Please pass the Pizza

Depression. And how.
I have been sucked into the whorling vortex of this shitty economy, big time. Looking for a job, filling out applications, sending out resumes, contacts, contacts, contacts.
*crickets chirping*

All my friends started school this month. This is the first semester in 5 years that I am not there too. Not because I graduated. Because I quit. Not forever, but burnout had me at a level of apathy that was very truely UNHEALTHY. I spent most of the summer working for my dad around the house, taking care of grandma and sleeping.

But now that everyone is ridiculously productive again, I feel my self worth being trampled by the silence of job offers. I am amazingly employable. I've done shitty jobs in places you've only had nightmares about. I can sit and process mindless information into whatever blackhole data base you can come up with. I can smile in the face of people who revolt me. Also, I type 45WPM and will work for Cheap!
This lack of job prospects has led me down the long sad road of depression, which has led to even further apathy. How bad is it? Yesterday I had Carls Jr AND Brownies. The day before, I had Pizza AND an unnaturally large bowl of Peanut Butter and Chocolate Ice Cream.
I need a job, people.
Because unemployment is making me fat(ter).
Also, I may have to cancel my gym membership.

Stress = Eating

I had a really good day, food wise. I managed to stick under my 1700 calorie limit and come closer to my 50/30/10 carbs, proteins, fat percentage. I didn't make it to the gym, but I made my family a very healthy Turkey Wrap for dinner and that seemed to fill me up. Fast forward to 1130 at night. I get the call from my mom that she's been rear ended and needs me to come to the scene. I'm thinking she's injured or that the pickup truck is totalled. I race over there, only to find that she wanted me to take her ice cream and put it in the freezer, and that aside from a broken seat and the tail gate, the truck was still driveable. My stress levels spiked for many reasons. I came home, and just wanted to eat everything. I chugged a big cup of water, but that did NOTHING for the urge to eat. I made myself a peanut butter sandwich (figuring that some protein and fiber and fat might take the edge off). That did the trick but eating just that one sandwich put me over on my calories. I'm still riding the stress wave, so I am drinking another big cup of water before I eat anything else.
I had noticed this correlation before. About half an hour into studying for a big test or writing a major paper, I would be craving chips and soda and hamburgers and chocolate. I never made the connection to just STRESS before, so this is something I need to research and try and find a way to outwit my body.

Back in the Saddle

Or on the eliptical. You know what I mean.
It's amazing how easy it is to fall off the fitness train. Genuine reasons for skipping workouts develop into semi-resonable excuses, which then de-evolves into sitting on the couch eating pizza and watching summer programming all day. Which is the opposite of what should be happening, because being unemployed over the summer should mean a person is MORE active, not less. In theory, anyway. I however, have arrested my downward slide into sloth by going back to the gym. Initiated by my dad who wanted to join a gym, just walking back into Golds gave me a little motivation. I made an appointment with a trainer, and met with her on Thursday. Today, we talked about my nutrition (Pizza is off the menu). Shanae seems great, like she's not going to let me get away with much, which is what a certified happy fat girl like me needs. Someone to kick my butt when I start to slack off and make excuses. My previous trainer quit at a very delicate time (right before finals week) which is what started this whole downward spiral again.
The schedule is set and while daunting, it's nice to have a schedule. And the nutrition plan is laid out, which is depressing, because butter is not my friend anymore. :( While the fat girl is bemoaning the loss of all her fat girl staples, I think I can hear the faint voice of the fit girl calling out for an apple. I'm not sure, because I'm pretty sure my inner fat girl is sitting on her.

bandwagoning

After a week of slacking, and binging and feeling sorry for myself and emotional upheaval, today, Monday the 21st, I'm going to hop back up on the fitness bandwagon.
Dread dread dread.
It's almost harder to do this than it was to start from scratch. Now I have expectations of my fitness level (weak) and I KNOW I should avoid the easter candy aisle.
(*Side note: Easter has THE BEST candy of any holiday.)
My little sis just asked what I want to do for my birthday, and I honestly have no idea. Normally, we'd be planning a fabulous dinner out with lots of carb loading, fat, sugar, butter, and deliciousness. Now... I'm just thinking I hope I can lose 10 more pounds by then. And then my inner fat girl ridicules my inner thin girl for conforming to the man. Oh yeah. Not eating has made the voices in my head very distracting. Dieting LITERALLY is making me crazy.
So I will go to the gym tonight after class and force myself to sweat for at least half an hour. Okay, 45 minutes. Let's get this wagon moving.

A New Perspective (and it sucks)

I have always prided myself on being a happy fat girl. I am content with myself, I like myself, I had no complaints. That is, until I decided to lose weight for health reasons. It seems that in order to be motivated to lose weight, I had to change my perspective. Now I am miserable. I have finally discovered self hate.
Allow me to explain.
Last Thursday, I flew to San Diego from Boise for a family funeral. On the first plane from Boise to Salt Lake, I sat next to a very large man. Now, I am a big girl, so I have always had sympathy and compassion for the large people. But not this time. This time, I was a judger. I was grumpy that his big fat arms were poking me, that I was practically in the aisle to accommodate his overflow into my seat. I was disgusted by the alcohol fumes sweating off his body. I was judging. Then, on one of the 3 flights left to my really not fun weekend, I had an experience where I was the fat one that people dread sitting next to. I could see it on their face as I approached the only seat left on the plane. I was sweaty from having had to RUN THROUGH THE AIRPORT to make my connection. I was breathing heavy. I could see it on their faces, the 'oh no' as they exited to give me my window seat. I tried to squeeze myself smaller, so that I wasn't spilling over into the middle seat (also known as 'fat person plane ediquite'). I know I was successful, but I was unhappy and uncomfortable and self conscious the whole time.
Then, last night on St. Patricks Day. My sister and I and a friend had gone out to a Very crowded bar. Perhaps the man didn't think I could hear him from one foot away, but he was making a point to his crowd of friends that fat ugly girls shouldn't wear 'Kiss Me I'm Irish' because it's not like anyone wants to. Then, all 4 of them looked at me and laughed. To make it worse, both of the women were these tall, reedy amazon blonds with perfect skin and hair. I felt something then that I have never before felt about myself. Shame.
If that had happened to me last St. Pats, or even last New Years, I would have said something flippant, rude, (equally rude) or punched the guy in the nuts. But last night, I walked away, feeling that he must have a point. Of course, my fierce little sister was all for the punching in the nuts idea when I told her what happened, and although I was ready to go home, she dragged me to another bar and proceeded to feed me purple vikings until I was having a good time again, but when I woke up this morning, the Shame... it was still there.
I don't like this world, where fitting in means judging yourself by other people's standards. I don't like that people feel comfortable mocking others based on their looks (no matter what they may be). And I really, really don't like feeling like I am ugly when before this stupid weight loss issue, I truly felt myself to be a goddess.
Mean people suck.

I'm Fat. No, Really....

Having Body Dismorphic Disorder (the fat kind, not the skinny Ana/Mia kind) means I don't see my body the way that everyone else sees my body. Where you might see someone who looks like a dump truck, or a beached whale if I happen to be in my blue swimsuit, I see someone... pretty. Luscious. Voluptuous. But nothing horrific or 'Dear God, Make it Stop' kind of fat.
I used to be in good shape. I passed my last Navy PRT with a Good High score on everything, while still failing at the weight/body fat portion. In my head, I was a fit fat girl. Rare, but possible.

Jacob, my very nice, non-judgemental trainer at my gym has been really nice to me. He was polite, and he laughs at all my jokes. Except yesterday, He Kicked My Ass. Sadly, it didn't take much.
This was devastating for me. I had my entire self perception shattered in less than an hour. I'm Fat. F-A-T. I'm a Fat Girl. I wear an XXL tee shirt to the gym. I'm NOT fit. I couldn't finish the sets he had laid out after a mere 20 minutes. Today, EVERYTHING hurts. Legs, Arms, Back... Advil is my best friend right now. I could barely walk this morning. My bad shoulder hates me right now, and is trying to pull me forward into a permanent hunchback. My bad ankle seems to feel walking in a straight line is no longer part of it's job description. But... I can handle the physical pain. I used to live with much, much worse physical pain. Right now the issue is the emotional pain of realizing I am not the person I thought I was, and learning to see myself in a more accurate manner. I'm psychologically crushed.

Morphine, STAT!

I am in so much pain today, it's ridiculous.
One day of exercise and my body is obviously trying to reject it, because every muscle is screaming at me right now to spend my day in bed.
That's not going to happen. But all the happy bunny fuckers out there who want to say that 'you just have to push through the pain' are going to be tasting shoe leather because pain makes me much less inclined to tolerate all you fitness hipsters.
Ow ow ow ow ow.......

2011 - The year of Me

I am going to be 32 this year. The terror of dying alone with cats eating my lonely flesh for weeks before I'm discovered didn't hit me at thirty like it does most people. It hit me in January of this year, while I was in California helping out my older sister with her kids. I realized, at 32, I'm at the decision age of if I want kids or not. Do I want kids? I don't know. But the pressure to decide is terrifying. I always assumed I would eventually get married and have kids, in that order, but it never seemed like a priority in my life. If I have a child next year, I will be 51 when they are graduating high school. My mom was 38 when I graduated. The jump from 20 to 32 seems alot bigger when you're looking at 38 to 51.
I know it's more than that. Even if I never own cats, that ending might still happen (minus the cats). I know that loving myself as a fat girl is much healthier (mentally) than hating myself as a thin girl. Statistically, I have a much better chance at mate selection if I fit within the physical norms of society. (Anthro Nerd Much?)
So I joined a gym. Paid out the extra couple hundred bucks for training sessions. Got weighed and measured yesterday by Jacob, who seems like a very nice guy, non judgemental, and who is building a plan for me. Today is the first day of my 2011 fitness regime. I'm not looking forward to it. I hate exercise, sweating, being out of breath. I hate being in the gym and feeling like everyone is watching me, like I don't belong there. Although, the gym is the best place to get healthy. I don't feel I can work out at home, despite the dust gathering cross-trainer, because my family makes some kind of comment everytime I've ever attempted to sweat there.
This is all very difficult for me. I've decided that 2011 is the year of me. This year, I work on self improvement. I promise myself that I will always do my homework, go to the gym, wash my face every night and moisturize religiously. I will eliminate toxic relationships in my life. Right now, that means that I'm on a testosterone diet. I've eliminated all men, all flirtations from my life in an attempt to cleanse myself of that need for casual intimacy. I'm striving to be a better person, inside and out, so that maybe I can find real intimacy - and not feel threatened by it.

Smart Phone Guilt

So I bought a new phone. It's a smart phone, the samsung galaxy, or Tmoble vibrant, and it has a bunch of cool stuff on it. Like I can access the weather outside without leaving the warm cocoon of my covers in the morning. It also has this fitness app. It's called Weight Loss/Cardio Trainer.
Essentially, you tell the phone how much you weigh, and how much you want to weigh and when you'd like to reach that goal and the phone tells you if you're on track or not. You plot workouts and report calorie intake, etc. The only problem is, my phone is now my main source of guilt. This is a position that was occupied by the Catholic Church for the longest time, so understand it's no small feat. I hide my phone when it chimes it's Workout Time! I avoid adding to my Calorie tracker for days. On Friday, my friend took me to the Cheesecake Factory (Or Diet Death Camp) and I didn't enter in the amazing delicious 6000 calorie meal, because let's face it. I'm a fat girl. I love to eat. I'm not going to let my phone guilt me into a salad. The phone has an off button. If I really stopped eating for four days (like my Cardio Trainer app thinks) I'd look more like a holocaust survivor than the happy round person that I am.
I can see only one solution.
I love to eat.
I love my phone.
And I'm uninstalling the App.
Okay Pope B... You're back on Top!!!