Your Fat Is Not Fooling Anyone

I'm in Kauai and my BATHING SUIT ANXIETY is at a ORANGE LEVEL (sweating, nervous stomach feeling, debating faking an illness so I can stay in bed so no one will SEE ME IN IT.)

Then I think, "I'M IN KAUAI." C'mon! It's AMAZING! It's BEAUTIFUL! There are things to swim in! Get that pink spandex, girdle-like bathing contraption on!

I resist. I could have put it on at the house. Then at the clean, non-hepatitis getting bathroom at this cute little shopping center. No.

Not ready.

Because... I'm embarrassed. How I will look. But my butt reminds me of two cats fighting in a bag. Really, want to know what my butt looks like? Put sweat pants on. Now, go into your bedroom. Get two pillows off the bed, fold them in half. Now put them between your sweatpants and your bum. If you can stack a shelf of books on that bum or someone can rest a cocktail on it, THAT'S MY BUM.

In Kauai. With that bum. And now I'm supposed to be HALF NAKED in front of my friends like that? With CHUB RUB thighs?

MADNESS. Then I think, "Your Fat Is Not Fooling Anyone." Meaning, do I somehow think I look like Kate Moss in my regular clothes but it's only when I don a BATHING SUIT, that my body EXPANDS ten-fold in front of them and to THEIR ALARM and HORROR, the secret is out and they are shocked to realize I AM A CHUNK.

No. My fat is not fooling anyone.

And would these friends, who are so loving and cool, and probably more loving and cooler THAN I EVEN AM TO MYSELF, ever want me to MISS OUT on SNORKELING and SWIMMING and GENERAL WATER TYPE FROCKLING AND FUN because I did not want to be seen in a bathing suit?

Get over yourself. And I did. Because sadder than the thought of me in a bathing suit was the thought of me being IN THIS BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING place and sitting out on the full enjoyment of it.

So I changed in a gross Port-a-Potty (my punishment for not previously getting over myself). AND I SWAM AND I SNORKELED AND I FROLICKED.

And nobody cared and neither did I.

You've missed out on too many good times because of how you feel about yourself. I know. Don't do it again. Okay.

Your Fat Is Not Fooling Anyone

A Clarification & A Shout Out of Love

Thank you guys for all your AMAZING comments on "YOU ARE NOT ALONE." I love them all and there are so many I want to address but... I've been busy working on my tan in Hawaii.

There is one I do want to comment on, though, someone said: "Ok Enough of this - i want to lose weight, i want to forget the pain stuff. I want to see a post which says, i will lose weight, and a post two months later saying , i have done it. Thats what i want to see."

Here's the thing... THIS IS NOT A DIETING BLOG.

This is a journey out of DEPRESSION and part of that depression has been weight gain (I have like, 2 extra butts). But I'm not going to be posting exercise tips and what I ate for the day.

Because THIS is deeper than THAT.

I told my friend S when I knew I was going to call the blog "100 Days in Bed" that I should set a goal to GET OUT of the mess I was in - in 100 Days.

It's brilliant! It's amazing! No one in the history of blog writing HAS EVER come up with a better idea. I will probably be put on the cover of some blog type magazine!

S said, "This "getting out of your mess" in 100 Days thing - that's a gimmick. This is life. It may take you 100 days, it might take 10,000 days."

Oh, right... "LIFE." (eye roll)

So, you won't see in two months that I "lost all the weight" or that I'm "over the pain."

You're stuck with me for A LOT longer than that! It didn't just take me 100 days to get here, IT KINDA TOOK ME... ALL MY LIFE.

In a lot of the comments from "YOU ARE NOT ALONE" a lot of people did want some ideas for how I'm trying to change or how I'm staying motivated and I will get more specific about that. BECAUSE THAT IS THE JOURNEY WE'RE ALL IN. And I think we'll ALL get there faster, INSPIRING each other.

But I want to really dedicate some time to that.

After I get home on the 23rd... but before my tan wears off. I promise! :)

A Clarification & A Shout Out of Love

Aloha!!!

I'm in Kauai! (Having major bathing suit ANXIETY, but I'm telling that part of myself TO SHUT UP!!!). Trying to remember how INCREDIBLY LUCKY I am to have found myself on an unexpected, incredible vacation in PARADISE with three of my closet friends. I'll write soon.

Aloha!!!

YOU are not ALONE

Because my self-esteem is completely tied to the number of hits a day I get, I, sometimes, (many times) go to Sitemeter and check on who's looking and for how long. Sometimes, the thing that will crack me up is someone googling "Dirty, Naughty Girls" and then they find my blog.

CREEPY.

Today, I noticed a girl had googled a topic that lead her to this blog and I looked closer to see what the topic was and...

IT BROKE MY HEART.

Because she googled, "I AM TOO FAT, NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME." (Which led her to my entry, "Oh, My God, You're So Fat! Congratulations") I wanted to jump through the computer and fly through the internet and land in her bedroom, living room, library, coffee shop, dorm room, where ever and GIVE HER A BIG FAT HUG.

Then we would sit down and have a CUP CAKE (Red Velvet) and I would say, "You are not alone."

I have felt that way at this weight. I have felt that way, 20 pounds lighter than this AND I HAVE FELT THAT WAY, five years ago, AT MY HIGH SCHOOL WEIGHT, on a work retreat, wearing the cutest TANK-INI with cherry blossoms and abs and Renne Zellweger arms and still FELT THAT WAY.

I even felt that way, AT MY HIGH SCHOOL DANCE, at a perfect weight, though still wearing a girdle EVEN THOUGH I attended the dance with my sort-of-cousin AND OBVIOUSLY WAS NOT looking to get any. (Though I did feel a little heat as we uncomfortably slow danced to some Whitney Houston song.)

It makes me sad that I so COULDN'T SEE MYSELF, even at the most perfect weight, that I had to continue the FEMALE TORTURE of dieting, gaining, hating myself, RINSE, REPEAT.

So of course, I want to save someone who is going through that. DON'T BE ME. I could DIE admitting this. But remember, when my shrink told me, "YOU ARE NOT YOUR BODY?" And I was like, "Yes, I am! I am my Body. I am my Fat! Every problem I have is because of this! (Dramatically grab BACK FAT in defiance) I'm outta here!" Maybe she was right.

Maybe I HAD TO THINK, "I AM MY BODY... I AM MY WEIGHT, I DON'T DESERVE HAPPINESS UNTIL I'M THIN," MAYBE I had to think that, I had to believe it, because if I didn't and I wasn't obsessed WITH ALL THINGS DIET & WEIGHT LOSS... I would really have to LIVE.

AND THAT'S WHAT REALLY SCARES ME.

So I would say to this girl, "You Are Not Your Body" and "Don't Stop Living and Doing The Things You Love Because You Got A Little Junk In Your Trunk." Have fun, people with ample bosoms and stomachs and thighs deserve FUN. Write in your journal, stay ON TOP OF THOSE EMOTIONS. Get a Girl Gang like I have that you can talk to. GO TO THERAPY, it's AWESOME. But don't isolate, don't get under the covers, DON'T PUT off LIVING because of your WEIGHT. Because you are not your body.

You'll get there, just like me, just like all of us. Because YOU are not alone.

YOU are not ALONE

Tell Me You Love Me

What's kind of a cool phenomenon is when ever I post about something SUPER SERIOUS, like my cousin passing away or my Mom's subsequent nervous breakdown or how I, a sitcom writer, plunged into a deep dark depression and became hooked on sleep meds (I swear, I could have my own LIFETIME movie, y'all) - when I write about stuff like that, NOT only do I get the most hits, but people will read for like, 30 minutes at a time.

A TON OF YOU.

But then no one will really comment. DO I SCARE YOU THAT MUCH? Is my honesty FREAKING YOU OUT?

Let me break it down. I'm started off really writing this for myself BUT reading the amazing comments over the last few months I realize, I AM YOU AND YOU ARE ME. We're all going through the same things.

If I can help more, I want to.

So tell me what you think. Even if it's anonymous. Even if it's, "You are really freaking me out right now." Or "It's not nice to talk about your mother that way." Or "WOULD YOU PLEASE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE????"

Cause, girls, I aim to please.

Tell Me You Love Me

How It All Began Part 4 "Grief, Despair & Ambien"

So when we last left off, it was two years ago and I had just heard the news of my cousin’s death, and in a state of unstoppable SOBBING, wondered and worried (but not in any particular order): how I would compose myself enough so I could go to work and not seem like an insane person; once I did compose myself enough and not resemble an insane person, how I would ever be FUNNY enough (I was on a sitcom as a writer at the time), as not to get FIRED; how was I ever going to keep my relationship afloat when I refused to be near my BF when I was CRYING, yet could not stop crying and

How I was ever going to face my aunt, uncle and cousin at the funeral WITHOUT ripping a hole of grief and pain in me that I wondered would ever heal.

I NEEDED DRUGS AND I NEED THEM BAD.

My favorite anti-depressant commercial is the one where they tell you, “Depression Hurts.” No shit. Then the lady takes her drugs and goes from a crying mute, rocking herself in the corner to a happy, zany, peppy person who’s PLAYING WITH A KITTEN. It was a commercial that I often made fun of.

Now I want to be like that lady. I want to feel good enough to play with a kitten.

I NEEDED DRUGS AND I NEED THEM BAD.

The doctor was kind enough to give me some anti-depressants. But I wanted sleeping pills (I WANTED IT ALL). He was a smart doctor and not about to give a girl who hadn’t showered, hair matted, was dressed in what can only be described as Pajamas as Daywear and who had cried so much she was heaving hiccups SLEEP MEDS that could kill her.

Good move. But when I have my mind set to something, I get it done. I now had not been to sleep in 36 hours and I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take it because I couldn’t stand to be conscious that long, where I would have to play the tape of David’s murder over and over again in my head. I had to sleep, I felt off kilter and off balance and I knew going home for the funeral IT WOULD ONLY BE 100 times worse.

“Mom, you have to get me some sleeping pills.”

My Mom is a shrink. I know, it’s crazy.

Mom, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“MOM, GET ME THOSE PILLS! I’M FREAKING OUT!”

Mom, “I can’t write my own daughter a prescription.”

“THEN FIND SOMEONE WHO CAN! I CAN’T COME HOME IF I CAN’T SLEEP. PLEASE, MOM!”

And so she did it. And I slept as soon as I got home and the next night and the next and the next.

And that began my two year odyssey of being addicted to prescription sleep medication.

How It All Began Part 4
"Grief, Despair & Ambien"

How Could THIS Have Happened????

On Fridays, me and my friends go for a weigh in. We all want to GET SWIMSUIT SLIM, so it's great to go and root each other on.

Today, I had a feeling IT WAS NOT GOING TO BE PRETTY. And I was right and it wasn't.

You know when you step on the scale at WW and the woman reading your weight falls silent and gives you a case of "THE SAD EYES," the news is NOT going to be good.

In my case, IT WAS BRUTAL. I gained 5.8 pounds. I waited for her to rip my "Bravo" stickers from previous weeks off my card. She did not. She is a kind woman.

So there I was, putting my shoes and sweater back on, feeling ANGRY and DISAPPOINTED and MORTIFIED and EMBARRASSED.

HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED????

Well, I didn't weigh in in the three weeks I was away, where I could have noticed the uptick at 2 pounds and immediately addressed it. That's HOW IT COULD HAVE HAPPENED. And, how on vacation, I had to eat BAKED STUFFED SHRIMP (They don't make it this good anywhere!), eat at my favorite PIZZA place like four times (You can't get it this good on the West Coast!), then there was all the WINE and BEER, oh and "The Nutty Irishmen" (deliciously alcohol infused coffee) my sister E and I would drink at Sunday Brunches (We deserve it! We're on vacation!)

(CRINGING) Oh, and the Chinese Food (three times) where the Crab Rangoon (fried wontons with pillows of cream cheese and crab - that's low in fat and calories, right?) melts in your mouth (and apparently, lives on your THIGHS).

OH, THAT'S HOW IT HAPPENED.

The good news is I had dropped almost 4 pounds before, so it's not a HUGE SET BACK. The other good news is NOW THAT I KNOW HOW IT HAPPENED (eating too much, moving too little, not keeping my food journal), I KNOW HOW TO TAKE BACK CONTROL.

The weird thing is, YOU'D THINK THAT THE WEIGH IN would have me plunging under the covers, DIVING INTO THE DEPRESSION BED, but INSTEAD, it just makes ME WANT TO FIGHT HARDER.

It's not just about diets and weight. (Although, I SALIVATE "Crab Rangoon Style" thinking about zipping up my size 10 jeans.)

It's about wanting to treat my body like a tropical paradise instead of a stanky crack den. It's about HONORING a promise I made to myself. It's about BEING PRESENT and ACCOUNTABLE and REAL. It's about NOT GIVING UP when the news is BAD. It's about SETTING GOALS and having a BLAST while I ACHIEVE them. It's ABOUT CELEBRATING the BEST SELF I can be.

All the same things I want from LIFE.

How Could THIS Have Happened????

Let's Talk About Sex... Again

My Mom and I are having a tearful GOOD-BYE in the driveway yesterday.

ME: "Mom, don't cry, I'll be back soon."
MOM: "But we didn't even get a chance to look at the catalogues."

You know... for her vibrator.

I swear she said it as sincerely as if she was saying, "But we hardly had a chance to spend any time togther." ("LOOKING AT VIBRATOR CATALOGUES!")

So I'm back on the West Coast and a tad exhausted, though very happy NOT to be sleeping with a wormy Chihuahua in a twin bad anymore!

I have something good for tomorrow, I'll post then :)

Let's Talk About Sex... Again

Let's Talk About Sex

Let me set the scene. My mother and I are in the hospital waiting room before we go see my Grandmother. She says she has something she really wants to talk to me about.

Let me add that my mother has a Prayer Day for each of my family members and went to Church three times this week, once for Sunday, once for January 1, "The Feast of the Blessed Mother" and once January 6, "The Feast of the Epiphany." She is a GOOD GIRL. When she dies, she will be cannonized faster than Mother Theresa.

And... Action.

Mom: "I really want to talk to you about something."
Me: "Sure."
Mom: "I think I want a Vibrator."

Inner Dialogue: "Do Not Laugh. Do not laugh. Do not LAUGHHHHHHHHHHH."

Me: (tentatively) "Okay."
Mom: "And I would like you to help me pick one out."

INNER IMAGINATION: I pass out, I'm spayled face down on the waiting room floor. Nurse: "We've got a Code 51: Daughter down due to too much info about Mom's SEX LIFE! We need a crash cart and a time machine to erase the last five minutes of her life."

It's not over, folks. Mom has a CATALOGUE to show me.

Let's Talk About Sex

Why Depression Is the BEST Thing That EVER Happened To ME

I'm still here on the East Coast and I just picked up this book of my Mom's THAT REALLY BLEW MY MIND. It's called “Circle of Stones: Woman's Journey To Herself” by Judith Duerk.

Before this trip, when I looked back on my depression, all I saw of it WAS WASTED TIME IN BED. (And not the good kind of wasting time in bed.) I would beat myself up about those sad days, “I could have traveled, I could have written more, I should have worked out everyday!!!!”

THEN I READ THIS BOOK. And my mind got blow.

Here's why. This woman defines depression AS A GIFT. What? How can that be possible? How could a life in sweat pants, under the covers, crying, eating Cheetos and Doritos and missing out on life, BE A GIFT?

Here's what she writes in the book:

“It is often, finally, a woman's own pain and sadness that makes her change her life. FINALLY, it is impossible to deny her feelings any longer.

Depression comes as a gift, bringing the chance to strike root in a deeper ground inside oneself. Depression comes as a gift forcing you to listen to your TRUE SELF.”

Wow. And “wow” like, that's totally true. I have never been MORE AWAKE IN MY LIFE since my depression, MORE IN TOUCH WITH MY GUT, than since my depression, MORE AWARE OF WHAT I WANT TO DO WITH MY LIFE… even WITH THIS DAY than since my depression.

The book goes on, “What if a woman allowed herself to listen once again to her own sensitivities? To listen to the ways in which she is unhappy? What if she allowed herself to trust what her tears are trying to tell her?

What if a woman were to allow herself to trust her own unhappiness and TO MAKE LIFE CHANGES? What if she trusted her anger, her irritation, her illness, even her depression as SIGNS THAT HER OWN LIFE WAS CALLING TO HER?”

MIND. BLOWN.

After I read the book, I just started typing.

Depression called me, beckoned me, it said, “I know, it's hard to slow down. It would be so much easier to be moving 1,000 miles an hour, RUNNING HERE THERE AND EVERYWHERE, and never have to think about anything, including how UNHAPPY you are. But how did that work for your mother? Yeah… not so good, huh?

I know you want to be happy, SO JUST STOP. Lay down. I know you're scared because you don't like to be alone with your thoughts. I know it's going to feel like darkness, it will be scary. But in that aloneness and in that quiet, dark space, you will start to hear yourself. THE SELF that's in you. Can you hear it?

“Hey, it's me! WHY HAVE YOU BEEN IGNORING ME? There's things we gotta do! I mean, yeah, we gotta get over David's death and we gotta figure out why you always get into these bad relationships and confront some fears about your Mom. But then WE'RE GONNA GO LIVE IT UP!

“Remember how we used to go on ROAD TRIPS just because? Ooo, and how we'd go to CONCERTS that were sold out, all by ourselves, and scalp tickets and DANCE OUR FACES OFF? How about POOL HOPPING? Oh, and WEDDING CRASHING IN EXPENSIVE DRESSES from Saks Fifth Avenue with the tags still tucked in the back so we could return them???!!! WE USED TO LIVE, LIVE LIVE!!!!

Don't you miss that?”

YES, I DO. I HARDLY REMEMBER THAT GIRL.

“She's still there, you just got to listen to me, which is really you, and I'll have you two reunited in no time.”

SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

Why Depression Is the BEST Thing That EVER Happened To ME