Beauty · Changing · Fear · Healing · Health · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love

. Gluttonous Self-Harm .

 

 

I had a very personal, painful realization as I was stuffing my face with mac’ n cheese last night. I didn’t stop eating until I felt my stomach protest from the expansion and fullness; even then, I didn’t want to stop. It’s the only thing I “felt” since last Friday. This is not good self-care practice. It is, however, a good awakening.

I work in Social Services. I’m aware of the “self-harm” phenomenon, I just could never get my mind around it. “How can someone willingly cut themselves to ‘release pain’ and ‘feel alive, to feel something'”? I have been really critical in my way of thinking towards this. Having come from an abusive past, I could never fathom openly harming myself until I bleed.

As I was sitting on my couch, “shoveling” food into my face, feeling the effects of it expanding my stomach to the point of pain, I strongly realized I am no different. You can’t see my self-harm scars in forms of angry red scars on my skin. Nope. You see it in my weight.

I am morbidly obese; those who read this know this.
I am a health risk; those who know me personally know this.

But, I realized, I don’t eat enough on a day to day basis. I’ve been told time and again by family and friends, “You eat like a bird.” I’ve heard from nutritionists who put me on a caloric intake diet, that I’m not meeting my daily needs by about 200-500 calories a day. This is true. I’ve tracked it with myfitnesspal. I have seen it, black and white, that I’m lacking caloric intake. But, I shrug my shoulders. In a sense, I don’t care. Food is just not a thing for me. When I do eat, or even think about eating, I tend to do a lot of nibbling/grazing. (Which I’ve been told is healthier, but eh..)

On the other hand, when something emotionally charged triggers my C-PTSD, the only thing I can control is my food. Hell, I can’t even control my thoughts until well after gorging. It’s become somewhat of a rebellious act, since my teen years. I heard, “You’re too fat to do that” or “Lose weight and conform” so much in my youth through puberty, I went the route of “Fuck you, I’m going to eat anything I want, and how much I want!”

My sister, whom I love dearly, took it the other route. She has an eating disorder binge / purge. We both are self-harming, but not in the obvious ways we hear about. Over eating should really be looked at as a self-harm, just as cutting is.

So, here I am. Fully aware of my obesity. My mortality. My mental illness. And now, fully aware that I cater to that demon that lives inside me that said, “You only have control of this in your life.” I thought I had exorcised my demons that last few  years of therapy. I thought they were shoved back down to the black murky hell they emerged from.

I’m now learning that there will always be one that shows itself when least expected.

Where do I go from here?  I’m really at a loss with this reality. I want to fight this like a warrior. I want to show that I can grow through this. Where do I start?

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Beauty · Blessings · Changes · Changing · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing · Health · Journey · Love · My Life · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Spirit

. Check Engine Light .

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Turning 40 has been interesting and surreal. At 40, you’re in this strange place where your mind believes you’re still in your late 20 – early 30, but your body says, “Um… nope.” But it’s not a sudden denial of fantasy. No, no, it has more of a subtle creeping approach that slowly draws your attention towards it. Like a well loved car.

The key to successful aging is to pay as little attention to it as possible. ~ Judith Regan

Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart. ~ Caryn Leschen

You’re driving along, sun is shining down on your pretty red car. You haven’t noticed your car in a long while, as it’s all become automated; get in, get to work, get in, get home. But the car, the paint, body and soul of this vessel hasn’t caught your eye in many moons; that is, until this sunny day.

The sun hits the paint just right, and you’ve noticed that the shine has really started to weather and fade. “That’s okay.” you say to yourself, “she’s been well loved.” You start taking inventory, as you sit in traffic for longer than desired. The fabric on the seats have thinned, thread and weave showing it’s still holding together. The dash and the doors, calloused in area where it’s provided the most support for hands. The windshield, and windows, a bit blurry from road f.o.d., but you can still see well enough to get you to and fro. Her engine sings wonderfully, even in moments of hiccups, burps, stutters. The frame, body and wheels may creak, stick, and resist movement, but she always finds a way to venture on. She may be aging, but she’s still a beaut. She’s got spunk and desire to continue escorting you and your kin, even if her age is showing. You don’t fully notice these changes, because you’ve grown old with her.

I was stuck in traffic this evening; bad, heavy traffic. It was raining in true Washington State fashion, which caused major back-ups and long periods of being at a stand still for no other reason than it’s wet out. In those moments where traffic paused, I realized that my body is my vessel.

I know that this should be obvious, and it probably is for most. However, I’ve been somewhat disconnected from my physical body my whole life. I’ve never paused long enough to practice mindfulness and truly connect with my skin, bone, and sinew. I only learned the art about a year ago. I used this dark, dreary day to connect within. I began to take inventory of “me”.  I never realized that when you hit 40, your warranty really does expire and parts start changing in rapid pace.

My eyes, as I have aged, have gotten much worse; much like the windshield on a well traveled car. I can still see, with assistance of glasses. But, age has changed them.

My hair has totally thinned out. It seems with the more silver strands that have staked claim to my temples, the thinner my hair is. It’s much like the well used fabric of the seats in the aging car. My threads are still there, just not as thick.

My hands are soft, but calloused in areas where I’ve used them well over the years; painting, typing, etc. Much like the interior of the doors and dash. They’re still viable and supportive, but well used and worn just right.

My body, I will admit I haven’t taken great care of it. It’s aging like the wheels on the car above. I creak. I groan. My knees and ankles resist movement. But, alas, I’m still able to move towards the desired destination.

I’ve taken stock in my physical, emotional, and mental changes. Age has affected me, all for the better. I may be at the point in life where my mind is young, but my body gently reminds me that it’s surpassed roller skating with ease, taking stairs two at a time, or dancing until early dawn. But we’re an old couple now, connected at the hip. I accept my aging process. I’ve tuned my dial, and turned up the vibration and will remain grateful that I’ve had the chance to connect with this body of mine; well before my check engine light turns on.

Abuse · Beauty · Belief · Blessings · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Counseling · Depression · Faith · Fear · Forgiveness · Friends · Friendship · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing · Hope · Journey · Love · My Life · Positivity · Romance · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Spirit

. Obsessed .


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So… Ack!! Let’s just start with that. AAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhccckkkkkkkkk!! Shake it off, right?

I have spent the last couple years focusing on healing from my domestic violence situation. It has driven me to push forward and through the emotional traps that have sprung up over the course of my healing. I have assumed this whole time that my abuser was the wicked source of my lack of self esteem, self care, and insecurities. Boy, was I ever wrong.

Let me catch you up a bit, and then I’ll come full circle into my statement above. I have been in counseling hard core since March 2015. I have been averaging two group therapies a week, as well as a 1×1 session with my therapist bi-weekly. I have worked hard on myself, my mind, my emotions and my ability to communicate what my needs are before I break down into a suicidal depressive state. I have come to thoroughly enjoy each week and the topics the group settings introduce. I love it so much, I’m working towards Peer Counseling. My overall goal is to go back to college and finish my psych degree. I want to work with domestic violence victims and/or become a d.v. advocate. I am venturing into my 40s exactly how I wanted to two years ago when I left my abuser. “I will enter my 40s as a rock star.” As my counselor says, “You’ve always been a rock star, it’s just getting you to believe it as well.” So here I am, a freaking advocate for mental health . . . and I wouldn’t change the path it took me to get here for anything.

In these groups I have created a safe, supportive group of friends. It is amazing who your tribe begins to morph the more you grow and establish your own boundaries.  I learned to purge those from my life that were not healthy for me anymore. I learned to establish a set of boundaries by changing my vibe, especially in regards to myself. I changed my view of “me” and that allowed me to see who around me was supportive. I can honestly say I am thankful for the new troup I have built around me. I have some strong female friends to thank for that. (Karla, Julie, Mary, Suzanne, Kerry… to name a few). Changing my inner voice to question my negative self talk is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. That’s not to say, however, that I am perfect. I still have moments of doubt, it’s just not crippling or damaging anymore. Those boundaries and self discoveries aided in my ability to see romantic relationships differently as well.

After a few messy dates, and my capacity to see what was happening and not what I wanted to happen, I finally met a fantastic man. The greatest thing about this is I am not blinded by “newness” of a relationship. I went in knowing who I am, my boundaries, my strengths and weaknesses. I met someone who is in a great place spiritually and mentally as well. We are taking our time, moving slow. It helps that we’re about an hour apart from one another; that forces us to be slow. One of the biggest compliments he gave me recently, “I like that I don’t feel like I need to save you. You’re doing such a great job saving yourself.” Hell Ya I am. It is about time as well. I’ve said it quite a few times, and I will say it again, I am thankful for the path my relationship history has put me through. It has helped forge and guide me to who I am today. However, I have come to quickly realize, not only in my counseling, but from my current relationship that my abuser is not my sole focus.
My ex-husband is.

How does that work out? My ex-husband is my biggest hurdle in the ghost of relationships past. Wow. I didn’t fully recognize this until my current beau enlightened me that in almost all of our conversations I have made mention of my ex-husband. Not only have I made mention, it’s usually negative. This is not healthy. When his words landed that blow on my emotional
psyche, I ruminated on it for about an hour. He’s right, you know. I do mention my ex quite often. It’s not a “hung up on him” scenario. It’s the fact I have never really mourned our friendship. The friendship was severed beyond my control. I wanted an amicable divorce. I didn’t contest, or fight, or push. I wanted it easy, in hopes to mend and keep our friendship. We’ve known each other for 26 years; almost longer than his new wife has been alive (I think she’s 27 now). I believe, deep inside, if she wasn’t a factor in preventing him and I from talking, we’d be able to at least have closure. It was all so brash when she became involved. So where does that leave me? Apparently, it leaves him at the forefront of my mind . . . . so much more than the abuser ever was. How do I “get over it”? Or, “Let it go”?

And please, for the love of all that’s sanity, don’t sing the damned song.

How to let it go. I don’t believe in irony anymore. I firmly believe in a path of learning placed before us. I believe that angels come down and take form of  people when you’re truly in need. I believe the universe slaps us upside the head when we’re “really not getting it.” A couple weeks back the discussion in one of my group therapies was around exactly that, “Letting it go.” There was a huge discussion surrounding the fact that you can’t really, “Let it go.” That the event(s) or trauma that lead you to hold onto the pain will always be in your memory. You cannot ever really let it go. What I took from that, what I processed over and over again in my mind, was the fact that you can’t let the event go.. . but you can let the pain go. But first, you have to define exactly what the pain is.

The pain. The truth of the matter. The emotions behind the transient being taking up space and dwelling over and over again in your mind. Pain is healing and growth. But why am I holding onto it with my ex husband? I will never get my credit back. I will never get my car that was repo’d back. I will never get the ten years invested into the actual romantic relationship back. I will never get back anything invested, really. On a cognitive, rational level, I fully understand this. What good is it to harbor those memories though? Fear…? Maybe a little. Fear that I’ll be wooed into a similar relationship scenario. Anger…? Ya, there’s a lot of that. I’m angry over the fact we were friends for as long as we were and it ended in the manner it did. But, it’s done and over, right?

I need to restructure my thoughts so that I do not continue to move forward in this relationship in a way that could potentially ruin it. We’ve been divorced since 2011. Friendship, and any resulting relationship, has been finalized and severed. Closure will not happen, at least not right now. I cannot continue to harbor these thoughts. I have to let the emotions and pain surrounding the relationship go.

From the movie, “Peace, Love and Misunderstanding”

Diane: You want me to just let go of 40 years of irresponsibility, embarrassment, and her total refusal to grow up?
Jude: Yes, exactly.
Diane: [incredulous] Like a balloon that’ll just float away.
Jude: It’s not a balloon, Diane. It’s a sandbag you’ve got to drop for the balloon to get off the ground.

Abuse · Belief · Body Positive · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Counseling · Depression · Fear · Happiness · Healing · Hope · Journey · Love · My Life · Romance · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Suicide

. Prowess .

** warning – sexually graphic content. read at your own discretion **

I had a rough session with my therapist today. The end conclusion is that I really, truly have never experienced genuine love; but yet I desire a love of a lifetime deeply. I yearn for a hearth and home. I’ve blogged about it before, but today is a bit different. It took someone from my past to really resurface some buried memories and feelings.

The mental road trip I took with him has left me staggering; tripping over my own defense mechanisms that jut out of my past like broken pieces of glass in my path.

Here we are a week later, and I have had nothing but time to think about it. (By “think about it” I really mean, “Overthink, overanalyze and personally demean self worth.) I have never really identified with an addiction, this week however, I have the realization that I too have an addiction. My addiction isn’t so much “sex” per se.. It’s more the desperate longing desire to actually be wanted. I tend to sell my self worth for a brief moment of intimacy. In those moments of sexual gratification, I could convince myself that I was wanted and loved. I told myself this for so long, I actually believe the lie.  I have spent 20+ years selling off pieces of my soul like a bargain at a dollar store. I have been taught to believe that men promise a relationship for sex, and women promise sex for love.

How do you come back from that?

I have had a lot of sexual partners. There it is. It’s out, it’s open. Judge lest ye be judged. It’s the only thing I “knew”. It’s the only thing I identified that the male gender wanted from me; from age 14 when I was raped by a 26ish guy. Before I actually lost my virginity, willingly, all I ever heard were rumors from various groups of guys who would boast, “I could hit that.” There are a few key moments in my teenage years, that I really feel were pivotal in my sexual awareness and development.

I will start at 14, when I was in a foster home. I was always an early developed teen. I had hips, small waist, big ass and size C/D breasts. I was immediately placed into a sexual position because my genetic code made me a “woman” at a young age. This memory has been blocked from my conscious for years, until just recently. So, bare with me. I remember partying with a neighbor at the foster home. He had all the teens at his house, he always did. We’d drink beer, listen to Guns N’ Roses, and just talk like “adults”. But I wasn’t. I was only 14.  What I remember in my jagged memories is that the group left. I was left behind. I remember feeling kind of out of it, loopy… from the booze or maybe more. I remember we were in his room and he started kissing on me, grabbing my thighs, reaching up under my shirt. I remember kind of “checking out” mentally. He was far too big to fight. I remember him trying to penetrate me, but as a young… virgin.. he couldn’t. He got frustrated and pissed. He just kept pushing, forcing. I remember whimpering and he shoved me off his bed. I remember a friend had come back to find out where I was, because I hadn’t left when they did. I remember this friend kind of sort of sneaking me back in my house to sleep it off. From this point forward, I remember being a “mean” girl towards guys, this lasted until I actually willingly slept with one. And then, it became the norm. “Fuck it, sex is all they want, then fine.”

Second incident, I can recall that instilled and enabled the thought that all my worth was tied into being a “cum dumpster” (actual term a guy used “jokingly” when I was around 19.) I used to take the public transit everywhere. I was probably about 16 or so. It was summer. I was wearing this cute, typical 1990s figure fitting floral dress. It wasn’t too revealing, short, or trashy.  I was standing up on Pac Hwy waiting for the bus; Pac Hwy is known for a lot of street walkers. I was minding my own business, standing there reading my book. A car pulls up next to me, this guy rolls down his window and asks, “How much?” I was totally, completely taken aback. I started crying from shock. I sputtered, “I’m not a hooker!” The bus started to arrive at that moment. So, the impression this left me with subconsciously was that I really am only worth what my body can offer.

Third incident, was in Junior High. It’s not as pivotal as the first two in my mind which is why it’s out of linear timeline, but it still affected me. I never realized exactly how much it affected me until counseling today. There was this peer named Adam. Adam was apart of the “in” crowd. I had taken a photography class, so this had to be around 9th grade. I was in the dark room, prepping my film. Adam came in, got up really close behind me. He used his pelvis to push into mine, and rubbed himself on me. He turned me around, put his right hand on my left breast and forced me to kiss him. He laughed at my face when he was done. Later, at lunch, he told everyone I tried to kiss him. He told everyone I was just a slut. That labeled me for the rest of my school career. I think at this point, I gave in and just became what every man expected me to be.

This lasted up until last week. It’s weighing heavy on my heart. I have never been worth dating; from teenage years to current. I am sure lacking a father, knowing a “good” / “true” man has a lot to do with the shaping of my sexual identity. I am sure that having a chaotic childhood instilled the grasping and grabbing of any attention given to me; even if it’s a falsified promise of love. It’s still touch, emotion, feelings for a brief moment. I am also sure that the reason I carry so much weight on me is so that men don’t see me as a ‘sex symbol’ anymore, they just see me as me.. or don’t see me at all. I’m pretty fucked up in the head.

Now, with my counselor’s help, I am able to recognize it for what it is. I am going to learn to readjust my thinking. I do know that I dream of hearth and home. I dream of a love of a life time. I have to let my convoluted ideas go. I have to relearn what love is.

First assignment from her, “Define what love is to you”. Yay.

Beauty · Belief · Blessings · Changes · Changing · Counseling · Depression · Forgiveness · Friends · Friendship · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing

. I walk alone .

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I had a chance to reconnect with someone from high school. Our paths crossed, but never connected. We were from different ends of the clique universe. She was a cheerleader and apart of the “in” crowd. I was from the group that got picked on by the in crowd. She, however, was never one to bully or cause problems. She was kind of quiet, from what I remember.

It’s now 21 years later and we’re adults. I posted on Craigslist for the need of strong female friends, purely platonic. I had a few answer, and one happened to be this woman from high school. At the time I did not know it. It wasn’t until we connected through facebook that it dawned on me.

We had a chance to meet up in person on Friday evening. We sat and talked for about an hour, just catching up. I asked her why our peers were relentless towards me. She could only answer for herself, “I thought you were just a loner.”

I’ve been thinking about this so much since Friday night. I wonder now how many perceived me as a loner? I was totally alone, and felt it. I was awkward and didn’t know how to connect to people. My mom says I was really unapproachable. I believe it’s heavily filtered over into my adult life. I still am a loner, and really dislike it. I’m an introvert but I believe it’s more for habit than actuality. I’d love to be able to go out and about without worrying about the crowds.

Is it possible to be one way because of habit, and not influenced by true self?

. Writing . · Beauty · Belief · Blessings · Body Positive · Buddha · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Counseling · Depression · Faith · Fear · Forgiveness · Friends · Friendship · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing · Health · Hope · Journey · Love · Music · My Life · Positivity · Romance · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Spirit · Suicide

. Drops of Jupiter .

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Life is way too short to waste…
Make every moment count.

This is so easily read,  just as easily as it is to type. Digesting it, however, is like taking a spoonful of medicine without the sugar aiding it on the way down; bitter, grainy and really hard to swallow. 

Make every moment count. Well, what happens if you wake up 39 years old and realize there are only a handful of moments you chose in your life to make count? What happens if you’re facing death, a mere 30 years if you’re lucky? What happens when mortality, and that fact that you do only have one life to live, knocks the wind out of you?

You become me. Broken, but healing. Lost, but slowly finding my way. Cynical and jaded, reclusively hiding from the world; one book, one netflix program, one video game at a time.

All I can think about, right now at 2:20 a.m. on Thursday, May 28, 2015, is that I really lived this life wrong. I have made so many horrible choices that just flushed the best years away. Most of those choices were for love. They were for men who presented love in a package that was beautifully wrapped, colorfully attired, and perfectly alluded. I was always able to see the best in even the worst of cases. What I was seeing was this brilliantly presented gift, what others could see was a torn trashbag barely holding the contents within. Because I was seeking love. I was searching for it, harder than finding a hidden bedazzled, heart-shaped geocache’. 

Irony here. My favorite quote from the Bible, “Do not arouse or awaken love until she so desires.” Song of Solomon 8:4. I first read it sitting in the most painfully dull church sermon. I absentmindedly thumbed through the Bible, and it jumped off the page at me. I was roughly 17 years old. I was eye deep in bad choices; trying to find validation and love through sex. “Do not arouse or awaken love…” Simply put, “Bitch, stop pushing. Stop fighting to be seen and loved. Stop arousing life with bad choices.”

 Choices. . . that’s a heavy word. C.h.o.i.c.e.s; each letter weighs upon my shoulders like Atlas’ own sphere he holds up. Atlas, who was punished for a choice he made with his loyalties. Atlas, whose common misconception is that he held up the Earth. Atlas held celestial spheres, a globe shape with stars, planets, systems. Humans make wishes every day, almost as many choices are made as wishes. We wish upon those stars, those celestial entities that burdens Atlas. 

If I could time travel, I would go back to pivotal moments in my life where I had made wishes upon stars, and would tell myself to pay attention to my choices, and not so much my wishes. I would travel to those moments when I had opportunities to be a stronger, vibrant, intelligent woman. I would whisper sweet nothings in my own ear, encouraging me to just love me, for everything that I am. I would hold my own hand, pat my own back, and hug myself when times were too rough. I’d offer an encouraging word when the negative in my head takes shape from the shadows around me, pulling in the dark, while it looms over me. 

I would be my own lover, my own soulmate.  

I would do all of this so that I could enjoy being me without the additional hurt I’ve put myself through; by my own words, by my own thoughts, by my own choices. I didn’t follow my creative path, because conforming was expected. I am having a midlife crisis, with a body that feels 60 years old and a mind that never emotionally matured passed mid 20s. 

I love that I am getting to know me. I love that I am working so hard at healing, counseling, and reshaping my thoughts about myself. I hate that it has taken me my whole life to get here. I hate that it has taken suicide attempts, self hate, and the desire to disappear to realize that, by God(dess), I am worth

Every breath.
Every step. 
Every fucking heart beat in my chest.
And every good choice I will make for myself from this point forward. 

Because, I am thankful to wake up and realize my big bang is still forming. That I can still create a livable, viable environment in the next 30ish years.

This point forward, I do not want any regrets. I do not want to look back and see my choices were horrible from puberty to death. I want contentment and genuine happiness; even though I’m clinically depressed. I know that I can be happy. 

A few songs of solar systems, choices, and being okay.

Beauty · Belief · Body Positive · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Depression · Friends · Friendship · Happiness · Healing · Health · Hope · Journey · Love · My Life · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love

. Fat Girl Walking .

“Each push forward leaves the former person you were in your wake, creating room for an improved version, one that is stronger, healthier and forward-looking, one who knows that anything is possible.”

A friend and I are going to start walking. It will be slow. I will be fat, slow and out of breath. But, I will be going, one footstep, one pant, one sweaty brow at a time. I am excited to start. I am also already exhausted at the mere thought of starting.

This friend and I have been posting motivational comments, pictures and stories with one another to try to get this going. Our schedules conflict somewhat, so it’s been hard setting a launch date. People can read, see and comment on our facebook posts; even people I no longer with to associate with. These people are mainly from high school.

One of them attempted to add me on facebook. Now, I have spent a great deal of time trying to purge those I no longer want in my life. I have been trying to replace them with a troupe, or tribe, of people that are more aligned with my kinship. Best quoted by my friend above, “The people in my life all share one thing in common…they are all genuine. Seriously real, empathetic awesome people. I have no place in my life for bigots or close-minded people… and all claim different religions, or spiritual callings… yet don’t push it on others.” I need these kinds of influences, and have worked hard over the last two years to develop the boundaries and strength to do this.

The one that attempted to add me, although she’s not a bigot or close-minded, she surrounds herself with individual from my high school years that tormented me. I tried to make amends with that part of my life by attending my 10 year high school reunion in 2004. I was met with comments like, “She got as big as a school bus.” and “Who does she think she is dressing like that?” So I’m here to say, “FUCK OFF” to that era and the people who represent that era of my life. They were NOT kind to me in high school, and never grew up 10 years later. I missed out on my 20th, because, no way was I going to harm my path of healing by attending something that makes me feel more like shit about myself. This person, represents that era, those people, and those wounds.

She messaged me and said she just wanted to root us on, be our cheerleaders. Ya know what, I don’t want a cheerleader who’s expecting me to fit into some ideal of weight loss from high school on. See, I’m a fat woman. I am fat. I weight 324 lbs. There, I put it out there. “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” I was large in high school, BUT NOT OBESE. I was thick, curvy and muscular from JROTC. But, I was called lard ass, fat ass, and cow by those very peers that later called me a school bus.

I am not walking to lose weight, for them or for me. I am not walking to “lose weight.” I am walking to increase my breathing function, especially due to my Sarcoidosis. I am walking to build my endurance. I am walking to free my mind of the thoughts that have been weighing me down; THAT’S THE ONLY WEIGHT I AM LOOKING TO LOSE.

See, I am happy with who I am. If I walk and never lose an ounce, I am more okay with that than anything else in my life. If I walk, and retain the body gifted to me by my maker(s), then by God, I WILL enjoy my BODY. Those that I choose to have in my life, well, they will also love me for who I am. They will not love me for trying to change myself… in anyway; weight, mind, body, soul. This is my life. I am okay with myself, body included.

All this comes down to one thing… You didn’t support me then, don’t try to support me now. I’ve created boundaries for myself. You’re not apart of that inner boundary I have. Thank you for your attempt to cheer me/us on, thank you for trying. But as I move forward into my 40s, I’m doing this my way.

. Writing . · Abuse · Beauty · Belief · Blessings · Body Positive · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Counseling · Depression · Faith · Forgiveness · Friends · Friendship · God · Gratitude · Happiness · Healing · Health · Hope · Journey · Love · My Life · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Spirit

. Bad Seed .

11054476_1042644772431636_2984777582140298064_nPLEASE CLICK THE PICTURE TO READ THE FULL ARTICLE. IT’S WORTH THE MOMENT TO READ THE EXPERIMENT AND READ THE OUTCOME. IT RESONATED WITH ME.
— In the pic below: Left facing apple got glowing, positive input. Right facing apple got all smack talk.
Words can make you sick. And heavy. And dark.
Words can make you light. And radiant. And energized.
Words infuse.
Words refuse.
Words bless.
Words protect.
Words energize.
Words heal.

MORE OF THIS ARTICLE CAN BE READ BY CLICKING THE APPLE PICTURE

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I really needed to read this today. WOrking and processing through my counseling appointment last week, which was geared around negative self talk vs. positive self talk, this was a visual example of what is taking place.
In an odd observation, I find it rather cathartic and hopeful that the “Bad Apple” is in the hand of the arm with a butterfly tattoo. It may be preserved, internally, as bad, but it has a chance of metamorphosis. The seeds are still there. The seeds can be replanted, thus creating a new growth.
We all have the potential for new growth. We just need to wash away the “rotten” words we keep fertilizing our mind, body and soul with. We need to turn over the soil, and learn to water, feed and encourage in a more positive manner.
Belief · Body Positive · Changes · Changing · Compassion · Counseling · Depression · Faith · Family · Fear · Forgiveness · Friends · Friendship · Gratitude · Healing · Health · Hope · Journey · Love · My Life · Positivity · Self Acceptance · Self Esteem · Self Love · Spirit

. Getting Happy with Life .


So, Easter came and went. I spent it with my mother watching a few movies. No Easter dinner, no treats, just a quiet evening with mom. I am so okay with that, no complaints here. I did notice, however, that a lot of friends posted a lot of family pictures; usually husbands or wives with kids running amuck.

Today is the day after Easter. Today, I am processing my thoughts and feelings. I am lonely. I wanted nothing more than to have someone amazing to hop in the car with me and go check out some ruins, ghost towns, old mills… anything worthy of photographing. I love my mom, but, it just didn’t meet the needs of my desires and dreams.

Today, because of the lonely, I found myself checking out Craigslist’s dating profiles. Don’t judge, I was curious. I got about five profile in and stopped. I literally said to myself out loud, “I don’t want this. I’m not ready for this.” However, in my head I was saying, “You’re too fat, you gargantuan lard ass.” Yes, literally those are the words and voices that go through my head.

I continually tell myself that once my mental and spiritual well being is back on a healthy path, my physical will follow too. Now, I am highly doubting this is even a possibility. I’ve been toying with the idea of a bariatric surgery. I Just don’t know anymore.

The only thing that I do know, for sure without a doubt, is that I AM continuing on the path of counseling and healing. I just told my counselor last week that, “If I die alone, I’ll be completely okay with that.” I feel there is strength and validity behind what I said. I mean it, to the fullest. But that does not alleviate the fact that I had a very lonely, “alone”, moment this weekend.

I am truly content with my dogs and my son. I can come and go. However, I would love to be able to have someone jump on board and travel with me…. someone besides my mother. I am almost damned near 40 yrs old. I want to see and photograph many things. . . with someone fun; a soul mate. This does not mean a lover. This is just some with the same vibe that can swoop in and fly with me.

Part of the problem being this age and finally finding myself, is that all my friends are already found; husbands/wives, kids, jobs they’ve held for 15+ years, a sense of self. I look at myself as a failure because of the sheer amount of jobs I’ve been on.

All of these negative thoughts and life identifiers is exactly why I need to stay put, stay in counseling and continue to grow…..

Alone.

(For now at least)
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Put it in your dream journal, you freaking hippie.

Today, has been the one year anniversary of my fleeing my abusive situation. One year. One year should be enough to toughen up, pull on my big girl panties and move forward. It has not been that simple. I am sure it would have been more simple if I hadn’t side tracked myself into believing I was ready for love again.
Michael, was a deceiver.. he was a liar in the purest sheep’s clothing. He led me to believe I was in a safe place to fully open and begin healing. He encouraged me to open, flourish heal. In a lot of ways he damaged me more than my batterer did. He took what was left of my trust, my faith, my ability to stand up and heal myself. And I allowed him to do it.
I need to get up off of this couch. I need to get a move on again. I am crippling my own damned self by this personal talk of ‘no good’, ‘no worth’ and all the other horrible things I say while sitting here slowly disabling myself.
I have fallen hard a few times these last few years, and even though I have gotten up each and every time, I have found it has been getting harder to do so. This last plummeting event has proven so. But you know what, I’m up. I may not be fully functioning, but I am up. I have risen. I have risen in my own way, in my own due time, but alas, I am standing.
I need to embrace my weird. I need to marry all my differences into one amazing being. I’m an odd duck, I know this. So I need to stop trying to conform and fit into some idea of what I “should” be and accept who I actually am. I’m hiding behind fear (so, so much fear) and I need to get up, this one last time, stay up and own who I am. I have written about this numerous times. I know this. I believe this on a intellectual level, I know this. It’s getting the rest of me to pull the line.
I queried a few of my friends to find out what they think of me, who they “see” me as:
* retrobilly
* rockabilly
* retro
* eclectic
* ghosts
* geek
* hippie (my son calls me hippie all the time)
This really is what is thought of me. I have convinced myself that they see ‘fat’, ‘pathetic’, ‘poseur’ … Nope. This is all my own crippling thoughts enabling my decline. Well, no more.
So, I need to get up and get dressed. Make an effort to embrace who I am. (of course, with all this said and done, tomorrow may be a very different view point.)