore.

I want a different life. I want to be and conduct myself differently.

Why isn't this enough? Why isn't being miserable enough to commit to change and better behavior?

Fuck, I just want to take a walk. Even if there weren't 8" of snow and below freezing temperatures outside, I couldn't take a fucking walk!!! I am SO frustrated by that. It hurts to take the time needed to re-heat food! I need a solution to the pain.

I feel lost and unhappy and hopeless and yes, afraid.

I Grant Myself Permission to Experience: LIFE

I want more life in my life. I've been looking for this in the form of pets and purchases to no avail. I think about wanting something or to do something, but I don't know what it is or how to even figure it out. I'm struggling to write this post because I feel like I have to find just the right words and articulate just the right thoughts for it to have validity and value. I feel a bit nuts!

I was talking last night with AL and SJ about my concern that I won't feel "legitimate" if I'm successful in losing weight with the lap band. My thoughts about that subject are a topic for another post, but what came out of the discussion was that I don't give myself a chance to live and enjoy life because of my weight. I am waiting and hoping for success with the band because I believe it's the key to me finally being able to give myself permission to experience the freedom, joy, hope and health that I've been desiring all these years.

I'm on the couch and have been since Friday. I want to read, but I want to read things that I want to read rather than things I have decided or been told that I should read. It's almost hard to accept that I'm so punitive that I can't even allow myself to read what I want to read. How nuts is that? I acknowledge that my back is a challenge right now and, physically, I can only do so much. Can't I come up with some other things that I could do that would help me feel more productive without exacerbating my pain?

I feel like I'm in a bottle and that I'm missing my life. I was just watching documentaries about women weight lifters and tattoo enthusiasts and, while I don't find either practice appealing, I couldn't help but admire the people profiled because they identified something they were passionate about and pursued it passionately without regard to public opinion or what is perceived as "normal" by society. I can imagine that must be very freeing.

It is my life. I want to break the chains that have kept me from living it.

I'm at the End of My Seat Belt

I was monitoring my odometer because I wanted to remind myself to ask the guys at the oil change place if they could fix my seat belt. It seemed to be hanging and would lock up even before I could get the metal piece into the clip. Very uncomfortable indeed.

The other night, my sister drove me to an appointment in my car because my hip and legs had simply had it. I sat in the passenger seat and guess what. The same issue with the seat belt. What are the odds that both seat belts would be hanging and locking up before I could get the metal piece into the clip?

None.

So, what that means is that I'm as large as I can be and still wear a seat belt in my car. That is simply fucked and one of the many things that I never thought about. I would just grab the seat belt, pull it around me and go. Another thing that's happening that I never thought about is the flexibility one needs to wipe one's behind. I am really struggling in that area. I've taken to standing up to make sure I get everything. I was reading a book and this woman suggested using a wooden spoon, but I can't get a visual on that and don't quite know how it would work.

I've been having random conversations around the question of "what happened to me?" with people I think know me because I have a memory (perhaps it's false) of being different. The seat belt and toilet are two rather minor items that make me believe that my life has taken a shift in a direction that I don't want to head. The me that I remember isn't the me that I want to be, but she could at least secure herself in her car and tend to her own ass, two tasks I truly took for granted.

I feel exhausted by and obsessed with my desire to change my life. I don't know if I'm going about this the right way or how I'll know my life has changed if I continue to think about it rather than live it. Among the conversations I had on the topic of "what happened to me?" reinforced my inability to process things at anything other than an intellectual level. What am I missing out on by not being able to understand experiences, relationships--life--at an emotional or a spiritual level?

I've been listening quite a lot lately to a song called Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell. She sings about how it's the illusions of clouds, love and life that she knows rather than the experiences themselves. For some reason that song seems to describe or explain something about what's going on with me right now.

I feel afraid. I don't know why.

After taking four vicodin Sunday night, I was still sleepy on Monday and went to bed at 7:30 pm. I slept through until 6 am and awoke feeling refreshed and surprised. I was surprised because I was refreshed and that I had forgotten what a full night's sleep felt like. I also woke up frightened.

I haven't pinpointed exactly what has me frightened, but I suspect it has something to do with everything that's going on. I am now beginning to feel some anxiety about the insurance company's decision and when I'll have it. Today, I changed my alarm service provider, downgraded my cable, cancelled my home phone, and got rid of my data package and I have no idea if any of those were the right moves. I need to reduce my expenses and this is what I came up with. I feel stressed about making these decisions alone sometimes. Quite honestly, I feel stressed by the house! I wish I had made another choice.

VW and I were talking about my desire to die. I'm not suicidal and have no intention of hurting myself, but I have been thinking alot about death. I was deeply concerned until VW said it's just me wanting to feel some relief. I think that's very true. I don't know how to get it, but I want to have a day free of pain, one with enough money to get my hair done, buy myself some incense and body products and revel in the fact that I know my life-changing surgery is covered and scheduled. I can't make any of these things happen so I have to find some joy in something going on in my day to day.

So, when I'm truly in the moment what brings me joy?

I like laughing with GB and DeW at work. I like coming home to the Fabulous Fighting Felines and going to bed with Olive. I like that I'm in the midst of overhauling my attitude about myself. I like my work with VW. I like blogging and exchanging messages with the people on lap band talk. I like spending time with my friends and I'm very grateful for the help my family gives me.

If I can stay focused on these things, perhaps I'll feel less frightened. Perhaps I'll even begin to feel content.

Window Shopping

One of my favorite things about the water aerobics class is the glass wall that separates the pool from the main workout floor. It is through that wall that I can see the Gym Boys--all sizes, shapes, hues, styles, and flavors. It's like being in an ice cream parlor or bakery or walking past a high-end boutique. You know you shouldn't or can't indulge, but you can't help but imagine yourself nibbling a piece of cookie dough out of a spoonful of creamy vanilla ice cream or dragging your finger through some luxurious chocolate mousse frosting or slipping into a garment that costs three months salary--before taxes.

Obesity, depression and meds have undoubtedly taken their toll on my sex drive, but the Gym Boys stir something within me that is pleasant because it's forbidden. They spark a recurring fantasy during which I'm away from home working on a project and temporarily housed in a beach-front hotel. I'm a director or head of the project and have impressive responsibilities. I'm attracted to a man, a co-lead on the project and he knows by some understated gestures I've made. The fantasy plays itself out in a few different ways. The man either manipulates my attraction to him through cruelty or feels similarly toward me, but won't act on his feelings because he deems me unworthy of him or another man exploits my interest in the co-lead with the intention of humiliating me.

Boys (be they Gym or not) are not on my permission list. I had crushes and even a few sexual partners, but no relationships. The glass wall at the gym is a metaphor for how I've dealt with men throughout my life. "Look, but don't touch. See, but don't be seen. Admire, but be sure he never knows. It could be hurtful, embarrassing, uncomfortable, even dangerous. Men don't choose women like you. You be the buddy, but dear God, do not under any circumstances be the flirt. Be thankful that most of them don't see you and those who accidentally do quickly make you invisible."

While there's something pleasant about the forbidden nature of the Gym Boys, there's also something painful. I want to give myself permission to be seen, to be the flirt, to be the chosen, but I don't know how. It's so safe on the other side of that wall, underneath four feet of water it's hard to come out into the open and just see what happens.

VW asked if the Things to do While Alive list is the same as my permission list. I don't know yet, but if it is I'd like for companionship and love and sex to be on the list. The first step; giving myself permission to add this to the permission list.

Suprisingly calm

My paperwork was submitted to my insurance company today. It feels like I've been suspended in time immediately before this moment for years. I was certain that I’d feel anxiety, but I don’t. No apprehension, stress, worry, fear – nothing but calm. It's just done. I can expect an answer sometime in the next month or so and that, too, will be what it is.

This is a milestone on the journey toward surgery and I feel like I should acknowledge it in some way. I jumped through the hoops and it wasn't so bad. The worst part really was the medically supervised program. I still feel bad about failing so spectacularly. My therapist reminded me that effort and active participation count for something. I showed up a minimum of once a month, sometimes more. I did my one-on-one workouts with the trainer, as well as group sessions. I believe the trainer took good notes about the physical challenges I'm having and that she understood the limitations they caused.

So, I release and I let go and await my response. It feels good to be at this place. No matter what, I'm closer to my goal than I've ever been.

Sleepless, again

It's 3:30 on Friday morning and I am wide awake. I need for this to end. I feel irritable and stressed.

I watched a biography on Phyllis Hyman this evening and it made me realize how much I miss her. I listen to her music regularly, but it made me remember how I used to seek out information on her and look forward to her concerts. I admired her. She was beautiful and talented and funny and tall and elegant. I cried for two weeks when she died and was surprised by how much her death hurt. It's still impossible for me to believe that she couldn't see herself as all the wonderful things she appeared to be and was to others.

I suppose people say the same about me. I have been told that I seem to have it all together, but the cracks in the facade always make themselves evident. You just never know what's going on in a person's mind and heart.

Besides reminiscing about Phyllis, I'm noticing a strong desire to say something really nasty. Not malicious, but disgusting. I have always had an affinity for the scatological and lascivious. I'm sure it explains my attraction to adult cartoons. My impulse control around this issue is weakening. It really was all I could do to stop myself from using the word "dick" in a response to a post on my lap band board. I've also starting swearing more. What is it? A need to express anger and aggression? A need for a creative outlet that lets me explore my vulgar self? I'd like to figure this out before I have an episode that leaves me embarrassed and others frightened.

I feel like if I could do or say something nasty I would feel relaxed, as though a weight would lift and I'd feel free in some way. I have thoughts that should only exist in the mind of an adolescent boy and they crack me up. When John was alive I had someone to be nasty with. After he died, I said something that he would have just loved to AL and SJ and the room got quiet. I looked over at them and they were looking at me in stark horror and I was told that they were not John and I simply couldn't talk with them about the things he and I used to discuss.

I suppose nastiness is a type of addiction or fascination for me and I have no outlet! It's like going cold turkey without a support system. Is there a recovery meeting for those going through nasty withdrawal? Perhaps nasty is my passion and I should find a way to exploit it.

Speaking of nasty, I haven't showered since Monday. I feel a little queasy. I've got to stop with the Diet Mt. Dew. I have to use the bathroom again, but I don't feel like it.

I would like to sleep.