Secrets From A Fat.. SO?!

Archive for the month “June, 2011”

A Letter to the Not Thin Me

Dear Fatso,

I know that you like to sleep, because it feels so damn good most of the time, I know! But I would sincerely appreciate it if you would stop hitting the snooze alarm on my phone and wake the hell up! I have a lot of stuff that I would like to get done today but can’t because I can’t seem to pull your lazy butt outta this comfortable bed! I would also appreciate a little bit more energy in the mornings. I’m tired of just waking up and rushing to get ready for work instead of having time to do things.

I hate that you never have the energy to go out and do anything! I hate that you always make me yawn all day long and have bags under my eyes letting everyone see how tired I am. I know I don’t always make it easy but I feel as if I can’t win. I’m tired if I don’t sleep enough and I’m tired if I do. I feel as if I’m slowly getting more energy but common already, can’t we kick it up a notch?! I all but stopped drinking soda and I want those instant results!

I am sorry for poking fun and hating you over the years, when instead I should be loving every jiggle, every dimple and every curve. I’m sorry for thinking that you weren’t good enough. You are. And now that I see that, I think we can collaborate into becoming someone great. I just hope you see this and want to jump on board too. I know that your scared that your heart will get broken again. I know that you are afraid of letting other people see you. I know that you are afraid of people not accepting you. I know you want people to love you because your you, regardless of your weight. And I know that you use that weight as a tool to stick up your double chins and proudly dare for others to love you and your weight. People do.

 But here, see my hand and take it. I will walk with you and together we will face all the critics. You won’t go alone in this. We won’t go alone in this. Because believe it or not, I’m scared too. We have Chris and we are slowly letting friends and family into our lives outside this blog who care just as deeply and love you as much as I do. You will not be alone.

I just want to let you know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not listening. I’m sorry for ignoring you for so many years. You are beautiful, even when your hair is flying a million different directions because of frizz. Even when you cannot control it when it’s put back into a half bun. I want you to know that when I curl my hair, I curl it for you. I spend two hours of my time to show you how beautiful you are despite the weight. And the compliments you receive aren’t for me, they’re for you.

Together, we’ll do this. I’ll hold your hand on one side and Chris will be on the other. And I hope someday you will have the courage to take off your fat coat and come off to play. But there’s no hurry. No one’s dying, yet. I want us to start living but we can only do so one step at a time. And we will. And I know your trying. Everytime I pass by a mirror I start to see more and more of me in you and less of the you pretending to be me shine through. Just keep trying girl and don’t ever give up.

I love you fatso and someday there won’t ever be a need for me because you’ll have already changed. But I’ll still always be around to remind you to keep your stubborn lazy butt going.

Awaiting your reply,

Your “Thin” Alter Ego Lilly


Visions of Sugar Plums

When I was thirteen, I told myself that I would one day be rich. I didn’t know when that day would be, but I believed whole heartedly that it would happen. I believed it the way a VH1 celebrity brags about knowing they’d be famous in high school. Unlike most girls, I never wanted to marry into money. I wanted to be rich and successful on my own terms. And the funny thing is, even though I’m almost twenty-five, I still believe I will be.

I have dreams and ideas that I know will make me successful. These dreams have never been about the dollar signs, how much I can make profit, or even about being the best in the business. Being rich was just what would inevitably follow what would happen after becoming successful. I have the drive for what I want to do, and the passion to make it a reality. It’s not about claiming to be the best in the business but I know that I am talented and I know that my dreams make me happy. So being rich was just something I knew would one day happen to me because I could already see it happening to me.

Age 17 About 220lbs

But I’ve never once told myself I would be thin. I could never wrap my head around the vision. I’ve been fat for so many years, that I can’t even remember what it was like as a kid to slip on pants without a stomach being there in the way. I can’t even remember what it was like to slip on smaller fat clothes, clothes that are still fat, just to a lesser degree. But lesser fat me is an image I can picture because I’ve seen pictures of me what I used to look like. And that is the person I can strive to look like again, but never someone even at a thin 150lbs at my 5’6 frame.

I don’t know why I can’t have that same confidence about being thin as I do about someday being rich. I guess you could say, I always hoped being thin would happen but never really imagined happening. The same way when you buy a lottery ticket, you don’t really imagine winning, but you still buy a ticket anyway, just incase. I just kept being hopeful that without doing any real work involved, that my lucky number would come up!

But it’s not as simple as that. Life never is. The real reason why I’ve always known that I would someday be rich is because I know that I have the dedication and passion to put all the sweat, blood and tears into making them real. It never mattered to me how long it would take to make being rich a reality, because I saw myself at the end of that tunnel. Is it because I am having such trouble seeing myself at the end of that weight tunnel, I am subconsciously holding myself back? Their are questions I’m afraid of answering. I know some of those questions like, will a guy truly ever find me beautiful if he can’t love me fat?  are subconciously make me hold onto weight.

But, the more faith I instil in myself, the more I work through these questions and seem to just let go of all the nagging doubts. The more I seem to be coming out on top. Maybe it’s because I spend more time just trying to find an internal balance rather than obsessing about losing weight. I seem to find myself constantly wondering, did that get just smaller or am I imagining things? Of course I still think about weight and Chris has been great at keeping my mind upbeat and positive. I don’t know if it’s possible to think yourself thin, but I’m trying! I don’t have that vision of actually knowing I’ll be thin the same way the same way I know I’ll be rich, but who knows. Maybe one day I will!

Becoming Your Own Best Friend

I love how beautiful Portland get’s when it’s nice out. I love the way the sun shine entices Oregonians out of our holes, makes us rub our eyes and come out of hibernation. We whine and complain all year-long for this weather and once it appears, it’s like we’ve become reborn. Of course we’re still physically the same people but, suddenly, I’m no longer the only one smiling. When the majority of your year is covered in overcast and rain, you really learn to appreciate when the sun finally does decide to make an appearance.

I grew up in Los Angeles, which unless your from a country without TV or the Internet, is in California. I grew up in a single parent house hold and lived next door to my hippy, “peace, love and pot smoking”, grandparents my entire life. My house was built by my great grandpa who was an infamous rodeo cowboy. I had my whole world in this tiny protected little nook of Westwood. And I loved it. I knew their were kids who had it better than me and their were children who had it worse. I knew there were other lifestyles different from my own, not only in this city, but scattered all across country. But I couldn’t imagine a better world beyond the one I lived in and I never ever wanted to trade places.

When I got old enough, I was never afraid to just leave my house and go off and do something. I never had a shortage of things to do. Everything was in walking distance or a bus hop away. I could walk two blocks to my elementary school to play or reminisce. I would just start walking and spend hours exploring every inch of my neighborhood border’s until I hit a major street like Wilshire Blvd. I would walk up Wilshire to Westwood Blvd and to the left I could go to the Pet Store, 7-11, see a movie at CREST or spend countless hours in a nook inside of Boarder’s bookstore. I could even pop in to say hello to Maryilyn Monroe’s grave. To the right was Westwood Village, UCLA, countless movie theater’s, music stores and odd over priced stores like Ahh’s.  Sometimes I made the long trek to the Westwood Rex which was a park and community center. And if I was in the mood, I could hop a bus that went to Santa Monica and either go to Third Street Promenade or the Beach.

The point is, I wasn’t afraid to do things alone. I did them all the time by myself. And when I did do something with someone, it was usually just with my best friend Leah and sometimes Rori. I was alone, but I found a way to keep myself company. I found a way to be my own friend. I’m not saying this was the greatest of ideas as I probably should have been pushed to make more friends than spending so much time in my own little world. I probably should have been pushed the older I got to join more activities, to expand my ‘social network’. But at the same time, learning to be your own friend is a trait that I think is highly over looked.

After I moved to Portland, you could say I was slighty agoraphobic as I hated leaving my house. And while I was in still in high school my life consisted of school and home. With each neighborhood I moved to, I got to know the area a little bit, but not much further than the boarder’s of my neighborhood. By 2006 I had pretty much stopped trying to explore my neighborhoods. I learned enough to get by but I had barely gotten to know Portland. I didn’t do anything fun or touristy or make much of an effort to really try to get to know the city. I liked it, and I liked the people in it, but I didn’t let Portland become apart of me.

I did this because I was pretty much afraid. I was afraid of people seeing me. I was ashamed of how fat I was and too afraid to explore anything on my own. My mother didn’t have time for me and I didn’t have anyone besides Tony to talk to. So when Tony took the three-hour bus ride on Greyhound from Seattle, I always wanted to go out and do things. But we never did. We talked about them but all we ever did was going to a mall, watch a movie, go to dinner and come home. We spent the rest of the time in my room or living room inside the house. I’m not blaming him for our lack of activity, this wasn’t even his city!

And it wasn’t mine yet either. I could feel the heart of Portland, the way you feel the bass in a stereo but I couldn’t hear the music. I couldn’t hear the music within her that brought so many people alive. The trouble was, it wasn’t like she wasn’t extending her hand out, I was the one who just wasn’t open to be receptive to see it. For a small city, Portland offer’s a hundred great things to do and a hundred great people to meet everyday if you choose to take her up on it. It was just for the most part, I didn’t want to.

During my teenage years, there are very few experiences and memories I remember having of just enjoying my city. I remember the cute guy at Coffee People who whenever I ordered hot chocolate with my friend Miss V, he would do something fun and crazy like put gummy bears, whip cream and cinnamon without even having to ask (or pay extra) for it. I remember ditching class to go down to Powell’s books and spend hours loading my arms up with more books than my arms could carry. I remember sitting on a bench waiting for the 51 bus in front of what used to be known as PG&E Park and a woman walking up to me just to give me a flower for no reason.

Those are the moments that made me fall in love with Portland. Because I knew for a city, she is beautiful. Those are the moments I am constantly trying to recapture. Do you hold your breath as you go into a tunnel? Do you get butterflies in your stomach as you try to both concentrate on your wish and trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of not breathing? Do you try to hold on and make yourself hold out for just for a little longer. Then just when you think you can’t make it, you emerge from the darkness and into a light do you let out a silly sigh of relief? To me, that is Portland moments in a nutshell. She fills me with butterflies of excitement and I try to hold onto them for as long as I can till I’m about to explode.

What I don’t understand, why am I so afraid? This city accepts me, I fit in and I love it. I just don’t go exploring by myself anymore. I get afraid or I talk myself out of doing things I want to do. I talk myself into finishing a blog entry (which by the way was on the to-do list) instead of jumping cannonball style into a pool on the gorgeous first day of summer. I talk myself into staying in and playing video games instead of running errands because I don’t want to go by myself. There are afternoons where I want to just go downtown and photograph parts of Portland simply because I want to see the city through her eyes. But I don’t because I’m scared of how silly I will look to other people as a fat chick taking random pictures.

I get caught up in my own inadequacies and fears of being alone these days. What used to make me feel so secure, like in Los Angeles, no longer has that same effect. While I am finally learning to not only make new friends in Portland, but to start making plans to go out with those people, I seem to have forgotten how to be my own friend. I get too caught up with how I look to stranger’s. And the only defense I have to that is when I am out and about having a good time with somebody else. It’s like that extra person unintentionally acts like a shield barrier to where it’s easier to block everybody else.

So now that I have called myself out on the issue, I have no more excuses. I don’t want to be alone but I also don’t want to be afraid or simply just say I don’t feel like doing something because I don’t want to be by myself. Because what is so bad about being in my own company? Is it because when I have no one to try to charm and make smile, I get lost in my own thoughts. I think it’s time to start making my own memories, ones just for me. Ones like where I did in Los Angeles, hidden in a nook with a book at Boarder’s. That girl is still somewhere inside me, I just have to find her.

Can You Forgive If You Can’t Forget?

People have commented to me many times about how patient I am with others. I’ve also have, friends, family coworkers and, heck even customer’s ask a few times a week why I smile so much. They me ask what get’s me through the day to be able smile so much. I sort of touched an aspect of that a few days ago with my entry “Keep it Simple Stupid“. I explained that while I’m not a religious person (I don’t believe in God) love is a belief I can jump on board with. But love is a very broad topic. Part of love is being able to open your heart enough to forgive. Or as a great quote I read,

“Altruism, compassion, and forgiveness may be healing for both the giver and the recipient because giving to others with an open heart helps heal the isolation and loneliness that separate us from each other. When we forgive others, it doesn’t excuse their actions; it frees us from our own stress and suffering. These allow for deep levels of intimacy and community that are powerfully healing. When you meet hatred with love, and fear with hope, this transforms you, as well as those around you.”- Marianne Williamson

And love just feels good. Forgiving feels good. Remembering that other people’s flawed tendencies reminds me that they (like me) are human. Other people are stubborn, other people have bad days, other people are rude and sometimes other people are just plain selfish at times. These are behavior’s I can forgive because they are human. Yes, it bother’s me when I’m constantly interrupted or when people make me feel like my point of view isn’t right. But instead of getting mad at them, I take into account of the factors. Are they just normally overly dominate of a conversation or are they just in the heat of the moment excited? Am I making myself being heard or am I letting myself lay by the wayside. And when people insist that their point of view is the correct one I remember this, you can’t argue with a brick. The point is, people have flaws. And so do I. Sometimes I’m the one who interrupts too much and insist that my point of view is the right one. Sometimes I’m the one who doesn’t realize when I’m being rude. And I guess I just want people to forgive and love my flaws too.

But sometimes I’m just not able to practice what I preach and instead I foster a grudge. It doesn’t happen often but when grudges do happen, I can hold onto it for years. Like I said, it rarely get’s to that extreme, but it has. I don’t mean to and sometimes I can’t even remember why I’m holding onto said anger in the first place! All I can remember is just an intensely strong disdain for a particular person. Yes, I realize I’m being silly and yes I realize I’m being stubborn for not being the bigger person and moving on. I wish no ill will towards anyone but sometimes I just get sick and tired of always having to be the bigger person both physically and emotionally. So a grudge will happen.

Most of the time I am a rational person willing to try to see someone else’s perspective. But sometimes I just want to be selfish. When I’m in a rare fight with someone, sometimes it would be nice if the other person make the first attempt at reconciliation instead of me having to be the peace maker. Someone to stretch out their hand (metaphorically) and say, Sarah I’m sorry, let’s work this out.

This whole topic of forgiveness started playing on my mind when someone I have been holding a grudge towards, started simply acting nice to me again. It baffled me and yes, I was a little wary and pessimistic towards such a new-found generosity. Because that sort of behavior just doesn’t happen to me. Only people I ever care about hurt me. It used to be where I let just about anybody in, and I still do to an extent. But if I start to suspect that you aren’t as honest as you appear to be, I slam the door of my heart until I see otherwise.

But back to the topic. The point is, nobody does try to reach out. What happens, when you can see someone actually trying to in their own way reconcile? Do you trust them? Whose to say anything will be different this time around? Especially when the words you want to hear are not spoken and your needs fall short? Do you let this person in their own vain way attempt to woo you? And because you don’t hear the words you need to hear, can you forget the past?

Anytime I’ve ever gotten into a unpassable argument with someone, I always tried my best to just emotionally let go. Sometimes you just can’t win and sometimes you just can’t make someone want to be friends. Those are actions I am familiar with and are able to forgive. Like I know my ex Tony will never want to try to work things out and try to be friends. And even though that hurt more than I care to admit to, I have accepted and forgiven the consequences of that choice of his. I can’t make someone want to care, even if it breaks my heart. So if we were to go off that example, if he were to call and say he wanted to talk, could I forgive him again if I have trouble forgetting our past?

In any fight, there are two sides of a story. And after a while from most arguments, I eventually try to put myself in the shoes of the other person. I ask myself questions. Where was I being unreasonable and how were they? Why do I feel justified in making such accusations and was I right for pointing them out? Was I hitting below the belt? I’m not saying I’m perfect at this logic but I try. It get’s harder because I usually don’t the other person’s perspective so I don’t ever fully know where I hurt them and vice versa. So I try to realize when I’m being a little bit over dramatic, a bit too preachy or when I’ve crossed a line. I try to realize where I’m at fault but where they fall short as well. I feel like a crime scene investigator trying to piece back together a murder with only half of the clues.

And I will over analyze these thoughts, and perceived wrongs for ages until I can let go that they will never be resolved and I will never know what if. So in that aspect, I can let go and forgive the “what if”. I can forgive because like the number of licks to the center of a tootsiepop, we’ll never know. But what happens when someone does come back to try to make things right; in their own actions instead of words? I’m not sure. This is unfamiliar territory for me. Apart of me is wary, wondering what this person’s motives are, if it’s to truly be kind or because they are two faced.

It’s too soon for me to start to make up my mind. It’s in my nature to forgive and in honest truth, I want to reach out my hand in friendship but I’m afraid of being bit again. I’m afraid of my feelings being stomped on again and if I’m being honest here, I resent the fact they never once said that they were sorry. I want to forgive, but I’m having trouble forgetting.

If You Don’t Stand For Something….

I used to think, that unless I cocked my head ever so slightly in a photo, no matter how I smiled, that photo would come out ugly. I couldn’t seem to stand straight without feeling like a solider and I couldn’t make myself do a cheesy pose like put my hands on my hips without feeling ridiculous. So I stood there, cocked my head and smiled. Because it made me feel pretty.

I know some girls like to do crazy things to make themself feel sexy in a photo, like the duck face. If your unfamiliar with the duck face, it’s when a woman pucker’s her lips in order to give the appearance of bigger lips. Coming from a woman with some of the smallest lips on the planet, the duck face is not sexy. I find the look incredibly stupid and I think women look like idiots when they attempt to pull it off. But that’s just my opinion. I’m all for whatever makes a woman feel better about her image, even if it does look stupid.

But the point is, whither your cocking your head, puckering your lips, tilting the camera to the side for a up close face shot, or holding the camera slightly above your head, these camera tricks don’t really flatter the illusion we try so hard to maintain. Sure, sometimes they can look cute. But at times it’s also like you invent a person who doesn’t really exist.

I’ve surfed through enough people’s photos online, ones where they’re clearly being goofy and still thought, yeah okay that photo still looks like them. But I have also looked at photos where people are obviously trying so hard to take a perfect photograph of themself that they’ve done anything but. And I’ve cruelly laughed at those people. Mostly because I didn’t care much for them to begin with but also because it felt sinfully good to let the not often maliciousness out of my system by mocking their stupidity. I call it detoxing.

I’m starting to let myself grow out of that photo taking phase. Instead, I will usually ask Chris if he will take my photo. I like somebody else taking my photo because it let’s me see the perspective through somebody else’s eyes. No, I don’t like seeing my flaws all out there and exposed. For example, I hate my pale white flabby arms and double chin in that picture. But it let’s me know, “Hey, this is me. This isn’t somebody else I’m trying to pretend to be.”

To quote one of my favourite musicals Rent, “Take me baby, or leave me.” But I’m not asking anyone else to like what they see or to love me, I’m only asking for me to be able to do that. I’m asking myself to take what I see, or leave it. I choose to take it. And I don’t see how I, or anyone, can truly love themself if they don’t love the ugly in themself as well as the beautiful.

So girls, stop making the duck face! Stop making almost every photo of yourself just of your face and tits. Start loving yourself  and beliving that all your flaws, even the ones where one eye is half open and drool is piddling out of the corner of your mouth. Stop trying to make your virtual photo life better than your real one.

Don’t Think About Pink Elephants

First off, I can’t believe this is my thirtieth entry! I know thirty entries is not that many in the retrospect of blog entries, it’s roughly a month’s worth of entries, but it means something to me. It means that I have stuck with writing for four months instead of writing for a few weeks and giving up. What’s mostly been keeping me writing lately is not having the pressure to write everyday and writing when I feel inspired.

But today represents thirty entries of thoughts, ideas and most importantly, confessions I’m releasing. I’ve talked about my weight, boys, spilt guilty secrets, talked about my family, my not so impressive cooking skills, alter ego’s but, most of the time talked a lot of silly nonsense. And that’s only the gist of what’s been said in thirty entries! I just want to thank all the reader’s who have stuck with me so far and read all the entries but also welcome to the reader’s just tuning in. It really means so much that your here. I know not all my words have been pretty, or confessions people wanted to read, but I try to make up for it with my silliness. Thank you for those that stuck with me and watched me grow. I still have a lot of learning to do. So, with that being said, today’s blog entry.


In the movies, when one actor yells to another not to look down while crossing some dangerously high cliff or bridge, the immediate effect for the other actor is to look down and freak out. Donkey shrieked in fear, “Shrek, I’m looking down!”Well, that’s how I feel about food, particularly soda. I don’t know why I am so addicted to this particularly drink, but I suspect it has to do with the sugar. Because I don’t really like the taste of carbonation in any drink besides Coke, Pepsi and Apple Cider. I know, I’m weird, so sue me.

Drinking soda has gotten to be a problem. I crave it everyday. I don’t get headaches like I hear other people do when they cut the caffeine out of their diet but, I do feel a drain on my energy. I feel tired all the time. I feel sad, like I’m one of those girlfriend’s who abandon’s her best friend for her new boyfriend. I don’t think that thought can truly be felt by anyone except by those who have felt addiction. I start to miss soda and let it fill my every thought till I finally cave and tell myself ‘Oh just one won’t hurt.’

But,  it does hurt and it hurts because instead of letting the addiction fade out of my system, I reintroduce it and setup the cycle for addiction all over again. And it’s hard. It’s hard not to think about soda. It’s hard not to think about food. But like I promised myself last entry, I would talk when I was going through cravings. Although I don’t have much of a support system yet (I’m working on building that), I am letting myself feel the urges instead of repressing them. I am asking myself “why do I want this” and I am expressing the urge when I want to throw in the towel, with Chris.

And do you know what Chris tells me every time I tell him I want a soda?Don’t think about pink elephants.

“Huh?” I asked, not comprehending the first time.

“Don’t think about pink elephants,” he plainly tells me. “Now you can’t stop thinking about pink elephants.”

This wasn’t exactly true, I was thinking about pink elephants drinking soda, but his logic clicked. I still had the craving for forbidden food, but I was thinking about pink elephants. The point is, when you tell yourself not to do something, whether it’s not looking down or not thinking about pink elephants, it’s almost impossible to stop yourself.

Today I put this logic into practice when I almost bought myself a coke slurpee. I wanted that slurpee. I could feel my body tense in anticipation at the first cold caffeinated sweet sip and the sigh of relief afterwards. No, I did not just pull a Meg Ryan. But I let myself feel the craving and how badly I wanted it. Then I gave myself choices. What about orange juice? No, too expensive. What about apple juice? Same sugar quality as drinking a soda and twice the price at a convince store. Milk? Not while I have a cold. Water? Not in the mood. I told myself that I didn’t have the money to be spending almost three dollars on a drink I could get for half the price from a slurpee.

So, using the logic of not having something because it was too expensive or too much sugar, I walked past the soda section of 7-11 and to the juices, just to be proven wrong about what I told myself I couldn’t have. And lo and behold, there was an apple juice for cheaper than a slurpee would have been and made with real sugar and not high fructose corn syrup. Sure, it was in a much smaller quantity and not really that much cheaper, but it was good enough logic for me. I knew I didn’t need the massive size a slurpee would have brought, and for me, that was enough. It was enough of a reason to stick with my choice of apple juice.

Sure, it was sugar. But the point is, it wasn’t soda. It made it easier to resist the single can of Diet Pepsi I saw floating around for grabs in the break room at work. It made it easier to try to apply this logic to other parts of my life, and job. It made it easier when I get that craving again, I can ask myself why do I want this? How can I substitute this for a healthier choice? Then most importantly, think about pink elephants.

The Cost of Being Fat

Everything has value even the things Discover declares priceless. Because all things have worth. Nothing is priceless. And whither you label something priceless or worthless, what you label has value within itself.

So with that logic, what is the price of being fat? What does it cost and what is the value of fat? Like a bad house in a good neighborhood, does it’s equity decrease?  When I sit here and think about my life, the cost of being fat has run me up more than my food bill. Being fat has cost me my health, my happiness and my wallet. I have sacrificed memories and experiences all because of my weight. I’d say that’s a pretty high bill that I’ve accumulated. And while I wouldn’t necessarily say it has decreased my value, it seems to have decreased the value of my life. But how? I’ve always prided myself to be good with money but… how did I get into such a debt of fat?

To simply admit that eating is something out of my power to control is hard, to say the least. Because I’m the sort of person who is used to expecting the unexpected. For instance, there are many aspects of my life where I’ve just grown accustomed to not having control over. I can’t predict the weather, but I can bring my jacket incase it rains. I can’t foresee transit not running on schedule, but I can plan ahead to leave the house earlier than I have to so I am not late for work. I can’t control when I will get sick but I can take care of my body before and during a cold. I can take tons of cold medicine and get lots of rest so I will be healthy. I can’t control other people’s moods, but I can control them from affecting my day.

And admitting that I don’t have as much control over something as simple as what food I put in my body, leaves a very bitter taste in my mouth. Because I like to think that I am strong and, in many ways I am. I am strong enough to know that I am resilient to bounce back from all the mistakes I make. It’s not making mistakes that I’m afraid of because I know I am good at learning from those. It’s just hard for me to admit that I’m helpless. It’s hard to admit that I am helpless over resisting the temptation of food.

Because when I want to eat something, I either rationalize said food or I’ll just say, “hell with it” and eat it anyway. There is no middle ground. I can go a few days without a single soda and finally say “Oh, just one won’t hurt.” Then I’ll be thrown back into the same repeative pattern. I realize that half the battle is just recognizing this behavior, but it doesn’t make me feel much better. Because I pride myself for trying to be happy with my body and who I am, and most of the time I am. But being comfortable with who I am is still a new process for me.

And part of being comfortable with the new me is admitting I have flaws and tendencies that are not… pretty. A part of accepting who I am is admitting that I am helpless over my addiction with food. And a part of my addiction to food is just admitting to bad and reoccurring habits so I can take responsibility for my actions.

So please, without judgement, I admit to the following…

  • I admit to have spent more than $200 for only two weeks worth of groceries.
  • I admit to drinking a twelve pack of soda within two days.
  • I admit to avoiding formal events IE: Prom, dances, graduations, because I was embarrassed about literally having nothing formal to wear and being too embarrassed to shop for it.
  • I admit to not wearing the following clothing: shorts, dresses, bathing suits, skirts and any shirts with less than a three-quarter sleeve cut because I was self-conscious about my body.
  • If you are a woman and are, or have, ever been skinner than me, I have envied you.
  • If you are a woman and are, or have, been prettier than me, I have envied you. 
  • I admit to comparing myself to every girl I see.
  • I admit to avoiding people and letting people get too close because of being fat.
  • I admit to laying on my bed to try to zip up jeans that don’t fit, and cried over it.
  • I admit that every time my pants went up a size, to be in denial and blame the pant maker.
  • I admit to blaming a store for not being able to find anything in my size or not having a good selection.
  • I admit to eating food in my mother’s fridge simply because I knew it would go to waste if I didn’t eat it.
  • I admit to binge eating food to cover emotions I didn’t want to feel.
  • I admit to glaring with hatred every time has ordered water after I have ordered a large coke.
  • I admit to coming close to hating a person each time I see someone eating just a salad for a meal.
  • I admit to being jealous of every weight loss success story I hear. And like catching the bouquet at a wedding, I hope it will happen to me next.
  • I admit to eating after I’m full, just to clean my plate.
  • I admit to kissing men, just to feel attractive.
  • I’ve made the same New Years Resolution since I was fifteen. To lose weight.
  • I admit to being paranoid, wondering if people have gossiped about my weight.
  • I admit to taking diet pills as a teen because I thought they would be the ‘cure all’ magic.
  • I admit to trying to find my best angle in the mirror to hide body flaws like my chin, stomach and butt.
  • I admit to standing next to bigger people than me so I will seem skinnier.
  • I admit to destroying all photos of myself I deemed unflattering.
  • I admit to avoiding my photograph being taken because I was ashamed of my apperance.
  • I admit to using food simply as an activity.
  • I admit to spending hours at work just thinking about food. About what I was going to eat next, for dinner that day and brain storm ideas for meals for the week.

I’m almost positive I’m leaving things out, and I’ll make sure to add them as I go. I know just admitting to these tendacies won’t make them go away. Instead, I promise instead of trying to suppress these addictions that I will feel them, as much as they make my skin crawl, and feel them. I promise to build a support network so that when I am feeling jealous or craving a trigger food I will tell someone. Because I realize, I can’t do this on my own anymore. And the only way to get healthier is by letting myself get sick. The only way I can get stronger is by letting myself be weak. It’s a logic that feels a little queer to me but, I promise to try.

Saying Goodbye to Unrequited Affairs

When I was eleven years old, I had my first crush. He had dirty blonde hair, brown eyes and looked like a monkey. I was absolutely head over heels in love. Whose to say what or why we’re attracted to the people we like. All I know is that I was eleven years old and had just experienced my first heartbreak from an unrequited love. Deep down inside, I knew he would never feel the same way. But, like most girls, I kept telling myself if I could only make him like me, then everything would be okay.

I was only just a Princess, searching or her Prince. But unlike most girls, I wasn’t in a rush to find him. I knew I would have to kiss a lot of frogs before I found my Prince because, my grandma told me so. And my grandma was the Queen of Westwood. And even though the boy had broken my heart, and the pain hurt more than anybody could ever prepare me for, I knew because of my grandma’s words that I’d be okay.

When I was twelve there was Alex, who was like a persian Hugh Grant. I stalked his number from the Parents night sign in book (where I wasn’t supposed to be). I called the number twice and threw it away. All I can say is that I am so glad I grew up in the last generation before caller ID! In seventh grade there was George, who was a year ahead of me and the only time we spent together was in student council. He looked like Joseph Gordon Levitt. I squealed with delight as George signed my yearbook at the end of the year but I was sad to know that was the last time I’d ever see him.

Then Tony came along. Since I have to be honest here, I wasn’t physically attracted to Tony when we first dated. But I loved his personality. He had this way of charming whoever he talked to within five minutes. And I knew anyone who let him get away was a fool. Tony was smart and cool in the way I can never be. He was hard-working, kind and a family man. I just wasn’t physically attracted to him for the majority of our relationship. I wasn’t repulsed but my heart wasn’t doing backflips. I did love him though, more than he will ever understand. I just didn’t understand what was wrong with me.

 The first experience I had out of my eight year relationship with Tony was with a man I call Mr. Cocky. The name should pretty much speak for itself. But he was exciting for me, or maybe he just a flavor I had never tried before. I guess I should have known better, that he was more in it for the conquest than actual dating. While he semi-broke my heart, he also showed me how to be tough. He told me how to hide my heart and all the flaws that scream as bright red flags to make men run away screaming. I guess you could say he took pity on me because, as he liked to brag, he was my “rebound”.

I didn’t take Mr. Cocky’s words fully to heart until after I dated a man I call Mr. Monkey…  and what can I say about this man? He made my heart feel whole. He was intelligent, extremely kind, hard-working and handsome to boot (in a nerdy sort of way). In truth, it was me who probably ruined any prospects of a relationship working out. I was still too emotionally needy. I wanted someone with mostly all the answers. I wanted someone who could fix me.

But instead of facing the truth, I just vowed to myself to never let myself get close enough to be hurt again. I had already rightfully lost Tony, the closest thing I had to a best friend. We were still talking, but it wasn’t the same. I was lost and I was lonely. So I kept putting myself out there, praying that something would click. Hoping that somewhere things would change. I’d like to think that I was putting myself out there looking for love, but I think I was really looking for a friend.

And while one morning I woke up and clicked that I was the one who needed to get my life together instead of waiting for someone to fix it for me, it didn’t seem to stop me from guarding my heart from men. I was barely phased when I ended things with a man I call Eggy in August. I wanted to let myself fall but, I could recognize the patterns and resisted. But it’s easy to resist against a man who you barely see and rarely makes any effort to talk to you.

There is one more guy, but at risk of losing my job, I’m not going to go into it. Except I will say that it was my fault how things turned out. Not all my fault, but most of it… probably. I tried too hard to fight against my feelings to not knowing how to turn off the emotional faucet.

The thing all these guys have in common though, is me. Each one of these men made me question what was wrong with me? They have made me question my self-worth, of why I wasn’t good enough or what they were looking for. They have each in their own way, made me have resentments against them. I have wondered countless times of what if’s. What if I had done this, what if I had done that? What if I had held back a little bit more? Remained a little bit more mysterious? What if I were thinner, prettier, funnier, cooler, etc? The questions about my self worth never seemed to end!

The ironic thing, for as coo-coo as I make myself about a boy I like, around the boys I could give a damn about, I act exactly as the girl I wish I was. Around the boys I’m not interested in, I come off as a girl who is playful, flirty and silly. To them I am independant and confident. I don’t come off as a girl who gets clingy or over emotional. These guys tell me that I am a catch! It’s just usually these are the guys I don’t want to get caught for. And I resent myself for not being able to act like this around the boys I do like.

I resent the stereotype that a guy has to make the first move. I resent the fact that women are supposed to give men something to chase in order for men to like us. I’ve grown enough to know that just because I’m interested in a guy, doesn’t mean I’ve been “caught”. I resent games and I resent that I can’t just walk up to a boy and say,“I like you. Would you like to go out?”  I resent that in order for a guy to be interested in me, I’m supposed to show a persona that’s only half me. The charm of smiling, flirting, and the restraint of not talking too much only lasts for so long.

I am grown up now and have been long done with playing Princess. I never did like the fact that the Princess was supposed to wait around for Prince Charming to get off his lazy butt and ‘save her’. Growing up, waiting wasn’t a strong virtue of mine. Neither was being saved. If I saw something I wanted, I went after it. And if I didn’t get it, I got over it because I realized maybe it wasn’t something worth having. I knew that as long as I gave what I cared for a 110% that trying and caring was always better than trying and being afraid. I get scared but eventually I’ll tell myself, “Hey, what do I have to lose?’ and go for it.

So this is me, saying goodbye too all those affairs that ended one sided. I could say something corny like it’s their lost, but that’s something I already know. Because I know I’m a catch. Because I am the girl who may talk too much, but I listen just as intently and openly. I am the girl who no matter what kind of relationship, platonic or romantic, will try to bring smiles, laughter, and sillyness into. So goodbye to all the boys who made me feel like I did something wrong, or made me feel like something was wrong with me. When all I did was… be myself.

Keep It Simple, Stupid!

“I put my heart in your hands… and together we can do what we could never do alone.”

A wise man once told me that over eating is the worst addiction you can have. Worse than any narcotic, alcohol or nicotine addiction you could ever have. Because while over eating rarely leads to dangerous shock withdrawal symptoms, you do need to eat to live! This man then pointed out to me, what if you needed to drink alcohol to survive everyday? Like water! Overeaters have to eat because we must eat to survive! Our bodies cannot function without food. It’s not exactly a disease you can quit by going cold turkey. In fact I rather have that turkey smothered in hot gravy and eat the whole bird please!

We all know about the dangers of eating out. We know that our portions are over sized, covered in grease, fat, and honestly, who the hell knows what else! But what about when you’re at home? While the over sized portions in restaurants are enormous, there is at least the clink of your fork hitting the bottom of the plate to let you know it’s empty and knowing you’ll have to fork over your wallet if you want more. When I moved to Portland, I was introduced to my god mother’s home cooked meals. The problem with that is that there was always the promise of not only seconds, but thirds. Hell, sometimes fourths! It’s after you’ve eaten the entire casserole dish set for eight or till you’ve eaten the whole package of hot dogs, plus fries, some chips, three sodas and half a pint of ice cream do you realize, god I shouldn’t have eaten that.

Maybe because when fat people are out in public, we’re shamed if we’ve eaten the whole plate, or if we’re not shamed, know we can take it home, eat it secretly eat it there and then have more. I am ashamed to admit that when I was living with the ex I was ashamed how much food we went through! And it was mostly eaten by me. That doesn’t include the two or three nights a week we ate out nor when we went over to his parents for dinner. We didn’t eat to live, we lived to eat! It’s no wonder that in just under seven months of living outside my parents home, I gained almost thirty pounds!

I technically live at my parents house now, at least until I move in with my future roomies. But my time is divided up between traveling back and forth from their house, work, and Chris‘s. In a given week I spend about a day or two a week at my mother’s house. Without dwelling too far into my parents home life, I find whenever I go “home”, I find myself habitually living to eat again. I don’t know how it happened, but ever since I met Chris, I’ve slowly transitioned myself to eat to live. It’s something I always wanted to learn how to do, but whenever I try, I almost always end up bingeing so badly after a couple of weeks that when I do fall off the wagon and crash, I regained the three or two pounds it took those two weeks to lose. I mostly have Chris to thank for learning how to eat to live.

While he’s never once commented on my weight (smart man!) or judge me on my food choices, he’s both unintentionally and intentionally helped me lose weight. I on the other hand, feel like the bad influence and have made him slightly gain weight! It’s not just how he always lets me have first plate of food, it’s the fact that I always feel full around him. Maybe it’s the fact he cooks so well, as it is his given profession, that I feel fuller faster and the need to eat less? Who knows. What I do know is that it’s nice to finally have someone fighting in my corner. I know that I am strong enough to accomplish anything I set my mind to, but its nice to know I have someone sitting in my corner to catch me when I stumble. Someone who when I declare my intention for the millionth time to restrain from soda’s will say, “I’ll give up soda too, for you.” Simply because he knows how hard it is for me to resist the temptation when it is around the house.

I’ve never had someone do that for me, in any relationship. Someone who, when I ask, “Hey, can we do grilled chicken salads for dinner tomorrow night?” Automatically say, “Sure, I think I can make that.” etc and so forth. I haven’t quite mastered this whole, eating to live thing but I’m starting to. And I think it’s because I am finally getting the emotional support that I need. I never realized how much my eating depended on not only my own will power but the support of those around me. I always felt that if I could, by myself, only gather that will power to just stop, then I’d be cured. But no, the answer is simple. The answer is love. Okay, that’s cheesy but often the simple answers are. And as I’ve been told, keep it simple stupid!

The answer is love. Loving not just yourself but having people who love you enough to truly see what you need and not what they think you need. On my way home yesterday, I began to think about faith. I am not a big believer in faith. I don’t believe in God but I’m not an atheist. I know that there is something out there and that we are all connected to it through our energy. That I can believe. Love is something I can believe in. Not co-dependant Twlight EMO love but real unconditional love. Love enough to love myself and all my flaws. Love enough to believe someone else will too. Love enough to let other’s live their own life and help where I can. Love enough to let unrequited and old wounds go. Love enough to let new love in. And as I was thinking these thoughts yesterday and listening to Paramore- the Only Exception, I saw a bluejay. Without going into too much detail, the running joke is that whenever my family see’s a bluejay, we say hi to grandma, because she insisted that she was going to be reincarnated into a bluejay. At that little sign, I knew I had come to the right conclusion. Grandma flew away as I said goodbye and I smiled. I think that this something I can jump on board with.

Weight Wait, Don’t Tell Me!

You could say that I’m obsessed about my weight. I think about it… a lot.

It’s a constant conflicting battle I’m fighting with myself. On one hand I absolutely refuse to jump on any weight loss band wagon or diet trends and on the other hand I find myself in a constant war of fat. If Pat Benatar’s battlefield is love, then mine is definitely about weight. It’s a constant struggle, over the way my pants fit – or don’t fit, what or how much to eat. The angel and devil sitting on my shoulder usually have to rationalize my behavior. I am happy with the progress I’ve made so far and even more proud of myself for not gaining any weight back.

But I still unjustly and harshly over analyze every single curve, every roll and the way my butt wiggles. And it’s not fair to my body. My body didn’t just wake up one morning and decided, Hey! Let’s get really really fat! No, that was me. I put every morsel, sometimes sinfully delicious, sometimes shudderingly gross food, into my mouth. No one made me do it. There was no one holding a gun up and saying “Eat or Mr. Snuggles gets it!” Sometimes I ate because I was hungry and at other times, I ate because I was bored and thought I was hungry.

And I know I am one of those weird fat girls who likes knowing her actual weight number. I’m one of those girls who can call herself fat without meaning it in a degrading way. Some people find that sad or that I’m trying to pretend to be strong. Or saying that I’m okay with who I am, fat and all, for shock value. And I’m not. Or maybe I’m projecting those opinions onto others. Maybe it has nothing to do with what I think they’re thinking and simply they just don’t know how to react to such a bold statement like, “I’m fat. And I’m okay with that.”

A delicious grilled chicken salad Chris made from scratch

The normal response among woman is to degrade herself when she isn’t perfect and to expect sad sympathy replies and nonchalantly shrug the cries of compliments off. But when I say that I’m not purposely trying to lose weight, just eat healthier, I’m not sure people know how to respond to that except for a confused and half-hearted cheer of, “good for you.” And I wonder if they truly believe that. Because how often has that line been used before? Yes, I would like to lose weight and hope I do. But it’s not my goal.

 I’m not looking to brag about my healthy eating either. But when you shop where you work, it’s kind of hard for people not to notice what you’re buying. It’s just in our nature to be curious what the people in our life are consuming. I know I don’t have to rationalize anything to anyone, but it’s in my nature to try explain. Especially when I explain to a coworker I’m trying to eat healthier, then buy a couple greasy corn dogs a couple of days later.

I see it as, be a little bit of an angel, and be a little bit of a devil. I feel like that’s just me as a person and not just with food. I lean on the angel side a bit heavier than the devil with my personality and I lean on the devil’s side heavier than my angel side with food. And I’m learning how to balance the two out.

It’s hard to believe that as obsessed with weight that I am, I only weigh myself about once a week. I sneak onto the scale, do my secret ritual, and accept its results until I start all over again the following week. Because of course I hope to have lost weight. For as much as I want to reap the benefits of having a healthy colon and as much as I pride myself about eating less processed and chemical foods, I want some of the physical benefits. I want to be able to sit on a transit bus and only take up one seat. I want to know what it feels like to run for miles before getting winded; instead of from the mile and a half of a somewhat up hill walk to my bus stop. I want to go into a normal clothing store and know that they have something I can wear.

But it’s not about dieting. I am not looking to stay on a plan for a few weeks or a few months and then suddenly go back to old way’s. This is about learning to like myself and how to bring my alter ego Lilly out from just this idea and merge her with me. Now that it’s summer, I would love to incorporate exercise into my life. I don’t mean to become a gym rat. I like the idea of yoga, swimming and eventually running.

We hear about healthy living, from the thin. We hear it being preached by just about anyone but I wonder, how many of them are actually as virtuous as they claim? It’s hard to be around people who brag about all their diet or healthier eating tips because I wonder how often they swallow their own words. Because it’s hard to not hear the smuggness in their tone. Why do we have to change who we are? What is so wrong with just being happy with the way you look? Why do we need to let other’s constantly make us feel like we have to improve the way we are? Why can’t we just be good enough?

I am good enough. I am not looking to change myself because of what society tells me I should look like. I am trying to change myself because how I’m not living, is killing me.

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