When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Life has been hectic. My new way of coping is to stay super busy so I don't have to think about being super stressed. I knew I was neglecting my blog because I didn't want to deal.

But knowing "not wanting to deal" has lead me to be confined to my bed, isolating from friends and eating a lot of string cheese, I thought I'd just journal like crazy and get it off my chest.

I went to one of my favorite Mexican places, Sunday, journal in hand. I ordered a margarita. Margaritas always make me tell the truth. Not always a good thing, like the time by BF and I had them and I ended up telling him I fake my orgasms. That was not a fun night.

Anyway, all the stuff I had to write about this Sunday was about family and the ability of my family to drive me bat shit crazy. I'll publish that entry one day. It's gut wrenchingly honest about how upset I am with my parents.

My Mom is either off her meds or no one is regulating them. She's the one who went to several different doctors to get all sorts of anti-depressents prescribed to her after my cousin died. She then concocted her own tiny meth-like lab in her house where she combined them in all sorts of varying degrees until it backfired an landed her in the emergency room.

That was a fun two months.

After one margarita the steam was pouring out of my ears. Why won't my Dad step up and do anything about this? Why am I the bad guy in all this? Why when I talk to my Dad about her erratic behavior am I called... wait, for it - "too sensitive?"

The things my mother says... they are not the things a mentally well person says to her daughters. Nevermind, that if she is acting this way with me, she is acting this way with everyone. My sister told me four months ago she was cutting off her relationship with my mother. I begged her not to. Why? I guess... I hate conflict. I would much rather ignore conflict. Can't we just all get along? Haven't we all gone through enough?

But the price of silence, of just going along with it, is really heavy. It's not making my Mom better and it's really affecting me and my sisters. There were a lot of reasons I broke up with my therapist. One was I just wanted to deal with my cousin's death more.

But when my friend C, a patient of my therapist, told me my therapist cried in a session with C because something they were talking about made her (my therapist) think of her son's suicide, I felt kinda reluctant to bring up David's death.

So I just paid out of pocket and went there and didn't say anything at all. I have taken politeness to a whole new level.

The other reason - she told me I would be more healthy if I didn't have a relationship with my mother.

I was not ready for that. I'm not ready for that now. Which is why, when I came to that conclusion at the Mexican restaurant, I ordered another margarita. Only, it was too strong. And I had to drive. But I'm thrifty and I had already paid for it. So... I went out to my car and grabbed a cup that I was carrying around for water. And I marched back into the restaurant, dumped my margarita in the cup and then tipped my waiter well for looking the other way and left.

I didn't come to any other conclusions about my family that day. Except that margaritas on a hot, frustrating day are delicious.


This blog is dedicated to waiters that look the other way.

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Adventure Bowl I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

I've always wanted an 8x10 glossy photo, like the kind famous people have, but of me, hanging in a restaurant. It doesn't even have to be a fancy restaurant. I could actually get quite excited to see myself featured at the Taco Bell right by Warner Bros.

There's only one problem: They hang their pictures quite high and while I'm not opposed to standing on a table top ("Excuse me, yeah, could you move your Chicken Gordita over just a smidge so I can crawl on top of your table and drill my photo up here?... No! Well, then I can't be responsible for falling ceiling."

This week, I saw my dream coming true when I picked out of the Adventure Bowl: "Hang Your Pic Up at a Restaurant." Now the hard thing is, I don't exactly have an 8x10 of me. Then I realized, that's what Kinko's is for! One hour later and about twenty bucks in printing fees (I got kind of picky, afterall, this picture of me is going to be immortalized FOREVER), I was off to this cool Mexican place in Hollywood.

I got to the restaurant and sat down in a booth. First problem - why are there so many damn people in a darken restaurant on a Sunday? Don't you people have anything better to do?!?! Second problem - a lot of the photos up there are nailed in. That doesn't make my job impossible, I'm strong and I come with tools. But I need less people here and someone to shield me.

I'm surprised I had that good of sense to know when an Adventure should be put on hold because by now I had two margaritas and after two margaritas, I start to think that I am invisible. I really don't want to be in the crime blotter because I was seen yanking down a picture of Burt Renolyds and replacing it with mine.

Now, even, though this Adventure has to be postponed until I can bring a few friends with me, it's not a total loss. I did some recon work that told me not to come on the weekend and help me scout the best booth to sit in that will get me the most optimal placement of my photo.

Now the big question is - do I want to be by Jake Gyllenhal or Farrah Fawcett???

This blog is dedciated to patience.

Adventure Bowl
I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Apparently, "Sex & The City" is not just for learning about sex and fantastic shoes! Now in one viewing or less, you too can learn to have the most fabulous depression ever. Just buy a ticket and grab your popcorn, note pad and pen!

Don't have time? Okay, even more fun, let's compare and contrast Carrie Bradshaw's depression in the "SATC" movie to my own.

CARRIE: Gets depressed in a luxurious five star beach front hotel
ME: Gets depressed in a broke down, rent controlled apartment in L.A.

CARRIE: Gets under satiny, 700 thread count sheets to shut out the world
ME: Lays on a threadbare mattress with a sweaty, ten pound Chihuahua. Gave up making the bed six months ago

CARRIE: Takes to her bed in a gorgeous couture caftan
ME: Takes to bed in a hole-y t-shirt that wouldn't be suitable for washing floors

CARRIE: Her golden locks of glossy hair cascade around her, highlighting her despair
ME: My bed-head is 24 hours away from being dread locks

CARRIE: Takes off her thousand dollar sunglasses and stares at herself longingly in the mirror
ME: Please... a really depressed person knows, rule #1 of depression - NEVER LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR

CARRIE: Refuses to eat for days
ME: Alernates between a bag of Doritos or Cheetos as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Only shops at the depression girls' grocery store of choice - 7-11.


People, if depression were that fabulous, there would be no reason to get out of it. So, thank God mine wasn't :)



This blog is dedicated to healing margaritas.

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Naughty, Naughty, Awful Blog Neglector!

I'm sorry I have been so infrequent with my updates this week. You know those movies where someone is being chased by a tornado? That's me, except instead of my tornado being formed by bad weather patterns, mine is filled with 8,000 type writers, their little keys taunting with their click-ity clacks.

Believe me, I feel terribly guilty. I'm Catholic, so my blood type is guilt. Another thing I have been completely neglecting is returning the two extra Spelndas I took from my local coffee shop. How could I do that?! Doesn't the poor owner have enough problems with corporate moliith Starbucks right around the corner - never mind, ME, who could carelessly bring down his whole coffee house dream with my Spelnda stealing ways?

This keeps me up at night.

But, when I write here, I don't just slap dash it off. That's why rather than writing something awful now, I'd rather toss and turn for three to five more guilt filled nights.

I will say this, 7 months ago when I started this blog, I wasn't even getting out of bed, so depressed was I about everything from a death in the family to the excessive jiggle of my thighs. I can't believe how much that has changed... I don't think I would be so busy with work if I hadn't written here and dusted off the Adventure Bowl.

To that end, I'd say, if you need to be inspired, maybe read some of the old posts about the Adventure Bowl or check out some of the ones with the most comments, knowing they resonated with the readers here and maybe will with you, too.


This blog is dedicated to free chocolate samples.

Naughty, Naughty, Awful Blog Neglector!

Little Miss Baldy Brows

Today I have had endured a devastating loss... of my eye brows. Yes, I had them waxed but I specifically said, "Go easy!" When a girl has a big butt she needs to balance them out with big brows.

I know what you're thinking, "You big diva, you pay someone to do your brows?! Well, then, you deserve it." Let me tell you something, I only learned that there was even an occupation where someone deforested the hair above your eyes five years ago. Before that, I was living in the thicket of brows that most resembled knitted mohair sweaters (Thanks, Dad!)

Besides, is $8 so much to pay for looking well... less hairy? Well, apparently, it's too little to pay to get the job done right. My brows look like they were tended to by a person who was blind in one eye and had glaucoma in the other. I have taken to hiding so forgive me that I owe you a Porsche riding post and another called "The Importance of Naked Jumping Jacks." I'll be back with one of those on Wednesday.

In the meantime, everyone REALLY loved Melanie's contribution in "The Weight of Weight." Any other topics we can throw at her? I'm thinking overbearing mothers, missing your inoppropriate boyfriend, life ruts, boundary issues, weird sex dreams, clutter chaos or daring to date again... anybody, care to help me narrow it down?

I'd love to hear your suggestions!

P.S., I totally stole a "Vogue" magazine from the salon to make up for the hatchett job on my brows. Not really worth it as every women on every page is staring back on me with her non over waxed circus brows.


This blog is dedicated to acceptable stealing.

Little Miss Baldy Brows

Adventure Bowl I'm Gonna Need My Big Fake Purse For This One

Thank God for fake Louis Vuitton bags. My friend has examined mine and has heartily proclaimed it's passability as the real thing, ranking it a B+. Well, that purse is going to be put to the test on Friday when I do the adventure I pulled out of the bowl this week:

"Test Drive The Car of Your Dreams."

Oh, IT'S ON! It's totally going to be a red convertible Porsche. Although now that I have grown a second butt, I am a little nervous about having to squish down into the low seat. What if the salesman needs some kind of jaws-of-life to get me out? That would not so good.

I'm putting together my plan of action. I know I can't just roll into a Porsche dealership in my Target sweats. I need to wear something sophisticated and cute (and made with a little stretch fabric for the squishing down into low seats). I might have to borrow something... from Bloomingdales.

Then there is the issue of my current car. My current car is a red Jeep Wrangler. It's old. I would tell you how many miles it has but the odometer broke about a year ago. So did the speed gauge, gas gauge, oil gauge and water gauge. And it only has one working seat belt. It basically a death machine on wheels.

And it's SO not the sort of car you drive up to a Porsche dealership in that makes ANYONE ever believe you could afford a Porsche. Or a Porsche mug.

I'll have to park it around the corner.

Wish me luck!


This blog is dedicated to wind blown hair.

Adventure Bowl
I'm Gonna Need My Big Fake Purse For This One

The Weight of Weight Part 2

This is a long post. I thought about dividing it up for my short attention span lovelies. But it needs to be all together - if you've ever struggled with your weight, this post will mean a lot to you. I promise you, IT'S THAT WORTH IT. And I didn't even write it… so it's not like I'm bragging.

Two entries ago, I talked about how I am sick and tired of having a double bubble butt, cankles, muffin top and the fact that Angelia Jolie, pregnant with twins, has a lower BMI than me.

But now I want to change and take off the sad fat suit that I put on in the throws of grief. So two entries ago, I wrote Melanie, one of our awesome-est readers and a therapist, a letter hoping she shine a light on what I can do to get back to me (the skinny, fit, boys-look-at-me me.) Reading that post is a good idea before plunging into the rest of this post.

Melanie's reply starts here:
Man, do I just want to sock your dad for asking such a question! His question about you being "normal" (meaning "thinner") by summer just PISSES ME OFF. I'm sure your Dad is a fabulous person.. but seriously?! You ARE normal. The weight doesn't change WHO you are. It just shows us how you feel.

Back to your question - I think there's little doubt that this is emotional weight. These pounds (which we all struggle with - myself included) are our own defense system against whatever pain has hurt us so deep.

Loss. Grief. Shame. Loneliness. Embarrassment.

There's an enormous list of uncomfortable feelings that lead to emotional eating. Some of us learn to emotionally eat from a family member (I should thank my own Mother here..) or just find a food that finally makes us feel satisfied.

Well.. at least temporarily satisfied.

We're lucky we didn't turn to harder drugs.. and we're lucky that this way of coping is reversible.

We're damned because you can't totally avoid food. You NEED to eat. Food can be devastatingly luring. "Filling" in more ways than one. Chocolate cupcakes as band-aids. Lemon tarts instead of emotional well-being. Dive into a pit of pudding - you'll feel amazing!

Unfortunately.. you'll never find love, happiness, or self-esteem at the bottom of a plate. Nor will any food taste more amazing than self-esteem feels. We know this stuff. Plump ladies are THE MOST WELL-READ POPULATION on weight-loss.

We know it ALL.

Your brain knows one thing, and your belly knows another. You DO have a brain in your belly. Your enteric brain - found in your gut. This brain controls your eating, that nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, and the butterflies that appear when your crush enters the room. Having a "nervous stomach" means you're familiar with this second brain. The belly-brain that argues with your above-your-neck brain. ...and your Belly Brain has never read a weight-loss or self-help book.

Guess which brain Loss and Grief mess around with?

I hope you said "both".

So there's David's death... family issues... boyfriend issues.. job issues.. etc. There are probably even things we don't know about yet. We DO know that your family isn't the best at teaching healthy emotional expression. It sounds like you're very afraid to speak up over there. Speaking out is scary - so we start speaking IN. Things go IN. Emotions turn inward, and we stuff them down out of habit - and with a NY-style cheesecake. All the pain, we keep it in. Ever wonder why you curl up on the fetal position? You're brining it in. Trading the gym for your bed? Bringing that pain and frustration inward.

Eventually this bad habit backfires. Inward turns outward. Jeans that will no longer button. Shirts that you tug down over a belly, and avoiding mirrors. Now we're feeling bad about inward AND outward things. There's no safe hiding place anymore.. and we start falling apart. We hold onto old habits, and read self-help books. We hide under the covers... with the box of Oreos. Screw the gym. We're headed inward and outward.

Eventually we're PUNISHING ourselves.

We say mean things when looking in the mirror.. when trying on clothes in a dressing room.. when doing laundry - because now the jeans fit tighter. We hide from the gym, because we don't want to subject the skinny people to our wobbling blubber on an elliptical machine. We just bash the HELL outta ourselves in a way we'd never allow anyone else to do. We are by far the meanest people in our lives. Our brain suffers... and our belly-brain goes haywire.

I know this answer has been hella-long.. and I'm afraid to say that there's MORE.. but I think the first step - the VERY first step - is to forgive. YOURSELF.

There's no need to further punish yourself for the things David can no longer enjoy. There's no need to punish yourself for your family's chaos, for the ex-boyfriend, for the loss of the job. That stuff cannot be changed by any amount of self-punishing. It just IS. Accept, and forgive.

Now look at yourself naked.

Oh I mean it.

Go do it... or I'll kick your ass. Find a mirror where you can see ALL of you.

WHEN you do this (because you WILL do this) - you need recognize all of those mean thoughts that you rattle off almost unconsciously when you see your image. Hear them ALL. Hear what you do to yourself. That'll be the easy part.

The tough part is next: Now you have to see that the weight is pain. It's not "bad person pounds". It's not deserved punishment. It's your pain -on the outside.

Now.. what do you do with pain? Physical pain is easy.. but this emotional shithole pain is much more difficult. The first thing that you should do is stop treating yourself like crap. That's not helping ANYONE. In fact, it's encouraging other people to treat you like crap too. Look, you won't even take your aching muscles to the gym anymore.

So today.. after you confront yourself in the mirror.. you're going to start treating yourself like you'd treat yourself if you were thin. You are no longer permitted to beat yourself up based on weight. Give yourself every benefit, compliment, and happy thought that you think the thin version of you deserves. Be kind, be considerate, be forgiving, and be accepting.

There's NO DIFFERENCE between you as a thin person or a plump person. You're the same person!!!! There's no sense in saying "Well, I'll do that when I'm thin." "I'll treat myself to blah blah blah when I'm thin." Treat yourself well NOW. Treat your butt to new workout pants, and hit that gym with the vigor you had before, when you wanted an awesome body to match an awesome life.

Start there. See what happens. and I swear.. GET IN FRONT OF THAT MIRROR. You cannot confront what you cannot acknowledge.

Let me know how it goes.

-Melanie

That blew me away to the point that there are no words... But I will find them. My next post will be about taking Melanie's advice. I hope you do, too. DON'T MAKE ME BE THE ONLY ONE GETTING NAKED IN FRONT OF THAT MIRROR, 'kay? We're all in this together.

P.S. Melanie's awesome blog is http://melaniementioned.blogspot.com

A disclaimer about this post from Melanie:
“My reply to Adventure Girl's letter is NOT a therapy session. You'll be able to tell by the tone of my reply. While being a therapist is my day-job, it's left at my office door. I am not her therapist. I am someone who has been drawn in as I read her posts. My advice is given as a friend, who doesn't have the same story, but enough of the same plot lines and characters to understand. No one told us life would be easy. :)”

This blog is dedicated to being fearless.

The Weight of Weight
Part 2

I Paid A Man To Put His Hands All Over My Body!

Life is going at 2,000 miles an hour and I am along for the ride. I love working hard so there are no complaints there. But... when I'm stressed, I feel every muscle seize up in my body and it becomes impossible for me to sleep.

So I have this big meeting tomorrow and I have combination Stress-ful-itis combined with Flop-Sweat-ophagus and I know the only thing that will help is wine and a wheel barrel of pharmaceuticals. But really is that the answer? (Yes, yes! It's TOTALLY the answer.)

No, no, I am past that. Life is about hard work, hard fun and hard self-care. I have been so lacking on that last part. You all know I have not been eating right or really exercising. Well, I got a really big wake-up call going to the doctor. She told me my blood pressure was through the roof. Even when we think we're having fun, we can be a medical mess.

So today they call me. My doctor has set aside an ambulatory blood pressure cuff (AMBULATORY!) for me to borrow for two weeks, all I have to do is bring a credit card, donate my only kidney and sign away my first born. How can this be happening to me? I'M YOUNG, YO!

Just by invoking the "Yo!" you should know, I am very young.

But here I am, stressed to the max with old man who smokes-three-packs-a-day-and-eats-triple-fried-ham-sandwiches problems.

So today, knowing I have a big meeting tomorrow, I pay a man to put his hands all over my body. Technically, it's called a massage or as I like to refer to it, the last bastion of male prostitution. Yum! And I love paying for it, 'cause then I don't feel bad about three weeks of leg hair growth.

I feel so amazing and I want you to, too. Can't afford it? I bet you can. Have a change bowl? I want cha to make one. Start adding. Can you do a dollar a day? Too steep? Okay, how about 50 cents a day? In four months you'll have enough. I know it seems like a long time, but technically for something you've NEVER done, it's not a lot of time.

I could go on and on about how amazing, relaxing, replenishing this one hour will be. Are you a work-a-holic? A Mommy-a-holic? A worry-a-holic? Even better. This massage is going to give you back so much energy that you can get back to all THAT double time.

Yeah, I want to hear about how you're all busting out Adventure Bowls. But I can see how that is a new concept and might take some time to adopt. But taking care of yourself, you should NEVER need someone to talk you into that.

'Cause that's love. So LOVE yourself.


This blog is dedicated to hairy legs.

I Paid A Man To Put His Hands All Over My Body!

Adventure Bowl I DARE You To GET in that Bowl

The past few weeks we've been talking about some seriously sad stuff, like the state of my ass which the Governor has just declared a natural disaster and my crazy Mom. SO LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!

Okay, so there are soooo many new readers which makes me so psyched and I can't thank all you guys enough for your comments. I think you can tell by the last few posts, when you reach out here, you touch a lot of people's lives. I love seeing you guys interact with each other.

So for the new readers, I just want to break down again what the Adventure Bowl is because it's really gonna shake up your life like it has mine.

Five years ago or so I was dating a deep brooding, sexy guy (that's code for emotional deficient with mother issues). I was trying to kinda "put the wall up" on the relationship (I learned that expression in therapy. It cost me over $5,000 but it's yours for free.)

When you are trying to put the wall up on someone that you feel deeply, deeply horny for, it's hard. I found weekends to be 48 hours of excruciating hell because I could not distract myself with work and there are only so many "Dogs With Jobs" episodes one girl can watch.

So I finally decided to get off the couch, throw down the bag of Doritos and PACK my weekend full of fun. Only I had spent so much time being a work-a-holic and being in a dysfunctional relationship that I forgot what I even considered fun anymore. So whenever a thought came to me, "I should go to the modern art museum, skate board, have my hair blown out, crash a pool, go take a pottery class, nurse a baby cow back to health," I would just write it on a slip of paper and stuff it in what I called my Adventure Bowl.

Believe me, it is much easier to get over a loser when you are doing something fun!

I dusted the bowl off every now and again but none more so than after my cousin died, I lost my job... you know the story. I haven't been good keeping up with posts because if a great discussion is going on in the comments section, I never want to interrupt with - "Guess what? I finally got waxed down there! Let me now describe it to you in intimate detail!"

P.S. I have never gotten waxed down there. Ever. I'm scared of that. And Halloween. (Really? We celebrate a holiday where people WITH MASKS come into our homes AT NIGHT???? It's insane. Are ya with me? Or are ya with me?)

But as you ladies and gents know, there has been nothing more integral to my healing than making my little corner of the world a lot more fun and spontaneous with a dash of child-like wonder in order to help me get me back to the girl I used to be. So I'll start adding Adventure Bowl updates at the end of posts. Here's how the last several weeks have panned out. I'll give you the highlight reel:

Week Five: Ice Skating. Awesome. Had not gone in years. If you are feeling down there is nothing like jamming around the rink to Heart's "Barracuda." I seriously, SERIOUSLY wanted to sign up for synchronized ice dancing after that day. The problem... none of my friends did.

Week Eight: Go to the rooftop of the Peninsula and have a margarita by the outdoor fireplace. Don't think this is a big enough adventure? It would be if the last time you had been there you had pool crashed and stolen a bathrobe (only to abandon it after I realized I had tie-dyed it pink with my cheap Marshalls bath suit.)

Week Ten: Swim in the fountain just outside Griffin Park. You would think they would heat this fountain 24/7 for people like me. But no, they don't. Where are my tax dollars going then? It was fun and freezing! This fountain has been tempting me with her glistening magic and though I did it at night, I'm working the courage to do it on a busy Sunday where usually a dozen couples are having their wedding photos taken in front of it.

Send any adventure ideas you have and I would LOVE to hear what adventures you have in store for yourself. They can be big or small, they are just about YOU taking time for YOU. You'll be surprised how great it will make your life. Me? I just stuffed a bunch of new goodies in the bowl. Like buy a dress from Saks, tuck in the tags and go out dancing. It's no different than taking it home and trying it on for a REALLY long time.

Yeah, except for the dancing part if you wanna be picky. ;)


This blog is dedicated to being featured in the crime blotter. (Fingers crossed!)

Adventure Bowl
I DARE You To GET in that Bowl

The Weight of Weight Part One

Let me break it down for you. I don't want to be a chunky monkey anymore. I WANT TO BE SIZE 8 AGAIN. I'll even take a size 12. I feel awful in my body right now and it stinks to go shopping and see summer dresses taunting me with their cute cuts and colors.

(Yes, I could buy one but if someone asks me when I'm "due", I WILL RUN INTO HEAVY ONCOMING TRAFFIC.)

So there's this girl named Melanie and she always gives THE BEST advice here on my sight. What I like about her is that she is a therapist but she talks to me in a way that wouldn't work with a regular patient because... um, I think it's against the law. Okay, I'm kidding. In therapy, I think the patient is always supposed to come to their own realization. But I don't want to come to my own realizations. That takes FOREVER!

When I read one of Melanie's comments it's always so REAL, DEAD ON - the way a girl friend would talk to you if there was no fear that you would never speak to her again. For instance, after I blogged about "Margarita Emailing" my ex, it's like she whizzed though my DSL line, came through the computer and hit me over the head with a frying pan.

She forbid me to contact him again, told me I was living in the past so I didn't have to face the future and threatened me with boldily harm if I did it again. AND I LISTENED!

Anyway, I have been struggling with weight issues ever since my cousin died. I haven't been eating right and I never work out. I'm the opposite of me.

I want to delve into these issues because of cute summer dresses and I just don't want to live this way anymore. So I asked Melanie if I wrote her a letter about this issue would she take some of what she has learned in her work and write me a "hard ass, tough love" response, unlike what I would get from my own therapist.

So here's the letter. In a day or two, I'll post her response.

Dear Melanie,

This is really embarrassing to admit but I have gained a lot of weight since my cousin passed away two years ago. I've gained, like a third grader... (do third graders weigh 40 - 45 pounds?) Maybe it's a second grader.

The thing is I know how to lose weight, eat less, move more. Put down the beer and bread and eat your veggies and lean proteins! The thing is, I just can't seem to want to do that or go to the gym. I used to be a gym hound. Five years ago, I was working a terrible job with a ton of stress and was at an all time high weight. Then I found my dream job and I wanted a dream life to match. I was in the gym five days a week, ate healthy and lost 60 pounds.

I never felt better in my life. But two years ago, after David was murdered, I was so depressed and I just didn't care what I ate or how much time in bed I spent. It didn't help that I also broke up with my boyfriend and lost my job.

I'm really feeling so much better and positive lately but I wonder - why can't I get back on my program again and get rid of this FAT ASS. I really feel like it's holding me back. I don't love going out or seeing people I haven't seen in a while.

I do wonder if holding onto the fat is so I don't have to move on. The idea of dating again kinda freaks me out, I wonder if the weight makes me feel safe from getting hurt again (okay, tearing up, that must be it).

I'm just in a rut and where I make everything else a priority, this, I totally push aside. Weight has always been something that my parents have been fixated on. My parents know I gained weight as a response of all the changes on my life but my Dad did ask, "Now that you feel better, will you be normal by the summer?" (Okay, tearing up again) I wonder if there is also some anger there and just wanting to be accepted for me.

Either way, the weight I am carrying is just not healthy, holding me back and making me uncomfortable.

Any advice?


This post is dedicated to pen pals.

The Weight of Weight
Part One